Speaker 1: The road was the kind of lonely that felt personal.
Speaker 1: Arkansas Route one seventy eight cut through a stretch of
Speaker 1: forest at the base of the Ozarks. A snake shaped
Speaker 1: ribbon of cracked pavement winding into dense dark fog from
Speaker 1: the river settled on both shoulders, a slow moving carpet
Speaker 1: that made headlights smear like candle flames on wet glass.
Speaker 1: The nearest town, Marsden, was twenty miles behind, and the
Speaker 1: only sign of civilization was a rusty State highway marker
Speaker 1: bullets scarred and leaning. Most locals avoided this road after sundown.
Speaker 1: Too many tails, too many vanishings, too many things, glimmering
Speaker 1: in headlights, and never spoken of again. But to night,
Speaker 1: something tall and powerful stood at the edge of the asphalt,
Speaker 1: hidden in the black seam where the pine shadows swallowed starlight.
Speaker 1: The creature's breath puffed like steam from a locomotive. It
Speaker 1: stood nearly nine feet tall, shoulders as broad as a
Speaker 1: refrigerator door, covered head to foot in auburn hair, thick
Speaker 1: as a horse's mane. Beneath the fur lay muscle corded
Speaker 1: and dense as bridge cables, a male sasquatch not a myth,
Speaker 1: not a camp counselor's scary story. Reel alive, watching his
Speaker 1: nostrils flared. He could smell the cold river, the musk
Speaker 1: of deer bedding and fern, the electricity of a coming storm.
Speaker 1: But there was something else, burning hot, sour, metallic, human fear,
Speaker 1: and gasoline and blood. He tilted his massive head, listening
Speaker 1: a vibration rolling to the far off, still miles away,
Speaker 1: a car engine screamed. The Bigfoot narrowed his eyes. He
Speaker 1: had seen these machines before, seen their destruction, their noise.
Speaker 1: They're careless, slicing through the homes of creatures who could
Speaker 1: not speak for themselves. He stepped out of the tree line,
Speaker 1: not hurried, not fearful, just deliberate. Pine branches brushed his shoulders,
Speaker 1: Gravel scraped under the enormous bare feet as he approached
Speaker 1: the yellow center lines. His strides were slow and heavy.
Speaker 1: Each step rooted deep into the earth. Mist curled around
Speaker 1: his legs like ghostly river smoke. He crossed the road
Speaker 1: and right before disappearing into the opposite tree line, his
Speaker 1: head snapped back because the screaming engine was now much closer.
Speaker 1: Dustin the arrow had stolen the wrong car. Adrenaline poured
Speaker 1: through him like jet fuel as he wiped sweat off
Speaker 1: his forehead and gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles.
Speaker 1: His heart hammered so violently he could feel his pulse
Speaker 1: in his teeth. Behind him, two miles of road were
Speaker 1: lit by flashing blue strobes. A cop gaining come on,
Speaker 1: come on, baby, faster, baby, dust and shouted, slamming the accelerator.
Speaker 1: The stolen dodge charger fish tailed on loose gravel tires,
Speaker 1: flinging pebbles behind it. The speedometer needle climbed ninety ninety
Speaker 1: five one hundred. Beside him on the passenger floorboard lay
Speaker 1: the pistol, a matte black three fifty seven revolver, and
Speaker 1: a woman's purse, silver sequins, a mini mouse keychain, a
Speaker 1: pink inhaler. There were reminders, reminders of the family he
Speaker 1: held a gunpoint, reminders of how he pointed that revolver
Speaker 1: at a ten year old girl because her father refused
Speaker 1: to hand over the car. Keys should have been faster.
Speaker 1: Dustin muttered, that's life, No remorse, not in him, just survival.
Speaker 1: He wasn't doing this because he enjoyed it. He was
Speaker 1: doing it because he owed people dangerous people, people who
Speaker 1: didn't believe in forgiveness. If he didn't pay up, Jenna,
Speaker 1: his girlfriend, would pay instead. She was waiting at the
Speaker 1: base of the mountain, waiting with a getaway plan and
Speaker 1: enough cash to disappear. He pictured her freckles, her nervous smile,
Speaker 1: the way she twisted her hair when scared. Dustin wasn't praying.
