The Choctaw are an American native tribe whose extensive history will tell us they are no strangers to war, whether against neighboring tribes among their own people or against European colonialists. Much like any of our own family histories passed down through the generations, the Choctaw keep their incredible history alive through the telling of stories. Along with their many war stories, however, there appears to exist a somewhat unusual legend that has persisted even in modern times. A tale which presents a truly bizarre and horrifying chapter in Choctaw folklore. While the pale skin and advanced weapons of European soldiers might once have seemed strange to them, this Choctaw legend depicts an enemy far more terrifying than any humans their warriors had yet encountered. I'm Luke LaMana, and this is Wartime Stories. Long before the empires of Europe would set foot on American shores, the indigenous Choctaw people were already well accustomed to war against neighboring tribes. When new conflicts then came to their lands, they were well prepared for it. During the initial 17th century expansion of English, Spanish, and French settlements in the Southeast, the Choctaw allied with the French, primarily to defend against slave raids from other Indian tribes, allied to English colonists, as the Chickasaw.

As increasing numbers of European settlers arrived encroaching onto Choctaw land, the Choctaw adapted. They argued for fair compensation for the use of their lands. They engaged in trade. They took on some amount of technology and adapted to European housing styles, even accepting missionaries to their people. A hundred years later, the Choctaw were fighting in the American Revolutionary War. Their loyalty split, with some bands supporting the Spanish and British forces, and fighting alongside American rebels. Fostering a proud warrior tradition forged in countless battles, the Choctaw never shied away from their enemies. After all, in a world where a tribal people were seemingly in a constant fight, not only for their land, but for their right to merely exist, backing down was rarely an option. At the time our story takes place, the year 1855, the region of land that would become Lafleur County in the future state state of Oklahoma, place host to the proud Indigenous peoples of the Choctaw Nation. The Choctaw were not always native to this particular land, however. These Indigenous people originally occupied a region 600 to 700 miles to the Southeast. In what are now the states of Alabama and Mississippi.

Following various treaties over the previous centuries, and primarily the Treaty of Doke's Stand in 1820, their land was either sold or confiscated. Between 1831 to 1833 was the tragic account of the Trail of Tears, a forced relocation of several native tribes from their Southeastern homelands. 15,000 Choctaw then stoically migrated to their newly designated territory, 2,500 of them dying in route, largely due to exposure, disease, and starvation. With the Choctaw Nation now being consolidated in what was then called Indian Territory, we might presume that by 1855, only 20 years later, the Choctaw people were possibly not yet aware of the existence of a more elusive species of local wildlife and the possible dangers therein, something that would soon change. In the decades preceding the American Civil War, long accustomed to conflict and bloodshed, While they held to their warrior culture and remained vigilant, the Choctaw people had settled momentarily into a more quiet and peaceful farm life. The inhabitants of what would become Lafleur County routinely rubbed shoulders and conducted friendly trade with a few European settlements that bordered their new territory. Such intermingling between these groups would lead to strong unions across both Choctaw and European cultures, including marriage.

The very name of the county, Lafleur, is said to have been derived from a key a figure in this legendary story, Joshua Lafleur. The Lafleur family was notably influential in the region at that time. In 1830, Chief Greenwood Lafleur became the first centralized leader of the now unified Choctaw tribes. Using his power and political influence in the face of a forced migration, it was Chief Lafleur who secured the largest territory of any removed tribe for his people, the fertile forested southeast corner of what is now Oklahoma. Being of French and Choctaw lineage, the Lafleur has quickly gained influence within the community, their interwoven bloodline bridging the gap between Indigenous leaders and federal authorities. Their son, Joshua, was particularly beloved by many members of the community. Though coming from a prominent family well-immersced in American politics, Joshua never thought to separate himself from his Choctaw heritage. Quite the contrary, in a world where children of mixed blood were encouraged or forced to abandon the ways of their indigenous half, Joshua Lafleur eagerly took to the teachings of his elders. His love for the culture and way of life, blending seamlessly with his family's knack for politics, made him the go-to man for anyone in need, settler, Choctaw or otherwise.

