Imagine you live in a rural area in the Appalachian Mountains. You have a large, hilly yard with a small garden, little shed, and even a few fruit trees; to one side is a cow pasture, on the other, a clump of forest. Animals often come visit your home, stealing a few fruits and vegetables, occasionally making a mess. But one day, you wake to something more out of the ordinary. Your trees have been destroyed. Large branches have snapped from their trunks, lying in splinters among a mass of leaves and twigs in the grass. Scratches are gouged into the wood as if something clumsily climbed the trees, slid haphazardly down, and then climbed them again. All fruit has been stripped from above, eaten entirely or partially discarded in disgusting, chewed-up bits; ants and bees swarm the sweet litter. A cow munches lazily on the larger pieces left behind, watching you. Several wander through your yard, invading through a chaotically broken section of fencing. Most strange, a few small, muddy hand prints are pressed onto your house's siding, a few of the windows, and your car door. No one else on your road heard or saw or experienced anything unusual.

What would you think? What would you do?

Well, a man from Hillsboro, West Virginia did nothing, shrugging it off as something weird, the antics of a bear. He quickly forgot about it... until it happened again several years later. Here's what he told me:

Late one night, a loud crash woke him up. He was too groggy to recall the sound's specifics—all he remembered was that it was very loud and it came from outside. He jumped out of bed and grabbed a handgun off the nightstand, then a flashlight off the windowsill, heart pounding. Running to the back door, he flung it open and poked his head out, yelling obscenities and whatever else came to mind.

Lately, he had been having trouble at home. Someone kept trespassing on his property, either late at night or while he was gone, making him feel on edge and paranoid. Several times, they had siphoned gas from his vehicles, and three times, stolen tools from his shed. He assumed it was them again, and was hopeful he'd catch them in the act this time. But, when he pointed the flashlight towards the driveway, he didn't see anyone. He did, however, hear something.

To his right, he heard rustling in the bushes that grew against his trailer. The ones right under his bedroom window. Whatever it was sounded slow and big. Shining the light in its direction, he was stunned by what he saw, nearly dropping his flashlight. At the corner of the house was a creature; it was hunched over and hiding. It was about the size of a black bear, but had dirty, matted red hair covered in leaves and debris. It jerked as the light came over it, turning and facing him. Its face was dark and obscured by shadow, but he could tell it wasn't hairy there, sort of like a gorilla. He could see the glint of two wide eyes staring back at him for a second, as stunned as he was. Grunting, it flung upward, hopping backward while giving a small yell, stumbling briefly on all fours. It ran surprisingly quickly away with its squat, waddling body. Even more unbelievable, it ran away on two legs.

He tried to chase after it, but it seemed to vanish into thin air. Confused and, he admitted, scared, he walked back to the end of the house. There was a long, sturdy stick and part of an apple. Looking around with the flashlight, he returned inside and waited for something to happen. He laid down, waiting for something to attack, make noise. Eventually, he tried to get some sleep. He expected the thing to immediately return, but it didn't. Regardless, he didn't sleep well.

In the morning, he looked around the property before leaving for work. There were scattered, half-eaten apples and pieces of cores everywhere. His apple tree had been attacked once more. Large limbs and branches littered his front yard. Part of his garden had been dug up, and it looked like something had tried to pry the door of his truck open.

Thinking about the encounter for several years, today L. M. believes he saw some kind of bigfoot. A little one. Maybe a young one. He thought it was possible that things had been exaggerated all this time and that bigfeet weren't really as tall as people said. He hasn't seen it again since then, sometime in the mid 1990s, but it is something he hasn't been able to stop thinking about. For a while, he set fruit out on his porch, and later, in the far back of his property, hoping to catch the creature on an outdoor camera. But it has decidedly not stopped by for a visit.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YhUMRXsvRmY

To his surprise, L. M. isn't the only person to have seen a creature like this, he's only the most recent witness in West Virginia. In the southeast, a short, fat, smelly, reddish-brown-haired, primate-like animal was being spotted by locals again and again and again in the 60s. Reports materialized of these humanoids vandalizing fruit trees and orchards, leaving hordes of half-eaten apples and other refuse behind, damaging (and sometimes completely demolishing) fencing, sheds, and foliage. Was something attracted by an easy meal, or perhaps pushed by starvation? Whatever it was, it feasted unabashedly near businesses and homes. But once detected, the thing fled, shrilly yelping and disappearing. Most of these early sightings were brought forward by farmers and rural residents from Marlinton, West Virginia, a small town alongside the Greenbrier River in the southeast part of the state. Today, it is sparsely inhabited, with fewer than 1,000 residents—none of whom have publicly reported seeing a little, red bigfoot.

Called many names, and similar to Pennsylvania's Albatwitch or Ohio's Pinefolk, these Apple Devils live only in conversation, memory. You'll only find mentions of it in old local newspaper clippings that aren't the easiest to find and get a hold of. There are no photos, remains, fossils, or any other physical evidence left behind. It is likely, and most probable, that they never existed at all. But... what if they were real? What would they be like? What if everything said about them was true?

