I can't stay silent for another day. I have the right amount of booze
in me to relive this one more time, but not so much that I'm
in coherent. It was a summer of nineteen ninety two, and I had
decided to live the best summer of my life before becoming a productive member of
society. I fished, encamped, and hiked throughout my entire youth, but
that was all about to come to an end with two simple words, I
do. I left my parents' house early that morning with my pistol on my
hip. I had a rifle. The park I was headed to was a
couple of hours away and not often visited by anyone. I had heard all
the while stories about it, and I was anxious to see it for myself.
At first glance, I was not disappointed. Off in the distance,
I could see the open patches high up on the hills and bordered by clusters
of trees. To the left of the road was a dry river bed that
would make an easy trail for me. Time stood still in this place.
Old moss covered rock fences were the only evidence that human hands had ever been
there. I was thrilled as I took my first step, wondering what lay
before me, if only I had known. After a couple of hours and
a few stops, I came to a spot where the creek narrowed with a
three foot bank. A cluster of trees sat to the left, and to
the right was an open field of wild flowers. The wind that I had
heard whistling through the trees all day was gone, and I was suddenly aware
of something dark. It was a gut twisting feeling that came out of nowhere.
I stopped and I held my breath, afraid even to exhale, though
I had no idea why. And then I saw it. Up ahead,
a hundred yards to my right was something dark. It was as if that
feeling had taken physical form. There was no movement or sound, yet I
felt it demanded my attention. So slowly I reached from my binoculars, and
immediately I was hit with a blast of don't do that. I stopped dead
for a single moment before continuing to lift them to my eyes. Why didn't
I listen to that inner voice? There up ahead in the bushes. It
was a thing, a massive, black, hairy thing. I tried to
tell myself. It was a bear, but I couldn't lie that well.
It was a little afternoon and the sun was high in the sky. The
downward shadow it cast made the thing's face darker. Its eyes were cloaked under
its massive brow, but somehow I knew it was glaring at me. I
could see its fangs. Yes, it had fangs. It was contrast against
its black face. There was no definition to its chest, but it was
incredibly wide. I felt sick, My knees buckled, and my head began
to swim. Now I reached for the riverbank to steady myself, and I
saw the creature vanish somewhere inside me. I felt a bit of relief,
thinking it had left, and within seconds it popped its head up again.
Now it was seventy yards away, and it stared its dark, evil intent
at me through black, vacant eye sockets. It seemed to be saying,
in my mind, if only you hadn't looked. It stretched up and over
as if it was getting a better look, and then it vanished again.
I stumbled backwards, fighting the urge to turn and run, and my mind
raced. And some will tell you that they think of their loved ones,
or they might say the idea becoming a part of a missing four one one
phenomenon crossed their minds. Well, that wasn't the case for me. I
thought about how this thing might attack me, and how bad it would hurt,
and how long it would take to die. And I wondered if it
would rip me apart or eat me while I still struggled to get away.
Every thought was a horror worse than the last. Now I heard it making
noise, as if it wanted me to be scared. I had heard that
blood was sweeter when adrenaline was dumped into it, so I wondered if this
was what the thing was doing. It stomped and broke branches and huffed as
it moved through the brush, And again it raised its head, only forty
yards away. Its details were now more defined. It was more disgusting than
I imagined, its face glistening in the sun. A patch on its chest
also shimmered as silvery strings ran from the corners of its mouth. That mouth
slid its face in two. It was wide, lightly parted, giving it
an almost grinning effect. Its head and body were all one. If it
had a neck, it was surrounded by pure muscle. If I would describe
it honestly, I would only be able to say that it was big,
it was black, and it was horrific. Again it vanished, and each
time it did, it moved so fast that it blurred out of sight.
It seemed unnatural in its movement. This sick game of peekaboo was more than
my mind could take in. And I struggled, and part of me was
resigned to death, while another part, a more primo part, wanted to
run. Still, another part of me said I need to fight. These
emotions combined to create a mind of warping, stomach churning mess. And I
slowly began to back up, afraid to look behind me or even turn ahead.
And the noises were getting louder and closer, and I began to say
the Lord's prayer. It popped his head up again from twenty feet away.
It was emboldened, and it stood erecked, craning to see me. It
rose well above the bushes that I guessed were probably six feet tall. It
was running out of brush, and soon it would be in the clearing across
from me, and I began to cry. I knew this was the end.
