Man Records Bigfoot Digging Graves at Night, Then The Worst Happened – Sasquatch Story

Man Records Bigfoot Digging Graves at Night, Then The Worst Happened – Sasquatch Story

You won’t believe what happened outside Skykomish back in late October of 2019. I still don’t. I haven’t slept the same since that night. I went out for owls and came back with a memory I can’t shake loose. What started as a simple expedition to film the local wildlife turned into a nightmare that haunts me to this day.

It was a chilly evening, the kind that makes the air feel electric with anticipation. I had set up my camp near an old logging cemetery, a place steeped in history and mystery. The cemetery was a forgotten remnant of the logging boom, with weathered headstones leaning at odd angles, surrounded by towering trees that whispered secrets in the wind. I was there to capture the sounds of owls, hoping to catch a glimpse of the elusive creatures that roamed the night.

As darkness fell, I settled into my tent, the soft rustle of leaves outside providing a comforting backdrop. I turned on my camera, recording the stillness of the night, when suddenly, I noticed movement at the edge of the clearing. At first, I thought it was just my imagination playing tricks on me. But then, a massive shape emerged from the shadows.

It was too tall to be a human, its form obscured by the darkness. I felt a chill run down my spine as I focused my camera on the figure. It was digging—slow, deliberate scoops of earth, as if it had done this a hundred times before. I could hardly believe my eyes. The creature’s hands were enormous, claw-like, moving with a purpose that sent waves of fear coursing through me.

I kept the camera rolling, my heart pounding in my chest. I couldn’t comprehend what I was witnessing. Was this really happening? Was I seeing Bigfoot? The thought sent shivers down my spine, but I couldn’t look away. The creature continued its work, seemingly oblivious to my presence.

Then, a deep huff echoed behind me, sending a jolt of terror through my body. It was a sound that told me not to turn around, a primal instinct that screamed for me to stay still. My legs began to shake uncontrollably, but I kept the camera trained on the creature. I was torn between the need to flee and the desire to capture this moment.

As I filmed, I could feel the weight of the night pressing in on me. The air grew thick, and the atmosphere shifted. I had always felt a connection to the woods, but now it felt hostile, as if the trees themselves were watching. I could hear the creature’s heavy breathing, punctuated by the sound of dirt being displaced. It was as if it was searching for something buried long before I ever set foot in that cemetery.

Hours felt like minutes, and I lost track of time. The creature worked tirelessly, and I began to wonder if it was hungry or if it was looking for something specific. My mind raced with questions I couldn’t answer. What could possibly be buried in a graveyard that would compel such a creature to dig?

Suddenly, I felt a presence close to my tent. A cold breath brushed against the fabric, fogging the mesh with its warmth. I froze, my heart racing. I wanted to scream, to run, but I was paralyzed by fear. I could barely breathe as I felt the weight of whatever was outside pressing against my tent. I could see the outline of something large, its face pressed close enough to leave a smear on the mesh.

In that moment, I realized I was not just a passive observer; I was part of something far more significant and terrifying than I could have imagined. I could feel its eyes on me, studying me, and I knew that whatever it was, it was not human. The air crackled with tension, and I held my breath, praying it would move on.

After what felt like an eternity, the creature outside finally retreated, returning to its task. I dared to breathe again, but the sense of dread lingered. I decided to stop filming, my hands trembling as I turned off the camera. I lay there in silence, straining to hear any sign of the creature, my mind racing with thoughts of escape.

As dawn approached, the sounds of the forest began to return. The chirping of birds filled the air, and the world slowly brightened. I felt an overwhelming urge to leave, to get as far away from that cemetery as possible. I packed my gear in a frenzy, my mind racing with the events of the night. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had witnessed something that should never have been seen.

When I finally emerged from my tent, the cemetery looked eerily calm, as if nothing had happened. The earth was freshly turned in several places, but there was no sign of the creature. I glanced around, half-expecting it to reappear, but the woods remained silent. I quickly gathered my things and hiked back to my car, my heart still racing.

Once home, I reviewed the footage I had captured. The video showed the creature digging, the size and shape unmistakable, but the clarity was marred by my shaking hands and the darkness that enveloped it. I hesitated to share it online, not out of fear of ridicule, but because some things feel too real to share. I felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility to protect what I had seen, to keep it hidden from those who wouldn’t understand.

In the months that followed, I struggled to sleep. The memory of that night replayed in my mind like a broken record. I could still hear the creature’s huff behind me, feel the weight of its gaze. I found myself drawn back to the woods, searching for answers, but all I found were echoes of fear.

I’ve held onto that footage for years, and now I’m sending it to you, not for clicks or fame, but because people need to know what’s out there. The woods are alive with mysteries, some of which are better left undisturbed. I still don’t know what I filmed that night or if what I saw was even real. But I know what I felt, and it wasn’t human.

So, if you ever find yourself wandering the Cascades, remember my story. Keep your eyes open and your camera ready, but tread carefully. You never know what might be lurking just beyond the reach of light, waiting for the night to fall once more.