Haunted Cosmos - The Dogman

Episode Date: May 14, 2025

Woof woof! The Dogman is coming! Be sure to break out your chew toys!Love Haunted Cosmos? Get access to our exclusive show, The Dusty Tome, early ad-free access to main episodes, monthly AMA's, and livestreams with Ben and Brian by becoming a patron of the show: https://www.patreon.com/c/HauntedCosmosBuy the Haunted Cosmos book: https://www.newchristendompress.com/cosmos PS: It's also available as an audiobook!This episode is brought to you by Mt Athos. Sustainably sourced goat dairy protein and other performance products. Listeners of the show get a 20% discount site-wide with code "NCP20".https://athosperform.com/Want to keep nefarious fairy Bigfoots away and also avoid icky seed oils, preservatives, artificial colorants, and other nasties in your daily shower routine? Then check out the vast array of homemade soaps from our friends at Indigo Sundries Soap Co.! Go to http://indigosundriessoap.com to learn more—and as our gift to you, use code HAUNTEDCOSMOS for 10% off your whole order!This episode is also sponsored by Stonecrop Wealth Advisors! Go to this link to check out their special offers to Haunted Cosmos listeners today.https://stonecropadvisors.com/hauntedcosmosThis episode is sponsored by Squirrelly Joe's Coffee! Visit their website here to get your first bag free!  Share Coffee. Serve Humbly. Live faithfully.https://www.squirrellyjoes.com/hauntedcosmosDesignButter offers mobile, web, and product design for a fixed monthly fee. Check out their services here:https://www.designbutter.com/Finally, this episode is sponsored by Gray Toad Tallow. Visit their website here and use COSMOS15 at checkout for 15% off your order.https://graytoadtallow.com/Support the show

This episode is sponsored by Mount Athos, results, purity, and sustainability in every bottle. Androgluen, the fell wolf of Angbond, came forth from the shadows of the mountains, and his eyes shone like burning coals in the night. Excerpt from the Silmarillion. Robert Fortney walked through the nighttime fields of Bridgeton. The day's rains, now ceased, had brought a thick cloud of fog up no more than four feet from the earth, and as his legs pushed through this ocean of humidity, ripples of cloud went out before him

and a turbulent wake trailed behind. It was a muggy night with only fate traces of cloud remaining, ethereal wisps of light in the sky, backlit by a strong moon. The rolling hills of Springtime, Michigan, looked like shadowy throes poured over an unmade bed, serene and soft, almost inviting, though Fortney knew that only the darkest dark

would be inside of any of their downs. and copses. It was 1938. The world was quiet, at least there, and at least on that night. Fortney was on the hunt for pests of all types. He did this from time to time for neighbors to get some extra money. Possums, porcupines, wood chucks, Fortney prided himself on being able to snuff them all out under the cover of night's shade better than anyone else in the little township. He cradled his blueed 20-gauge single shot in the bend of his elbow, broken open and at rest. From the knoll he stood on, he could look down and see the fog begin to break, forming islands of black that was the ground of the field beneath him.

On the opposite side of that field was the wooded bank of the river Muskegon, all silvery green behind its veil of trees. That field was still his neighbors, so he zigzagged down the hill and made briskly a cross for the river, thinking he'd find a trove of pests inside that he could take as receipts for a nice payday once the sun rose. But as he walked and as the fog continued to clear, a breeze gusted and chilled the sweat on his back, sending a shiver up his spine that made him stop.

He shook out the shiver and went to begin his track once more when he heard a sound that he did not expect, the faint whimpers of a puppy somewhere in the section of fog off to his left that still lingered. He walked quietly over to it, forgetting that he had just been taking massive strides without a care for the noise and failing to wonder why the dog had not been frightened then. Maybe had he noticed this, he would not have cared anyways. Through the night, he saw a moonbeam glare through the fog, and two shimmering eyes looked back up at him from the grass. The puppy had stepped into a bog from the rain and was stuck, shivering and covered in mud.

Fortney moved his shotgun to be balanced over his shoulder and between his neck and packstrap. He lowered himself into a squat and reached his hands out to the helpless animal. But when his hands had gone half the distance between his chest and the suffering puppy, the loud crash of feet in the grass behind him sent him rolling off next to the bog and turning around as quickly as he could. Five dogs stood on the other side of the bait they'd planted and snarled at him with grimacing teeth and raised spines and ears pointed back as if by a strong wind. He slowly backed away, never taking his eyes off the uncanny pack of beasts.

