Government Agents Hiding Away Bigfoot on Camera Before Worst Happens
Government Agents Hiding Away Bigfoot — The Truth They Buried
I sat there in that quiet hospice room, my thumb trembling above the record button on my phone. Agent Marcus Hail’s voice was raspy but urgent — like a confession decades overdue.
“They warned us,” he repeated, eyes unfocused as if he were watching ghosts walk through the room. “We took their protector… so they came for ours.”
I leaned forward. “Who warned you?”
For a moment, he didn’t respond. His gaze drifted toward the window where tall pines swayed under the morning breeze. When he spoke again, it felt like the air in the room grew colder.
“Not all of them are wild,” he whispered. “Some understand us. Some communicate. They tried talking first.”
He described the night Subject R14 was captured in the redwoods. Park rangers had found strange symbols carved into the bark of massive trees — warnings, territory markers. They ignored them. They always did.
Then came the footprints. Massive, humanlike, but wrong. Something that walked with intent.
“One of the teams found a young one stuck in a poacher’s trap,” Hail said. “They tranquilized it and sent for extraction.”
The dying agent closed his eyes and his lips trembled.
“We should have left it. Its family was nearby. They followed us… all the way to the airfield.”
What followed sounded like a horror film — except his voice shook with too much truth.
“They could have killed us,” he said. “They didn’t. They just wanted it back.”
But the suits — people higher than Hail — saw opportunity. A living specimen meant secrets to unlock: biology, intelligence, weaponization possibilities. A new apex predator — under their control.
“So they fought,” I murmured.
He nodded weakly. “Not with guns — that would have been mercy. They brought machines. Fire. Sound cannons.” His voice cracked. “We wounded something ancient.”
The family disappeared into the trees, leaving R14 sedated and restrained. Hail had argued against the capture. He was overruled. Orders came from much higher — from people whose faces he never saw.
“That creature didn’t scream,” he said. “It mourned.”
The same sound I’d heard on the tape. Low, resonant, intelligent. A sound that said pain — and promise.
“We thought we won,” he breathed. “But that was only the beginning.”
His breathing grew shallow. I leaned closer, praying he wouldn’t stop there.
“Where did they take it?” I asked.
His hand, thin as paper, clamped over mine with surprising strength.
“You need to leave this alone,” he gasped. “They’re still watching…”
There was a knock at the door.
A nurse stepped in, giving me a polite but firm smile. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Hail needs to rest now.”
The old man’s eyes changed—panic flooded them.
“No…” he rasped. “Not her.”
The nurse’s pleasant expression didn’t shift, but her eyes cut toward me with a silent warning. She wheeled him away, closing the door behind them. Through the frosted window, I saw her leaning close to his ear, her lips moving quickly. Hail’s face twisted—not fear of death, but fear of them.
I left the hospice fast.
The Visit
Two days later, I returned to work. My heart sank the moment I opened the supply closet. The demo tape — the Redwood tape — was gone. Every trace of its existence vanished from system logs. Even my digitized copy on the secure server? Deleted.
My notes? Taken.
My partner asked why I’d torn apart the house that night.
“I lost something important,” I said.
But this wasn’t a missing wallet.
Someone had been inside.
I tried contacting the hospice to check on Hail.
They claimed they had no record of a man named Marcus Hail ever staying there.
No patient by that name.
No staff who recognized the photos I showed.
As I drove away, a white unmarked SUV followed me for six blocks before turning off.
Coincidence, I told myself.
Lie, my gut replied.
The Footage
That night, I opened my home office closet and dug toward the back, hands shaking. Beneath old equipment manuals and dusty cables, I found it:
A single Betacam tape.
“Mosswood – Unlabeled”
I didn’t remember seeing it before. Had I taken it without realizing? Had someone planted it?
My hands were sweating as I loaded it into the machine.
Darkness.
Then a helicopter spotlight snapped on.
A forest canopy below — treetops thrashing violently. Soldiers shouting orders drowned in roaring wind.
Night vision activated — the trees glowed green.
And then I saw them.
Shapes — tall, massive, running on two legs with terrifying speed. Not wild beasts. Not dumb brutes.
Coordinated.
They flanked the helicopter — one leaped, clawing the air just short of the skids. Another hurled a log upward like a spear, shattering the camera feed in static.
The video cut to a ground team. Armed agents forming a perimeter. Something big crashed through the undergrowth. One soldier fired.
A scream — not human.
The camera hit the ground. Amid the chaos, a figure stood over a fallen soldier — towering, covered in hair matted with sap and blood. Its eyes shone with rage and grief.
It lifted the wounded soldier — gently — and fled back into the trees.
Not a monster.
A parent.
The recording ended abruptly.
I slumped back, breath jagged.
Hail had been right.
They weren’t hunting us.
We were stealing from them.
The Break-In
Around 3 a.m., motion alerts lit up my phone: garage door camera feed disabled.
I crept to the window.
Three figures in dark suits walked down my driveway, silent as ghosts, flashlights flickering against my office door.
I grabbed the tape, threw open my back window, and ran barefoot into the night, lungs burning, branches whipping my face.
At the tree line behind my house, I turned back.
One of the men stood under the streetlight — expression blank, hand calmly touching his earpiece.
He raised two fingers.
Pointing.
At me.
Now
I’m writing this from a cheap motel three states away. I haven’t been home in weeks. I move constantly. Always watching doorways. Always listening for the crunch of boots on gravel.
But I still have the tape.
And I still have the truth.
They think they can silence me.
But they can’t silence all of us.
Because somewhere out there in the redwoods…
A family remembers.
A family waits.
A family wants back what was taken.
And when they come…
It won’t be quietly this time.
