Bigfoot Is Living On Our Property… And It’s Getting Worse – BIGFOOT SIGHTINGS STORY

The Shadow in the Timber

A True Account from Oregon

Chapter 1: Unwelcome Silence

I’m writing this because nobody believes us anymore. The sheriff thinks we’re crazy, our neighbors avoid us, and even our own children won’t return our calls. But I need to get this down on paper before something worse happens. Before it’s too late.

My name is Daryl. My wife Jess and I have been farming the same 240 acres in rural Oregon for thirty-seven years. We raise cattle, grow hay, and keep to ourselves. The land is our life, our legacy. We’ve seen our share of wildlife—deer, elk, the occasional black bear, even a cougar once. But what’s been happening on our property for the past eight months isn’t normal. It isn’t natural, and it’s getting worse every single day.

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It started small. Last October, Jess noticed something wrong with our chickens. We keep about forty hens in a coop behind the barn, and they’d been laying just fine all summer. Then, suddenly, we were getting maybe six eggs a day instead of the usual twenty-five or thirty. The birds seemed spooked, huddling together in one corner of the coop during the day instead of roaming their run.

At first, I figured it was just a fox or raccoon getting into the feed. I reinforced the fence, added wire mesh over the top, and set up a motion-activated light. For a few weeks, things seemed to improve. The hens started laying again, and we thought we’d solved the problem.

Then, one morning in early November, Jess went out to collect eggs and found the coop door ripped clean off its hinges. Not broken—ripped. The hinges were still bolted to the frame, but the entire wooden door was lying in the dirt fifteen feet away. The chickens were gone. All forty of them.

I examined the scene and couldn’t make sense of it. No feathers scattered around like you’d see with a fox attack. No blood, no tracks I could identify, though the ground was torn up. Whatever had taken our chickens had simply opened the coop like a can of beans and cleared them out.

The strangest part was the smell. Even three days later, a musky, sour odor hung around the coop. It reminded me of wet dog mixed with something wild and rank that made my stomach turn.

Chapter 2: Signs and Shadows

A week after we lost the chickens, our neighbor’s cattle started acting strange. Bob Martinez owns the ranch next to ours, and his cows had always been calm, docile animals. Suddenly, they were bunching up against the fence line furthest from our property, refusing to graze in the pasture that bordered our land.

Bob came by to ask if we’d seen anything unusual. I told him about the chickens, and he got this look on his face like he wanted to say something but thought better of it. Finally, he mentioned that his border collie had been barking all night for the past week, always facing our direction.

That afternoon, I decided to walk the fence line between our properties. The ground was still soft from recent rain, and about halfway along the border, I found them. Footprints—not like any I’d ever seen. They were enormous, at least eighteen inches long and about eight inches wide, deeper than a human footprint would be, pressed down into the mud like whatever made them weighed far more than a person. The stride length was incredible, maybe four or five feet between prints.

I followed the trail for about a hundred yards before it disappeared into the thick timber at the back of our property. I took pictures with my phone, though they didn’t turn out very clear. When I showed them to Bob, he went pale. He’d found similar tracks on his land the day before but hadn’t wanted to mention it.

We both agreed to keep an eye out and let each other know if we saw anything else.

Chapter 3: Night Calls

The sound started a few nights later. Jess woke me up around two in the morning, shaking my shoulder.

“Something’s outside.”

I listened and heard it—a low rumbling noise coming from somewhere near the barn. It wasn’t quite howling, wasn’t quite growling, more like a cross between the two, but deeper than anything I’d heard from a wild animal. It went on for maybe thirty seconds, then stopped.

We have a shotgun in the bedroom closet, and I grabbed it before going to the window. Our farm sits in a valley with hills rising on three sides, and the moon was bright enough that I could see pretty clearly across our pastures. Nothing moved. The cattle were all bunched up at the far end of their field, as far from the barn as they could get.

The sound came again, and this time, I could tell it was definitely coming from behind the barn. I considered going outside to investigate, but something about that noise made my skin crawl. It was too intelligent, too purposeful, like whatever was making it was trying to communicate something.

Jess suggested we call the sheriff, but what would we say? That we heard a scary noise? I decided to wait until morning.