Despite the turbulent political atmosphere in the mid-1850s, with tensions between the north and the south, gradually heating to an inevitable boil, life, it seemed for the time being, had reached a gentle stillness in the our county, a stillness that one night came to a startling, abrupt halt. Where is he? No, sir. The Thiefs had left no trace of their presence, a perfectly executed raid that left the unfortunate Choctaw baffled, and worse yet, missing several of the precious livestock their livelihoods depended on. The community of Lafleur County had no way of knowing it at the time, but this seemingly random event would be the opening shots of a most peculiar siege against their settlement, a siege that found the Choctaw now the target of an infuriatingly, mysterially a serious group of bandits. On almost a nightly basis, Choctaw families would be roused by the panic squiels of their livestock, only to arrive far too late to prevent their abduction. Other times, the farmers wouldn't hear so much as a peep, only realizing with the coming dawn that their cattle, swine, and poultry had been snatched away with the subtlety of an expert pickpocket. To combat the bandits, the Choctaw organized mounted patrols, setting off into the surrounding hills and countryside countryside after each nightly raid in attempts to track down the criminals.

With a tradition of hunting and tracking honed through generations of knowledge, the Choctaw were confident that even the most remote depths of the region couldn't shelter the perpetrators from being found and brought to justice. After all, it's not as if any human could carry off their livestock without leaving a trail. However, the clues and tracks all led to nothing. Much to the Choctaw's chagrin, little could be traced of their agitators. It seemed to the Indigenous men that their knack for hunting and tracking was only matched, if not bested, by their adversary's ability to elude detection. Indeed, the Choctaw couldn't help but develop a begrudging respect for the bandit still at large. However, things would soon take a dark, far more sinister turn. The bandits had struck again, though this time, the livestock had been spared. The criminals, it seemed, had their sights on a new set of victims. The Choctaw were no longer safe. A fresh and exceedingly more visceral wave of panic swept through the community. The unknown marauders, stalking uninhibited through the night, now set upon the Choctaw with malevolent intent, ripping women away from their families with the same terrifying elusiveness as their livestock thefts.

As night after terrifying night followed, even the children weren't spared. Lafleur County was now a community governed by fear and paranoia, from which sprang forth a desire for definitive and immediate action. With the Choctaws' desperate plea to local and federal authorities falling on cold in different ears, the Indigenous community, as was so often the case, had only itself to rely on. What do you suggest we do then? Every able man in here, every warrior we can muster, will set out upon the land, and we will not return until our loved ones are safe and the men who wrought such terror brought to justice. Believing their enemies to be human, whether the justice Lafleur spoke of was delivered by the civilized standard of law, by the pull of a trigger or edge of a blade, the Choctaw were indifferent. A dormant fighting spirit had awakened, spearheaded by Joshua and the imposing presence of the men of the Tuba family. Joining Joshua's war party without hesitation, Titans amongst men, Hamas Tuba and his six sons' battlefield prowice was the stuff of legend. Holding to their warrior traditions, they were highly adept at mounted combat. Despite their massive physiques, the tubbies were often referred to as the Light Horsemen.

With Lafleur and the tubbies serving as the Vanguard to a war party, 40 men strong, the Choctaw set off into the unknown. Carried on the wind were the desperate hopes and prayers of their people, eager to see their loved ones return safe and sound. Day by day, the Choctaw pushed ever deeper into the Heartland's expanse, braving everything the unrelenting landscape there to throw at them. Through storms and blistering heat alike, the warriors would not yield in their pursuit. There would be no turning back, no retirement with the setting sun, or clues that led to more dead ends. The Choctaw were on the war path, and only victorious did they intend to return to the embrace of their loved ones. After numerous days of near constant tracking, heeding even the smallest of clues, the Choctaw still found themselves trailing behind their targets. Despite the sagging morale of some of the party's younger warriors, Lafleur's intuition nagged at him. Something told him that the elusive assailants were just beyond their grasp. Maybe they caught Windabus and fled. Could be miles away by now, Joshua. No, they made a claim out here, Hamas. They're not going anywhere. Probably far too stubborn to give up.

Then let pride be their downfall. Let's just make sure that Hubris doesn't come back to bite us. What do you see? Joshua, what did you see? No one knows what Lafleur saw through his binoculars, only that it prompted an immediate urgent response. Tearing off across the plain, the rest of the war party followed in close pursuit. Excitement brewing at the prospect of ending their chase once and for all. However, when the warriors found themselves at the edge of a looming dark, expansive forest, it became apparent that something was very, very wrong. The first thing they noticed was the stench, a thick, foul odor, easily overpowering the lively freshness of the enveloping woods. The Choctaw recoiled at the scent. Though foreign to some of the youngsters, the more seasoned warriors knew it all too well. The unmistakable stench of death and decay. And yet, even the horses, well adapted to the many sights, smells, and hazards of the frontier, were inconsolable at the hands of their riders. Try as the warriors might, most of their animals refused to venture into the forest depths, petrified of whatever lay within its darkened confines. With only the horses of Lafleur and the tubbies being able to carry on, the eight men stepped off as a scouting party, all of their survival instincts screaming in protest as the warm light of day slowly darkened under the forest's looming canopy.

