How Hot is Florida’s Bigfoot? Let’s Find Out!

Rating Florida Cryptids

Photo by Jen Shish on Unsplash

It’s August, and spooky season is upon us.

What’s that? We only just passed July 4th? And you’re concerned about the proliferation of Halloween encroaching months ahead of time in the same way Christmas does?

Listen, I’m not here to make a judgement on that, since I’m an early adopter of Summerween. But for me, August has always felt a little bit on spookier side. The last vestiges of summer are marked by a humid, sticky heat. I’ve referred to August as the Season of Decay. We’ve hit a point where anywhere outside of the south will start to transition to fall, but all we have down here is the cloying, sweaty, half-eaten, red-candy sun.

It always reminds me of my short story collection, In Absence (shameless plug) which was about grieving and horror, and…mosquitos.

Anyway, to mark this spooky season, let’s explore Florida Cryptids and Legends, and then rate them. The criteria: vibes. We’ll rate by fear factor and f*ck factor, or how well these creepy cryptids could transition in Monster-Lover Romance Book Protagonists.

The Squallies

Fear Factor: 2/5 F*ck Factor: 1/5

Over on the west coast is the legend of the short, pig-faced humanoids known as the Squallies. They reside in the woods and glades near the Golden Gate Estates. This group of somewhat side-species are thought to either be the result of pre-war military experiments or a native species. According to some cryptid enthusiasts their numbers are dwindling, and there are something like eight left in the wild. They also like to eat people, because of course they do.

Maybe I’m underestimating the scariness, but a group of pig-people hanging out near an upscale suburb doesn’t really get me to quiver in either direction. They really read like the townies of cryptids.

Considering they seem to be on the verge of extinction, maybe someone should start a #SavetheSquallies campaign?

Also, since someone always brings this up, there is a local band by that name. I’m unable to confirm or deny whether they have any relation to the actual pig people though.

The Skunk Ape

Fear Factor: 2/5

F*ck Factor: 3/5

Photo by The New York Public Library on Unsplash of a Long-Armed Gibbon

This giant ape-man has definitely earned his place as Florida’s most well-known cryptid. There are actually substantially more sightings of the Skunk Ape than his northwest counterpart, Bigfoot, going back to the early 1900s. It’s said that you will smell him long before you see him; a smell from being in the swamps and murky waters. That rumored smell is what brings his score down in the romance department. Otherwise, there are no shortage of Big Foot romance books out there. And at least one Skunk Ape book (please tell me he bathes).

As for fear, he’s really mostly known for vandalism and property damage. Apparently he spooks easily. Honestly would rather encounter him over a man or bear in the woods. Hopefully, I won’t pass out from the stink.

Watchers/Shadow People/Dark Men

Fear Factor: 3/5

F*ck Factor: 5/5

This is one of those legends that Florida shares with folks in the Appalachians. You’ll find them referred by different names depending on the region. These are shadowing figures that…well…watch. That’s largely it. They stare at you. Sometimes they are all black and you can only see the whites of their eyes. Sometimes, like the Dark Men of Ocala, they have a trench coat and hat, maybe because its cold? Sometimes they are children (not part of consideration for the romance rating, but very much for the creepy one).

A lot of folks report seeing watchers on the side of the roads for the highways and interstates in heavily wooded areas. This is separate from the hitchhiking ghosts on alligator alley, who will warn you about water-related disasters or who look like drowning victims.

They aren’t all that scary; in most cases all they do is watch you from the forest. There are disappearances sometimes linked to them, or they are seen as omens of something to come. The eek-factor stems more from a silent being hovering close by, looking at you with an unblinking gaze.

If anything, there is a lot of ripeness for romance-book potential with beings that are essentially a blank slate. Literal “shadow daddies” if you will. Even if all they do is watch, there are plenty of folks into that sort of thing.

Snoligoster

Fear Factor: 5/5

F*ck Factor: 4/5

When it comes to Florida bodies of water, there is one rule: if its wet, there is likely a gator in it. This includes fountains, koi ponds, and swimming pools, and whatever else. And this isn’t limited to gators. We are a shark-bite capital along with endemic crocodiles and numerous snakes that love them some water. No matter if its the glades, lakes, sink holes, rivers, or the beach, there is likely something there that is waiting to eat or bite you.

Its no surprise then, that Florida does not lack in the water monster department. There’s the St. Augustine Monster (which turned out to be a whole lot of blubber). “Old Hitler,” who is not Ron DeSantis’s dad but a ginormous hammerhead shark that has apparently been cruising the shores of Florida since World War II (1). The giant St. Johns River Monster, also known as Pinky, either pink or grey depending on the day, horned beast that loves to munch on water hyacinth.

That last one is rather wholesome.

