Speaker 1: And these people that claim or carry themselves without actually
claiming to be an expert, a bigfoot expert. I mean,
come on, what the hell is a bigfoot expert? There
is no such thing as an expert when it comes
to bigfoot.
Speaker 2: They know in an instant that you were in the woods.
There is no hiding from them, There is no being
quiet or sneaking up on them. As soon as you
walk in the woods, you walk in their front door,
thinking that you are going to surprise them. You're only
kidding yourself.
Speaker 1: We have got to get it out of our heads
that anecdotal evidence is not evidence. The best way, in
my opinion, that we have to learn about these creatures
right now is by listening to and talking to those
that have experiperience them, those who have witnessed them and
experienced them in their own environment.
Speaker 2: We do what we do to try to bring awareness
to this topic, to be an open door for somebody
to walk through, to be able to share their story,
a listening fear, a support hold for those who have
held their own encounters with that which is not supposed
to exist.
Speaker 1: We've got to open our eyes, people, there is something
out there. All of these thousands of people that have
seen something. They're not all lined, they're not all crazy.
There are some very reputable, good people out there that
have seen something.
Speaker 2: I never thought that I would believe in bigfoot. Growing
up in Oregon. The stories were everywhere, gas station postcards
with hairy beasts, late night radio talk shows, and the
occasional blurry photo taped up in bait shops. I always
chalked it up to folklore, something people used to spice
up camp fire conversations. That changed last fall. It was
early October and the air was just starting to carry
that deep pine scent mixed with a chill of the season.
My buddy Kyle and I had planned a weekend hike
in camp in the Cascades, far off the main trails.
We were looking for solitude and trout, not monsters. By
the second night, we had set up camp near a
small glassy lake, no cell signal and no other signs
of people for miles. As we settled in, something strange
started happening. First, it was the silence. You don't realize
how alive the woods are until they go completely steel.
No owls and no insects, just this vacuum of sound.
Then came the knocks, loud, hollow thuds echoing from deep
in the trees. Three knocks space perfectly apart. We figured
it was some weird echo or maybe a branch falling,
until it happened again and again, always in three. Kyle
tried to joke it off, maybe some weird woodpeckers got
a thing for rhythm, but I could see that he
too was rattled. Around midnight, as we sat by the fire,
we heard something moving slow, heavy steps. Whatever it was,
it wasn't a deer. It had weight to it, like
a person or something bigger. We killed the fire and
sat frozen, listening. Then we saw it. About thirty feet
from the edge of the camp. A massive figure stood
half hidden behind a tree, seven maybe eight feet tall,
covered in dark, matted hair. Its shoulders were impossibly broad,
and its eyes got Its eyes glowed faintly in the
firelight we had just put out. It didn't make a sound,
It just stood there watching. Kyle whispered to me, do
not run. We backed into the tent and zipped it shut,
like that was gonna help. The thing circled us slow.
We could hear it breathing deep and slow, like a bear.
But somehow more calculated. Then just like that, it was gone.
No sound of it leaving, no cracking branches, nothing, The
silence returned. We didn't sleep at first light. We packed
everything and hiked out without eating. When we made it
back to the truck, we found three deep scratches across
the tailgate, long and parallel, too wide to be from
any animal I've ever seen. We never reported it. Who
would believe us? But I haven't gone camping since, and
when I closed my eyes at night sometimes I still
hear the knocking, three hollow thuds echoing in the silence.
They say that the Apalachians are ancient, older than bones,
older than memory, the kind of place where time doesn't
always move forward, and things that should be myths still
breathe in the shadows. I used to laugh at bigfoot stories,
Not anymore. It started when my cousin Levi went missing.
We're from a small town in West Virginia, where everybody
knows everybody, and bad news travels fast. Levi was a
woodsman born into these hills. He could read moss like
a map and track a deer through pouring rain. When
he didn't return after a solo hike in the back country,
we knew something was wrong. The sheriff organized two days
search party, but after finding only Levi's crushed backpack and
a single boot by an uprooted tree. They caught it
off bear attack, they said, But that tree wasn't broken
by a bear. It had been ripped from the ground
and the roots were twisted like corkscrews. I couldn't let
it go. I took a week off from work, packed
my gear, and I went looking for answers. The fog
rolled in thick by midday, swallowing the trees and dulling
all sound. I had Levi's last known GPS coordinates way
off trail, deep in an area the locals call dead
Man's Hollow, not exactly a name you would want on
your itinerary. By dusk, I reached a ridge overlooking a
vaully choked with mist. I set up camp by a
crooked pine and built a small fire. That's when I
heard it, not an animal, not a person. A scream,
deep and long it echoed from the valley, followed by
silence so absolute that it rang in my ears. Then
came the knox, Three sharp, deliberate thuds, tree on tree.