Speaker 1: He wasn't that kind of man, but he was bargaining.
Speaker 1: Just let me get there, just let me live. He
Speaker 1: glanced in the rear view mirror. The flashing blue light
Speaker 1: grew larger. He pressed the gas harder. The sasquatch reached
Speaker 1: the far shoulder and slipped into brush tall enough to
Speaker 1: swallow a mini van. His senses sharpened. He could feel
Speaker 1: the tremor of the vehicle through the soles of his feet.
Speaker 1: Before it rounded the corner, the creature exhaled, low, rumbling
Speaker 1: like distant thunder. He didn't understand the machine. He understood danger,
Speaker 1: with a fluid motion that didn't belong to something so massive.
Speaker 1: He ducked behind a fallen spruce, muscles coiled, tendons tightened.
Speaker 1: He waited. Headlights exploded into view, and the charger tore
Speaker 1: around the blind curve at nearly one hundred and ten
Speaker 1: miles per hour. Dustin's eyes widened, pupils dilating at the
Speaker 1: impossible sight a colossal silhouette standing in the middle of
Speaker 1: the road. A moose, not a bear, not a man,
Speaker 1: something else. The creatures fur rippled in the wind, illuminated
Speaker 1: in stark gold under the headlights. Its face was broad,
Speaker 1: heavy browed, ancient amber eyes locked with Dustin's through the windshield.
Speaker 1: Then the sasquatch stepped forward. Dustin screamed and jerked the wheel.
Speaker 1: The charger left the pavement and launched over the embankment.
Speaker 1: Time didn't slow, it just became louder. Glass shattered, metal screamed.
Speaker 1: Dustin's body snapped forward into the seat belt. The charger
Speaker 1: tumbled twice, roof, hood roof, before slamming into a stand
Speaker 1: of sycamores at the river's edge. Steam hissed from the
Speaker 1: warped radiator. The left headlight flickered once twice, then died
Speaker 1: inside the crumpled metal cage. Dustin coughed blood onto the dashboard.
Speaker 1: His ribs felt cracked, his vision pulsed at the edges.
Speaker 1: He reached down, hand shaking, searching for the revolver, Come on,
Speaker 1: come on. His fingers found the grip. He tried opening
Speaker 1: the door, jammed. Tried kicking the windshield, his legs wouldn't respond.
Speaker 1: He was upside down, pinned by the crushed steering column,
Speaker 1: his breath coming in ragged shards. Sirens still echoed in
Speaker 1: the distance, but faint, now farther away, or maybe he
Speaker 1: was fading. He closed his eyes and swallowed a groan. Jenna,
Speaker 1: I have to get to Jenna. Then crunch. Something out
Speaker 1: outside was walking toward the wreck, not footsteps, thuds, tremors,
Speaker 1: ground shaking dust, and held his breath. Fear turned his
Speaker 1: blood ice cold. No, no, no. The sasquatch stood beside
Speaker 1: the overturned vehicle, breathing slow and steady. He placed one
Speaker 1: hand on the crushing passenger door. The metal crumpled under
Speaker 1: his grip like foil. Moonlight washed over his frame, outlining
Speaker 1: every ridge of muscle beneath his fur. He could smell
Speaker 1: the man's blood, could hear the frantic beating of his heart,
Speaker 1: could feel the fear radiating like heat and something else gunpowder.
Speaker 1: He curled his lips into a soft snarl with one hand,
Speaker 1: and he grabbed the chassis. With a grunt. He lifted
Speaker 1: the vehicle and rolled it upright. The charger crashed onto
Speaker 1: all four wheels, suspension snapping. Dustin gasped at that sudden jolt.
Speaker 1: He lifted the gun. The sasquatch leaned down, his massive
Speaker 1: face filling the driver's side window. His eyes were ancient,
Speaker 1: burning with a wild intelligence that lived before the first
Speaker 1: wheel ever touched dirt. Dustin raised the revolver with both hands,
Speaker 1: back off. His voice cracked, then he fired. The bullet
Speaker 1: ripped past the Sasquatch's head, tearing fur. The creature roared,
Speaker 1: not like a bear, not like anything on earth, a
Speaker 1: bone vibrating, primal roar that shook pine needles loose. The
Speaker 1: sasquatch moved with speed no creature that size should have possessed.