But it’s the Snoligoster that warrants a place on this list. A massive crocodile/serpent hybrid prowling around Okeechobee waiting to snatch up some sucker lost in the sawgrass. Snoligoster is a massive, armored serpent outfitted with a propeller-like tail, crocodile jaws, and a spike on its back. It impales its victims on the spike on its back (2). Then when it is ready to eat, removes the bodies, pulverizes the carcasses with its tail, and then slurps them up like pudding.

Seems like a very elaborate way to eat and a waste of those jaws but I like it when my coffee comes with latte art, so who am I to judge?

The glades is one of the most stunning places on earth, but it is also an area of deep terrible mystery. The Snoligoster is like the Loch Ness’s terrible Florida cousin (you all know at least one).

It gets high marks in the romance department because I can absolutely see someone making this a shifter-monster romance. Then again, they’re fucking the dinosaurs, so have at it!

Stikini

Fear Factor: 5/5

F*ck Factor: 4/5

This is actually the only cryptid on this list that gives me the heebies and the jeebies. Don’t ask me why, but the Stikini absolutely frighten me. I don’t even like saying the name aloud after dark.

The Stikini is a Seminole belief surrounding owl shapeshifters. Stikini are powerful people who can transform into giant human-owl hybrids by vomiting up their internal organs. They then use this form to exact revenge or target people. This is a great article about them. In some versions, they eat human hearts or fatty organs.

Owls are associated with mysticism across cultures, including indigenous cultures like those mentioned in the linked article. This gets translated into other colonized groups. Across the Latinidad, we have our own legends of la lechuza. In Cuba, ours are witches that can mess with time and people.

And before you poo-poo the fearsomeness of giant owls, I will remind you that there are plenty of owl species that are apex predators. They move silently and swiftly in the dark. They eat creatures practically whole. And how often have you heard the hoot of an owl and been unable to locate it?

A giant owl that can stalk you on a camping trip in the pine forest for funsies, is, in fact, wildly frightening. Its said that the way to destroy one is to find their organs and burn them. Good luck finding that on a moonless night.

The high F*ck Factor is due to the fact that there are lots, and lots, and lots of animal-shifter romances. There is a cultural element there, but I wouldn’t be surprised if an owl-shifter romance already exists.

Rainbow People of Ocala National Forest

Fear Factor: 5/5

F*ck Factor: 1/5

Ocala National Forest — National Geographic

You will never catch me in Ocala National Forest after dark or outside of the popular trails. It’s beautiful there, but the vibes of that place are all the way off. Plus, you know, all the murder victims that have been lost or found there.

There are plenty of parks and preserves emanating that eerie feeling. There is, of course, the Devil’s Tree in Oak Hammock Park in Port St. Lucie. The caves in North Florida have their own lore. And of course, anywhere in the glades, cypress domes of Hammocks evoke a sense of creepiness.

But Ocala National Forest has a set of legendary residents that give an ick and a shiver at the same time.

Now there are two groups of Rainbow People that are associated with Ocala National Forest. One is the Rainbow Family of Living Light who are a group of hippies that meet in the forest in January through March. They camp there, share art, play music, and generally have a good time. This is not about them. They aren’t scary unless you have a phobia of Peter, Paul, and Mary acoustic covers.

There is another rumored set of wild, murderous cannibals living deep in parts of the forest. They are said to be severely inbred a la Hills Have Eyes. They are also called the Rainbow People or Rainbow Men because they paint their bodies as camouflage. You have to watch out for them if you are swimming in the springs or kayaking along the rivers because those are their popular hunting grounds. You might catch their wide-eyed, unblinking stare from the tree line. Waiting to see if you land or trip up on your way.

I cannot emphasize how much of a niche legend this is. But ask folks who’ve been to the park if they’ve ever had the sensation that someone was watching them on a hike. Or that they heard something large stalking them even in broad daylight.

And maybe that’s just a legend, loosely tied to the disappearances that have happened in the area. Or the brutal murders associated with the park. But humans are our own terrible beasts, who often hurt or kill one another. That’s what earns this legend a five out of five fear factor.

And I have no idea how you’d make any of that romantic (3).

Feed Me Your Tales

Do you have any Florida cryptids you think deserve a spot? Or any local legends you would like to share? Or have you ever come face-to-face with a squally or a skunk ape? Comment below!

(1) The only way I can explain that name is the fact that Florida is full of edge lords from then until now.

(1.b.) That crack about DeSantis is low-hanging fruit — which is the only fruit DeSantis can reach without heels.

(2) How it is able to impale them without any arms is anyone else’s guess.

(3) Unless they were targeting the developers that bribe local councils to let them build of Florida’s quickly dwindling wilderness. Then I could see it. Some heroes wear body paint.

This is part 9 of a series for a personal challenge to blog every week for 39 weeks. Read more about that here. And if you like horror, myths, and legends, check out my short story collections MONSTROSITY and In Absence.