BWBS Ep:136 Bigfoot Vs. Jason

Camp Crystal Lake has long stood abandoned, its bloody history etched into the memories of all who grew up hearing the stories: the boy who drowned, the grieving mother who lost her mind, and the masked killer who rose from the depths to exact vengeance on anyone foolish enough to trespass.

When seven teenagers venture into the ruins of the infamous camp at the start of summer vacation, they expect to find nothing more than decaying cabins and ghost stories to take home. Instead, they awaken something far darker.

As night falls, the shadows come alive with the presence of Jason Voorhees himself, his unrelenting rage spilling once again across the grounds of the cursed lake.

But Jason is not the only predator stalking these woods. Far older eyes watch the carnage unfold—eyes belonging to the Sasquatch, ancient guardians who have roamed these forests since long before human footsteps disturbed the earth. 

They have witnessed decades of blood at Crystal Lake with quiet detachment, but tonight, their silence will break.When the Sasquatch intervene to save two boys from Jason’s rampage, it is not mercy that drives them but necessity. They know what the teenagers do not: every disappearance invites search parties, helicopters, thermal scans, and tracking dogs.

 Too much human attention threatens their existence, and so balance must be restored by any means necessary.What follows is a collision of legends—a battle of monsters bound by ancient instincts, hidden laws, and territories marked in blood.

For the terrified survivors, the forest becomes a maze of horrors where every shadow holds a choice: fall to Jason’s blade, stumble into the wrath of the Sasquatch, or discover the grim truth of why these creatures hide from mankind.

The story does not end with the night. One year later, the survivors are pulled back into a conflict that stretches beyond their worst nightmares, forced into uneasy alliance with the very monsters they once fled. Together, they must confront something far older, far darker, and far more dangerous than either Jason or the Sasquatch.

Prepare yourself for a descent into the deep woods, where myths bleed into reality, where monsters protect by destroying, and where the real horror isn’t what hunts you—it’s what decides to let you live. 

Best experienced in complete darkness with headphones… though you may want to keep a light close. Some stories have a way of following you home.

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:02):
For decades, people have disappeared in the woods without a trace.
Some blame wild animals, others whisper of creatures the world
refuses to believe in. But those who have survived they
know the truth. Welcome to Backwoods Bigfoot Stories, where we
share real encounters with the things lurking in the darkness Bigfoot,

(00:23):
dog man, UFOs, and creatures that defy explanation. Some make
it out, others aren't so lucky. Are you ready, because
once you hear these stories, you'll never walk in the
woods alone again. So grab your flashlight, stay close, and
remember some things in the woods don't want to be found.
Hit that follow or subscribe button, turn on auto downloads,

(00:46):
and let's head off into the woods if you dare.
There are places in this world where darkness settles, like
sediment at the bottom of a lake, accumulating over years

(01:09):
until the very ground becomes saturated with malevolence. Camp Crystal
Lake is such a place. The locals in the nearby
town of Crystal Lake have long memories, and they pass
their warnings down through generations, like heirlooms nobody wants, but
everyone keeps. They speak of the murders that began in
nineteen fifty seven, when two young counselors met their end

(01:30):
at the hands of an unknown killer. They whisper about
the boy who drowned while the councilors were distracted by
their own desires. They crossed themselves when they mentioned the
name Pamela Vorhees and how her grief transformed into madness,
and madness into murder. But what the locals don't know.
What no one knows is that Camp Crystal Lake has

(01:51):
been watched for far longer than human memory stretches. Before
the first tent was pitched, before the first cabin was built,
Before young Jason or he ever, took his fatal swim,
other eyes observed these woods from the shadows between the pines,
ancient eyes belonging to creatures that learned long ago that
the best way to survive in a world dominated by

(02:12):
humans was to remain nothing more than myth. The Sasquatch
had many names among the indigenous peoples who once walked
these forests. They knew to respect the boundaries, to leave offerings,
to never venture too deep into certain groves. But modern
humans forgot these old agreements, these ancient understandings. They built

