Dr Jacqueline Coombe
speaker
815 appearances
3 recordings
3 series
first heard Jun 2026
last heard 1 Jul
Dr Jacqueline Coombe’s voice in public audio — every appearance, attributed to the second.
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recordings per month · last 12 monthsRecordings per month over the last 12 months — 3 in all, peaking in Jun 2026 with 2.
Appearances
Dad had taught me everything he knew of deer hunting.
"'Consolation for the son he had not gotten, unsure what else to do with the daughter he had.
"'And all the while, I could not explain what I thought I might be to him or Mom.
"'These were things I wanted to be for both of them, and things I wanted to be for myself that always seemed incompatible with that vision.
"'In the solitude of the cabin, my what no longer haunted me so closely.'
Penny and I only visited the house sporadically until I hit retirement, when I decided I would rather keep Grandpa's old, rotting cabin than my tidy city house.
Two weeks after the movers had dropped off the last boxes, the place finally felt like home.
Town was a twenty-minute drive into the valley, and the closest neighbor was a mile off.
I could live without the pressure of others' eyes, and I pulled down every mirror that reminded me my body was an unsolvable alien thing.
All I needed to do, when closing night threatened to throw my face back off the windows, was draw the curtains.
I made new ones myself on Mom's old sewing machine.
After dinner, I tongued at the hoax corpse's possible flaws like stuck food.
I couldn't believe it was real, but a dreamy part of me wanted such a hybrid body to be possible.
To set my mind at ease, I excavated boxes of Dad's stuff from the disorganized piles of basement detritus and hauled them into the kitchen.
His cryptid society journals and newspaper clippings were as useless as I expected them to be, but Dad's own scrapbooks gave me a shock.
A few grainy photos stuck out from between the pages of a small notebook.
One clearly knocked me from my chair, likely taken from a deer stand in the cold early morning dark.
Brown feathered arms drooping at their sides, reflective eyes, bright discs in the camera flash, nose and mouth joined in what looked like a dark beak.
Dad's chicken scratch labeled the Polaroid, Mountain Goose.
Dazed and puzzled, I read the tracking record.
Showing 21–40 of 815 · page 2 of 41
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