And he thought for a moment that they would leave. leave him be, but they did not. The first of the pack hopped over to the trapped puppy, and Fortney turned slow enough to see the dog land on the other side, on his side, in a nearly full sprint. He ran for all of his life through the empty echo chamber of the Michigan countryside, vicious barks resonating behind him and seeming to get closer and closer with every one of his steps. He ran towards the cover of the riverbank in the river itself, the Muskegon, where he'd hoped to uproot whatever hiding thing was there before, he now hoped to join it in its hiding. His legs began to feel heavy as his breath was simply not enough. He could feel his heart pounding like a great

drum against his ribs and he felt sure it would soon stop. He could see the reflections of the silvery moon off the ripples through the gaps in the trees now, so close. The dogs were close too. He wondered if it was their breath he was feeling on his ankles or if it was just the wind made by his running. He started to rock this way and that as he ran. The world started to swim. He had not pushed himself like this in decades. He had not been so desperate in all his life. The trees welcomed him into their darkness with branches extended like mother's arms open for an embrace. He jumped over a thin birch that was fallen and charged through a spider's web of brambles, hanging between two birches still standing. He slid down the still wet clay banks of the Muskegon and

threw his shotgun as hard as he could before diving in. He heard the gun land on the soft soil while he was still in the air, and then his head, utterly out of breath, went under the rolling and uncaring waters. They were cold and stronger than he had anticipated. By the time he'd swam or waterwalked the 50 or so yards to the other side, he drifted the same length down. Once out, he looked back across to see the posse of dogs shouting terribly at him from the other side. They sprinted back up the river to where he'd entered and tossed themselves in as well. He jogged back to his gun and dug a shell from his coat pocket as he did so. He got to his gun with his head still spinning and he blinked hard and fast as he tried to fit the shell into the chamber with wet shaking hands.

Finally, he lined up the casing with the bore and drove it home with his thumb. He blew hard on the primer before closing the break and it was not a moment too soon. He turned down the bank and saw the first of the dogs already at him, sprinting full speed with incredible bulk. The others followed not far behind. He knew he would only get one shot. He hoped it would send the others running. The trigger released the tension in the air. The firing pin clicked against the brass and sent a swarm of pellets like poisonous bees into the head of the dog, now lunging at the man. It fell from its leap in a lump of mangled flesh and hit the earth with a dull thud. The three dogs behind it turned to run with their tails tucked tightly into their stomachs.

But it was only four dogs. What are the fifth? The man turned around wildly, looking into what he now realized was a dark wood trying to see movement. There was none. He stilled himself and looked back across the river. On top of the clay bank he had rushed down, there was a mass of black, blacker than shadow.

It opened its eyes and they blazed with a fiery gold. He swallowed his fear and broke the shotgun open to try and load it again, but he could not look away from the beast. He dropped the shell he pulled from his coat, and then dropped the gun altogether as he backed away, petrified at the monster, now rising up on its hind legs to stand like a man. It was taller than him. The wind gusted again and moved the branches above the two foes enough

to let the light of the moon creep in for just a moment. The man regarded the face of the creature, hellish and bloody and tortured. It wore a smile on its face. When the wind subsided and the darkness returned, the man discovered himself to have collapsed, but it didn't matter. The monster turned its back and walked back into the field from where they'd all come. Robert Fortney had just survived an encounter with a thing known as the Dogman of Michigan. But what if it's doppelganger, the Beast of Bray Road, across the Great Lake in the farms of Wisconsin? Mount Athos Performance is a family-owned fitness brand that gives you the tools you need to cultivate a lifestyle of health.

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Her life is spent driving up and down the rural roads between her home and the city of Elkhorn, where she and her neighbors and all of her friends go to school. She is the prototypical young Midwestern woman living in the glory of her youth at the tail end of the previous century. Clothes are more important to her than they were to her parents. technology is new, and she puts herself in situations of great risk on a computer that she won't appreciate until much later in life. Her acne gives her anxiety, and her maturing frame gives the boys that live near her even more, her father more than any of them, but for very different reasons. She is an American girl to the core, hardened, but without any knowledge of it, by her sheltered life on the prairies and farms off the coast of the Great Lakes. Not only sheltered, she's

fed and clothed, too, by a family that loves her. Her education is ongoing and going well. Her hopes and dreams and life are myriad, a mistake many of the young people in her generation made, undaunted by the dangers of such unsatisfying delusions, but none of them come into this tale. She knows the roads around her home impeccably well, for it does not take much to know them. They are flat and straight, with ditches on either side that grow menacing and cold and dark of winter months. seldom to trees cover the roads over. More often than not she can see a thousand miles in any direction on any part of any one of them. Far ahead to the horizon where the bent world curves too deep and becomes an upside-down place,

foreign to her and therefore not real. It is these roads that concern us, these stages of life so mundane but capable of holding terrible things. It was Halloween in 1991. The girl's name was Doris Gibson. She was driving down Bray Road toward the larger settlement of Elkhorn to attend a party, and later to pick up a friend to take back home. The weather was crisp and cold. Days had already grown short in that part of the world, such that,

