Child Claims She Played With a “Gentle Hairy Man” – A Real Encounter With Bigfoot
The Friendship in the Forest
I never believed in Bigfoot until the day I found one lying dead in the forests of Olympic National Park. What I discovered connected to that creature changed everything I thought I knew about them. Let me tell this story from the beginning because it completely altered my understanding of the beings that inhabit the deep forests of the Pacific Northwest.
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My name is David Mitchell. I’m 36 years old, and I live with my family on a rural property on the outskirts of Forks, Washington. If you know the area, you know that Forks sits in the heart of the Olympic Peninsula, surrounded by some of the densest and oldest temperate rainforests in the United States. Olympic National Forest stretches for millions of acres around us, with trees so old and tall they block most of the sunlight even on clear days. We moved here two years ago, looking for a quieter life away from the hustle of Seattle. I work remotely as a software developer, which allows me to have flexible hours and spend more time with my family. My wife, Sarah, is an elementary school teacher at a school in Forks, about a fifteen-minute drive from our house. Our son, Ethan, had just turned seven when the events I’m about to describe began.
Our property is about five acres, with the house set in a clearing surrounded by dense forest on three sides. We have a large backyard where Ethan likes to play, but we’ve always set strict rules: he can’t go beyond the treeline by himself. The forests here are dangerous for children—there are black bears, occasional cougars, and it’s incredibly easy to get lost among trees so dense they all look the same.
Ethan has always been an imaginative child. He had imaginary friends when he was younger, talked to his toys as if they were real, and made up elaborate stories about fairies and magical creatures living in our backyard. So when, in late August 2024, he started mentioning a new friend he’d met, I didn’t think much of it.
“Daddy, I met someone really nice today,” he said at dinner one Thursday, swinging his little legs on the chair. “He’s a big furry man who lives in the forest. He’s very kind. We played hide-and-seek near the big trees.”
I paused with my fork in midair, paying more attention now. “Ethan, did you go beyond the treeline? You know you can’t do that.”
“I didn’t go far, Daddy. Just a little bit. And he was there watching. At first, I was scared because he’s very, very big. Bigger than you. But then he waved at me, and I waved back, and he looked happy.”
Sarah and I exchanged worried looks across the table. “Ethan,” I said gently but firmly, “there isn’t any big furry man in the forest. Are you making up stories again?”
Ethan frowned, that determined expression he makes when he knows he’s right about something. “I’m not making it up. He’s real. He has brown fur all over his body like a bear, but he walks on two legs like a person, and he has big gentle eyes.”
My heart skipped. He was describing—no, impossible. “Ethan, did you see a bear? Honey, bears are very dangerous. If you see a bear, you need to run straight home and tell us immediately.”
“He’s not a bear, Daddy,” he insisted, getting frustrated now. “I know what bears are like. We saw that bear at the zoo in Seattle. Remember? This is different. He stands up like a person, and he doesn’t hurt me. He’s my friend now.”
Sarah leaned forward. “Ethan, when exactly did you see this friend?”
“This afternoon when I was playing in the yard. And yesterday too. And the day before that,” Ethan counted on his fingers. “He comes every day now. I think he likes to watch me play.”
We spent the rest of dinner trying to figure out what he had really seen. Maybe it was a deer from far away that he misinterpreted because of his active imagination, or some hiker in strange clothes passing through the forest. But Ethan kept his story consistent, insisting he had a new friend in the woods who was big, furry, and very, very nice.
The Decision
After putting Ethan to bed that night, Sarah and I had a serious talk in the living room. “What do you think he actually saw?” Sarah asked, biting her lip nervously.
“Probably nothing,” I said, trying to be rational. “You know how Ethan is. He has an incredible imagination. Remember when he was convinced there were fairies living in the garden? We spent weeks hearing about detailed conversations with them.”
“But this feels different,” Sarah argued. “He’s being very specific about the details, and he mentioned it happened multiple times, always in the same place near the big trees.”
I sighed, rubbing my face. “Tomorrow is Friday. I’ll work from the yard tomorrow. Keep an eye on him while he plays outside. If there really is something or someone around, I’ll find out.”
The next day, I set up my laptop on the picnic table on our deck, positioned to have a clear view of the entire backyard and the treeline beyond it. Ethan went out to play around 10:00 a.m. After Sarah had left for work, I watched him while pretending to work. For thirty minutes, Ethan played normally. Then he stopped, looking toward the forest. He tilted his head as if he were listening to something. Then he smiled, that big, genuine smile he gives when he’s truly happy, and waved at the trees.
My blood ran cold. I snapped my laptop shut and stood up, scanning the treeline. I didn’t see anything at first, just shadows and moss-covered trunks, dense ferns growing between them. “Ethan,” I called, trying to keep my voice casual. “Who are you waving to, champ?”