The next thing they noticed was the sheer silence. Despite the abundance of life they were accustomed to hearing and seeing within the forest, here it was eerily still. It was as if Mother Nature herself was hiding in petrified fear of an unseen threat. Still, despite the oppressive darkness and ever-worsening stench, the warriors pushed on with an ever-titling grip on their weapons. Upon approaching a strange clearing within in the otherwise dense thicket, the Choctaw knew that the final confrontation was at hand. However, nothing could prepare them for the nightmarish reality they had quite literally stumbled into. Bodies, dozens of them, loved ones, barely recognizable through mutilation and decay. Their flesh had been ripped away in chunks, devoured by what appeared to be a pack of rabbit animals. Their bodies, what was left of them, had been stacked in a putrid pile at the far end of the clearing. Clouds of fat, glutinous flies swarmed over them as their droning buzz reached an impenetrable din. Further adding to the disgusting horror of the scene, piles of excrement lay scattered about the den, further spoiling the flies. Snap the Choctaw from their horrified gaze, the telling sounds of footsteps drew their attention to the clearing's far edge.

The cowards, it seemed, were fleeing from the very fight they had started. But before Lafleur could muster his men's pursuit, the true face of their enemy stepped into the light of day. What The floor and the tubbies were confronted with was no human adversary, like nothing they had ever seen. These beings were manlike, but far more massive. Their lean bodies were covered in matted hair, lips curled back to reveal a terrifying set of fangs. Black eyes, possessed by violent animal instinct, bore into the souls of the men, now frozen in astonishment, watching as the beast pounded their chest in a primal challenge. The Lafleur sprung into action first, leaving the dumbfounded tubbies behind. Drawing a saber, Lafleur zeroed in on one of the creatures, lining it up for a textbook cavalry-style strike. With calculated patience, the creature held its ground, waiting for the the moment Lafleur's horse would fall just within striking range. With one fell swoop, the beast killed Lafleur's charging horse, taking just one single strike to crush the animal's skull. Tumbling to the ground, Lafleur quickly regained his footing, now confronted by the creature as it closed in on him. Revolver in hand, Lafleur fired the approaching beast, round after round, slamming into the creature, but doing little to stop its advance.

The weapon empty, Lafleur had only his blade to rely on, drawing yet more blood from his assailant. It was a defiant stand, much in line with the proud warrior traditions of his people. However, this was an uneven match. The two remaining creatures quickly moved to assist the first, one of them taking a position directly behind Joshua. Taking the man's head in its massive hands, it swiftly, almost effortlessly, wrenched it from his shoulders. Lafleur's limp, now headless body dropped heavily to the ground. With brutal, terrifying ease, the beast had put an end to Joshua Lafleur. Holding his mangled head aloft, the three animals joined in a terrifying howl to mark their victory, but their celebration was short-lived. Their sudden terror, now turning to rage at seeing their friend Joshua so brutally dispatched, the remaining men quickly dismounted their horses, then leveling their rifles on the creatures. Despite their brute strength, not even the beast could stand firm against the Choctaus Buffalo rifles. The three massive creatures shuttered under the fresh wave of 50 caliber gunfire. Only one of them, now badly wounded, survived the initial volley, then attempting to crawl away. With a cold disposition, Robert, Hamas' 18-year-old son, approached the wounded creature, his clenched fist firmly gripping a razor-sharp dagger.

After everything they had witnessed, the warriors were in no mood to grant their enemy any ounce of amnesty. As the looming gun smoke cleared to reveal a scene of carnage, it was the Choctaw who now stood victorious. But for the warriors that remained, there was nothing to celebrate. There would be no happy reunions in Lafleur County. A darkness descended upon the community. On top of Joshua's death, what little hope its people held onto so dearly that their loved ones may yet be saved was now completely and utterly dashed. But for the warriors who had ventured out into the depths of the heartland, the unspeakable horrors they had confronted would haunt them for the rest of their days. In the stillness of the night, as they attempted to sleep, they couldn't shake the image of those horrid creatures, their eyes piercing through the darkness. Sometimes, when the wind carried just right over the rolling hills, the blood-curling howls of the beings taunted the Choctaw, echoing over a land vast and mysterious. The tale of the Choctaws battle with a colony of Sasquatch is certainly an anomaly in the vast realm of crypted lore. Despite the myriad of bizarre encounters with similar creatures all over the world, few suggest that humanity has ever went to war with factions of hostile Bigfoots.

