I live in a rather rural area. It’s a long drive through the forest that separates work from home. In the past couple of months people have started to turn up missing in these woods. No one knows why. Yes, people often get lost in the sticks, but five in one month?
This is why I was doing ten over the speed limit on my way back home that night. I turned a blind corner to see another car sitting in the road. I slammed on the brakes; having to swerve to avoid a collision. When I stepped out of my vehicle, the smell of burnt rubber was in the air.
It didn’t take long to find out why this person’s car was in the middle of the road; its front end looked as if it kissed a tree. Unsure if anyone was inside, I tapped on the window and announced my desire to help. The door opened, and a short, mid-forties looking man stepped out. I asked him what might’ve happened here.
“I think it was a bear.” He said. “Turned the corner and he was just there.”
I asked if he was hurt and where the bear had gone.
“He ran off as soon as I hit him. And I’m fine. Though, I can’t say the same for my car.” He said. “I hate to ask such a favor of you, but I don’t live too far from here. Do you mind?”
I told him I’d be happy to drive him home, but first I had to report the accident.
“You don’t have to report it.” He said quickly. “That was the first thing I did.”
At this point, he seemed a little off. Then I noticed he had his right arm behind his back. I didn’t like that at all. Not knowing what to do, we sat in silence for a few minutes just starring at each other.
“Are we going?” He asked.
“I don’t know.” I said, speaking more truthfully than I should’ve.
“There’s still a bear out here sir, I think she might’ve had cubes. Do you how dangerous this situation is?”
He was sweating bullets, which made me wonder if there really was something lurking in the woods. Still, I answered him with silence. I found his next move to be no surprise; he pulled a gun on me.
“I’m sorry.” He said before turning his head towards the woods. “But I cannot let that thing get me.”
It seemed clear to me that he was tripping on something.
“We have to go.” He said. “Now!”
What I did next, I did not expect to work. It was something I had seen only in movies. As quickly as I could, I grabbed the barrel of the gun expecting the man to fire as soon as I did so, (he didn’t), then pointing it to the ground, (where he did fire), and sending a left hook to his face.
He let go of the firearm and I threw it away. Then I ran back to my car and locked the door. The man started pounding on the window, begging to be let in. I started up the engine and the man broke down in tears screaming hysterically that “the monster” was going to kill him.
Then the ground began to shack. Something big was approaching. I watched two giant, hairy, monstrous hands emerge from the darkness and grab the man outside my car; then rip him in half like unwanted junk mail.
I could make out the silhouette of a large human like thing standing before me. It stood just outside the ranch of the cabin lights. It picked of the two bloody parts of the man and walked away.
My wife and I are now looking to move to the city.
I don’t know why he didn’t want me reporting the crash. That part still bothers me. Was he going to kill me? Sacrifice me to that thing? That sasquatch I suppose. Or was he trying to hide from someone? And if so, who?