though it was only just after suppertime, it was full night. Bray Road was never exactly busy, but at being well into trick-or-treating time meant that virtually nobody was sharing the road with Gibson. Her high beams were on, and she was certainly grateful for them. Before her on the tarmac lulled a layer of mud, fog that gave the already mystical air of Halloween a theater of wonder and timidity. It was thick, too, as it wafted sometimes up and over the windshield as she drove on. Because of its thickness and its proclivity to occasionally cloud more than just her vision

of the road underneath it, she got into a mode of sensory focus that I'm sure we can all relate to. She sat up more in the driver's seat and put her hands right at the ten and two position. That was after she turned the volume on her radio down, though. She wanted to see better, so naturally the music couldn't be too loud. In this way, pushing like an icebreaker on Superior through the dense and undulating layer of vaporous moisture, she steadily drove down the almost arrow-straight Bray Road, watching keenly for the dim sight of the yellow lines, through the thinner sections of fog, and slowing down many times

until she was crawling on at a steady state of about 30 miles per hour. The thud sent her into a gasp. She knew she had not drifted near to the road's edge, but the sudden jolt from her passenger's side tricked her into thinking for a moment that she had. But she recovered quick enough, straightening out the wheel and calming herself down for the push to her nerves. It was, after all, her dad's car. She didn't want to wreck it if she ever wanted to take it out again,

and that she did. It took her about 60 feet to come to a full stop. She figured it was the neighborly thing to get out and move whatever stone or stick or roadkill she had hit to save any other nighttime driver the risk of suffering something far worse than she had. Besides, the fog was getting worse, and most drivers later that night would not be as sober as she was then. As Gibson walked back to whereabouts the impact had occurred, she struggled to find anything that could be the culprit. Given the state of the fog, this didn't concern her much at first, but it soon started to. The night was so quiet, and the fog was so otherworldly and thick.

It seemed to her that she was the only person left in the world at all, living out an endless nighttime drive over and over again in some post-apocalyptic hellscape. There was nothing and no one, and she thought this frightening. But what came after was the true fright. The sound of a hulking frame pounding its feet over and over on the road, the dim red light from her car's brakes, casting her long shadow like a tentacle into the night. From the hallway of that shadow came the black front. of a massive beast with a heaving chest running towards her, blowing two tubes of hot breath

out of a snout that was inhuman, but also inanimalistic. Something demonic and fueled by fear. She saw its approach, and her legs started to numb with the shock. She demanded they lock up, and she turned with all the speed she had to run back to the safety of the car. The fog felt like a syrupy air that isn't a dream, which makes one feel incapable of running away from a threat. The beast, this monster from Dis, was catching up.

She screamed as she ran in a blind panic and only just made it back in time to slam the door shut and lock it as the mass of thing grabbed on to the rear bumper and began to lift with an uncanny scream that was more akin to the yowl of a cat, only much, much deeper and louder. She slammed her foot on the gas and prayed that the car had not lifted too much already. It hadn't. She sped off into the night. no longer caring for the density of the fog. She trusted her adrenal instincts to know where the road would be,

and she didn't slow down until she came into the well-lit streets of Elkhorn, a full five minutes later. In that time, she did nothing but try to calm down. It wasn't until she parked that she began to collect any thoughts whatsoever about what she'd seen, and what she'd seen was, well, she had never seen anything like it. It had been dark, but the immense surge of fear had given her a clear enough picture of this grotesque monster that she was sure wanted blood. It was massive and covered with a thick pelt of grimy and matted hair.

Its legs were like a dog, with the hawks pointed backwards. But it wasn't a dog. For starters, it was too big, far bigger than Gibson. But it also only ran on the two legs that were twisted the wrong way. The bulk of its chest stuck with her nearly as much as the raving mall, a bloody thing, scarred and weathered as though the monster had rubbed its face. on a wall of barbed wire. It opened to what she was sure were rotted teeth that somehow never died. And a demonic tongue, like a serpent, coiled itself up and waved around inside and

out of the teeth. And the speed. When she first saw its shadow, the figure must have been 50 yards away from her, and she was only about 50 yards from the car, but they both arrived at the car at more or less the same moment. What's more, she became convinced that it was the thing she had somehow hit. Had it used itself as bait? Had her car run over its leg or arm? Had the speed done anything to hurt it or slow it down? In her moments of silent debrief, Gibson decided not to tell anyone about her encounter. She was worried no one would believe her. Besides, even if they did believe her, what would anyone do about it? What would she do about it? She would never go and look for it. She would never let anyone else go and look for it either as far as she could. It became a thing

solidified in her mind as a horror beyond her comprehension and therefore beyond her ability to linger on the fear of. The memory would never petrify, but even that night she felt as though she began to remember it as a dream and nothing more. She drove on through Elkhorn until she came to her Halloween party. The small packs of candy-crazed children dressed as goblins and fay comforted her as her car rolled slowly through the winding rows of houses. When the party was over and she walked, back out to her car with the friend that she was to ferry home. Those same rows of houses were sound asleep. The sodium-vapor streetlights hummed their tune in warm kandescence, just above the heads of the partiers filing out. There were no other sounds save the crackling noise of crickets, like a bed of

nuclear energy glowing beneath everything. Gibson marked the serenity of the moment. It contrasted sharply with her earlier experience. And yet, the monster was already a wisp to her, a thing things she wondered at the truth of, even she herself, as she stepped carefree to the driver's side of her car. The fog had cleared hours earlier. The two friends closed their respective doors and sat back with a sigh of satisfaction at the night. Gibson pulled herself up and after some searching for her target drove the key home to the ignition and turned it. The blue Plymouth shuffled to life. She pulled the e-break up and then pushed it back down with a squish. Her foot It was on the clutch and the car had been parked in gear.