So where does that leave us with this tale? Did the citizens of Lafleur County truly come face to face with such terror in 1855? Or is it just another tall tale sprung forth from the vast catalog of frontier myths and legends? For starters, the very setting of the story appears to be well rooted in actual truths. Lafleur County, as it was in 1855, has remained the seat of the Chocton Nation of Oklahoma. Likewise, the Lafleur family, Joshua included, are notably dominant in the county's official historical records. Likewise, Hamas Tuba and his formidable sons make appearances in mid-19th century documents relative to the Lafleur County area. However, so far as historical documentation goes, that's where the trail starts to get a bit muddy. While Joshua Lafleur was very much a real individual, there's no record of his death indicating that he died in any combat-related manner, let alone at the hands of a crypted beast. It is otherwise proposed that Lafleur County was simply named for his family's influence rather than for any specific family member. After all, it was Chief Greenwood Lafleur that had secured this desirable region of land for their tribe following the forced migration in the 1830s.

But if it was Joshua's sacrificial death that can be credited, the naming of a county is something that would seem to make this bizarre story less of a fancivil legend and more of a keynote in the established history of both the Choctaw Nation and the state of Oklahoma. But when is the last time anyone read about Bigfoot in a history book? Even today, many people still remain skeptical of the creature's existence. Further damaging to the story's credibility are the notable lack of articles, diary entries, or personal correspondence, even hinting at anything going so horribly awry in Lafleur County. Though there is little to no substantial proof to back the story, the concept of Sasquatch is something that many Indigenous peoples are well-versed in. Tales of beastly woodsmen, massive, hairy, violent, and elusive, these can be found woven into the mythologies of not only the Choctaw, but many native peoples all over the continent. Across a wide array of cultures, Bigfoot, or other such creatures that fall under the same banner, largely share the same imposing description. However, their behavior and temperament seems to vary greatly, depending on the region. To some native tribes, Bigfoot is a mysterious, if not benign presence, keeping to himself within the rugged hills and deep forests of his territory.

To others, such creatures are seen as curious and mischievous, stealing trinkets and spooking their human counterparts, but otherwise remaining harmless. But there do exist other tales of much more aggressive beings, creatures hunt down, and if indigenous folklore is to be believed, have even engaged in warfare with native tribes. In these iterations, Bigfoot is known to abduct women and children, even going so far as to devour their flesh. While some sasquatch stories paint the creatures as being solitary and isolated, the renditions of these more warlike beings paint them as living together in family units or even sizable colonies. One example of a creature bearing a a different name, but a similar description, is the Shampay. Described as an imposing giant of a creature, covered in thick, matted hair and reeking of an unbearable stench, the Shampay is similarly said to dwell in the dense forests of the Heartland. Though his physical attributes differ from story to story, Laure commonly depicts the Shampay as a man-eater, acting with open hostility towards any humans in its territory. By all accounts, it is a beast that any the self-respecting Choctaw would avoid at all costs. With such a rich mythology existing within the cultural realms of numerous Native American histories, is it possible that the Choctaw or any other such nation could have engaged in a flashpoint war with a colony of such creatures.

Much of what was experienced by the Native Americans has unfortunately been lost to undocumented history. If anything would survive through the generations of Choctaw storytellers, it would, of course, be such extraordinary legends. We may take it for granted that even our history books may portray only a limited understanding of large-scale wars, let alone a skirmish between a small rural town and a band of monstrous supposedly mythological, Thiefs. If such a creature was unheard of, it is, of course, doubtful that this story has any truth to it. However, that is hardly the case. Bigfoot sightings and even violent encounters, along with witness accounts of similarly described beings on nearly every other continent, are among the most prevalent types of cryptid encounters reported over the last century. In the end, the fact that this legend still exists alongside many more contemporary stories about similar creatures, it is at least enough to make one ponder. In the shadows of the heartlands rolling hills, open plains, and hundreds of millions of acres of forests, can we be absolutely certain that there is no truth to such a story? Wartime Stories is created and hosted by me, Luke LaMana. Executive produced by Mr.

Balin, nick Widders, and Zack Levet. Written by Jake Howard and myself. Audio editing and sound design by me, Cole Lacashio and Whit Lacashio. Additional editing by Davin Intag and Jordan Stidham. Research by me, Jake Howard, Evan Beamer, and Camille Callahan. Mixed and mastered by Brandon Cain. Production supervision by Jeremy Bone. Production coordination by Avery Siegel. Additional production support by Brooklyn Gooden. Artwork by Jessica Clarks & Kiner, Robin Vane, and Piccata. If you'd like to get in touch or share your own story, you can email me at info@wartimestories. Com. Thank you so much for listening to Wartime Stories.