Crying Male Bigfoot Begs A Man To Follow Him — What They Found Will Shock You
What would you do if the thing you feared most showed up on your doorstep, begging for help? This question haunted me for years after that fateful night in late autumn 1980, deep in the misty forests of North Carolina. My name is Royce Tanner, and what I experienced that night changed my life forever.
The air was thick with the smell of wet leaves and the promise of winter as I sat in my cabin, the wind howling outside like a mournful spirit. I was used to the solitude, having lived in this remote area for years, away from the noise of civilization. The only sounds I heard were the creaking of the wooden beams and the crackling of the fire in the stove. But that night, something felt different—an unsettling stillness that made my skin crawl.
It was around midnight when I heard a soft knock on my door. My heart raced as I stood up, instinctively reaching for the old hunting knife I kept by my side. Who could be out here at this hour? I cautiously approached the door, peering through the small window. What I saw made my breath catch in my throat.
Standing there, drenched from the rain, was a creature that should not exist—a Bigfoot. It stood nearly nine feet tall, its massive frame outlined against the faint glow of my porch light. Its deep amber eyes shone with an intelligence that sent shivers down my spine. This was no mindless beast; it was something far more complex, something that seemed to be pleading for help.
I opened the door slowly, my heart pounding in my chest. The creature looked at me, hands clasped together in front of its chest, its expression one of desperation rather than aggression. It wasn’t growling or snarling; instead, it seemed to be asking for compassion.
“Please,” it said in perfect English, its voice deep and resonant, yet tinged with an unmistakable sadness. “I need your help.”
I was frozen, struggling to comprehend the reality of the situation. Here was a being from legend, standing before me, speaking in a language I understood. “What… what do you need?” I managed to stammer, my voice barely above a whisper.
Without a word, the creature turned and began to walk into the woods, glancing back to ensure I was following. Something inside me urged me to comply, to step beyond my fears and into the unknown. I grabbed my coat and followed it into the dark embrace of the forest.
The air was thick and heavy as we moved deeper into the trees. My mind raced with questions, but I held my tongue, sensing that the creature would reveal its purpose in time. After what felt like an eternity, we arrived at a small clearing, illuminated by the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the branches.
In the center of the clearing lay another figure—a female Bigfoot, trapped in a cruel steel snare, her breath shallow and labored. The male knelt beside her, gently stroking her brow with a massive hand, his eyes filled with sorrow. It was a heartbreaking sight, and I felt an overwhelming surge of compassion.
“What happened to her?” I asked, kneeling beside the injured creature. The male looked up at me, his eyes pleading for help. “She’s caught in a trap,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion. “She’s poisoned. I need you to help her.”
I nodded, my heart racing as I assessed the situation. I had no medical training, but I knew enough about first aid to understand that time was of the essence. “I’ll do what I can,” I said, my voice steady despite the fear coursing through me.
I quickly rummaged through my backpack, pulling out a makeshift first aid kit I always carried for emergencies. The male watched closely as I worked, his presence a comforting weight beside me. I cleaned the wound, applying antiseptic and bandaging it as best I could, all while the female whimpered softly.
“Please, stay with her,” I urged the male, who nodded, his eyes never leaving the female’s face. “I’m going to get help,” I added, knowing I couldn’t do this alone. I needed someone with experience, someone who could save her life.
Without hesitation, I sprinted back through the forest, my heart pounding with urgency. I knew just the person to call—my neighbor, Iris Bell, a skilled veterinary nurse who lived just over the ridge. I had helped her during a snowstorm once, and I hoped she would come to my aid now.
When I reached her house, I knocked frantically on the door. Iris opened it almost immediately, her expression shifting from sleepiness to alarm. “Royce? What’s wrong?” she asked, her eyes wide with concern.
“There’s a female Bigfoot trapped in a snare. She’s hurt, and I need your help!” I explained, urgency spilling from my lips. Without a moment’s hesitation, Iris grabbed her medical bag and followed me back into the woods.
As we reached the clearing, the male Bigfoot stood protectively over the female, his eyes darting between us, assessing our intentions. “I promise we’re here to help,” I said, raising my hands in a gesture of peace.
Iris knelt beside the female, her hands steady and practiced as she examined the wound. “It’s deep,” she murmured, her brow furrowed with concentration. “But it’s not too late. We can save her.”
With a sense of determination, Iris prepared her supplies, and I assisted as best I could. The male watched intently, his gaze unwavering, trusting us to do what was necessary. I felt a bond forming not just between us and the Bigfoot, but among ourselves—three beings united by a common purpose.
As Iris worked, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being watched. The air grew heavy with tension, and I glanced around the clearing, my instincts screaming that we weren’t alone. Just then, I heard a rustle in the underbrush, and my heart dropped. A group of poachers, led by a ruthless trafficker, was closing in on our location.
“Get ready!” I whispered urgently to Iris. The male Bigfoot stood tall, a silent guardian, ready to protect the ones he loved. The poachers emerged from the trees, rifles slung over their shoulders, eyes glinting with greed. They had come to hunt, to capture something they didn’t understand.
“Step away from that creature!” the leader barked, his voice dripping with malice. “That’s a prize worth a fortune!”
“No!” I shouted, stepping in front of Iris and the female Bigfoot. “You can’t take her!”
The poachers laughed, their eyes narrowing with amusement. They didn’t see what I saw—a creature capable of compassion, a being that deserved to live without fear. The male Bigfoot growled low in his throat, a warning that sent chills down my spine.