There was nothing I could do. To avoid it, and I snapped
out of myself pity as the thing disappeared once again into the foliage. Then
it stepped out of the brush, slightly bent at the waist, its arms
hanging out its sides. They were tipped with claws that I couldn't stop staring
at. Its body. Heaved with each breath that grew increasingly faster as it
seemed to be working itself into a frenzy, and it wheezed when it inhaled,
and faster and faster it huffed in and out, and then it went
silent in slow motion. I watched it as it bent its knees and leaned
forward and threw its arms back, ready to jump, and I was falling
backwards when all help broke loose. The silence was shattered by something exploding to
my left, and it showered the creek bed with shrapnel. I felt a
gust of wind as a reddish brown blur flew out of the chaos and hit
the creatures square on. Only an empty space loomed before me now and then
I was hit by a sound wave that came from the other side of the
brush, and it vibrated me to my core. It was followed by deep
thumps that shook the ground and rattled my teeth. I rolled and tried to
force my body to move, but I couldn't. I could only lie there,
feeling and hearing what sounded like a freight train and bombs bursting all around
me. I'm not sure how long it was before I could move again,
to my horror. When I finally did, I was moving toward the source
of the noise, almost trancelike. I inched to the edge of the creek
and peered over the side. Thirty feet away. Two monsters were fighting that
were biting and clawing and clubbing and tearing at each other. It was a
dog fight. Each was twisting and turning to get the upper hand, and
jaws snapped and heads bobbed and weaved. It was primal and it was vicious,
and I clamped my hands over my ears to block out the screaming that
was emitting from each bite. Finally I realized what had saved me. It
was a Sasquatch. I had watched all the shows and seen all the trailcam
footage. As I was beginning to understand it, became distracted for a moment,
which allowed the other creature to get its feet up against the big foot's
chest, and with a massive pushed, it flipped the sasquatch onto its back
and leapt on him, biting down on his upper thigh. The scream of
pain was so much louder than the other sounds I had heard, and once
again I fell to the ground and I covered my ears the tables. It
turned. The young sasquatch was now in trouble. He was the one fending
off the clubbing blows. He was losing. I knew I had to do
something, but I didn't know what. If that creature won, I would
be dinner again. And then I remembered my gun. I knew I couldn't
kill it, but maybe I could distract that thing long enough to give the
sasquatch a chance. And I took a deep breath and I raised my rifle.
The monster's head was moving too fast to get a clean shot. Most
of its body was moving too fast. And then, with an almost perverse
pleasure, I realized the only part of it that wasn't moving too fast was
its backside. Almost snickered at the thought of shooting it there. I started
to pull the trigger, and a massive scream louder than anything I had heard
so far, burst through the air from my far right, and spinning around,
I saw an even larger beasts break through the tree line and rush headlong
into the fray. The monster straightened up and braced for the attack, but
it was too late. The larger squatch had already reached it, hitting it
in its back so hard that the top of its head snap back and bounced
off its massive back with a resounding crack, and it crumpled forward to its
face. Seconds passed like hours as the two watched, waiting for a movement
that never came. I kicked to the side, confirmed that the monster would
never move again. The victor raised his head and sniffed the air and screamed
a victory roar before grabbing the monster's ankle, dragging it off into the trees.
The first big foot now turned its focus on me as it stood up.
The side of its nine foot frames sent a shutter through me. It
was studying me as it cautiously inched forward, and when I realized that I
was pointing my rifle at it with my finger on the trigger, I lowered
my rifle and that appeared to give it some relief. However, it began
to move faster toward me. Maybe it was fear, and maybe it was
to crash after such an adrenaline rush. I couldn't say. All I know
is that the edges of my vision began to darken in the earth was beginning
to spin, and the last thing I saw was the ground flying up to
meet my face. When I awoke, my head was pounding and I felt
ill. I rested my head between my knees and then hailed through my nose
and exhale through my mouth, fighting the urge to gulp the cool night air.
And then I looked around. I was propped up against my truck with
my rifle at my side. Had this been a nightmare? Had I never
left my parking spot? Had I nodded off instead and had a bad dream.
I began to question myself mentally, replaying the events that led up to
this moment. It had to have been a dream. I convinced myself that
I had never left my truck, and I got myself up off the ground
and turned to get in, wanting nothing more than to get home. That
was when I saw the huge handprint on the hood of my truck. Placed
exactly where someone would have placed their hand to steady themselves while setting something on
the ground. I froze and, suddenly aware of the cold, wet spot
in my pants where I had sold myself, had to face the truth.
I've never moved so fast in my life. I never looked back, nor
have I ever told this story to anyone. For years, that thing stalked
my dreams. Sometimes it caught me. On those occasions, I would wake
up screaming and flailing my arms. Those dreams dropped a year ago, so
I figured it was time to share my story. I only hope that telling
it doesn't invite that creature to make a nocturnal come back. Two