SASQUATCH And DOGMAN Encountered FIGHTING To The DEATH
The Five Days of October
The Last Testament of Cole Dawson
Chapter 1: Shadows of the Cold War
What I witnessed in those October woods of 1962 defies everything I thought I knew about the world. Even now, as I write these words with trembling hands, I can still hear the sounds—the bone-chilling howls, the thunderous crashes, the primal fury of two creatures locked in mortal combat.
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My name is Cole Dawson. In October 1962, I was twenty-three, naive as a newborn calf, and absolutely convinced the world was about to end. Those were dark days. The Cold War wasn’t just headlines. It was a suffocating dread pressing down on every American’s shoulders. We all knew the Soviets had their nuclear arsenal pointed straight at our hearts.
Then came October 1962, and the Cuban Missile Crisis hit like a sledgehammer. Air raid sirens screamed in every city. The whole world held its breath, waiting to see if we’d wake up the next morning or vanish in a flash of atomic fire.
I remember sitting in my cramped Chicago apartment, watching grainy images of Soviet ships steaming toward Cuba, feeling something cold settle in my stomach. If the world was going to burn, I needed to be ready. I needed to know how to survive when there were no grocery stores, no hospitals, no warm beds or electric lights. I needed to learn how to live off the land, like my ancestors.
Chapter 2: Into the Wild
Every weekend, I drove out to the forests of Wisconsin and Illinois, learning to build shelters, start fires with flint and steel, identify edible plants, and track game. By October, I’d spent six months honing my skills in the tame forests near the city. But it wasn’t enough.
I planned a solo expedition into the remote wilderness of northern Minnesota near the Canadian border—a vast, trackless expanse of dense forest that stretched for hundreds of miles. The kind of place where a man could disappear forever. It was perfect.
I set out on a crisp October morning. My pack was loaded with the bare essentials: a few days’ food, basic camping gear, my grandfather’s revolver, and a well-worn copy of the Army Survival Manual. Everything else, I planned to make or find along the way.
Chapter 3: The First Signs
The first day was everything I’d hoped for—a cathedral of towering pines and ancient oaks. I made good time, covering nearly fifteen miles before setting up camp by a crystal-clear stream. I built a lean-to, started a fire, caught brook trout for dinner, and felt a deep satisfaction as I watched the flames dance against the darkness.
The second day was even better. I foraged for wild onions, blackberries, and mushrooms, made a hearty stew, and slept beneath massive white pines that had stood for centuries. Out here, the Cuban Missile Crisis felt like something from another world.
But on the third day, everything changed. I woke with a sense of unease. The forest seemed quieter than usual. Even the stream seemed to babble more softly, as if the very land was holding its breath.
As I broke camp and ventured deeper, the feeling grew stronger—an itch between my shoulder blades, a constant awareness that I was being watched.
Chapter 4: Tracks in the Mud
Around midday, I stopped for lunch beside a small pond, its surface mirror-smooth. That’s when I saw them: tracks pressed deep into the soft mud at the water’s edge. At first, I thought they were left by a man in bare feet. But as I knelt closer, my blood ran cold.
Each track was enormous, twice the length of my size 10 boots and wider, with five clearly defined toes—like a human’s, but longer, more ape-like, with claw marks at the tips. The stride length was at least four feet apart.
I’d studied enough animal tracking to know these didn’t match any known species. My rational mind scrambled for explanations, but deep down, I knew I was looking at something real—something that shouldn’t exist, but undeniably did.
Chapter 5: The Watchers
That afternoon, I was on high alert. Every sound made me jump. The feeling of being watched intensified. As evening approached, I chose my campsite with care—a clearing with good visibility, my shelter backed against a boulder, a large fire burning all night. But sleep was impossible.
Several times, I saw shapes moving between the trees—massive silhouettes, observing me from just beyond the edge of visibility. By dawn, I was exhausted and shaken, but more determined than ever to prove I could handle whatever the wilderness threw at me.
The fourth day brought heavy clouds, thick humid air, and a musky animal odor that made my skin crawl. Every instinct screamed at me to turn back. But pride kept me moving forward.
Chapter 6: Predator and Prey
Around noon, I found a second set of tracks beside a stream. These were canine in shape, but enormous—each print as large as a dinner plate, with claw marks gouging deep furrows in the clay. The prints were too elongated, too narrow, the pad structure all wrong for a quadruped. Some showed five toes, spread wide like fingers.
The spacing, depth, and pattern suggested intelligence and purpose. This thing was hunting.
That’s when I heard it: a low, resonant rumble that rose into a howl—unlike any wolf I’d ever heard. It spoke of intelligence and malice, a predator that killed for pleasure. The howl echoed off the trees, and every bird, every animal, went silent.
Chapter 7: Stalked
My first instinct was to run, but I forced myself to stay calm. I decided to head back toward civilization. As I moved, the sense of being followed grew stronger. I could hear things moving in the forest, footsteps mirroring my own. The musky scent grew stronger.
By late afternoon, my nerves were frayed. Every sound made me jump. As the sun set, I returned to a clearing I’d camped in before, set up my shelter, and built a roaring fire.
As darkness fell, I heard the howl again—closer this time. Then an answering call, higher-pitched, more aggressive. The two sounds circled my camp, communicating, coordinating. I saw eyes—huge, glowing pinpricks, positioned too high off the ground for any normal animal. They circled my campsite, massive shapes behind them, watching, waiting.
Chapter 8: The Night of Eyes
I sat with my revolver in my lap, too afraid to sleep. For what felt like hours, we regarded each other across the dying fire. Predator and prey, locked in a standoff. The creature’s eyes never left mine, studying me with unsettling intelligence.