I stayed up all night shot gun in hand, fire roaring.
At dawn, I hiked into the hollow. The trees grew
strange here, thicker, twisted, like they'd been through storms that
never made it to the forecast. I started finding signs,
massive footprints in the mud, toes, no shoe. Each print
was almost twice the size of my boot. I followed
them until they vanished into a grove of dense evergreens.
And that's when I found the carcasses, deer, raccoons, even
a black bear, all torn open like they'd been dissected.
No scavenger damage, just missing organs, and the cuts were
precise clean. This wasn't a predator. It was something else.
That night, I didn't build a fire, just curled in
my tent, trying not to breathe too loud. Around midnight
I heard it walking through camp, slow, heavy and breathing
like a bull. Then it brushed the tent.
Speaker 1: Stay tuned for more, but the beaglet were bored. We'll
be right back.
Speaker 2: The silhouette cast was monstrous, tall as a van, arms
down to its knees. I didn't move, I barely blinked.
After what but like hours, it wandered off again. I
didn't sleep. I planned to hike out on the third day,
but the trail was gone, not overgrown, gone, The trees
had changed, landmarks moved. I was turned around, and no
matter which direction I went, I was lost. Every path
looped back into the hollow. Around noon, I found something unnatural,
a perfect circle of broken trees, trunks snapped and laid
outward like something exploded at the center. In the middle
was a pile of bones, animal bones mostly, but I
saw something else, a piece of Levi's flannel shirt stained
with blood. That night, I built no fire, just sat
in the dark with my shotgun back to a rock wall,
and then I heard it breathing behind me. It was
in the trees, watching and the knocking became again three times,
then a scream that was so close it shattered my ears.
I fired blindly into the night and ran, leaving my pack,
my gear, everything. The fourth day, I don't remember sleeping,
I just remember running. At some point I fell and
hit my head and woke up at dusk. The fog
was worse, now heavy, almost oily, like it carried something
with it, and then I saw it, not a glimpse,
the full thing. It stepped out of the fog like
it owned the forest, eight feet tall, covered in black hair,
muscles like ropes under its skin. Its face was wrong,
not quite ape, not quite human. Its eyes glowed faintly
yellow green, and they locked onto mine. It didn't roar,
it didn't charge, It just stared. Then it grinned. I
swear to cod It grinned lips, pulling back slowly to
reveal cracked yellow teeth, like a man who had forgotten
how to smile. I backed away. It followed that night
was a blur of running, hiding, and praying, but it
was always near, never rushing, just stalking, like it was playing.
Day five. I don't remember escaping. I just woke up
at the ranger station, covered in mud and blood, with
cracked ribs and half frozen fingers. They said I must
have gotten lost and hallucinated most of it, but I
know what I saw. My cousin's still gone, and in
the mud on my boots they found hair samples, thick, coarse,
and unlike anything in any database. I haven't been back
to the woods since. Sometimes when I'm walking past the
tree line near my house, I hear the knocking, just
three thuds, disting almost mocking me in the distance. I
think it followed me home. There were four of us, me,
my girlfriend, and two of our friends. We were all
college seniors looking to disconnect before our last semester started.
Chris found the perfect spot, a secluded clearing near the
bayse of a mountain in Washington. No cell reception, no people,
just trees, a lake and quiet. We arrived late Friday afternoon, hight,
two miles in with our gear and pitch camp by
a small stream. The place was beautiful, sunlight filtered through
massive Douglas firs. The air smelled like pine and clean earth,
and for a while everything felt peaceful. We sat around
the fire, drinking and swapping ghost stories, typical camp vibes.
Around midnight, Chris and I went to gather more firewood
while the girls stayed behind. That's when we heard the whistle,
high pitched, slow. It came from deep in the trees,
maybe fifty yards off. We froze and looked at each other.
Wind Chris said, but I can tell he didn't believe it.