(02:33):
their camp right in the heart of territory that had
been claimed for centuries by beings who walked upright like men,
but were something far older, far more primal. And so
the Sasquatch watched as the camp was built. They watched
as children came each summer to swim and laugh and
learn archery. They watched as tragedy struck again and again,

(02:54):
turning the lake red with blood. They watched as something
that had once been a boy named Jason rose from
the depths, transformed by death and rage into something that
even they, in all their years of existence, found disturbing.
The Sasquatch had no love for humans, but they understood
something that Jason, in his endless fury, never could. When

(03:17):
humans disappeared, especially young humans, more humans came looking. They
came with dogs and helicopters and thermal imaging cameras. They
came with determination that could last weeks, months, even, And
when humans came in those numbers, with that technology, with
that dedication, even the most carefully hidden creature might be discovered.

(03:38):
So an uneasy balance existed. The Sasquatch kept to their
deep woods. Jason haunted his lake and its immediate surroundings,
and for years this arrangement held, but tonight, on this
humid June evening in twenty twenty, that balance would be tested,
because tonight, sevent teenagers from the city had decided to
spend their first week of summer vacation exploring the abandoned

(04:01):
ruins of Camp Crystal Lake, armed with nothing but their smartphones,
their misplaced confidence, and their complete ignorance of the forces
that still claimed this land as their own. The sun
was setting over Crystal Lake, painting the water the color
of old blood, and in the woods two very different
predators stirred, one driven by supernatural rage, the other by

(04:24):
ancient wisdom, and caught between them seven young people who
had no idea that their decision to party at an
abandoned summer camp would set in motion events that would
challenge everything they thought they knew about monsters, about heroes,
and about the thin line that separates the two. The
van pulled up to the rusted gates of Camp Crystal

(04:44):
Lake just as the last rays of sunlight were fading
from the sky. Marcus had rented it using his older
brother's I D a detail he'd shared with prideful excitement
during the entire two hour drive from the city. Sevent
teenagers piled out, their voice, his carrying across the still
evening air with the kind of careless volume that only

(05:04):
comes from youth and the assumption of safety. There was
Marcus himself, nineteen and built like the high school quarterback
he'd been just a year ago. Beside him his girlfriend Ashley,
blonde and perpetually documenting everything through her phone's camera. Then
came Tyler and Kevin, best friends since middle school, both

(05:25):
gangly and eager, their backpacks stuffed with beer they'd managed
to acquire through channels that weren't entirely legal. Sarah followed,
quiet and bookish, only there because her roommate Jen had
begged her to come along. And finally there was Derek,
who'd heard about the trip through social media and invited
himself along with such persistent enthusiasm that the others hadn't

(05:47):
had the heart to say no. The gates were chained shut,
but the chain was old and rusted, and Marcus made
quick work of it with a pair of bolt cutters
he'd brought specifically for this purpose. The chain fell away
with a sound like breaking bones, and the gate swung
open with a shriek that sent a flock of crows
erupting from the nearby trees. If any of them had

(06:08):
been paying attention, they might have noticed that the crows
didn't settle back down, instead continuing to circle overhead, cawing
warnings that went unheeded. The camp itself lay a quarter
mile down a dirt road that nature had been steadily
reclaiming for years. Weeds pushed up through cracks in the asphalt,
and branches hung low enough that they scraped against the

(06:29):
van's roof like fingernails on a chalkboard. Ashley live streamed
their approach, narrating for her followers with breathless excitement about
the infamous camp Crystal Lake, about Jason Vorhees, about all
the murders that had happened here over the decades. She
got most of the details wrong, but her enthusiasm was genuine,
and her followers ate it up, sending hard emojis and

