Man Records Bigfoot Digging in His Backyard, Then The Worst Happened
“The Creature in the Shadows: A Bigfoot Encounter That Changed My Life”
Chapter 1: A Peaceful Life Shattered
It all started on an ordinary night in October. A quiet, cool evening in rural Montana. I had settled into a peaceful life on my property, tucked into five acres of wilderness that backed up against the dense forest. My house was far removed from the world, nestled in a place where silence was a companion and nature was my only neighbor. My nearest neighbor lived two miles down a winding dirt road, and the closest town was a good 15 miles away. I chose this location specifically for its isolation, to escape the noise of civilization and enjoy the tranquility that only the wilderness could provide.
For eight years, it had been perfect. Deer wandered through my yard every morning, elk passed through during certain seasons, and occasionally, I would spot a black bear wandering through the trees. I respected them from a safe distance, understanding that this land belonged to them long before I built my house.
But that peace was shattered one Tuesday night, or technically, early Wednesday morning, when I woke up to an unusual sound. It was 3 a.m., and instead of the usual silence, I heard digging. But this wasn’t the sound of a shovel in the dirt. No, it was much more primal, heavier, and relentless—something that sounded like claws scraping against the earth, scooping out large amounts of soil and tossing it aside. It was unnatural, and it came from my backyard, about 50 feet from my bedroom window.
My first instinct was to assume it was a bear. Perhaps digging for grubs or roots near my garden, something bears sometimes do. But the sound felt wrong. It was too focused, too deliberate. It didn’t sound like any animal I had ever encountered.
I grabbed my phone, my hands already shaking from the adrenaline, and crept to the bedroom window. I moved the curtain aside just enough to get a glimpse of what was happening. The moon was nearly full that night, casting a pale light across my yard, making shadows stretch across the grass. What I saw chilled me to the bone.
There, hunched over near my garden, was a massive figure. It was at least 8 feet tall when bent over like that, maybe 9 feet if it stood up straight. It was covered in dark fur that looked almost black under the moonlight. It was digging furiously, using its hands to scoop out dirt in large amounts, throwing the earth aside with remarkable force. This wasn’t a bear. Bears don’t move like that. This thing was using its hands like a human would, gripping, pulling, and scooping. The muscles in its back and shoulders rippled as it worked.
I grabbed my phone, my fingers trembling so much I could barely hold the camera steady. But I had to record this. I had to have proof, even if I couldn’t fully comprehend what was happening. The video would likely be shaky, poorly lit, and imperfect, but it was all I could do.
As I focused on the creature, something happened. It stopped digging mid-motion, as if it had heard something. Then, slowly and deliberately, it turned its head toward my house, toward my bedroom window. It locked eyes with me. Even at 50 feet away in the moonlight, I could make out the basic shape of its face. It wasn’t quite human, but it wasn’t quite ape either. It was something in between, something that shouldn’t exist.
Chapter 2: The Evidence Left Behind
The next morning, when the sun finally came up around 6:00 a.m., I was braver than I had been the night before. I grabbed a baseball bat—ridiculous as it seemed, I thought it might help, though I knew it would be useless against whatever had been out there—and cautiously made my way outside. The air was cool, the daylight peaceful, but my mind was racing.
When I reached the backyard, what I saw was even worse than I could have imagined. There were three massive holes dug across my property. Each one was roughly circular, about 3 to 4 feet deep. The dirt around the holes wasn’t carelessly piled; instead, it was neatly stacked in mounds beside each hole, as if whoever—or whatever—dug them had been methodical.
The holes were spaced out, one near my garden, one closer to the foundation of my house, and one near the tree line. But it wasn’t just the holes that made my heart race. I found massive footprints near the garden, deep impressions in the soft soil. These prints were at least 18 inches long, with five distinct toes. They looked almost human, but stretched, longer, and more spread out. I grabbed a tape measure and, just as I feared, the prints were massive. The width at the widest point was nearly 7 inches. These were not bear tracks. They were something else entirely.
I spent the rest of the day trying to convince myself that there had to be a logical explanation. Maybe someone had been out there, wearing an elaborate Bigfoot costume. But the rational part of my mind knew better. The holes were real. The footprints were real. Whatever had been in my yard was massive, powerful, and undeniably real.
Chapter 3: The Nightly Visitor
That night, the digging started again, right on schedule. The creature was back. I watched from my window again, this time focused on every detail. The creature moved with purpose, shifting from one spot to another, digging in the earth as if it were looking for something specific. By the time it left before dawn, four new holes had appeared.
