The road was the kind of lonely that felt personal. Arkansas Route one seventy eight cut through a stretch of forest at the base of the Ozarks. A snake shaped ribbon of cracked pavement winding into dense dark fog from the river settled on both shoulders, a slow moving carpet that made headlights smear like candle flames on wet glass. The nearest town, Marsden, was twenty miles behind, and the only sign of civilization was a rusty State highway marker
bullets scarred and leaning. Most locals avoided this road after sundown. Too many tails, too many vanishings, too many things, glimmering in headlights, and never spoken of again. But to night, something tall and powerful stood at the edge of the asphalt, hidden in the black seam where the pine shadows swallowed starlight.
The creature's breath puffed like steam from a locomotive. It stood nearly nine feet tall, shoulders as broad as a refrigerator door, covered head to foot in auburn hair, thick as a horse's mane. Beneath the fur lay muscle corded and dense as bridge cables, a male sasquatch not a myth, not a camp counselor's scary story. Reel alive, watching his nostrils flared. He could smell the cold river, the musk of deer bedding and fern, the electricity of a coming storm.
But there was something else, burning hot, sour, metallic, human fear, and gasoline and blood. He tilted his massive head, listening a vibration rolling to the far off, still miles away, a car engine screamed. The Bigfoot narrowed his eyes. He had seen these machines before, seen their destruction, their noise. They're careless, slicing through the homes of creatures who could not speak for themselves. He stepped out of the tree line,
not hurried, not fearful, just deliberate. Pine branches brushed his shoulders, Gravel scraped under the enormous bare feet as he approached the yellow center lines. His strides were slow and heavy. Each step rooted deep into the earth. Mist curled around his legs like ghostly river smoke. He crossed the road and right before disappearing into the opposite tree line, his head snapped back because the screaming engine was now much closer.
Dustin the arrow had stolen the wrong car. Adrenaline poured through him like jet fuel as he wiped sweat off his forehead and gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles. His heart hammered so violently he could feel his pulse in his teeth. Behind him, two miles of road were lit by flashing blue strobes. A cop gaining come on, come on, baby, faster, baby, dust and shouted, slamming the accelerator. The stolen dodge charger fish tailed on loose gravel tires,
flinging pebbles behind it. The speedometer needle climbed ninety ninety five one hundred. Beside him on the passenger floorboard lay the pistol, a matte black three fifty seven revolver, and a woman's purse, silver sequins, a mini mouse keychain, a pink inhaler. There were reminders, reminders of the family he held a gunpoint, reminders of how he pointed that revolver at a ten year old girl because her father refused to hand over the car. Keys should have been faster.
Dustin muttered, that's life, No remorse, not in him, just survival. He wasn't doing this because he enjoyed it. He was doing it because he owed people dangerous people, people who didn't believe in forgiveness. If he didn't pay up, Jenna, his girlfriend, would pay instead. She was waiting at the base of the mountain, waiting with a getaway plan and enough cash to disappear. He pictured her freckles, her nervous smile, the way she twisted her hair when scared. Dustin wasn't praying.
He wasn't that kind of man, but he was bargaining. Just let me get there, just let me live. He glanced in the rear view mirror. The flashing blue light grew larger. He pressed the gas harder. The sasquatch reached the far shoulder and slipped into brush tall enough to swallow a mini van. His senses sharpened. He could feel the tremor of the vehicle through the soles of his feet. Before it rounded the corner, the creature exhaled, low, rumbling
like distant thunder. He didn't understand the machine. He understood danger, with a fluid motion that didn't belong to something so massive. He ducked behind a fallen spruce, muscles coiled, tendons tightened. He waited. Headlights exploded into view, and the charger tore around the blind curve at nearly one hundred and ten miles per hour. Dustin's eyes widened, pupils dilating at the impossible sight a colossal silhouette standing in the middle of the road. A moose, not a bear, not a man,
something else. The creatures fur rippled in the wind, illuminated in stark gold under the headlights. Its face was broad, heavy browed, ancient amber eyes locked with Dustin's through the windshield. Then the sasquatch stepped forward. Dustin screamed and jerked the wheel. The charger left the pavement and launched over the embankment. Time didn't slow, it just became louder. Glass shattered, metal screamed.