In the daylight, I found more evidence. The big sliding door on the barn had scratches in the wood, deep gouges that looked like claw marks. They were too high up to be from any normal animal, starting about seven feet off the ground and running down to shoulder height. Inside the barn, several hay bales had been moved. Each bale weighs about fifty pounds, and they’d been tossed around like they were nothing.

Chapter 4: The Watcher

Two weeks later, I saw it.

I was checking on our cattle early one morning when something caught my eye at the edge of the tree line, maybe two hundred yards away. At first, I thought it was a person, someone standing perfectly still among the pines. But as I watched, I realized whoever it was had to be enormous.

The trees in that section are old growth, some of them forty or fifty feet tall, and this figure came up to the lower branches. I grabbed my binoculars from the truck and focused on the spot.

What I saw made my blood run cold. It wasn’t a person at all. The thing was covered in dark brown hair from head to foot, with arms that hung down past its knees. Its shoulders were massively broad, and its head seemed to sit directly on its torso without much of a neck. It was just standing there, motionless, watching me.

We stared at each other for what felt like five minutes, but was probably only thirty seconds. Then, without any sudden movement, it simply stepped backward into the trees and vanished.

One moment it was there, the next it was gone, like it had never existed at all.

I drove over to that section of woods as fast as our old Ford could carry me. By the time I reached the tree line, there was nothing to see. Just the lingering smell of that same musky odor I’d noticed around the chicken coop.

When I told Jess what I’d seen, she didn’t say I was imagining things. She just nodded and told me she’d been feeling like something was watching her when she hung laundry on the line.

Chapter 5: Tracks in the Snow

December brought our first real snow and with it, undeniable proof that we weren’t dealing with a normal animal. The creature—by now I’d started thinking of it as Bigfoot, though I’d never believed in such things before—left tracks everywhere.

In the fresh powder, the prints were clear and detailed. You could see the outline of toes, the arch of the foot, even what looked like hair impressions around the edges. The tracks crisscrossed our entire property, leading from the woods to the barn, around our house, past the chicken coop, and back into the timber.

Some mornings there would be dozens of prints, like the thing had spent hours wandering around our farm in the dark. But the tracks weren’t the worst part. The worst part was how close to the house they came.

One morning, I found prints right outside our bedroom window. They were so close to the foundation that whatever made them would have been able to look directly through the glass if it had wanted to. The thought of that thing standing there while we slept, watching us, made me sick to my stomach.

I installed motion sensor lights around the house and barn. The first night, they triggered seventeen times between midnight and dawn. I’d look out the window each time the yard lit up, but I never saw anything. Just the lights flashing on and off like a strobe, illuminating empty snow.

Chapter 6: The Unseen Intruder

By January, I knew we needed help. The situation was getting worse, not better. The creature was becoming bolder, and I was afraid it might try to break into the house.

I called the county sheriff’s office and explained what was happening. The deputy who answered the phone was polite but clearly skeptical. He said they’d send someone out to take a look, but it was three days before anyone showed up.

The officer who finally came was young, maybe mid-twenties, and he had that attitude that said he was humoring the crazy old farmer. I showed him the tracks in the snow, the scratches on the barn door, the bent fence posts where something heavy had leaned against them. He took a few pictures and wrote some notes, but I could tell he wasn’t taking it seriously.

When I mentioned seeing the actual creature, he just nodded and said they’d keep the report on file.

“We get a lot of calls about bears this time of year,” he said. “They can leave pretty big tracks, especially in soft snow.”

I tried to explain that these weren’t bear tracks, that no bear stood eight feet tall and walked upright, but he was already heading back to his patrol car, probably thinking about the story he’d tell the other deputies back at the station.

We never heard from them again.

Chapter 7: Escalation

The snow melted in late January, and February brought a new level of activity. The creature wasn’t just passing through our property anymore. It was living here.

Our garbage cans, which we kept in a wooden enclosure near the house, were regularly torn apart. Not just knocked over, but completely destroyed. The metal cans were bent and twisted into shapes that would have taken incredible strength to achieve.

The creature seemed particularly interested in any food scraps, but it also scattered everything else across our yard—papers, bottles, anything that had been in those cans. I started putting the garbage inside the barn, thinking that might solve the problem. The next morning, I found that the barn sliding door had been forced open. The lock was broken and the door itself was bent on its track. Inside, the garbage was scattered just like before.