Speaker 1: One arm shot through the broken window, grabbed Dustin by
Speaker 1: the collar, and yanked him through the driver's side glass,
Speaker 1: exploding around them. Dustin screamed, the gun fell. He thrashed
Speaker 1: desperately until he was nose to chest with a giant.
Speaker 1: His legs dangled uselessly. The creature's one hand clamped Dustin's
Speaker 1: wrist with a force that made bones creak. Please please,
Speaker 1: Dustin gasped, I I didn't mean, but the sasquatch had
Speaker 1: seen what Dustin had done. He smelled the fear on
Speaker 1: that little girl. He remembered screams. He remembered the gun.
Speaker 1: The creature leaned close, his breath warm and heavy, smelling
Speaker 1: of wet moss and earth. Dustin pointed a shaky finger
Speaker 1: toward the woods. My girl, friends, she's waiting. I just
Speaker 1: gotta get to her. The sasquatch tilted his head. This
Speaker 1: man hurt others. The forest didn't tolerate that. With a
Speaker 1: sudden snap of motion, clean, swift, instinctual, the clawed hand
Speaker 1: raked across Dustan's throat. Blood sprayed in a bright arc
Speaker 1: across the pine needles. Dustin's eyes went wide. He collapsed
Speaker 1: into the ferns, choking. The sasquatch stepped back, not victorious,
Speaker 1: not enraged, just finished. Judgment delivered. The sirens grew closer.
Speaker 1: The creature faded into the trees. Deputy Rhodes arrived first.
Speaker 1: His cruiser breaked hard gravel, spitting under tires. He scanned
Speaker 1: the wreck heart, futting. His spotlight cut across the crushed charger.
Speaker 1: Steam and radiator fluid hissed from the engine block. Dispatch,
Speaker 1: Rhodes shouted into the radio, I've located the vehicle. Send
Speaker 1: EMTs driver is. He stopped mid sentence. Dust and marrow
Speaker 1: lay several yards from the car, throat torn open. Impossible
Speaker 1: that wound wasn't from the crash. Rhodes swept his flashlight
Speaker 1: across the tree line. Something red and wet glistened on
Speaker 1: a branch eight feet high, hair thick, rust colored. He
Speaker 1: plucked it with a gloved hand, examined it and swallowed hard.
Speaker 1: Not deer, not bare. He looked toward the dark woods
Speaker 1: and felt it that watched sensation. Every hunter knew. If
Speaker 1: you are, he whispered, you just saved a family. Two
Speaker 1: weeks later, another deputy was responding to a call along
Speaker 1: Route one seventy eight. A trucker had reported something large
Speaker 1: crossing the road. Rhodes didn't need to check, he already knew.
Speaker 1: Somewhere deep in the Ozarks, a giant figure paused on
Speaker 1: a ridge, scanning the world below. Wind ruffled, hiss fur,
Speaker 1: his chest rose and fell slowly. His voice, a deep,
Speaker 1: rumbling bellow, rolled across the valley. He wasn't a monster,
Speaker 1: he wasn't a myth. He was a guardian of the
Speaker 1: wild and sometimes of justice. Thanks so much for listening.
Speaker 1: I truly appreciate you being here. Before you head out,
Speaker 1: don't forget to check out where Bigfoot roams. Great stories,
Speaker 1: great atmosphere. You'll find them on YouTube and all the
Speaker 1: usual platforms. And a quick update. My book project is
Speaker 1: moving along. It's not entirely Bigfoot related, but it is
Speaker 1: full of nostalgia, growing up stories and moments that I
Speaker 1: think are timeless. I can't wait to share more with you,
Speaker 1: so keep your eyes and ears peeled for an update
Speaker 1: until next time, Stay curious, stay wild, and I'll see
Speaker 1: you in the woods.