In the summer of 1973, the police in Murfreesboro, Illinois, started filing reports about a monster. These weren't rumors or barstool talk. They were patrol reports, logged in military time, describing a pale, mud-matted creature taller than a man that shrieked from the riverbank and stank of sewage.
There had been a warning shot. Leroy Summers called police in Cairo, Illinois, to report a dirty white, hairy creature, 10 feet tall and standing on two legs near the Ohio River levee. Nobody else saw a thing. Then, the following summer, something turned up 59 miles up the road.
A town that doesn't scare
Murfreesboro had faced worse than rumors. The town was built on land donated by Dr. John Logan, the Civil War general and senator who did more than anyone to create Memorial Day. In March 1925 a tornado slammed into Murfreesboro, wiped out 154 city blocks and killed 234 people, the highest tornado death toll for any single community in US history. The town rebuilt in less than five years. In December 1957 another tornado killed 10 people, and Murfreesboro rebuilt again. These were the descendants of coal miners, rail workers and farmers, and they didn't scare easily.
Down by the boat ramp
At 11:55 p.m. on June 25, 1973, 19-year-old Randy Needham walked into the police station. He'd been parked at the boat ramp in Riverside Park, overlooking the Big Muddy River, with his girlfriend Judy Johnson, whose father had forbidden her to see him. A scream tore out of the woods, a roar "like an eagle shrieking into a microphone," then something crashed through the brush. Randy flicked on the headlights. A creature about seven feet tall, its light-colored fur matted with mud, was walking toward the car on two legs, and it smelled like sewage and river mud.
Going to the police meant Judy's father would find out everything. Ron Manwaring, then a patrol officer and later police chief, saw that as the best evidence they were telling the truth: "There was no advantage for them to come up and report this."
Officers James Nash and Merrill Lindsay went out skeptical. At the boat ramp they found impressions in the mud three to four inches deep and 10 to 12 inches long. Their report says flatly: "It is unknown what made the impressions." As Nash bent over for a closer look, a shriek came out of the bushes. "This is the most incredible shriek I've ever heard," he said. He ran so fast he dropped his service pistol.
Around 2 a.m. the officers came back with Deputy Scott and Needham. They found more prints, some five to six feet apart, no two spaced the same. Then the roar came again from about 100 yards off, and everyone retreated to the squad car. They searched until sunup and heard only splashing in the distance.
The dog that wouldn't go in
The next night, June 26, Cheryl Ray and her boyfriend Randy Creath were talking on her family's patio when a creature seven or eight feet tall, pale and dirty white, walked out of a patch of trees. Creath, whose father was a former state trooper turned Baptist minister, switched on the porch lights and walked straight toward it, getting within 30 to 40 feet. He called it "at least as stocky as a New York football player," with fur "long and hairy like an English sheepdog."
Jerry Nellis brought Reb, a German shepherd trained to attack, search buildings and track. Reb followed a trail of slime down the hill and around a pond, hesitating each time he found more of it. When Nellis rubbed the slime between his fingers, it left them black. By then 14 officers were on the scene.
Then Reb broke away and raced to an abandoned barn next door. At the door he stopped, shaking, yelping like a hurt puppy. He would not go in. When Nellis pushed him inside, the dog ran right back out. The men searched the barn and found nothing. Nellis said the dog "had never backed down from anything."
A neighbor had one more detail. About 10 minutes before the sighting, his five-year-old son Christian had been catching fireflies with a mason jar when a huge pale shape loomed over the fence. The boy ran inside, sobbing that there was "a large ghost in their backyard."
This monster story wasn't built on campfire legend. It was built on police reports, written by officers who went to see for themselves. They came back believing the witnesses, and the Big Muddy Monster is still an unsolved case on the Murphysboro Police Department's books.
Curious about the ponies
At 2 a.m. on July 7, carnival workers camped in Riverside Park heard their Shetland ponies whinnying and pulling at their tethers. Standing near the ponies was a creature seven to eight feet tall, covered in light brown hair, that "seemed to be curious of them and made no advance." An hour later it came back. Carnival owner Burt Miller held off calling police, worried the news would scare away paying customers.
Word got out anyway. Hundreds of people, many of them armed, stomped through Riverside Park, and the police chief now had to worry about townspeople shooting each other. Farm resident Nedra Green heard a "shrill piercing scream" behind her garden shed, left the matter to the Lord and went to bed.
Sightings trickled on. In 1975 four truckers reported a huge bearlike animal on the highway, and two men gigging frogs, or spearing them with a multi-pronged gig, saw a white, shaggy creature. In 1976 the Mifflin children watched something big walk through the woods while their dog barked and refused to follow, and three 11-year-old boys chasing a baseball met a gray, hairy thing with arms that reached the ground. Chief Toby Berger suggested a black bear. The county conservation officer shot that down: "All the bears in this part of the world have been killed off."
A specimen, please
Serious people wrote in. Leigh Van Valen, a University of Chicago professor, sent the chief a careful set of instructions: "If the creature is shot, it is important that it not be buried." He asked that the body be preserved, shipped to a scientist and billed to him. Decades later Loren Coleman, founder of the International Cryptozoology Museum (cryptozoology being the search for animals science hasn't confirmed), explained why no Bigfoot body ever turns up: "Nature is very efficient when it comes to disposing of the dead."
The creature hasn't been seen in Murfreesboro since 1976. In 2023, nearly 50 years after that night at the boat ramp, the town unveiled a nine-foot bronze statue on Muddy Monster Road. The case is still one of the few unsolved files in the police department's long history. The officers who worked it believed the witnesses, and no evidence of a hoax has ever turned up.