But into the piece there came the sound of a sharp inhale from her friend on the other side of the car. When Gibson turned to her, she was already looking out the window with wide eyes, back toward the front of the house they had come to. The friend exclaimed, Look at that thing! Gibson did. In there, standing as embodied shadow that was immovable, as if to remind her that it had not all been a dream, was the creature.

It was giant. And all of what she thought she'd seen from earlier was confirmed in the stillness as the creature stood on the horizon of light cast down by a lamp across the street. What she had failed to notice before, though, were the eyes, piercing coals of vibrant bronze, staring back from their beds of black and gray and bloody blue. Just as the monster opened its mouth, she slammed on the gas and lifted the clutch and peeled away into the night. The next morning, under the sun's protective warmth, Gibson examined, into the rear of the car. She found claw marks and jagged silver cut into the blue paint of the trunk. In the 1820s, a Cree man walked alone through the deep northern snow of Saskatchewan. It was night and it was cold. The man was journeying to a fur trading post that he knew plenty more people

would be at. It would be warmer. Fires would be raging all over the camp. He just needed to get there before the cold took him. Saskatchewan's southern half is entirely domic. dominated by planes. Gentle hills wave on like a calm ocean for miles all around. Seldom does one see any trees there. And so the wind whips like a maelstrom all year. In the winter that wind comes heavy from the northern arctic forests and blows over the plains until the air over it hardly breaks the single digits in Fahrenheit. The Cree man knew this, but walked on nonetheless. He knew all the more that two foolish decisions don't make a single wise one. He had been a fool to leave when he did, and that by himself, but he had done it. And so,

as the open heavens held none of the earth's ambient heat back for him, he had nothing else to do but press on. The ground was already deep with snow from the previous week's storms, and he found himself post-hulling more frequently than he found solid footing. It was the most despairing thing he had ever done before, running on little food and only burning snow for water. The man withered and felt akin to a reed near to being uprooted by a summer thunderstorm on the shore of a lake. But all the lakes were frozen and the rivers that fed them. And he was no reed but a man, dying and leaving his family to pay deer for his own folly. His feet became numb, and he was forced to stop every couple of steps

to catch his breath before continuing on with wobbling dizziness in the night, through a world pitched completely white. As the hours passed, the man grew despondent, at boiling clouds rolling in to cover the moon's light. Soon it was much darker, and the wind had somehow grown stronger, and snow began to fall like pellets all around, stinging his eyes any time he dared to glance upwards to find a line through the prairie. He was a broken shell of a man.

In an entirely inappropriate moment of reflection, he marveled at man's ability to be so resilient in some moments while being so fragile in others. He was being broken to death by a single night of hardship, though he had endured days of what he could swear had been harder living before. But those days were warmer, and the cold is a sink that sucks in everything. Finally, he collapsed and could not get up again. He shuffled up to a drift of snow.

He couldn't perceive any protection from the wind it may have been offering, and he closed his eyes to die. He could not tell how much time had passed when he woke up again. His mind had picked up on the heaving grunt and heavy steps that shook the ice his body's He saw through the snow and night a black bulk of something approaching him, like a dog, only more, or perhaps somehow less. He regarded its eyes, a flame like oil candles and penetrating, seemingly full of life and malice alongside.

He complained to the gods as one who had been ready to die from the cold. Must he now suffer the pain of death from this monster? He couldn't move, and so he didn't try to. The beast carried itself up to him and rolled off of its feet so that its mass of fur and muscle pressed down on the man. He wailed with a strained face for the devouring to begin, but it never did. The thing just laid on him, warming him with its own heat and soothing, or so it seemed at the time. After a while, the pain of the man's limbs and fingers and toes thawed out and passed, and he could move his body freely with renewed strength. At that very moment, the creature rose from off of him and walked some paces forward before turning

to look back at the man, as if to beckon him, as if telling him to follow. And so the man did. The beast led him through the wilderness all night until the dawn's breaking saw the storm pass and the sun light down on the fur trading station the man had set out for. When he turned to see the creature again, it was gone. In a world that isn't just stuff, our bodies are no different. They are embodied spirits. As part of God's creation, we are called to steward both body and soul, taking dominion

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We didn't plan that, by the way. He knew what I thought the obvious question was. Well, here's the thing. like Cree man. He's Cree though. Wait a minute. He's an animistic demon. Wait a minute.

