![]() South County's leading bit of folklore sometimes appropriates the narrative from popular urban legends and grafts on geographic particulars to give it its local flavor. More specifically, the victim of the Proctor Valley Monster. When sheriff's deputies helped her from the car the next day, she saw that the scratching on the roof had been her boyfriend's fingernails his arms dangling from a body torn and bloody and hanging upside down from a tree, the victim of a bestial attack. ![]() The girl's fright turned to panic and finally to abject terror. Were they tree branches scratching against the roof? The eerie silence was punctuated only by the sound of. The longer he was gone, the more frightened she became, isolated in darkness. The boy warned the girl to lock the doors and stay put while he sought help. ![]() When the young couple decided to return to town, the car wouldn't start. A place far from street lights, parents and police. A place boys lured their dates or drank beer. It was the kind of place kids find at the edges of small towns. It was nothing but a dirt road coursing through acres of rolling fields about 10 miles east of Bonita. They weren't the first boy and girl to seek seclusion in Proctor Valley. Richard Pena of Bonita holds up a concrete casting of what South County lore identifies as a footprint of the Proctor Valley Monster. Since Hunting Season is over, this may be the next best thing.
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