My Trail Camera Captured This Bigfoot Footage, Then the Worst Happened – Sasquatch Story

The Price of the Woods

Chapter One: The Deal of a Lifetime

Look, I’m just going to say it straight. I saw something in those woods that I can’t explain. And before you roll your eyes and click away, just hear me out. Because what started as the deal of a lifetime turned into the biggest mistake I ever made.

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I bought this massive piece of land up north back in February. Hundreds of acres of pristine forest, a decent cabin already on the property, and the price was so low, I thought there had to be a catch. We’re talking about land that should have gone for three times what I paid. In that area, properties like this don’t come cheap. But here was this guy practically begging me to take it off his hands.

The meeting to sign the papers was weird from the start. The previous owner practically threw the deed at me. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks—eyes all bloodshot, dark circles underneath them like bruises. His hands were shaking when he signed the papers. Actually shaking. I asked if he was okay and he just nodded, didn’t even look at me. He kept saying he just wanted to move to the city, be around people again. Said the isolation got to him. But it was the way he said it that stuck with me. Not like someone who was just lonely—more like someone who was running from something. He kept checking his watch, tapping his foot, looking at the door like he couldn’t wait to get out, to get as far from that property as possible. I remember at one point during the signing, his phone rang. He looked at the screen and his face went white. Completely white. He declined the call without answering. When I asked if everything was all right, he just muttered something about a reminder he’d set. But the look on his face wasn’t someone remembering an appointment. It was fear. Pure, undiluted fear.

I’m not an idiot, though. I did my homework, checked for liens, environmental violations, zoning issues. Everything came back clean. The property records were spotless. No history of anything weird. So, I figured the guy was just burned out on the isolation. Some people aren’t cut out for living in the middle of nowhere. I am. Or at least, I thought I was.

Chapter Two: Into the Wild

My plan was simple. Build a few rental cabins, market them to hunters and nature lovers, make a decent living off tourism. The land was gorgeous. Dense forest, a couple streams running through it, wildlife everywhere. It was perfect.

There were still patches of snow on the ground when I took ownership, but spring was coming. I had everything mapped out. First thing I did was set up trail cameras all over the property—the good kind that connect to the cloud so I could check them from my laptop without trekking out to each one. I wanted to document what kind of animals were around, maybe use the footage for marketing later. City people love that stuff.

The camera started sending back exactly what I expected. Deer, mostly—lots of deer—some raccoons, a fox here and there. One morning, I got footage of a black bear, which got my heart racing a bit, but that’s just part of living out here. You respect the wildlife, keep your distance, and everything’s fine. I was feeling pretty good about the whole thing. I spent most of my time at the cabin, which the previous owner had left fully furnished. Basic stuff, but functional. Wood stove, generator for power, propane for cooking. It was actually kind of nice being out there alone—quiet, peaceful. I’d spend my days walking the property, making notes about where to clear land for the new cabins. The surveyor was scheduled to come out in a couple weeks. Everything was falling into place.

Chapter Three: The First Sign

Then one morning, about two weeks after I moved in, I was having my coffee and checking the camera feeds when I saw it. This shape moving through the trees. At first, I thought it was a person. Had to be, right? But something was off. The proportions weren’t quite right—way too tall. And the way it moved wasn’t how a person moves through dense forest.

I clicked through the different camera angles, trying to get a better view. Most of them caught it from pretty far away—just this dark figure moving between the trees with a purposeful gait. But one camera, the one I’d positioned near the creek where I thought I’d get good wildlife shots, that one got something different. That one got a closer look. When I zoomed in on that image, my coffee cup froze halfway to my mouth. My blood went cold. This thing was covered in hair from head to toe. Dark reddish-brown, matted looking, like it had been living rough in the woods for years. The body was massive—probably seven or eight feet tall at least. Broad shoulders wider than any human’s, long arms that hung down almost to the knees.

But it was the face that made me stop breathing for a second. When I enhanced the image, when I really looked at it, I saw something that shouldn’t exist. The face looked almost human in structure, the way the features were arranged, but everything was wrong. The brow was too heavy, jutting out over these dark eyes that seemed to look right through the camera. The nose was flat and wide, almost gorilla-like. The mouth was barely visible through all that hair, just a dark line. The body looked powerful. You could see the muscle definition even through the hair. The way it stood there, balanced on two legs like a person, but with this posture that was just slightly off—more primitive, more primal. The arms and legs were thick with muscle. This thing could probably snap a tree branch as thick as my leg without much effort.

Chapter Four: Denial and Fear

I sat there staring at my laptop screen for a good ten minutes. My first thought was that someone was messing with me. Had to be some teenagers in a costume, right? Some prank. Maybe they’d heard about the property changing hands and thought it would be funny to scare the new owner.