Now the creature had also knocked over several shelves and torn open feed sacks. The smell was everywhere, that same musky, wild odor that seemed to follow wherever the thing went. It was strongest in the barn, like the creature had spent considerable time in there.

I found what looked like a nest in one of the empty stalls, made from hay and old burlap sacks.

Chapter 8: Face to Face

Up until March, most of the encounters had been mine. Jess had heard the sounds and seen the tracks, but she hadn’t come face to face with the creature. That changed on a Tuesday morning when she went out to feed our remaining animals.

We’d bought six new chickens to replace the ones we’d lost, and we were keeping them in a smaller, reinforced coop closer to the house. Jess went out around seven in the morning with their feed, same as she’d done thousands of times before.

When she came back inside, she was white as a sheet and shaking all over. It took me ten minutes to get the story out of her.

She’d been filling the water containers when she heard something behind her. When she turned around, the creature was standing not twenty feet away, just watching her. She described it as enormous, easily eight feet tall, covered in dark hair that looked almost black in the morning light. Its face was like a cross between human and ape, with intelligent eyes that seemed to look right through her.

They stared at each other for what she said felt like forever. Then the creature made a sound. Not the howling we’d heard at night, but something almost like words. Gibberish, but with the rhythm and tone of speech, like it was trying to communicate with her. Finally, it turned and walked away. Not hurrying, not skulking—just walking upright on two legs like a person would, except twice as big as any person had a right to be.

Jess didn’t go outside alone after that.

Chapter 9: The Breaking Point

March brought warmer weather and an escalation in the creature’s behavior. It was no longer content to just wander around our property and go through our garbage. Now it was actively destroying things.

Our fence posts started showing up snapped in half, always the ones along the back property line near the woods. These weren’t old, rotted posts. They were pressure-treated 6x6s that I’d installed myself just five years earlier. Breaking them would have required enormous strength or the right tools. And I knew it wasn’t vandals, because we would have heard a vehicle coming up our long gravel driveway.

The creature also developed an interest in our equipment. One morning, I found our riding mower had been flipped upside down in the middle of the yard. The thing weighs over four hundred pounds, and there was no mechanical way it could have ended up in that position by accident.

The next week, our utility trailer was found a hundred yards from where I’d parked it, with two of its tires completely shredded. I started putting everything mechanical inside the barn at night, but that just meant the creature found new things to destroy. It pulled down sections of our split rail fencing, scattered firewood we’d spent days stacking, and somehow managed to tear the metal roof off our small equipment shed.

Each incident left behind more of that terrible smell and usually some new footprints to document what had happened. I must have taken two hundred pictures by this point, but they never seemed to capture how truly massive those prints were.

Chapter 10: The Offering

This morning, I found fresh footprints leading right up to our front door. But these weren’t like the others. These prints showed the creature had been carrying something—the depth and spacing were different, like it was bearing extra weight.

Sitting on our welcome mat was a dead rabbit, placed there deliberately, not torn apart like a predator would leave it, but positioned carefully, almost like an offering or a gift.

I don’t know what message the creature is trying to send, but the fact that it’s bringing us things suggests its behavior is evolving again. Yesterday, it was content to destroy our property and intimidate us. Today, it’s leaving presents.

I’m afraid to think about what tomorrow might bring.

Epilogue: The Final Warning

As I finish writing this, the sun is setting behind the hills and that familiar musky smell is starting to drift across our yard. Somewhere in the woods behind our house, something that shouldn’t exist is waking up for another night of watching, waiting, and slowly making our lives its own.

If you’re reading this and you believe any part of it, please share our story. People need to know that there are things in the wilderness that science hasn’t cataloged yet—things that are intelligent, powerful, and completely unafraid of humans.

And if you live in a rural area, especially near heavy timber or mountains, pay attention to your animals. Listen for sounds that don’t belong. Look for tracks that are too big and too deep to be normal. Because once these things decide they’re interested in you, I don’t think they ever really go away.

The motion sensor light just triggered in our backyard. Through the window, I can see a massive shadow moving near our barn.

It’s here again, and it’s getting closer to the house.

I’m going to put this notebook somewhere safe, somewhere the creature won’t find it if something happens to us.

Maybe someday someone will read this and understand what we went through. Maybe someday someone will believe us.

End.