They Weren’t Cows

About fifteen years ago I witnessed what what the Fort Sill Apache like to call “The abominations of the land”. The Comanche know them as the Muupitsuu. And my people know them solely as the “Tall ones”.
I know that nosleep may not be the proper place to post native tales and Kiowa myths. But recently I had another experience with what I can only hope were simply just cows.

So before I explain what happened last Thursday, I’ll have to first tell you guys of my original experience with whatever these things were.

To give you all some insight on just who I am and where I come from, I’ll just say that growing up in a secluded Kiowa community tends to breed some very adept hunters and outdoorsmen. Myself being one of them.

Ever since I could walk I’ve been foot to grass in the creek bottoms and barren fields of western Oklahoma. Hunting, trapping, and learning the ways of my people like so many before me did.

Growing up, my cousin Tori and I would frequently trek out into the woods and make camp for weeks at a time just as most normal children in the U.S. would be playing video games or riding bikes. We would survive off the land as a pastime activity partially because we didn’t know any better, but mostly because it was simple. It was fun. And it was our way of life.

As I recall, it was the season of the Saadii (the brief time period between winter and spring). This particular season was known amongst our people as a season of bad luck. A season of misfortune. A certain time when things would come out of the earth to walk amongst us for the weeks to come. Strange things. Unnatural things.

Every Kiowa dreads this time of the year, but typically avoids speaking of it.

Being the kids that we were, Tori and I decided to head out anyways disregarding our grandparents advice as typical teens do in every culture and society. Before we knew it our packs were packed and we were off.

We were on our fourth day out and had already made camp in a clearing next to a creek. This random clearing was surrounded on all sides by five foot tall grass that was so dense you probably couldn’t see more than a few feet into it.

It’s a difficult setting to describe, but directly behind us was a steep drop off with a shallow creek at the bottom. In front of us, and on both sides we were encircled by the tall and dense grass I described above. We had just eaten the fish we had caught that day, and the evening was coming to an end.

For some reason the air was notably thick for the hours leading up to our experience. Hazy. Tense. Unsettling for reasons we still do not know. We could both feel it, I know we could.

But both of us just ignored it for the time being. We talked for the next hour or so about typical teenage stuff not worth mentioning.

We even got to the point where we were talking about anything and everything just to subdue the now rapidly growing uneasiness lingering in the air.

I felt sort of the way I imagine all the deer I’ve stalked down probably felt right before they heard the tension snap from my compound bow. I still get a sick feeling in my stomach to this day whenever I think about it, but I felt like fucking prey. Complete prey to a predator that may or may not have even been there.

At this point I had to say something to to Tori.

Immediately her forced nonchalant attitude faded. She admitted to feeling the unsettling atmosphere as well.

It was at this exact time that we both noticed a strong stench lingering towards us.

Tori mentioned that she noticed it the night before when we were dozing off to sleep, but she said it faded after about ten minutes, and didn’t think much of it.

Whatever it was it was definitely back and I can tell she was getting worried.

Of all my years as an avid outdoorsman I have never smelt anything like that smell. Still to this day that stench haunts the back of my mind every time I go outside.
The smell of rotten meat burning. That foul, decayed smell of blood and burnt hair from some diseased ridden animal all throw in a big pot and left to boil on a stove. What I can only imagine a wild beast would smell like.

By the time the night’s darkness had completely swallowed the light of the day, that wretched smell had completely engulfed our pathetic little campsite.

I felt nauseous. I wanted to leave. So did Tori.
But logically I knew we couldn’t just pick up camp and wander out into the darkness because of some “bad vibes” we were getting.

Tori knew it too. Even though she refused to say it, I know she did.
Probably just before our fire was dimming down to a low smolder, we saw something slowing approaching us to the left of our camp.

Two big objects. Slowly and stealthy creeping through the grass partially camouflaged behind the grass, and their outlines slowing becoming more and more visible.

We both sat up quick, eyes wide open and ready for anything at this point.

After much squinting and the suspense boiling we identified them as two cows. Two lanky black cows.
Or so we thought.

“Haha! Probably just two strays wandering over to see who we were” we said jokingly.

Feeling immensely relieved we continued to talk and joke about which one of us was more scared and how we’d tell all our friends about this when we got back.

As they stood there looking around like typical cows do we noticed that everything around us seemed to immediately freeze in its tracks.

The crickets stopped singing. Our wise uncle the owl stopped preaching to the night. Our distant relatives made of wood and bark had stopped stretching their leaves in the wind. Even the trickster stopped his howling off in the distance.

Everything seemed to have immediately halted out of fear, including us. The only things that seemed to exist were those two cows breathing heavily and watching us intently. Them and that ungodly fucking smell.

They watched us for about ten to fifteen minutes I assume. That’s when one of them fucking did it. As if it had gotten tired of observing us, what we assumed was just some stray cow, and I shit you not, casually stood up on its back two legs and walked back though the grass the way it had came. Then there was just the other one. Still watching us.

At this point we could clearly make out not the figure of some stray cow, but the figure of a huge black humanoid figure crouched down on all four the way a person would mimic a horse or a buffalo.

You know how in those old western movies the stereotypical natives would always wear the fox or buffalo headdresses and be crouched down on all fours behind some hill when they’re stalking the buffalo herds?
Well that’s exactly how I’d describe what these two things were doing. And as if it knew its disguise was known to us, it stood up just like the other one did.

It stood so huge that the grass came up a little past it’s waistline, and before we knew it they had both disappeared off into the night.

I’m not entirely sure what was said or done in the minutes following that encounter. But my cousin and I had obviously went into fight or flight mode, left all of our shit as was, and had slid down the steep drop off to the creek running behind us as if we were spooked beavers on the run.

And when I say we ran, I mean we fucking ran.

Knowing that the creek would eventually wind back around to the backside of our little town, we ran until we were puking in our mouths and breathing like dying dogs.

After what seemed like forever, we made it back to the dirt road leading into town.

That night we were questioned thoroughly by our grandparents. And we told them. We told them everything.

As if she knew, my grandmother, with a disgusted look on her face, quietly exclaimed “You shouldn’t have been out there. Not while the tall ones are hunting.”

For the most part I’ve locked that experience up deep inside my mind hoping to forget it ever happened.
But last Thursday those memories quickly resurfaced like a buoy thrown into a lake.

I was driving back from a basketball game at about one thirty or so in the morning, when my truck ran out of gas on a dirt road about six or seven miles from my house.

Tired and frustrated I called a buddy of mine to come bring me some diesel and had been sitting in the truck for about thirty minutes, dazing off and badly wanting to fall asleep.
That’s when a familiar smell worked its way into my nostrils.

The nasty smell of boiled hair and rotting flesh.

I immediately felt a wave of adrenaline course through my veins as my entire body tensed up and the hairs on the back of my neck almost shot out of their pours.

The Oklahoma countryside was pitch black as always, so I couldn’t see too well out in the distance.

But to my right, off in a rye field not more than fifty yards away, undeniably sat the outlines of what appeared to be three black cows. Watching ever so intently.

by AvryTsannassi

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