I called the police, told them there was a trespasser on my property dressed up in some kind of costume. The dispatcher put me through to an officer, and when I gave him my address, there was this long pause. Then he said something that made my stomach drop. Turns out the previous owner had called them dozens of times, always the same story. A hairy creature on his land, something big moving through the woods. They’d driven out every single time, walked the property, never found anything, started thinking he was losing his mind. The officer basically dismissed me, said it was probably just kids, told me not to worry about it. When I mentioned I had pictures, he just laughed it off. Said people with too much time on their hands will do anything for attention.

That pissed me off. I had clear evidence of someone trespassing and they wouldn’t even come take a look. Fine, I’d handle it myself. Good thing I’d bought that rifle before moving out here. It was supposed to be for wolves, maybe a problem bear. Now I’d use it to scare off whoever was playing dress-up in my woods.

Chapter Five: The Night Roar

That night, I couldn’t sleep. Every little sound had me on edge. The cabin creaked and groaned as it settled. Wind moved through the trees outside, making them sway and moan. Normal sounds, sounds I’d heard every night since moving in. But tonight, they felt different—threatening somehow. I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, watching shadows move across it from the moonlight filtering through the window. My mind kept going back to those images, that face, those eyes, the sheer size of it. If it was a costume, it was the most elaborate, most realistic costume I’d ever seen. The way the hair moved in the breeze, the way the muscles shifted under the skin. You can’t fake that level of detail.

Around midnight, I heard something that made every hair on my body stand up. This low, rumbling growl from deep in the forest. It started quiet, almost subsonic, something you felt more than heard. Then it got louder, deeper, this resonant sound that seemed to vibrate through the ground itself, through the walls of the cabin, through my chest. I sat up in bed, heart pounding. The sound lasted maybe ten seconds, then faded away into nothing. Silence fell over the forest like a blanket. No insects, no birds, no small animals rustling in the undergrowth—just silence, like everything out there was holding its breath, hiding.

I told myself it was probably a boar. Wild boars can make some really strange noises, especially when they’re angry or territorial. But even as I thought it, I didn’t believe it. That sound was too deep, too powerful. It didn’t sound like any animal I’d ever heard. And the way it made me feel—the primal fear it triggered. That wasn’t a normal response to a pig.

Chapter Six: The Encounter

Morning couldn’t come fast enough. I forced down some breakfast, loaded my rifle, checked it twice. The weight of the gun should have been reassuring. It wasn’t. I headed into the forest around eight, the sun just starting to burn off the early morning mist. It was beautiful, actually—golden light filtering through the branches, dew sparkling on the undergrowth. Would have been a perfect morning for a hike under different circumstances, but I couldn’t appreciate it. Every nerve in my body was on high alert.

I followed the trail toward where the cameras had caught that thing. My boots crunched on the leftover snow and dead leaves, way too loud in all that silence. The forest felt different than it had before—oppressive, like it was watching me. The trees seemed to lean in closer. The shadows seemed darker. That’s when I noticed how quiet it was. Usually, there’s noise everywhere—birds, squirrels, the rustling of small animals. But that morning, it was like walking through a morgue. Silent. Still. Dead.

About half a mile in, I found the first footprint. I almost walked right past it. There in a patch of mud next to the trail was the clearest track I’d ever seen. And it was massive. I knelt down next to it, comparing it to my own boot print—size eleven. This track was easily twice the length of my boot, at least eighteen inches long, maybe twenty, and wide, too—probably eight or nine inches across at the ball of the foot. But what really got me was the detail. Five toes, a defined heel, an arch in the middle. The toes were longer than human toes, splayed out more, adapted for gripping, for walking on uneven terrain. The depth of the impression told me this thing was heavy—four hundred pounds or more to sink that deep.

My hands started shaking as I stared at that print. I told myself it could be fake, but the edges were too clean, too natural. When you press something into mud, you get compression patterns, distortion. This looked like something organic had stepped there, like real flesh and bone had left this impression. And there were more. Now that I knew what to look for, I saw them everywhere—a trail of prints leading deeper into the woods, spaced far apart, each step four or five feet. Whatever made these tracks had long legs and moved with purpose.

Chapter Seven: Stalked

That’s when I heard it—a vocalization from somewhere ahead. Not quite a howl, not quite a roar, something in between. It was so loud it seemed to vibrate in my chest. Every instinct screamed at me to run, but I stood my ground. I shouted into the trees, told whoever was out there that this was private property, that they needed to leave now or I’d call the cops, that I was armed. My voice sounded small and weak in all that forest. The only response was silence.

I kept walking. The trees started to thin out and I came to a small clearing. Standing on the far side, maybe sixty yards away, was something tall and dark. My first clear look at it. Even from that distance, I could tell it was huge—at least eight feet tall, maybe more. Broad across the shoulders, covered in that dark hair. It was just standing there, completely still, facing away from me.