“To my friend,” he shouted back cheerfully. “He came to see me. Look, Daddy, he’s right there.”
He pointed to an area about thirty feet into the forest where a massive western hemlock cast a deep shadow. I walked to the edge of the deck, my eyes carefully scanning that spot, and then I saw it. Just for a second, but I definitely saw it. Something big—very big—standing behind that tree. It was hard to make out details in the deep shade, but I could see a shape that was definitely not a tree trunk or a natural shadow. It was tall, maybe seven or eight feet, and wide, and it seemed to be watching.
My heart started pounding faster. “Ethan, come over here by Daddy now.”
“But Daddy, I want to show him my toys. He likes when I show him my things.”
“Ethan Mitchell, come here now,” I said more firmly, using that dad voice that allows no argument. He scooped up his toys with a dramatic sigh and walked to the deck. I didn’t take my eyes off that shadow under the tree. The shape didn’t move, but I could feel—somehow feel—that it was watching us too.
“Why are you being annoying, Daddy?” Ethan asked, crossing his little arms. “He just wants to be my friend.”
“Let’s go inside for a while,” I said, placing my hand on his shoulder and guiding him gently but firmly toward the door. “It’s getting too hot out here.”
“It’s not hot. And now my friend is going to think I left because I don’t like him.”
Inside the house, I locked the door—something I rarely did during the day—and went straight to the living room window, standing behind the curtain so I could see without being easily seen. Ethan flopped onto the couch, clearly frustrated with his interrupted playtime. I watched that treeline for a full five minutes, and then I saw movement. The large shape stepped away from the tree, and for a brief moment, before it vanished deeper into the forest, I saw it clearly. It was bipedal, walking on two legs. It was massive, easily seven and a half or eight feet tall, covered in dark hair from head to toe.
My rational mind tried to find explanations—a man in a ghillie suit, a bear walking strangely. But I knew deep down what I had seen. My seven-year-old son had been playing with a Bigfoot.
The Revelation
I spent the rest of that Friday in a state of quiet shock. I kept Ethan inside for the rest of the afternoon, inventing excuses about the weather or chores we needed to do together. He complained, of course, saying his friend would be sad that he hadn’t come back out to play. Every time he said that, my stomach churned with a mix of fear and fascination.
When Sarah got home from work around 5:00, I waited until Ethan was distracted watching his favorite cartoons before pulling my wife into the bedroom. “I saw it,” I said simply, keeping my voice low.
“Saw what?” Sarah asked, taking off her shoes.
“Ethan’s friend, or at least something. Sarah, there was something big in the forest today. Something that was definitely not a bear or a deer or a hiker.”
Her expression shifted from confused to worried. “David, what are you saying?”
I told her everything—how Ethan had waved at the forest, how I’d seen the massive shape behind the tree, how it had moved bipedally when it left. Sarah listened in silence, her face growing paler with each detail.
“We need to call someone,” she said when I finished.
“The police? The wildlife department?”
“And say what? That I think I saw a Bigfoot in our backyard?” I asked. “Sarah, they’ll think we’re crazy. And if they send people out here making noise, searching, I don’t know what that might do.”
“But what if he gets hurt?” Sarah argued, her voice heavy with maternal anxiety. “David, no matter how gentle this thing seems, it’s eight feet tall and probably weighs five hundred pounds or more. One wrong move, one moment of surprise or fear, and Ethan could be seriously hurt.”
She was right, of course. But I had seen those eyes. I’d seen the deliberate, careful way the creature moved. There was intelligence there, awareness, and something else—something that felt almost like kindness.
Let’s do this, I finally proposed. “We keep letting Ethan play outside, but I stay with him the whole time. Not directly at his side. I don’t want to scare the creature, but close enough to intervene if necessary. And we keep recording everything. We’ll observe for a few more days, see if we can better understand this creature’s behavior. And if this becomes a problem, if it comes too close or behaves in a threatening way, then we call wildlife immediately. But Sarah, my gut is telling me this is different. This isn’t a predatory animal lurking. This is—I don’t know what it is, but I don’t think it’s dangerous.”
Sarah didn’t look fully convinced, but she agreed to the plan. Later that morning, when Ethan woke up and immediately asked if he could play outside, we set new rules. “You can play in the yard,” I said, kneeling to be at eye level with him. “And you can wave to your friend if he shows up, but you can’t go to the forest, and he can’t come into the yard. You two have to keep that distance. Okay?”
“Why?” Ethan asked, pouting.
“He won’t hurt me. He’s gentle.”
“I know you think that, buddy, but he’s very, very big. And sometimes big things can hurt little people, even without meaning to. Like when Grandma’s dog knocked you over that time, remember?”
