Bigfoot Spoke to Her… This Woman Caught Shocking Footage of a Talking Sasquatch

Back in 2014, I was thirty‑two, living with my partner Tom in a rented cabin near the Cascades. I thought I knew those woods—every trail within five miles, every ridge and creek. But one late September evening, I recorded something on my phone that shattered everything I thought I knew.

Bigfoot spoke to me. Not grunting, not howling—speaking. Words in a language I couldn’t understand but could clearly hear.

Chapter One: The Trail

The forest around our cabin had always been familiar. Douglas firs thick and tall, underbrush alive with squirrels and jays. Tom and I had chosen the place for its peace, its remoteness.

That evening, I hiked farther than usual. The light was fading, golden hour slipping into dusk. I wanted to reach a viewpoint a ranger had mentioned. My legs burned with the climb. Then I froze.

Three sharp knocks echoed through the trees. Deliberate. Evenly spaced.

“Hello?” I called. Silence answered.

I kept climbing. The trail curved around a cedar. Then I heard it—voice. Deep, resonant, rising and falling in intonations. Pauses between phrases. The rhythm of language.

Chapter Two: The Voice

I stopped dead. The syllables were guttural, thick, but deliberate. Not English. Not any language I recognized.

“Who’s there?” I called, my voice shaking.

Movement in the underbrush. Then it stepped into view.

Massive. Seven feet tall. Dark brown hair. Shoulders impossibly broad, arms long. The face—something between human and ape.

We stared at each other. My hand moved to my phone. I opened the camera app, recording.

“I’m Sarah,” I whispered, pointing to myself.

The creature tilted its head. Then it spoke. Lips moved. Tongue formed sounds. Deliberate communication.

Chapter Three: The Exchange

It gestured toward itself, spoke syllables that might have been its name. We stood there for minutes, exchanging sounds neither of us understood.

At one point, it gestured toward the path behind me, then the darkening sky. A warning.

“Okay,” I said. “I’m going.”

I stepped back, phone still recording. It made one final sound—farewell?—then turned and vanished into the forest.

I ran down the trail, heart hammering. I had proof.

Chapter Four: The Doubt

Inside the cabin, Tom looked up. “Jesus, Sarah, what happened?”

I showed him the video. Shaky, but clear. My voice saying, “I’m Sarah.” The creature responding.

Tom watched in silence. Then: “Costume. Prank. Someone in a suit.”

“It was real,” I insisted.

He smiled skeptically. “I believe you believe it.”

The next morning, I showed my sister Rachel on FaceTime. She frowned. “Honey, are you okay? That’s someone in a costume. You need perspective.”

Nobody believed me.

Chapter Five: The Stones

I posted the video to a cryptozoology forum. Replies came fast: “Fake.” “Hoax.” “CGI.”

For a week, I obsessed. Then one evening, I returned to the trail, desperate. I called out: “I know you’re out there. Please show yourself again.”

Silence.

But when I returned to the cabin, I found a small pile of smooth river stones stacked deliberately on the porch railing.

Tom hadn’t left them. The security camera showed they appeared while I was gone.

Chapter Six: Going Public

I realized no private showing would convince anyone. I had to publish.

At 2:47 a.m., I uploaded the video to YouTube: Bigfoot Encounter Talking Sasquatch Caught on Camera Washington State 2014.

By morning, hundreds of views. By noon, fifty thousand. Within two days, a million.

My life changed overnight.

Chapter Seven: The Circus

Comments flooded in. Skeptics mocked. Believers praised. News outlets called. A documentary crew wanted to visit.

Tom grew silent, distant. “You’re turning our life into a circus,” he said.

But some people believed.

Chapter Eight: The Scientist

Dr. Marcus Chen, a primatologist from Oregon, emailed. “Your footage is compelling. The vocalization is unprecedented. If authentic, this is the first evidence of linguistic capability.”

He analyzed the audio. “The patterns are inconsistent with known primates. Intentional communication. Extraordinary.”

But he cautioned: “Without corroborating evidence, I can’t claim definitively. I need field research.”

He came with assistants. For five days, they searched. Nothing. No footprints. No hair. No sounds.

“Your footage is remarkable,” Chen said. “But alone, it isn’t enough.”

Chapter Nine: The Collapse

Skeptics grew louder. Special effects artists claimed they could recreate it. Costume designers pointed out seams. Someone accused me of hiring an actor.

Rachel begged me to take the video down. “They’re harassing us. Mom’s address is online.”

I refused.

Tom left. “You’re obsessed. I don’t recognize you anymore.”

The cabin became a prison.

Chapter Ten: The Others

Then came an email. Jennifer Mills, Northern California. “I heard it too. Two years ago. Same guttural language. Nobody believed me. Your video is the same voice.”

We spoke for hours. She described her encounter. No recording, but identical.

Others reached out. A man in Montana with knocking sounds. A woman in Oregon with footprints. A ranger in British Columbia with vocalizations.

We formed a private group. Dozens of encounters. Patterns emerged. Language. Communication. Intelligence.

Chapter Eleven: The Name

Months later, Jennifer emailed again. She’d recorded audio. Among guttural syllables was a sound like “Sarah.”

I listened, heart racing. My name. Spoken by something that shouldn’t exist.

They knew. Somehow, they knew about me.

Chapter Twelve: The Search

I began traveling. Washington, Oregon, Northern California. Hotspot locations. Witnesses. Footprints. Nights camping in silence.

Savings dwindled. Obsession consumed me.

Jennifer warned: “You’ve done enough. You started the conversation. Don’t burn yourself out.”

But I couldn’t stop.

Chapter Thirteen: The Return

October 2015. Exactly one year later. I returned to the trail.

I camped at the spot. Built a fire. Waited.

Around midnight, I heard them. Three knocks.

Then the voice. Deep, guttural, deliberate.

I raised my phone, recording again.

Epilogue: The Mystery

The footage exists. Two recordings now. One year apart. Both dismissed, both debated.

I lost Tom. I lost privacy. I lost peace.

But I gained something else. Proof that the world is larger, stranger, more mysterious than anyone wants to admit.

Bigfoot spoke to me. Twice.

And I will never stop listening.