That was one of the Cree gods. It's not a demon. He is a demon. It's a demon. We can confirm. Not an angel. It's a demon. He wanted to keep him alive longer

to keep worshipping his animistic spirit gods. Yeah. So I guess like that's a rat. Maybe the Beast of Bray Road is like in a manifestation of one of the demon gods of North America. Yeah. That haunts the regions that are yet conques. by yet to be conquered by the gospel.

Yet to be conquered fully at least. Yeah. Or it's like, you know, uh, because when was that 18? 1820s. And what's the area again? Saskatchewan. It's Saskatchewan. Yeah, Saskatchewan is full of pagans in 1820.

It was still frontier. Like, it was, yeah. I mean, to this day, to this day. Colter wall is there now. He's not. I don't know if he's a Christian. He's not.

He's not. He makes good music, but he does make good music. Turns out that doesn't actually mean you're Christian. No. However, maybe a Colter Wall's in on something because one of his album covers was a wolf smoking. A cigarette could be a reference to the Cree man running into the beast.

There's actually a story that I heard from Utah that is, it's in the dog man, wolf man kind of. Love it, dude. Vane. Wear people. And it was on the, it was on the Navajo Reservation. Okay, so the Navajo reservation, it's kind of deserty sort of, it's classic Utah deserty and then mountainous kind of terrain.

Yeah. And this guy's doing night patrol as one does on the res. Because there's a lot of crimes being done on the res. A lot of fire water, a lot of crimes. Not to be culturally insensitive, but a lot of drunk people. Yeah. And so he's driving his res car out, you know, doing his monitoring. And he gets to

this, this bridge over like a washed out. It's not a river, not the river quark. It's over like a dusty, you know, probably a seasonal creek type of thing. Yeah, yeah, yeah, like a runoff creek. Yeah, runoff cree. It's not, it's not watery at that time. time of year. It was like summer, you know, dead a night, past midnight. And he sees a guy, it's like in the middle of nowhere, pretty much, the outskirts of the reservation. And he sees

the guy on the bridge, like in a long coat, just sort of shuffling along the side. And so he thinks, like, I'm going to go see if this guy needs help. Automatic. Automatic. Turn the car around and go the other way from me. Get out of there. First of all, like nine out of ten people who get lost in the woods and die, get lost in the woods and die because someone came along and could have helped them. but thought they might have been a dog man. Or a skin walker. Or a goat-feated demon thing. The Good Samaritan did not have the lore that we have.

You didn't have the lore. Look, same situation. Good Samaritan, same situation. Only differences. With the lore we have. The only, no, there's a couple differences. Okay. The differences being, it's at night.

Okay. One. Check. No other people are around. It's not just like on the side of a road that three other people walk by. Yeah. And third, instead of like laying dead, the dude is shuffling along in tattered clothes.

Oh, yeah, no. And he has a beard that scrapes the earth. Whoa. And you hear the wailing. That was a big yon. And you hear the wailing of distant like skinwalker or distant windigo. But the guy comes up, you know the story. Like he stops things in his headlights.

He gets out of the truck. He's like, hey man, do you need anything? I don't, how do you do a native American accent? Something like this, something like, oh, no, that's Japanese. Okay, so he said, I'm just going to do it. Don't be distracted by my normal American accent. He says, hey man, do you need anything? That's better.

Wingapo. Exactly. That's what they do. And the guy doesn't turn. So he gets closer, he's like, hey, did you hear me? Is everything okay? Is everything okay? Thank you, perfect.

How? Guy turned around with all the colors of the wind. Guy turns around. it's a dog man smoking. Seriously. It's a dog man, he's smoking. So they, of course, this is a skin walker story.

Wait, this is such a reference to Colterwall's album. I didn't know that was what. That's what made me think of it. Oh, wow. That one is like a wolf smoking. This was like the classic dog man. So he's kind of has characteristics

of the dog and the man. Here's the thing. And the dog characteristics are that he's smoking. What that was, any dog I own smokes. What that was was just a Midwestern lady. Okay? And it is, I won't stand for it.

I will not. not, this is classless of you to call, to say that that's a dog man. Second time. I'm not going to stand this for. I'm not standing. The first time, honestly, Midwest ladies are chill because they thought it was really funny. Yeah, shout out to you Midwest ladies. When, when Ben in our main episode that brought up dog men was like, no, that was just, that's what Midwestern women look like.

Yeah. I don't mean it. Wow. I don't mean it. Y'all are like, he doesn't mean it. Every Midwestern woman I know is just very sweet. Yeah. You know, we have a lot of them at our church.

They're not dogmen. they're definitely not. They're actually some of the funnier people I know. So stop saying that they are. Like stop accusing of this horror. This slander. This is the Spider-Man Ben to Ben. Stop, stop doing it.

