Hunter Found a Rotting Bigfoot, And What Was Inside Him Will Shock You – Sasquatch Encounter Story

The Rotting Giant

I never believed in monsters until the night I smelled one decaying in the dark.

My name is Marcus Webb, professional tracker, twenty-three years of wildlife calls and dangerous cleanup work behind me. I’ve handled grizzlies that wandered too close to kids’ campsites. I’ve captured cougars that stalked hike trails. If there’s a predator problem, I’m usually the one to solve it. But nothing—no bear charge, no wolf snarl—prepared me for what I discovered in the Olympic wilderness.

It was mid-October, cold enough that your breath looked like ghosts escaping your mouth. Elk season had just begun, and I’d secured a special license to hunt deep within old-growth forest. The place was essentially untouched. Trees thicker than cars. Moss like carpets. Silence so deep it swallowed your heartbeat.

I set camp beside Whiskey Creek—just a fire, a simple meal, some quiet stargazing. When I finally zipped into my sleeping bag, the night was calm. Peaceful. Perfect.

Hours later, the perfect turned wrong.

I woke choking on a stench that clung to the back of my throat like poison. Rot. Corpse rot. I’d smelled death plenty of times, but this was different—stronger, heavier, like something unnatural was decomposing nearby.

Instinct told me to stay in the tent. Duty told me to find the source.

I grabbed my rifle and stepped into darkness.

The forest swallowed my headlamp beam within feet, shadows twisting around ancient trunks. The smell guided me west—closer, stronger, suffocating. My boots pushed through slick ferns until I saw a shape lying unnaturally still between two towering trees.

At first I thought bear. But the silhouette was wrong. Too long. Too tall.

When my light hit the body fully, my breath froze.

A massive figure—humanoid, fur-covered, with arms like tree limbs and feet nearly two feet long—lay sprawled in the decay of fallen needles and mud.

Sasquatch.

Eight and a half feet, at least. Hair black and thick but falling out in clumps. Skin tough like hide. The face… primitive yet intelligent in its design. Sunken eyes. A heavy brow. Teeth that belonged to both a predator and a man.

It wasn’t a legend.

It was real.

Dead.

Shock passed quickly—training took over. Something about the abdomen looked wrong. Swollen beyond normal bloat. Misshapen beneath the fur as if something inside forced against the flesh.

Then a memory hit me: a missing hiker, Sarah Mitchell. Twenty-eight years old. Last seen three weeks ago, somewhere out here. Posters plastered every shop window in Port Angeles. The search had ended without answers.

My pulse thudded in my ears.

I unhooked my knife.

I didn’t want to cut into that giant thing. But if Sarah’s family deserved truth, I was the only one who could give it.

The skin was thick like a rhino’s. The moment I sliced, foulness erupted—rot, acid, the sour chemical bite of something not from nature. Pushing deeper through collapsing organs and black liquid, I saw it:

Cloth.

Synthetic fabric.

Bright red, under grime.

A jacket.

Columbia brand.

My hands almost dropped the knife.

Sarah’s missing jacket.

I cut more.

Fragments of denim. Part of a hiking boot. A plastic piece from a water bottle. A broken backpack buckle.

And then, worst of all—jewelry.

A silver heart pendant.

“To Sarah, With Love — Mom & Dad, 2015.”

My eyes stung.

She was gone.

Swallowed.

I stared into that gaping abdominal cavity trembling, understanding too much and not enough. Why had this creature done it? The stories always described Bigfoot as elusive, not violent. But his stomach told a darker tale.

The body itself offered clues. An old wound marked its left leg—deep, jagged scarring. A trap injury. Illegal steel clamps litter these woods sometimes, set by poachers. Pain makes predators desperate. Hunger breaks instincts.

Maybe this Sasquatch was starving.

Maybe Sarah panicked when she saw him.

Maybe tragedy fed tragedy.

Still, guilt for cutting into such a majestic—though terrifying—creature gnawed at me. Whatever he had done, he didn’t deserve to die choking on man-made food wrappers. Part of a candy bar package was lodged between his teeth. Human food is poison to forest stomachs.

Two beings dead because their worlds collided the wrong way.

I sealed Sarah’s belongings into a plastic evidence bag. The forest was still dark, but dawn whispered faint light at the edge of the sky. I marked the site with GPS coordinates and carvings in nearby trees. One last look at the broken giant—and then I hurried back to camp, adrenaline burning through me like fire.

My truck engine sounded like salvation when I finally reached it. Once I got cell signal, I dialed 911. Deputies arrived. They listened. They doubted. They accused me—at first—of fabricating some insane hunter’s tale.

So I handed them the pendant.

Silence changed shape. They took me seriously. Too seriously.

They ordered me back to the site—with a full investigative team.

I should have felt relief.

Instead, dread poured into me.

We returned hours later—sun high, air crisp. But something wasn’t right.

The carved tree marks were there.

The rocks I stacked were there.

But the body…

Gone.

Not dragged. Not scavenged.

Gone.

Grass flattened where it lay. Broken branches along the tree line. Heavy prints leading into deeper forest—prints that didn’t match bears, elk, anything I knew.

One set.

Huge.

Fresh.

The deputies stared at me like I was a liar again, but I saw fear forming in their eyes.

Whatever had taken the corpse was still alive. Maybe many more like it. Maybe bigger.

The forest felt different now—watching us, breathing with us, judging us.

Sarah Mitchell never walked out of these woods.

But something else did.

As we stood there in the silence, a distant sound echoed through the towering firs. Low. Mourning. A call not meant for human ears. My skin prickled.

I don’t know if the creature who howled was friend or kin to the one I dissected. I don’t know if it understood what I took. Or what I saw.

But I do know it wasn’t happy.

And I am no longer alone in knowing what stalks these trees.

Proof vanished.

Secrets remained.

And the forest will not let me forget what I discovered in its shadows.

Because now, when I close my eyes, I can still feel the ground shake under footsteps far too big to belong to any hunter.

Bigfoot exists.

And one of them wants his brother back.