Ethan nodded slowly, remembering. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”
“Exactly. And your big friend probably doesn’t want to hurt you either, but he’s so big he has to be very careful. So, it’s better if you two stay a little apart. Okay?”
“Okay, Daddy,” he agreed, though clearly disappointed.
The Routine
Around 11:00 a.m., Ethan was in the yard with his toys, and I was sitting at the picnic table with my laptop open, pretending to work, but really watching his every move. Sarah was inside doing schoolwork but checking through the window every few minutes.
It didn’t take long. At 11:15, Ethan suddenly froze, looking toward the forest. He tilted his head as if he were listening to something. Then he smiled, that big, genuine smile he gives when he’s truly happy, and waved.
My blood ran cold. I quietly opened the kitchen window and listened. “Hi!” Ethan called to the forest. “I missed you yesterday.” There was silence then, and this made every hair on my body stand on end. I heard it—a deep, resonant, almost subsonic sound that vibrated through the air. It wasn’t a growl or a grunt. It was more like a vocalization, communication. And Ethan answered as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“I know, but today I can stay out here. Do you want to see my new drawing?” He grabbed a piece of paper he’d brought and held it up, showing it toward the trees. I couldn’t see what he’d drawn from here, but I could see his proud expression.
Another sound came from the forest, shorter this time, almost like a grunt of approval. “Do you like it? I made your fur brown because it’s pretty.” And then, to my shock, the creature took a step forward, not toward Ethan, but backward. It was respecting the distance even as Ethan moved closer, giving him space.
Ethan stopped about fifteen feet from the treeline and started rebuilding his tower. “See, now you can see better,” he said happily. “This is the prince’s tower, and up here is where he looks out over the whole forest.” The creature crouched slightly, those enormous eyes focused on his activity, and then it did something that nearly stopped my heart.
Slowly, very deliberately, it moved into the light. For the first time, I could see it completely clearly. It was about eight feet tall, maybe a little more. The fur was dark brown, longer around the shoulders and head, shorter on the limbs. The face was a surprising mix of simian and human—prominent brow, wide flat nose. But the eyes, the eyes were deep, intelligent, and incredibly expressive. There was awareness there, perhaps even curiosity. It was watching Ethan with what I could only describe as gentle interest.
Ethan gasped with joy. “You’re so beautiful! Your eyes are just like I drew them.” Sarah appeared at my side, having seen what was happening from the window. Her hand found mine, squeezing hard as we watched this impossible moment.
“David,” she whispered. “He’s trusting us.” She was right. That’s what was happening. After weeks of careful interaction, of keeping distances, of mutual observation, the creature was taking a risk. It was revealing itself completely, making itself vulnerable. Ethan kept playing for another hour, now at that closer distance. He talked constantly, telling stories, asking questions he obviously didn’t expect to be answered, simply sharing his thoughts the way children do. And the Bigfoot listened to all of it. Occasionally, it vocalized those deep sounds. Once, when Ethan laughed at something in his own story, the creature made a sound I could only describe as laughter—deeper, more guttural, but definitely expressing amusement.
When Sarah called Ethan in for lunch, he gave his usual farewell wave. “Bye! See you later!” But this time, the creature did something new. It placed a huge hand over its chest, right where a human heart would be, and tilted its head slightly. It was such a clearly intentional gesture, so obviously communicative, that even Ethan recognized its meaning.
“You’re my heart friend too,” he shouted, placing his own little hand over his chest in imitation. “Heart friends forever.”
The Tension
That afternoon, while Ethan took his daily nap, Sarah and I sat at the kitchen table with a heavy decision in front of us. “We can’t keep this a secret much longer,” Sarah said calmly. “Ethan will inevitably tell someone at school, no matter how many times we say not to. He’s seven. And when that happens—”
“Chaos,” I finished. “I know.”
The next day, I set up the Ring security camera on the corner of the deck with a view of the treeline where Ethan always pointed. It wasn’t the perfect angle, but it would capture movement in that area. That night, we watched the footage, hoping for a glimpse of the creature.
The following days passed with no sign of it. Ethan played outside, but I felt the unease growing. The creature had been a consistent presence, and now it was gone. I watched Ethan’s disappointment as he waited for his friend, and I felt a pang of guilt for the secret we were keeping.
The Unexpected Visitor
Three weeks later, on a crisp winter morning, I was outside with Ethan when I heard the familiar sound—the three knocks echoing through the trees. My heart raced as I turned to see the massive shape emerging from the shadows. It was back.
Ethan’s face lit up with excitement. “Daddy! My friend is here!” He waved enthusiastically, and to my astonishment, the creature waved back, its massive hand moving slowly, deliberately. It stepped forward, closer to the edge of the treeline, and I felt that familiar mix of awe and fear wash over me.
