Sasquatch Chronicles Blog

A listener writes “My experiences take place in Yelm, Washington, where I currently live at the base of the Bald Hills near Lawrence Lake. I’m 41 now, but my first encounter happened when I was just 14.

At the time, my family lived in a 3,200-square-foot rambler on 10 acres of land. Our home sat in the middle of the property with a long paved driveway. My parents occasionally went to the casino in the evenings, and I would stay home with my identical twin brother, who was severely handicapped. He couldn’t walk or talk, but he was very easy to care for—especially at night, since we’d just go to sleep.

One particular night, I stayed up late watching TV in the living room, which was on one end of our long, narrow house. The back of the house bordered several acres of wetlands. Around midnight, I started getting tired and decided to turn the TV off, thinking it was keeping me awake. I lay down on the couch and, within five minutes, began to hear a noise near the back door by the hot tub room.

It sounded like someone—or something—was messing with the door handle. A few seconds later, the door suddenly slammed open and hit the wall. I wasn’t a tough kid, so I pulled the blankets over my head in fear. We had hardwood floors, and I clearly heard heavy footsteps coming toward me. I was frozen. The steps grew louder and quicker until whatever it was stood right over me.

I could hear it breathing—deep, heavy breaths—and then came the most terrifying sound I’ve ever heard in my life. It was like a howl, a deep scream, and a growl all rolled into one, and it lasted for about 10 seconds. I didn’t move. I barely breathed. Every muscle in my body was locked in fear. After a minute or two, it went completely silent—but I never heard it leave.

I stayed frozen for about 30 more minutes before I finally worked up the nerve to get up. I ran to the kitchen, flipped on the light, and grabbed a butcher’s knife—not that it would’ve helped much, but it made me feel a little safer. Then I remembered my brother and realized I’d have to go down the hallway—toward the hot tub room—to check on him. As I started in that direction, headlights flashed through the windows. My parents were home.

I told them everything. My dad seemed shaken—almost like he understood there are unexplained things in this world. My mom, on the other hand, brushed it off and suggested it was just a cougar.

Later that year, my dad shared a story about seeing strange lights on the property. That moment stuck with me.

Years passed. I moved out at 18, met my now-wife, and we had three kids. After the housing market shifted, we sold our home and bought the house I grew up in from my mom, who was getting older and found the upkeep too much. My dad had passed by then.

One morning, my oldest son—who was about 8 at the time—went out to feed the dog and came running back into the house in tears. He said he’d heard a screaming sound coming from the woods. I wasn’t home, but my wife was able to calm him down. She didn’t think much of it.

I’ve spent years trying to find a recording that matches the sound I heard. I’ve listened to countless YouTube clips, but none really come close—until one day I played a video titled “Strange Sound While Mushroom Hunting” in the kitchen. As soon as it started, my son stopped in his tracks, his face went pale, and he looked at me. It wasn’t an exact match, but it was close enough that we both felt it in our bones.

I believe it’s still here. Our Great Pyrenees seems to keep it at bay, but I still feel its presence from time to time.”