If this weren't a dusty tone without all of our full editing, off-season episode, I'd say Martin put up the meme right now. That's Ben, those two Spider-Men both labeled Ben. Yeah. Telling Ben telling Ben not to call Midwestern women dog men. Anyway.

Anyway. So this, this whole, but the dogmen lore, the thing that's interesting about it is like the wolf dogman werewolf sort of thing is this goes back far. The beast of Juvuddin? The beast of Javardin.

Javauden? Le Bette de Javauden? Like it goes way back. One of the ideas that we've, I don't know, maybe we've like adjacently glanced at it on the show. Maybe not.

Is the Tulpa? You know, Topa? Yeah. It's like an Eastern mystic thought form where you can basically create your own. It's like a golem in Judaism as well, where you create this demon, this thought form demon, that then actually comes to life, especially if more people are thinking of it. And with folk religions, especially in paganism being founded on sort of animus type stuff where they know that the world is not just what they can see, but they don't totally, sometimes they don't have all the details of the unseen.

Like not every culture was founded by a pantheon of gods that was like the Greek pantheon, which I believe did find the Greek culture. And so it does make you wonder if maybe the chicken at times actually was the folklore. Yeah, I think so. And then the egg that came from it maybe was a thought form. But here's the thing. It's not the psychical power of the people. No, no, no.

It's a demon who's manifesting what they expect to see. Like the deception is then being taken over. Yeah, I want to make clear. I'm not saying there's like people can make ghosts appear. Like, man, there's a famous example of this. And I think it was a vampire of Highgate Cemetery. There was a cemetery and that some lore built up about like a vampire type thing. And we know that it wasn't real.

It was like a creepy pasta type of thing. But this was before the internet. and people came up with the story. They told the story, but they know that the origin story, like, isn't true. Yeah. It was about this one grave, this one mausoleum, and supposedly this guy, there's a whole backstory, but then people looked into it later and said, that's just not true. Demonstrably, that's not even who's buried there.

It's not the story at all. But people started to have very credible sightings of this thing. Yeah. And so one of the questions I've always had was, if they were real, like if they were real, like if they were actually credible and they really saw something, maybe that was what it was. Yeah, yeah. It was presenting what they expected to further deepen the deception.

You have to come up with some explanation for it. Explanations could be it was made up. It wasn't made up, but the thing was a hoax. It was like somebody in a suit, you know, or something. Or it was a genuine deception, an unseen entity that took on this form. Yeah. That it knew somehow was a fear of all these people. Yeah, yeah.

Yeah. Dude, that is crazy. And here's the other thing. If you ever see a dog, man, I want to know that, I want to know your answer to this question. Are you allowed to do a preemptive strike? Can you shoot it?

Like, oh, it's not doing anything. Let's just sit, let's say, you're the Navajo guy. It's sitting there smoking a, you know, it's ripping on a heater. And it's minding its own business. You stopped. It's not chasing you. It's not trying to eat you.

Are you allowed to just pull out your Colt Python? Yeah. and put six in its 10 ring. Yeah. Are you allowed to do that? Or is that bad form? Look. Look.

The people need to know. Here's why I don't think is bad form. Okay. Let's hear. Here's why I think not only should you do it, you must, with silver bullets. I only keep my glocky glock loaded with silver bullets at all those. You actually can buy silver bullets online. They're really expensive.

Do they perform well? Ballistically? From what I understand, no. Okay. But they, they, like, come in this really great package that has a vampire on it or a wolf on it. And they're like, they're loaded. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Oh, they work.

They're not just bullets. Yeah, there's video, like they do bullet testing on them and everything. Nice. What I was going to say was a person, okay, a, a, a mere human being. Yeah. Cannot be a dog man. I don't know if you know this. Have you been in a local junior high lately?

Fair enough. If you see a first. can you shoot it? There might be a fine line right now. Here's the problem. You actually can't because it's a kid. You can't shoot. Even if they're over 18,

anyone that acts like a furry is just a child. You can't just shoot someone like random, like in America legally. I'm talking, is it a someone? Not a furry thing. Those are confused. Let's take the furry out.

Let's say like you know this is a dog man. I know. I'm muddying the waters. You are muddying the waters. You know this is a DM, a dog man. So your argument is, is that you know it's a dog man. Ergo, like, such as the Iraq, you know it's not a person.

And, and not only do you know it's not a person, you know that if it's actually a dog man, like that thing is just evil. It's bad. Shoot it. Unless you're a Kree guy. Shoot it, Lisbon. Anyone know that from swamp people?

No. Lisbitt, the alligator queen. Shoot them. Shoot it. None of us know. No, our listeners will know. Dude, everyone knows that your references are out of control. Our listeners will know.