But this time, something felt different. The creature seemed more cautious, more aware of its surroundings. I glanced around, feeling the tension in the air. It was as if the forest itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.
“Ethan, stay close,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Remember what we talked about?”
“Yeah, Daddy. I won’t go too far,” he replied, still grinning at his friend.
The creature watched them play, its eyes filled with a gentle curiosity. It seemed to understand the bond between my son and itself, and I felt a flicker of hope that perhaps we could coexist peacefully. But as the days passed, the tension grew. The knocks became more frequent, echoing through the forest, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was coming.
The Confrontation
Then, one evening, while I was preparing dinner, I heard a commotion outside. I rushed to the window to see the creature standing at the edge of the clearing, but this time it was not alone. A group of men—hunters—had emerged from the trees, armed and shouting.
“Get back!” one of them yelled. “We’re going to capture it!”
Panic surged through me. “Ethan, stay inside!” I shouted, my heart racing. I grabbed my rifle and rushed outside, determined to protect my son and the creature that had become his friend.
“Stay back!” I yelled at the hunters. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with!”
But they didn’t listen. They moved closer, their eyes locked on the Bigfoot, who stood its ground, watching them with a mixture of curiosity and caution.
“Get out of here, old man!” one of them shouted. “We’re going to prove this thing exists!”
I aimed my rifle at the ground, trying to diffuse the situation. “You don’t understand! It’s not dangerous! It’s just trying to live!”
The creature let out a low rumble, a sound that reverberated through the air, and the hunters hesitated, glancing at each other nervously. It was a warning, a reminder that it was not to be trifled with.
“Back off!” I shouted again, stepping in front of the creature, shielding it from their view. “You don’t want to do this!”
Just then, the creature took a step forward, its massive frame looming over me. The hunters stumbled back, fear flashing in their eyes. It was a moment of tension, a standoff between man and nature.
The Resolution
In that instant, I realized that this creature wasn’t just a legend. It was real, and it was capable of understanding the danger we were all in. The hunters looked at me, uncertainty creeping into their expressions.
“Let’s just leave,” one of them murmured, backing away slowly. “We don’t need to mess with this.”
As they retreated, I felt a wave of relief wash over me. The creature stood tall, watching them go, and I knew it had chosen to trust me. I lowered my rifle and took a deep breath, grateful that the situation had resolved without violence.
In the days that followed, I continued to leave food for the Bigfoot, and it returned, always maintaining a respectful distance. Ethan’s friendship with the creature deepened, and I felt a sense of peace settle over our lives.
But I also knew that the threat wasn’t entirely gone. The hunters would return. They always do. The world was full of people who wanted to exploit the unknown, to capture the extraordinary for their own gain. And I would do everything in my power to protect Marcus, to ensure he remained safe in the shadows of the forest.
The Legacy
As the years passed, the bond between Ethan and the Bigfoot grew stronger. They shared moments of joy and laughter, and I watched as my son learned about respect and empathy for a creature that defied explanation. It was a friendship unlike any other, one that bridged the gap between species and shattered the boundaries of understanding.
But the world outside continued to change. News of Bigfoot sightings spread, and the hunters became more persistent. They set traps, placed cameras, and combed the forests, determined to prove the existence of the legendary creature.
One night, as I sat on the porch watching the stars, I heard the familiar sound—the three knocks echoing through the trees. My heart raced as I turned to see the massive shape emerging from the shadows. It was Marcus, my friend, my protector.
I knew then that the time had come to make a choice. I could continue to hide, to keep the secret safe, or I could stand up and fight for what was right. I chose the latter.
I gathered the tribe, and we held a council. We discussed the importance of protecting Marcus and the legacy of the creatures that inhabit our forests. We decided to document everything, to create a sanctuary for the Bigfoot and other beings that deserved to live free.
The world may never fully understand what we’ve seen, but we would ensure that the forest remained a safe haven for those who dwelled within it. And as I looked into the eyes of my son and the creature that had become part of our family, I knew we had made the right choice.
The Reflection
Now, as I sit here recounting this story, I realize that some things are meant to remain hidden, but others must be shared. The truth about Bigfoot and the connection between humans and these extraordinary beings is a story worth telling, a legacy worth preserving.
If you ever find yourself in the woods and hear those three knocks, remember my story. Remember to respect the boundaries of the wild. Some things are more important than being believed. Some things deserve to remain a mystery, and some friendships are too sacred to expose.
Because in the end, it’s not about proving the existence of Bigfoot. It’s about recognizing the beauty of connection, the power of understanding, and the importance of protecting the wild places that hold the secrets of our world.