Dustin's body snapped forward into the seat belt. The charger tumbled twice, roof, hood roof, before slamming into a stand of sycamores at the river's edge. Steam hissed from the warped radiator. The left headlight flickered once twice, then died inside the crumpled metal cage. Dustin coughed blood onto the dashboard. His ribs felt cracked, his vision pulsed at the edges. He reached down, hand shaking, searching for the revolver, Come on, come on. His fingers found the grip. He tried opening
the door, jammed. Tried kicking the windshield, his legs wouldn't respond. He was upside down, pinned by the crushed steering column, his breath coming in ragged shards. Sirens still echoed in the distance, but faint, now farther away, or maybe he was fading. He closed his eyes and swallowed a groan. Jenna, I have to get to Jenna. Then crunch. Something out outside was walking toward the wreck, not footsteps, thuds, tremors, ground shaking dust, and held his breath. Fear turned his
blood ice cold. No, no, no. The sasquatch stood beside the overturned vehicle, breathing slow and steady. He placed one hand on the crushing passenger door. The metal crumpled under his grip like foil. Moonlight washed over his frame, outlining every ridge of muscle beneath his fur. He could smell the man's blood, could hear the frantic beating of his heart, could feel the fear radiating like heat and something else gunpowder. He curled his lips into a soft snarl with one hand,
and he grabbed the chassis. With a grunt. He lifted the vehicle and rolled it upright. The charger crashed onto all four wheels, suspension snapping. Dustin gasped at that sudden jolt. He lifted the gun. The sasquatch leaned down, his massive face filling the driver's side window. His eyes were ancient, burning with a wild intelligence that lived before the first wheel ever touched dirt. Dustin raised the revolver with both hands, back off. His voice cracked, then he fired. The bullet
ripped past the Sasquatch's head, tearing fur. The creature roared, not like a bear, not like anything on earth, a bone vibrating, primal roar that shook pine needles loose. The sasquatch moved with speed no creature that size should have possessed. One arm shot through the broken window, grabbed Dustin by the collar, and yanked him through the driver's side glass, exploding around them. Dustin screamed, the gun fell. He thrashed desperately until he was nose to chest with a giant.
His legs dangled uselessly. The creature's one hand clamped Dustin's wrist with a force that made bones creak. Please please, Dustin gasped, I I didn't mean, but the sasquatch had seen what Dustin had done. He smelled the fear on that little girl. He remembered screams. He remembered the gun. The creature leaned close, his breath warm and heavy, smelling of wet moss and earth. Dustin pointed a shaky finger toward the woods. My girl, friends, she's waiting. I just
gotta get to her. The sasquatch tilted his head. This man hurt others. The forest didn't tolerate that. With a sudden snap of motion, clean, swift, instinctual, the clawed hand raked across Dustan's throat. Blood sprayed in a bright arc across the pine needles. Dustin's eyes went wide. He collapsed into the ferns, choking. The sasquatch stepped back, not victorious, not enraged, just finished. Judgment delivered. The sirens grew closer.
The creature faded into the trees. Deputy Rhodes arrived first. His cruiser breaked hard gravel, spitting under tires. He scanned the wreck heart, futting. His spotlight cut across the crushed charger. Steam and radiator fluid hissed from the engine block. Dispatch, Rhodes shouted into the radio, I've located the vehicle. Send EMTs driver is. He stopped mid sentence. Dust and marrow lay several yards from the car, throat torn open. Impossible
that wound wasn't from the crash. Rhodes swept his flashlight across the tree line. Something red and wet glistened on a branch eight feet high, hair thick, rust colored. He plucked it with a gloved hand, examined it and swallowed hard. Not deer, not bare. He looked toward the dark woods and felt it that watched sensation. Every hunter knew. If you are, he whispered, you just saved a family. Two weeks later, another deputy was responding to a call along
Route one seventy eight. A trucker had reported something large crossing the road. Rhodes didn't need to check, he already knew. Somewhere deep in the Ozarks, a giant figure paused on a ridge, scanning the world below. Wind ruffled, hiss fur, his chest rose and fell slowly. His voice, a deep, rumbling bellow, rolled across the valley. He wasn't a monster, he wasn't a myth. He was a guardian of the wild and sometimes of justice. Thanks so much for listening.
I truly appreciate you being here. Before you head out, don't forget to check out where Bigfoot roams. Great stories, great atmosphere. You'll find them on YouTube and all the usual platforms. And a quick update. My book project is moving along. It's not entirely Bigfoot related, but it is full of nostalgia, growing up stories and moments that I
think are timeless. I can't wait to share more with you, so keep your eyes and ears peeled for an update until next time, Stay curious, stay wild, and I'll see you in the woods.