Brian, I got bad news. The other day, I was using one of the big box soap products to wash myself, and I got this weird urge to go buy a Stanley cup and fill it with iced coffee. And it started to feel a little cold in the house. I just wanted to wrap myself up in like a heavy wool blanket. And then also, I started Googling ticket prices to Taylor Swift concerts. Ben, what are you doing? Don't you know that these big box soap companies just jam all their soaps full of hormone disrupting chemicals?

They're probably turning you into a girl. Well, I know that. now, but what am I supposed to do about it? Ben, you ignorant normie, all you've needed to do is go to indigo sundry soap.com and support a great Christian family business that's making all sorts of soaps that are completely free of hormone disrupting chemicals and other nasties. Okay, I am literally going to indigo sundry soap.com right now. Tell me what to buy.

Ben, what I would recommend doing is clicking on bundles and then selecting the best one for you. You could get the men six-pack. You could get my favorite, the clay bundle. Ooh, I like the pipe and jug bundle. That seems cool. Or a men six pack, because that'll make me feel like I have something that I actually don't. So true, King. And you know what else I heard?

Because they're such good friends of the show, Indigo Sundry's soap company is offering 10% off your order if you just use all caps, discount code, haunted cosmos, no spaces. Wait, Brian, you're going way too fast. I didn't get all that. Is that information in the show description? Ben, you ignorant normie, it's always in the show description. Okay, so I'm going to go to Indy,

to go sundry soap.com, I'm going to pick the men's six-pack bundle, and I'm going to use code Haunted Cosmos at checkout, all caps, no spaces. And if I forgot all that, it's in the description of the show. Of course, Ben. And if you just do that, then you will stop wanting to do all of those girly things and maybe you'll, I don't know, maybe want to buy a classic car to restore or something dignified. Hey, Ben, can you pass me the butter? Yeah, sure, man. Do you want the white camel butter or the golden cow butter? No, not that butter. Well, what other butter is there? I'm talking about design butter who specialize in digital product design, whether it's a mobile or web app, David at Design Butter can help make sure your product is best on the market. Design Better

helps you identify problems your users are having and makes the experience better, which results in more sales, return customers, and a level of trust that makes your brand memorable. Dang, design butter. I can't believe it's not actual butter. Because it's so dang smooth. Sounds like they need ahead of designbutter.com for more information. Brian, do you want to know what I've been drinking more of lately? I actually woke up this morning and thought to myself. I want to know what Ben's drinking more of lately. Coffee. Can you believe that?

Unbelievable. I thought you were in a tea. No, no. I'm into coffee now. And you know who makes the best coffee in the world? Who is it? Squirley Joe's coffee. Oh, is that that thoroughly Christian business that doesn't hate you and everything you believe in? Yes. Not only that, but they also love their neighbor by donating many of their proceeds to a worthy cause called Operation Underground Railroad. Man, everybody should check out Squirrely Joe's Coffee at Squirrelyjo's Coffee.com. That's right. Squirrely Joe's Coffee. Share coffee, serve humbly, live faithfully. Okay. So, yes, you can shoot the dog, man, unprovoked. That's your position.

What do you think then about there's regions of Washington? Maybe California, too. I know there's one in Washington. Hang on. Got an itch. What about like the Dyer Wolf thing at Skimwalker Ranch? Well, there's a region in what? Hang on. Oh, okay. Hang on. Okay. There's a region in Washington where the, the, local government has declared a Bigfoot preserve.

What? And instituted actually binding legal penalties on somebody if they shoot a big foot. All right. Look, Romans 13. And it's similar to murder. Like you, it's a big deal. It's a bad crime.

Romans 13. Wait, what if you're getting attacked by a big foot? Oh, well, then I mean self-defense laws. Okay, sure. Right. Romans 13. Yeah.

Shall we obey man rather than, or like, like, acts, whatever, acts for. Shall we obey man rather than God? So you're saying there's definitely. a positive command in scripture to kill Big Feet on site. Yeah. Because what if we're wrong? What if it actually is just like an ape creature? It's just out there vibe in mind its business,

building its nest. And by the way, have you seen the most recent episode? No, I haven't. Of Expedition Bigfoot? No, you know that I haven't. Flipping, believable what they catch on film. They see full cover, not Fleer, not thermal.

They see a tall bipedal, hairy thing about 300 yards away walking down a little thing. I am not kidding you. It is a Bigfoot confirmed. You know who it was? Brian's mom. Hey, I want to know in the comments.

You know, I'm going to talk back here. What is the position of our, of our listeners on killing bigfoots and dogmen on site, unprovoked? It's literally like you come across a family of Bigfoot's. Listen, little juveniles picking daisies, smelling them,

like having a good time. Ben all of a sudden barrels out of the woods like the Kool-Aid man. He's got a flipping 300 blackout, subsonic, suppressed. And he's just freaking. He's plinking the children first. Who? And then he takes out the mom and the dad.

And then he. Who is going to sit here and tell me, first of all, there's no such thing as a child Bigfoot. It's a demon. All right? That's what they want you to think. You're already giving into there.