My mind was racing. It had to be a person in a costume. I shouted again, told them to get out. The figure didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch. Just stood there like a statue. I started moving toward it, rifle aimed at the ground but ready. Each step felt like walking through molasses. When I was maybe forty yards away, the thing moved—just a shift of weight from one leg to the other. The way it moved made my blood run cold. It wasn’t the jerky, awkward movement of someone in a costume. It was fluid, natural, like watching a deer or a bear. But this wasn’t a deer or a bear.

I took another step and it turned its head—just the head, not the body—and looked right at me. I couldn’t see the face clearly from that distance, but I could see the eyes—dark eyes that caught the light filtering through the trees. Eyes that were watching me with intelligence, calculation. Then it was gone, just vanished into the trees. One second it was there, the next it had melted into the shadows. I heard branches cracking, heavy footfalls moving away fast, way faster than any human could move through that terrain.

Chapter Eight: The Chase

I stood there frozen, heart hammering. Part of me wanted to chase after it, prove it was just a person. But a deeper part, the part that listens to those old survival instincts, was telling me to leave it alone. I went after it anyway. Looking back, I can’t believe how stupid I was. But in that moment, something in me snapped. Maybe it was adrenaline, maybe denial, maybe I just needed to prove to myself that this was explainable.

The trail it left was impossible to miss—broken branches, disturbed undergrowth, more massive footprints. I followed as quickly as I could, my rifle up, safety off, heart pounding. The forest got darker as I went deeper. The canopy grew thicker, blocking out the sun. The undergrowth got denser, branches grabbing at my jacket, roots trying to trip me. All around me were shadows.

I saw it again, moving parallel to my path, pacing me. That’s when the real fear set in—the realization that I wasn’t chasing it. It was leading me somewhere, playing with me. It could have disappeared if it wanted to. Instead, it was keeping me engaged, luring me deeper into its territory.

I stopped, tried to get my bearings. My hands were sweating on the rifle. I looked around and started noticing things I’d missed before—trees with bark stripped off at impossible heights, branches broken off, scratch marks on trunks, deep gouges. And the smell—thick, musky, animal, getting more intense the deeper I went.

Chapter Nine: The Stare

Then I saw movement—closer now, thirty yards away, standing perfectly still between two pines. It wasn’t hiding now, just standing there, watching me. I got a good look—a clear, unobstructed view in a shaft of sunlight. The body was massive, over four hundred pounds of muscle, covered in reddish-brown hair. The arms were long, hands powerful, fingers ending in what might have been claws. The chest was barrel-shaped, the legs thick and slightly bent.

And the face—that’s what broke my brain. Almost human, but wrong. The brow ridge massive, the eyes deep-set, tracking me with intelligence. The nose flat and wide, the mouth barely visible. The skull elongated, the proportions just off. Something in between human and ape. We stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, but was probably only seconds. I raised my rifle slightly. The creature saw it, shifted its weight, posture changing from passive to predatory. It took a step toward me—one deliberate, purposeful step.

I took a step back, stumbled. When I looked up, it had moved closer—fifteen yards away. Those dark eyes still locked on mine. That broke the spell. Pure animal terror took over. I turned and ran, crashing through the underbrush, branches whipping at my face. Behind me, I could hear it following—not running, just walking. Those long, purposeful strides keeping pace with me, playing with me.

At some point, I realized I’d dropped the rifle. Didn’t care. All that mattered was distance, getting away, getting to safety. I burst out of the tree line near the cabin, stumbled, fell, gasping for breath. My whole body was shaking. I looked back at the forest—nothing, just the silent wall of trees. But I knew it was out there, watching.

Chapter Ten: The Warning

I made it to the porch, fumbled with the door, got inside, locked it, and collapsed against the door, shaking. After a while, I got up, splashed water on my face, looked in the mirror and barely recognized myself. I needed to leave. That was the only clear thought in my head. Pack up, get out, never come back.

That’s when I saw it through the window, standing at the edge of the tree line, fifty yards from the cabin, watching. In the daylight, I could see it even more clearly—the massive frame, the way the hair moved in the breeze, the way it stood there with such confidence, such stillness, like it owned this place and I was the intruder. And the eyes—even from that distance, I could see them fixed on the cabin, on me. There was something in that stare that made me understand. This wasn’t curiosity. This was hunting behavior. It was stalking me.

I grabbed my bag, didn’t finish packing, slipped out the back door, moved quickly and quietly to my truck. Every step I expected to hear that roar, to feel those arms grab me. My hands were shaking so bad I could barely get the key in the ignition. Finally, the engine turned over and I floored it, fishtailing on the dirt road. I looked in the rearview mirror. The creature was standing in the middle of the road behind me, watching me leave. Just standing there like it had won, like it knew I wasn’t coming back.