By the third night, I was exhausted and terrified. I hadn’t slept more than a few hours in the last few days, and my dog—normally fearless—refused to go outside. She cowered under my bed, whining, and pulling back anytime I tried to take her out. I should have paid attention to that. Animals know things we don’t.
On the fourth night, things changed. Instead of digging, the creature started placing small arrangements of twigs and branches around my property. I watched it for over an hour, carefully positioning these structures near the tree line, around the holes, and near my house foundation. Some were shaped like small teepees, others like X patterns, and a few were twisted into spirals. The creature’s focus was absolute, as if it were completing an important task.
I photographed the structures, hoping to find some answers online. But when I searched, all I found were Bigfoot conspiracy theories—nothing concrete, nothing that explained the elaborate designs.
Chapter 4: The Battle
The fifth night brought escalation. As I watched from my bedroom window, I saw not one, but three Bigfoots on my property. I recognized the first one immediately by a distinctive patch of lighter fur on its shoulder. It was standing between my house and the forest, and it was being approached by two others—larger, more aggressive-looking. The three creatures were circling each other, grunting, thumping their chests, and testing the boundaries of the property.
The protective Bigfoot stood its ground, blocking the others from getting any closer to the house. It was a standoff. The aggressive Bigfoots would lunge forward, and the protective one would push them back. The struggle continued until, finally, the aggressive Bigfoots backed off. But they didn’t leave. They stayed, watching from the tree line.
This was no longer about curiosity or territoriality—it had escalated into something more dangerous. And I was caught in the middle.
Chapter 5: The Destruction
The following days brought more destruction. The aggressive Bigfoots became bolder, approaching my property during the day, testing the boundaries of my land. They circled my house, deliberately destroying the protective Bigfoot’s markers. My dog refused to go outside, and I found more signs of conflict—deep gouges in the earth, hair caught on branches, and the smell of musk in the air.
It wasn’t just the destruction that terrified me—it was the sound of scratching on the exterior walls of my house. Long, slow, deliberate scratches that would start at one side and move around the house, stopping right outside my bedroom window.
One night, I heard footsteps on my roof. Heavy, slow, methodical steps. The creature was taking its time, making sure I heard it, making sure I knew it was there.
I was losing my mind. The fear and exhaustion were consuming me. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t focus. And I knew it was only a matter of time before things came to a head.
Chapter 6: The Final Warning
Then came the night when the protective Bigfoot made direct contact. It emerged from the tree line, moving deliberately, keeping its eyes locked on me. It approached within 10 feet, stopping just short of crossing into my personal space. We stood there, making eye contact, and I felt something that I can’t explain—something primal and deep. The Bigfoot wasn’t threatening, but it was communicating.
It made gestures with its hands, pointing to the forest and then to my house, making a pushing motion with its hands, as if to say, “Leave. They will destroy this place.” I tried to gesture back, shaking my head, but the Bigfoot grew more agitated. The aggressive Bigfoots were watching from the shadows, and the protective Bigfoot moved to position itself between me and the trees.
It was a final warning. I needed to leave. The protective Bigfoot had done all it could to protect me, but it couldn’t hold off the aggression forever.
Chapter 7: The Escape
That night, the aggressive Bigfoots destroyed my home. My back door was torn off its hinges, windows were smashed, and the walls were covered in claw marks. The smell of musk was overwhelming, and the destruction was complete. I knew I had no choice but to leave.
I packed what I could into my truck, leaving behind everything else, and drove away. As I drove off, I saw the protective Bigfoot standing at the edge of the tree line, watching me go. It was wounded, limping, but it was still standing guard.
I drove to my brother’s house, seeking refuge, but I knew that the conflict wasn’t over. It was just the beginning of something bigger, something I couldn’t escape from.
Chapter 8: The Aftermath
Three weeks later, I sold my property for a fraction of its value. I moved to a cramped apartment in the city, surrounded by concrete and streetlights. My dog seemed relieved to be away from the wilderness, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was leaving something behind—something I could never fully understand.
I still have the stone with the tuft of fur attached to it, a reminder of the creature that tried to protect me. I don’t know if the protective Bigfoot survived or if it died defending its territory. But I’ll never forget the eyes of the creature, the intelligence in them, and the sacrifice it made.
Now, I live in a city, far from the forests of Montana. But every time I hear strange sounds or see something out of the corner of my eye, I remember the warnings. I remember the creatures in the woods and the battle that took place over my property. I’ll never look at a forest the same way again.
And I hope, wherever they are, the Bigfoots are still watching, still protecting, and still fighting for their land.