Like, are we going to trust? Is it looking at which in the east, bro. Are we going to trust? The discernment of Seattle or of Washington state government? First of all. To tell me what I should and should not kill? No. No.

Those people don't know half of what needs to be killed. Having said that, I am going to walk back a little bit. Yeah, walk it back. Because I don't want someone to be on a Navajo Resi. Walk of Shame. Okay. Down in like outskirts of St. George, Utah, they go on to the reservation to do some hiking or something. I don't know.

Rock climbing. And they see someone that they're like, that's an ugly person. Dog man. And they just, anyway, they're like. blasting. Don't do that. That's a good point. Don't do that.

In this scenario, to be fair, you knew it was a dog man. Look, just war theory. You had epistemic, like certainty. Yes. Which I don't know how you'd have that, but in this hyper, hyper hypothetical scenario. Can I be honest with you right now? Can I be honest with you? The dogman thing, I don't know why.

Let's say I have certainty. It is a dog man. I'm fine with like preemptive strike. But Bigfoot, for some reason, I feel different. See, I'm giving in. You're giving in. I'm getting conditioned. Hey, you got to be careful with that.

It's Mariah Mayor. You got to be careful with that. She's like, oh, it's a primate. Kanye said it best. Okay. Kanye said it best. Okay. What did he say?

He said, cut it out. He said, I need that. I need that clip. Kanye said best. He said, in one of the songs, he said, if I see the devil, it's on site.

Oh, yeah. If I see the devil is on site. When I see the devil on site, same thing. Okay. If the devil, offered you a fiddle. Well, if I'm in a competition to win a golden fiddle from him,

obviously I want to win the golden fiddle. But that's the thing. You had to, you had to, of course I could outfiddle the devil. To the competition. Yeah. And then you got to be a man of your word.

And so instead of consent. I love how the devil's like a man of his word at the end. He's like, oh, you won the golden fiddle. Here you go. Hey, and he was the judge.

Like the devil in the scenario got to be the judge. He was just like every, it's obvious I lost. Some humility. He could have used that in heaven before he fell. Yeah. could it, you know, that would have gone a long way. Yeah, anyway. I do want to say one thing before we wrap it up, unless you have anything important.

Nah, not important. I was going to say that everybody listening to this right now needs to immediately go get tickets to the new Christian and Press safety third conference coming up June 12th to the 14th here in Utah. Safety third, reclaiming the American spirit to greatness or something like that. It's actually safety third recovering the American will to blast cryptids on site. which is to say greatness. Yeah. It is newchristinpress.com slash 2025

is where you can get more info. But Ben and I are going to be putting on a live, full sound design, full live music, episode of Haunted Cosmos before the audience. It's going to be an epic story about some of the, like American lore that built America

and the ethos of America. It's really going to be cool. Be there. It will be unreleased material, totally new. Like we won't have, not an old episode, rehashed. Yeah, hey, TN. No, TN. You will be hearing it for the first time at the conference, okay? So,

you should come hang out. Whole family's welcome. Um, bring your kids. Bring your dog, man, bring your dog, man, uncle. Bring your, bring your friends. If you have any, if you don't come and make some. Yeah. And there's going to be food trucks. Tons other stuff too. There's going to be, I'm going to do a live concert. Hey, by the way, oh yeah. When this episode comes out, my album's out, awake the dawn. Yeah. my new full album. And some people are like, you make music.

Yes, I actually do make music. And it's really good. It's right good. You know why it's really, really good? Lay it on me. Because actually like God wrote the lyrics. Like a lot significant.

Because most of them are Psalms. There's eight Psalm settings. And so you actually are not allowed to say that they're bad. That's true. So just keep that in mind. It's one of the things I do to avoid being accurately judged for the quality of my work. Brian and I say this all the time. Whenever we invite feedback, we want to be very clear.

We're inviting positive feedback. Yeah. Like when we say, leave us a comment, tell us how you like this. episode. We're saying positive vibes only. Like, I don't know why Apple Podcasts allows reviews below five stars. I'm fine. If you give us a one star review, but it's glowing. We had a 4.9 star average review over like 3,000 reviews until like two months ago. Yeah. And, uh, you know, the places you can't go episode put a dent. You know, it wasn't that. It was actually the,

the gory sound effects of season four episode one. Oh, way to go, Martina McBride. That was so Martin McBride. We don't take any responsibility for our own work. No, no. Now, guys, check it out. This is the longest Dusty Tobe of all time. So I think we're going to land this plane. Right now.

And just say, Fast and Alente. Make hey, slowly. Catch you next time on On Cosmos, Dusty Tom. Let's go. That was a better landing than that pilot that just messed up the landing. Landed upside down. Did he really? She.

Oned Cosmos, then make your way over to Patreon, where you can get early access to our content, as well as exclusive content. in regular dusty tomes and monthly live streams with Brian and myself. So go to patreon.com slash haunted cosmos and sign up now.