Chapter Eleven: Aftermath

I drove until I hit the main highway, then kept driving until I found a motel. Checked in, locked the door, and sat on the bed for hours. My phone kept buzzing—the logging crew calling to confirm, the inspector wanting to schedule a visit. All these messages about a future on that property that wasn’t going to happen. I cancelled everything the next day. I couldn’t explain why. What was I going to say? That there was a Bigfoot on the property? They’d think I was insane. Hell, I was starting to think I was insane.

But I know what I saw. I know what chased me through those woods. I know what stood outside my cabin watching me with those dark, intelligent eyes. It was real, as real as I am. I went back one time, a week later, in the middle of the day with two friends for backup. We loaded up the rest of my stuff and got out. The whole time I felt like we were being watched. I found more tracks while we were loading the truck. Fresh ones right outside the cabin, big as before. My friends didn’t notice. They weren’t looking. But I saw them. It had come back. Maybe it came back every night.

Now I’m trying to sell the property. Listed it even cheaper than what I paid. No takers so far. Maybe word’s gotten around. Maybe people can tell something’s off about that place. Or maybe I’m just unlucky.

Chapter Twelve: The Truth

I think about that creature a lot. Wonder what it is, where it came from, how many of them are out there, whether anyone would believe me if I told them the truth. But mostly, I think about those eyes—the way they looked at me. Not like I was prey, more like I was competition, like I’d wandered into its territory and it was letting me know in no uncertain terms that I wasn’t welcome. I was an intruder, not the rightful owner. That thing, whatever it was, had been there long before me. It would be there long after. That forest was its home. I was just another human who learned too late that some places aren’t meant for us.

I still have nightmares about it. Wake up in the middle of the night thinking I hear that roar, that growl from deep in the woods. Sometimes I dream I’m back in that forest, running, with that thing following me. In the dreams, I can never move fast enough. My legs feel like they’re stuck in mud and it’s always getting closer, always right behind me. I wake up drenched in sweat, sure I’m about to feel those massive hands grab me. Other times, I dream about what would have happened if I hadn’t run. If I’d stood my ground. Those dreams are worse. In those dreams I see what it can do.

My girlfriend left me after the third time I woke up screaming. Said I needed help. She wasn’t wrong. The worst part is knowing it’s still out there. Still in those woods, still walking that property at night, leaving tracks, stripping bark from trees, existing in a world that claims it doesn’t exist. And knowing that eventually, inevitably, someone else is going to buy that land. Someone else is going to have an experience, maybe like mine, maybe worse.

Should I warn them? How do you put in a property listing that there’s a cryptid on the land without sounding completely insane? You can’t. So, I don’t. I just lower the price and hope someone figures it out before it’s too late.

Epilogue: Some Mysteries Should Stay Hidden

Sometimes I wonder if I should go to the media, tell my story, show what little evidence I have. But I deleted all the camera footage in a panic after I left. Wiped it all because looking at those images made me feel like it could see me through the screen. Like even the recordings had some kind of power over me. Stupid, I know. But fear makes you do stupid things.

And even if I had kept the footage, would anyone believe it? Would they think it was real? Or would they accuse me of faking it for attention? The internet is full of fake Bigfoot videos, hoaxes, and frauds. My real footage would just get lumped in with all the fakes. Nobody would take it seriously. I’d become a joke. A cautionary tale about what happens when isolation makes you crazy.

Looking back, all the signs were there from the beginning. The way the previous owner looked at that closing. The panic in his eyes that I mistook for anxiety. The way he practically ran from that property once the papers were signed. He knew. He knew exactly what was out there, and he couldn’t wait to pass that burden onto someone else—onto me.

If you ever find yourself looking at a property that seems too good to be true, that’s priced way below market value, where the owner is desperate to sell, ask yourself why. Check if there have been any police calls to that address. Trust your gut if something feels off, because sometimes there’s a reason a place is cheap. And if you do buy it, and if you start seeing things that don’t quite make sense, don’t do what I did. Don’t investigate. Just pack up and leave. Some mysteries are better left unsolved.

I’ve said enough. More than enough, probably. I just needed to tell someone what really happened, why I’m selling, why I’ll never go back. Because carrying this around alone has been eating at me. And maybe, just maybe, if someone else ends up buying that property and they somehow stumble across this story, they’ll have a heads up. They’ll know what’s out there. They’ll know to be careful. Or maybe they’ll think I’m crazy. I can’t control that. All I can do is tell the truth and hope someone listens—because whatever that thing is, it’s still out there, still real. And knowing that changes everything.

For more mysterious stories, keep searching. Some places aren’t meant for us—and some truths are best left in the shadows.