Page 5 of Bigfoot Threw Rocks at Me

Shit. What if it’s the Elementals? The last time I was here, I stopped at a gas station just outside Payette and this indigenous elder told me a story about forest spirits. Elementals he called them. He said that the air feels electric and then they come for you, whisking you away, never to be seen again. I know it sounds crazy, but so does Bigfoot to most people.

I let out a sharp breath and shake my arms, trying to expel my nerves. Get it together Emily.

This is when I see them — broken branches. These aren’t your average twiggy branches; these are big, hefty ones. Snapped clean off about seven feet up the tree. No storm did this — storms don’t pick and choose that neatly. And it's not a bear either. They climb, sure, but snapping branches like these clean off? Unlikely.

I circle the tree, peering up into the canopy and then back down at the forest floor, looking for any signs of what could have done this. The breaks are fresh, the wood inside still pale and not yet darkened by exposure.

I pull out my camera to take a few photos. Every bit of evidence adds up, paints a bigger picture. And this picture? It's starting to get really interesting.

Leaning in closer to the broken branches, my eyes catch a glimpse of something tangled in the rough bark. Fur! Not just a few strands, but a good clump.

"Hello, what have we got here?" I whisper to myself.

I pull out my tweezers and a plastic bag from my backpack, the tools of the trade for a careful collection. I'm gentle as I tease the fur away from the bark. Bringing the fur close to my nose, I take a cautious sniff. It’s musky, wild, and distinctly animal — unlike anything I typically encounter. Not deer, definitely not bear. Something else. Could this be Bigfoot fur?

"I wish you could talk and tell me your story," I say to the fur, half-joking.

Securing the fur in the bag, I press out the air, seal it tight, and stash it in my backpack. This little bit of mystery fur could be the piece of evidence that ties everything together, or it might just raise more questions. Either way, I can't wait to find out!

With the fur safely tucked into my backpack, I pause to sweep my gaze across the surrounding area again. I don’t want to miss anything else.

Why does it feel like the forest is watching me? What’s out there?

Suddenly, a sharp crack behind me shatters the eerie calm. I spin around, my heart hammering in my ears. My eyes dart frantically, searching through the dim shadows cast by the towering trees. My hand shakes as I reach for the bear repellent strapped to my belt.

"Who's there?" I call out, as if that’s going to deter a bear from eating my face.

As the seconds stretch out and nothing attacks, my racing heart starts to slow. I keep the repellent close though — I’m not ready to let my guard down yet. Whatever made that sound could still be close, watching, calculating.

I glance at my watch. Three hours back to camp. With the sun already dipping toward the horizon and that unsettling crack in the trees, it’s best I don’t waste any time. I need to make it back before dark. No telling what's out here with me.

I crouch down next to the plaster cast of the footprint. It's hard to the touch now, set enough to travel. Carefully, I slide my hands underneath it, lifting it from the mud. It's heavier than it looks but I’ll be able to manage.

I pull out the roll of bubble wrap from my backpack and wrap the cast meticulously. It's precious cargo — the kind of evidence that makes or breaks careers. Once secure, I tuck it into my backpack.

"Alright, let's get moving," I mutter to myself, scanning the surrounding trees one last time. The forest seems to have returned to normal, the earlier tension has lifted. The static feeling has gone. Weird.

The walk back is brisk, my steps quick and purposeful. I keep my ears tuned to any sounds, my hand never straying far from the bear repellent. Every rustle in the underbrush, every snap of a twig sends a shot of adrenaline through me. But the path is clear, I’ll be back soon.

As I push through the last stretch of dense foliage, I see the outline of my campervan in the fading light. I’ve made it, thank fuck.

Chapter five

It’s after dinner. I’m rinsing my plate, the last remnants of my meal being washed off into the brush of the forest. My feet ache from the day’s trek, and honestly, all I can think about is crawling into my campervan and losing myself in a book before sleep. Just a regular night. No weird dreams.

I fold up my little kitchen, tucking everything neatly into the back of the van. Efficiency is key out here; everything has its place.

I’m rounding the van to the side door, my thoughts already drifting to which book I’ll read tonight. But then, a sound stops me cold. It’s a series of deep, guttural grunts that cut through the quiet night. I freeze, straining my ears.

That sound... It’s not an animal. At least, I hope it's not. But it’s definitely not human either. What is it? It couldn’t be…? Could it?

I stand there for a second, debating. Curiosity wars with the sensible urge to jump into the van and lock the door. But I know myself better than that — I need to know what's making that noise.

Taking a deep breath, I step away from the safety of the van. My hand clutches the flashlight, but I don’t dare use it. Whatever it is, I don’t want it to know I’m coming.

I creep slowly through the dark forest, moving as quietly as I can over the crackling underbrush. The strange grunts and groans seem to be coming from just up ahead, beyond a thick copse of trees. A chill runs down my spine, but I can't turn back now. I have to know what's making those unearthly sounds.

I pause behind a wide fir tree and peer around it cautiously. There, in a moonlit clearing, stands two hulking figures, far larger than any human. I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. It’s not one, but two Bigfoot. I've dreamed of this moment for years and now it’s finally here.

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