Suddenly, chaos erupted. The poachers lunged forward, their intentions clear. The male Bigfoot sprang into action, moving with a speed and grace that belied his massive size. He shielded the female, stepping between her and the armed men, ready to defend his family.
Iris and I scrambled to our feet, adrenaline surging as we prepared to fight alongside him. “We have to protect her!” I yelled, my heart racing as the poachers advanced.
Bullets flew through the air, and the male Bigfoot took a shot to the shoulder. He stumbled but didn’t fall. Instead, he roared in defiance, a sound that echoed through the forest, shaking the very ground beneath us. I felt a surge of fear and anger as I witnessed this creature, who had shown us nothing but trust, being attacked for simply existing.
The poachers were relentless, but so was the male. He fought back, using his sheer size and strength to fend off the attackers, protecting the female and us in the process. I grabbed a fallen branch and swung it at one of the poachers, adrenaline fueling my actions.
“Get out of here!” I shouted, urging Iris to take cover as we defended ourselves against the onslaught. The forest erupted into chaos, the sounds of gunfire mixing with the cries of the male Bigfoot as he fought to protect what was rightfully his.
In the midst of the chaos, I realized I had to make a choice. I could either fight for the survival of this creature and the bond we had formed or run and save myself. But there was no choice. I couldn’t abandon them.
As the fight raged on, I saw the male Bigfoot take down one of the poachers with a swift motion, a powerful blow that sent the man sprawling. The remaining poachers hesitated, fear creeping into their eyes as they realized they were up against something far beyond their understanding.
“Let’s get out of here!” one of them shouted, and they began to retreat, scrambling back into the trees, leaving behind their fallen comrade.
The male Bigfoot stood tall, watching them go, his breath heavy and labored. I turned to Iris, who was tending to the female, her hands steady as she worked. “Is she going to be okay?” I asked, my voice filled with concern.
“She’s strong,” Iris replied, her focus unwavering. “The antidote is working. We just need to keep her calm and let her rest.”
The male Bigfoot knelt beside the female, his presence a calming force. He touched her brow gently, his eyes filled with a mix of love and concern. In that moment, I realized that this creature, often feared and misunderstood, was capable of profound emotion and connection.
As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the clearing, I felt a sense of peace wash over me. We had survived the encounter, and the bond between us had grown stronger. The male Bigfoot looked at me, his amber eyes filled with gratitude, and I knew that I had made the right choice.
In the days that followed, we continued to care for the female Bigfoot, providing her with the support she needed to heal. The male remained by her side, a steadfast protector, and I found myself returning to the valley time and time again, drawn by the connection we had forged.
But as the seasons changed, I could feel the world around us shifting. The forest was becoming increasingly encroached upon by human development, and I worried for the safety of my newfound friends. I knew I had to do something to protect them, to ensure that their existence remained hidden from those who would do them harm.
I began advocating for wilderness preservation, using my photography to raise awareness about the delicate balance between nature and humanity. I wrote articles and gave talks, sharing the lessons I had learned from Walker and the female Bigfoot. I urged people to respect the wild places, to understand that some things were meant to remain unknown.
Years passed, and my life continued to intertwine with the forest and its inhabitants. I never forgot the conversations I had shared with Walker, the lessons of compassion, trust, and the importance of preserving the mysteries of the natural world.
Then, one evening as I sat on my porch, watching the sunset paint the sky in hues of orange and purple, I heard a familiar sound from the forest. My heart raced as I recognized the deep, resonant vocalization that had haunted my dreams for decades.
There, standing at the edge of the trees, was Walker, older yet still majestic, his amber eyes shining with recognition. I felt tears welling in my eyes as I realized that our bond had endured the passage of time and the challenges of the world.
“Hello, Vincent,” Walker said, the voice deeper than I remembered but unmistakably the same. “It’s been a long time.”
I stood up, overwhelmed with emotion. “I thought I’d never see you again,” I said, my voice trembling.
“I almost didn’t come back,” Walker replied. “But I wanted to see you one more time before my time ends. We don’t live forever, Vincent. Even my kind has limits.”
As we talked, I realized that the connection we had forged all those years ago had not only changed my life but had also shaped the way I viewed the world. Walker had taught me the value of kindness, the importance of protecting the wild places, and the necessity of understanding those who are different from us.
And in that moment, I knew that our friendship, despite its impossibility, was a testament to the power of connection across species, across fear, and across silence. It was a reminder that sometimes the most profound relationships are born from the most unexpected encounters.
As Walker prepared to leave once again, I felt a sense of gratitude wash over me. I had kept my promise to protect the secret of his existence, and in return, I had gained a friend who had taught me invaluable lessons about life, love, and the importance of preserving the mysteries of the natural world.
“Live well, Vincent Holloway,” Walker said, his voice filled with warmth. “Carry forward the lessons we’ve shared, and remember that kindness is a language older than words.”
And with that, he turned and walked back into the forest, disappearing into the shadows. I stood there for a long time, watching the place where he had vanished, feeling the weight of our shared experiences and the bond that would remain unbroken, even in silence.
In the years that followed, I continued to advocate for wilderness preservation, sharing the stories of the creatures that inhabit our forests. I never spoke of Walker or the female Bigfoot, but their presence lingered in my heart, guiding me in my efforts to protect the wild places we both cherished.
And as I sit here now, reflecting on my life and the choices I have made, I realize that some things are meant to remain unknown. Some friendships transcend the need for proof, and some promises are worth keeping at any cost. I kept my promise, Walker, and I will continue to do so for as long as I live. Because in the end, it is the connections we make, the kindness we show, and the understanding we cultivate that truly matter in this world.