Finally, the eyes moved away, and I heard heavy footsteps recede into the darkness. But I didn’t sleep. I fed the fire and watched as those glowing eyes reappeared in different positions throughout the night.
By dawn, I was exhausted and determined to escape before nightfall. As I hiked out, I saw more tracks—bipedal prints and the massive canine tracks, everywhere, as if they’d been following my exact route. The implications were terrifying: not only was I being stalked by two different creatures, but they seemed to be working together.
Chapter 9: The Battle of Monsters
By midday, I was pushing myself to the limit. Cresting a ridge, I saw two massive shapes in a clearing by a stream. At first, I tried to convince myself they were bears. But as I crouched behind a log and watched, I knew the truth.
The larger creature stood at least eight feet tall, covered in thick dark fur, with a face that blended ape and human features. The second was a nightmare fusion of wolf and man—six and a half feet tall, with an elongated muzzle, fangs, and burning, intelligent eyes.
They were communicating—low guttural sounds from the ape, growls and barks from the wolf. Then, as if on some signal, they turned toward my hiding place. The wolf snarled, the ape clenched its fists, and the wolf howled—a sound from the depths of hell.
The wolf leaped, claws extended, jaws wide. The ape sidestepped, delivering a thunderous uppercut that sent the wolf crashing into a tree. But the wolf rose, snarling, and the battle began.
Chapter 10: Clash of Titans
They circled each other like gladiators. The ape had size and strength, the wolf speed and savage claws. Again and again, they clashed, blows shaking the ground, blood flying. The wolf slashed with claws and fangs, the ape struck with fists like sledgehammers.
The sounds were beyond anything I’d heard—roars that shook the leaves, howls that froze my blood. This was more than a fight over territory. There was history here, old hatred and rivalry.
The turning point came when the wolf leaped onto the ape’s back, sinking its fangs into its neck. The ape roared, grabbed the wolf, and hurled it through the air. Bones broke. The wolf lay still, then rose for a final, desperate attack.
It leaped for the ape’s throat. The ape caught it in midair, and after a brief, violent struggle, began to squeeze the life from it. But at the last moment, the ape released its grip and stepped back. The wolf collapsed, gasping.
After a long, silent moment, the ape turned and walked away into the forest. The wolf eventually limped off in the opposite direction. Suddenly, I was alone.
Chapter 11: Escape
For several minutes, I remained paralyzed, struggling to process the impossible reality. Then I realized this was my only chance to escape. I crept around the edge of the clearing, noting the torn earth, broken branches, and pools of blood.
Near where the wolf had fallen, I saw a footprint—almost human, but too long, too narrow, with claw marks at the tips. The wolf could walk upright, leaving prints that could be mistaken for a very large, very strange human.
I ran through the forest, crashing through underbrush, driven by terror. Exhaustion threatened to overwhelm me, but I forced myself on.
Late in the afternoon, I reached the shore of a lake I recognized. I was within a few miles of my starting point. As I caught my breath, I heard a distant, mournful howl, filled with intelligence and fury. It was coming closer.
Chapter 12: The Final Pursuit
I plunged into the cold water, swimming for the far shore. The weight of my pack threatened to drag me under, but I didn’t dare abandon it. Behind me, I heard splashing—the wolf creature was swimming after me.
I reached the far shore, exhausted, and heard the creature pull itself from the water. Its breathing was labored; it was badly injured. Hope surged—maybe I could outrun it.
I ran along a hiking trail, the lights of town growing closer. As I reached my car, the wolf howled again, close behind. I fumbled with the keys, hands shaking, as the creature emerged from the trees, bloodied but relentless.
The engine started. I gunned the car out of the lot as the wolf reached the road. In the rearview mirror, I saw it standing, watching me flee with those terrible, intelligent eyes. Then it was gone.
Chapter 13: The Weight of Silence
I drove through the night, not stopping until I reached Minneapolis at dawn. In a diner, I realized the impossibility of telling this story. Who would believe I’d witnessed a battle between a Sasquatch and a werewolf?
I went back to Chicago, watched the missile crisis end without nuclear war, and tried to convince myself none of it had happened. But the memories wouldn’t fade. Night after night, I woke in a cold sweat, hearing those howls, seeing those eyes.
Years passed. The Cold War ended. The world changed, but those deep woods of northern Minnesota remained as mysterious as they had been in 1962.
Chapter 14: The Truth in the Shadows
Occasionally, I saw stories of Bigfoot sightings or werewolf encounters, usually dismissed as hoaxes. I read them with recognition and sadness, knowing others had glimpsed the truth and found themselves unable to share it.
Now, at eighty-five, with cancer winning its war against my body, I know my time is short. So here is the truth about what happened in those woods in October 1962. I have changed nothing, added nothing, hidden nothing. This is exactly what I saw, what has haunted my dreams for more than sixty years.
I don’t expect anyone to believe it. I wouldn’t, if someone else told me. But I know what I saw, and I know it was real. Somewhere out there, in the deep places of the world, impossible things still walk beneath the stars.
Chapter 15: The World Beyond Maps
The Cuban Missile Crisis passed without nuclear war. The world didn’t end in atomic fire. But for me, something ended anyway—my naive faith that humans understood the world, that we were the only intelligent life on this planet.
We share our world with older, stranger things, beings who have learned to avoid our cities and technology. They live in the spaces between our maps, in the shadows of our surveillance. Sometimes, a human stumbles into their world and glimpses truths not meant for human eyes.
For five days in October 1962, I walked in a world where legends were real and monsters fought their ancient battles beneath the autumn stars. I survived, but was forever changed.
Take from this story what you will. Believe it, or dismiss it as the ravings of a dying old man. But remember: the world is stranger, more wonderful, and more terrible than we imagine. In the deep woods, where the old rules still apply, impossible things still walk the earth.
End of Story