Then it came again, not wind, not birds, a person
whistling five slow notes. We called out hello, no answer,
just the whistle again from a different direction. We booked
it back to camp. The two girls hadn't heard anything,
but both said they felt weird, like someone was watching them.
We stayed up late, joking to hide how creeped out
we were. Eventually we zipped our tents and tried to sleep,
but that's when the knocking started. Something was hitting a tree,
then it would be silent, and then it would happen again,
so we didn't sleep much. The next morning, we joked
about it being a bear or an elk. Chris brought
up bigfoot, but we all brushed it off. We went
hiking along the stream, trying to shake the tension, but
that's when we found Prince. Massive barefoot impressions and the
mud toes were visible and at least eighteen inches long
in the foot, and they were spaced far apart, as
if something huge was moving fast. They led down into
a thicket and disappeared. We kept telling ourselves that had
to be some kind of praying for erosion pattern, anything
that was logical. That night, nobody wanted to admit they
were scared, but the fire was bigger and the laughter
more forced. Then, just after two am, we heard something
walking through the woods around our tents. Not a deer,
not a raccoon. These were heavy footsteps that were deliberate,
and they were circling us. Chris unzipped his tent and
flashed his light. Nothing. Then one of the girls screamed
she saw something between the trees, something tall. She swore
it was watching her, just standing there. When we all looked,
it was gone. We woke up the next morning to
a horrible smell, like rotting meat mixed with wet dog
and sulfur. The fire pit had been disturbed. Around it,
though were small stacked stones arranged in crude little towers.
None of us had done it, and we hadn't seen
any other people since arriving. At this point, we just
wanted to leave. We packed quickly, but Chris convinced us
to stay one more night. We're all just being paranoid,
he said. But I wish we had left then. The
final night was the worst. We didn't light a fire.
We just sat in the dark back to the tents
and we were just listening. Then we heard a whistle,
a knock, and then footsteps.
Speaker 1: Stay tuned for more, but the big foot were bored.
We'll be right back.
Speaker 2: One of the girls whispered that she saw eyes in
the trees, glowing amber in the darkness. Then something began
mimicking us. At first it sounded like Chris, but Chris
was right next to me. Then it mimicked one of
the girls, her voice saying something that sounded like my name,
over and over again. I grabbed my shotgun from my pack.
Chris had a flare. We were all ready to bolt,
and then we saw it across the stream, standing between
two trees, at least eight feet tall, covered in dark hair,
shoulders like a linebacker, and arms nearly to its knees.
Its face was wrong, too flat, too human, but off.
Its eyes didn't shine from our lights, they glowed from within.
Its breath steamed in the cold air as it stared
at us. Then it let out a deep, wet snort,
step back into the woods and disappeared. We didn't sleep,
We just waited for daylight. We hiked out as fast
as we could. We didn't stop to eat, and we
didn't talk.
Speaker 3: We just moved.
Speaker 2: Once we reached the car, we looked back at the
tree line, and there, maybe one hundred yards back, it
stood again, watching. We drove like hell back to town. When
we reported it. The ranger nodded slowly and said, you're
not the first, but they don't ever generally get that close.
Speaker 1: Hey, everybody, thank you so much much for checking out
this episode of the Bigfoot Report. We appreciate everything that
you guys do. All of the continued support means the
world to us. If you don't mind, if you would
take just a second go rate and review the show
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we do an after our show at ten pm Eastern
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We would love to have you check that out. If
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thank you guys for everything that you do. We love you,
We thank you. We'll talk again soon.
Speaker 4: Through the woods, the pine trees sway, shadows long at
end of day weekfoots call on the whispering breeze. Secrets
kept by ancient trees, dog man house being.
Speaker 3: Echoes in the.
Speaker 4: Silent too.
Speaker 3: Tracks We fine, but answers none. A hunt for truth
that's just begun. We're searching past the fire light.
Speaker 4: Four creatures hidden out of sight in the forest hard,
where shadows lay seeking seecrets in the twilight.
Speaker 3: Through the fog, a shape did.
Speaker 4: Gly skin walker with eyes wide legends of Oh, we
chase to.
Speaker 3: Night in the dark our lanterns bright.
Speaker 4: By the creek, where water spill, whispers ry the windsow chill,
forest deep man tails on toll.
Speaker 3: In this land of the myths of old, We're.
Speaker 4: Searching past the fire light. Full creatures hidden out of
sight in the forest heart, where shadows lay seeking seecrets
in the twilight, breaking