Deep in North Carolina’s Blue Ridge Mountains, there’s a quiet little valley where three creeks meet and cross like a natural X. Long before settlers built homes there, the Cherokee knew the place well—and they didn’t trust it after dark. They warned their people to stay away, calling it a place ...
Deep in North Carolina’s Blue Ridge Mountains, there’s a quiet little valley where three creeks meet and cross like a natural X. Long before settlers built homes there, the Cherokee knew the place well—and they didn’t trust it after dark. They warned their people to stay away, calling it a place where something shadowy moved through the night.
Later, missionaries arrived, saw the crossing waters as a holy sign, and named the area Valle Crucis: the Valley of the Cross. They built St. John’s Episcopal Church beside that old meeting of waters, never realizing what the land had already been known for.In this special episode of Backwoods Bigfoot Stories, we step outside Sasquatch territory for something darker, older, and harder to shake. What you’re about to hear isn’t a Bigfoot encounter.
It’s a story that’s been whispered around western North Carolina for generations—one that comes with a body count and a warning baked into the ground itself. The legend of the Demon Dog of Valle Crucis goes back at least to the mid-1800s, when a Methodist circuit rider claimed he saw a massive black hound standing among the cemetery stones. He wrote about its size, its unnatural stillness, and those eyes—glowing red like coals. Since then, the sightings have never really stopped.
They just surface every so often, always describing the same impossible thing: a dog too big to be real, fur black enough to swallow moonlight, and a stare that feels human in the worst way. But it’s not the sightings that made this creature infamous. It’s what followed them.
Hunting dogs found torn apart with wounds that didn’t match any known predator. Livestock killed in ways locals couldn’t explain. And nearly every time, the trail led back to the old cemetery—back to the crossing waters—back to the place people were told not to go.At the center of this episode is a listener account from Dale, now in his late fifties, who has carried what happened to him for more than forty years.
In the fall of 1975, Dale and his best friend Curtis were fourteen—two mountain kids determined to prove they were grown enough to coon hunt on their own. They headed into the woods with three dogs, including Dale’s prized Bluetick, Jessie. They didn’t realize they were drifting toward Valle Crucis. They didn’t know what the old stories were really warning about.What happened that night near the cemetery changed Dale for good.
He describes something huge stepping out of the darkness. Sounds no normal dog could make. A chase that didn’t feel like a chase—more like something playing with them. And a split-second sacrifice he still hasn’t forgiven himself for. Dale doesn’t try to sell you a theory. He doesn’t dress it up. He just tells you what he saw, what he heard, and what he lost. And the grief in his voice makes it clear: this isn’t a campfire tale.
This is a scar. We’re honored that Dale trusted us with it. Some stories don’t fade with time—they just get heavier. And this one comes with a warning that’s echoed through generations: there are places in these mountains you don’t push your luck in.
Not because you’re superstitious. Because sometimes the old folks were right.So settle in, keep your senses sharp, and walk with us into the Valley of the Cross—where the creek waters meet, the graveyard waits, and something out there still doesn’t want company after dark.