I'm Ballyraven, your cryptid guide. Today, we're going to imagine what an Apple Devil would be like if it truly existed and was exactly as described. We'll be referencing animals that are similar in appearance or behavior, basing our theoretical Devil off of them. On this walk, we will be traveling to this cryptid's home range: the western portion of the Monongahela National Forest. This includes the Watoga State Park, Calvin Price State Forest, the Spice Run Wilderness, and the Cranberry Glades. Part of the Allegheny Mountain range, this western region is rainier and wetter than the other side. Be prepared to slosh through spongy, newly thawed earth, muddy puddles, and a bit of flooded field, as we wander past the bright, almost neon-green of spring growth, over carpets of mosses, and under spruces, hemlocks, birches, and maples.

Deep into the wilderness, almost all human noise is gone, replaced by the sounds of wind in the branches, birds in the trees, and our own steps. The air is still crisp, a little foggy, and wet. A mild drizzle follows us, small, cold droplets pinging off leaves and branches and landing on your head. Suddenly, ahead of us, we see it in a not-so-distant valley. The animal sticks out against the greenery. It looms over a thicket, pulling sprouts from the ground with three large fingers. Grinding with its back teeth, it busily digs into the earth, collecting roots and worms, eating each as discovered. It is covered in red hair, more muted than you expected, more of a reddish-brown, like a beaver. While they are furry creatures, they are also bare in certain areas: the hands, feet, bottom, and face. From afar, you can spot tufts of hair on its knuckles and toes. The upper lip's edges are as fuzzy as a teenager's first mustache; thicker hair lines their jaw, forming a dense ring around the face. It's body is stout, wide, and covered in clumps of wet dirt and mud. Sticks, leaves, and pebbles are intertwined in the hair, twisted knots of debris.

It continues to graze, turning our way. It takes notice of us on the hill quickly, freezing in response. It stares dumbly up at you from a crouch. It appears to be smiling. A wide grin, several blocky, yellow-brown teeth are visible on the top and bottom; two long, thick, blunt canines poke out from the upper jaw, curving slightly outward. This is not a smile, but an expression called a "fear grimace." It is a sign of stress, submission. It recognizes you as dangerous, its small chin quivering. Like a chimp, the Devil has a protruding muzzle and broad, flat nose. Their forehead is tall, furrowed, capable of emoting in an almost familiar way. Almost worriedly. Two beady, black eyes watch you fearfully. Small ears protrude above and behind the eyes. A thick, muscular neck keeps its tall, oval head in place. It is nearly completely still, watching you, clasping its hands against its chest, thick, rough, long-nailed fingers curling, uncurling. You are close enough that you can smell it on the breeze—and it is an unpleasant smell, at that. Distinctly sour, slightly acidic, and rotten like eggs, it is not a mixture you've smelled before, nor will forget.

The Devil's eyes and mouth widen, its lips pulling back above and below, exposing black gums; if it had eyebrows, they would be raised high with surprise. The animal's breathing quickens, yet shallows, visible by its puffing, hairy chest. Suddenly, it violently turns, giving a loud yelp before tearing through the forest. You hear its broad, hand-like feet slapping against the damp ground, bounding through the underbrush. We try to follow its trail alongside the boardwalk, but don't see it anywhere nearby. Don't hear it moving anymore, either. We can smell it, though. It is somewhere close... Then, you hear something. Its heavy breathing. Looking up, you see it hanging onto a large tree; high up, it looks down at you, gripping the trunk with arms and legs, still smiling. We take a few steps back and avoid looking at it. Maybe if we watch and follow from a distance, it will get used to us. Or, at least, forget we were there from time to time. Finding a dry section of dirt on the path, we sit and wait, peering up with binoculars.

Out of all the bigfeet described in West Virginia, these are the smallest and most docile, ranging between 4 - 5 feet tall, and weighing an estimated 100 - 200 lbs. Unlike many of the state's primate-type cryptids, Apple Devils are arboreal, meaning they spend most of their time in the trees. Things of interest, though, like food, may coerce them down to the ground. These apes are frugivores, meaning they survive mostly off of fruit. Predominantly vegetarian, they graze on persimmons, berries, pawpaws, shadbushes, and other available fruits, in addition to blossoms, leaves, herbs, seeds, bark, and young plants. That doesn't mean they won't eat a tasty bug that crosses their path, nor, would they turn away an easy, meaty meal, like a field mouse, squirrel, or other woodland animal. Even the most skittish and nonthreatening of herbivores can be driven to eat meat, especially during times of starvation, as can be experienced in the winter; even deer have been recorded eating injured rabbits and birds. The old female stares down at us, still and quiet. Gray streaks through the hair on her temple. Her wrinkled eyes squint, dart to the right, shoot nervously back down to us, then right again. Following her gaze, more reddish hair is visible a few trees away. Two small heads poke out from a branchy nest balanced high on a thick, sturdy limb. One reaches an arm up, pulling itself higher for a better view. It clumsily waves a stick in the air. Above us, the Devil cautiously climbs higher, reaching for a neighboring tree's branch. She moves slowly, grabbing and stepping carefully, avoiding making noise.

A crack behind us grabs our attention. A fourth Devil is perched in a tall maple. This male is much smaller than the other Devil, even with its hair puffed up on end; it is likely still a juvenile. He holds onto a branch above him with one arm, staring at us intensely. He bares teeth that look too big for his head. Not wanting to cause the family more stress, we back away, careful to not look up at them, and return to the trail. The rain picks up, muffling the shake of leaves and creak of branches as the bigfeet gather together in their nest.

If you'd like to read more about the Apple Devil, see my artwork of them, and view the sources I used, visit: www.ballyraven.com/encyclopedia/apple-devil