Stop playing games. You know we're here, and you should leave now.
The teller lives on Australia's east coast, near one of the country's Yowie hotspots, and has spent years camping and fishing in the bush, including many solo nights deep in the Blue Mountains. They had heard strange noises, felt watched and found odd stick structures far from any trail. They had never seen a Yowie, though, and couldn't honestly say they were convinced.
Small things kept happening. Once, on an animal track, they heard a noise to their left and stopped to stare at it. A pebble then sailed over their head from the opposite direction and landed in front of them. When they turned toward it, they heard something move where they had just been looking. Another time, walking a muddy trail in the rain, they quietly asked in their head for some sign. They said they had no camera and only wanted to know. An hour later, coming back down the same track, they found a large white feather pushed upright into the mud in the middle of the path, at about the spot where they'd asked. They kept it in their pack for a long time.
The biggest sign came on a remote walk with their wife, a long way into the bush. The nearest town was about twenty kilometres away. For the whole walk they had been hearing distant chatter, like children talking and laughing, too faint to make out.
About two hours in they turned back toward the car. The moment they did, a single loud knock rang out from the bush, the sound of wood hitting a tree. Both of them stopped. The teller's wife doesn't believe in Yowies, but she knows the lore, and she joked that it sounded like a signal telling the others they were heading back.
Half as a joke, the teller suggested they turn around again and walk on as if continuing their original route. They took five steps and there was another sharp knock, close by, somewhere in bush so thick they could only see ten metres in. The birds and insects had gone silent. Spooked now, the wife said that was enough and they really were going back to the car.
They turned around. After no more than three steps there was an enormous crack, as loud as a gunshot and louder than anything the teller had ever heard in the bush, the sound of a big tree snapping in half and going over. There was no wind. They never saw the tree, only heard it, but the teller was so startled they felt disoriented for a moment.
Neither of them wanted to investigate. They walked out to the car, talking the whole way about the timing, and nothing else happened. The teller says the message felt clear enough: stop playing games, you know we're here, and you should leave now.
They still hope to see a Yowie one day. They say they don't want a photo or a video, only the chance to know for themselves.