(06:51):
fire symbols flooding across her screen. They parked in what
had once been the main lot, now more forest floor
than pavement. The camp buildings loomed in the gathering darkness,
their windows broken, their walls covered in graffiti left by
previous generations, of thrill seekers. The main lodge stood largest
among them. Its roof partially collapsed, creating a gap through

(07:15):
which they could see the first stars beginning to appear
in the darkening sky. Tyler and Kevin immediately began unloading
the beer, setting up what they called base camp near
the old fire pit in the center of the cabin's semicircle.
Derek helped them, trying to ingratiate himself with jokes that
fell flat more often than not. Sarah stood apart, looking

(07:36):
at the buildings with an expression of deep unease, her
arms wrapped around herself despite the warm evening air. Jen
tried to coax her into helping set up, but Sarah's
attention kept drifting to the tree line, where the darkness
seemed particularly thick, particularly watchful. Marcus led Ashley on a
tour of the cabins. Each won a monument to decay

(07:58):
and neglect. In what had been the Arts and Craft's cabin,
they found old pottery projects still sitting on shelves covered
in dust and spider webs. The clay had long since
dried and cracked, but you could still make out the
shapes that young hands had tried to create ashtrays for
parents who smoked lopsided bowls, figures that might have been

(08:20):
animals or might have been abstract art. Ashley filmed it all,
adding dramatic commentary about the ghosts of Summer's past. What
none of them noticed was the fresh damage in some
of the cabins, The claw marks on door frames that
were too deep, too deliberate to be from any animal
native to New Jersey. The beds in one cabin that

(08:41):
had been carefully, almost methodically destroyed, each mattress slashed in
an identical pattern. The mirror in the councilor's bathroom that
had been shattered in a way that created a spider
web pattern too perfect to be accidental, with a clear
impression in the center, as if something had pressed against it,
something roughly the eyes and shape of a hockey mask.

(09:02):
As full darkness fell, Tyler got a fire going in
the old pit, using wood from a pile that someone
had stacked neatly beside one of the cabins. The wood
was dry and caught easily, sending sparks spiraling up into
the night sky. They arranged themselves around the fire, passing
beers and telling stories they'd heard about the camp. Marcus

(09:23):
claimed his uncle had known one of the victims from
the nineteen seventy nine murders. Kevin swore he'd read online
that Jason's body had never actually been found after he drowned,
that the whole thing was a cover up for something worse. Derek,
trying too hard as always, launched into an elaborate theory
about government experiments and cover ups that had everyone rolling

(09:44):
their eyes. But it was Jen who told the story
that made them all fall silent. She'd done actual research,
she said, going through old newspaper archives at the library.
The murders hadn't stopped in the eighties like everyone thought.
There had been incident tents all through the nineties and
two thousands, but they'd been covered up, dismissed as accidents

(10:05):
or disappearances. Hikers who went missing their bodies found weeks
later in states of decomposition that made determining cause of
death impossible. Urban explorers who came to photograph the abandoned
camp and were never seen again, their cars found abandoned
on the side of the road miles away. A group
of college students in two thousand and nine who'd come

(10:26):
here for a documentary project, only two of whom had survived,
both so traumatized they'd never spoken publicly about what they'd experienced.
The fire crackled and popped as Jenn spoke, and the
darkness beyond its light seemed to press in closer. Sarah
noticed it first, the way the sounds of the forest
had gradually faded away. No crickets chirping, no owls hooting,

(10:50):
no rustling of small animals in the underbrush. The silence
was complete, except for the fire and their own breathing,
which suddenly seemed very loud. It was Ashley who broke
the spell, laughing nervously and suggesting they play truth or Dare.
The others agreed quickly, eager for any distraction from the
weight of the silence around them. The game started innocently enough,

(11:13):
with embarrassing truths and silly dares. Tyler had to chug
a beer while standing on his head. Ashley admitted to
cheating on her SATs. Kevin was dared to go skinny
dipping in the lake, though he only made it knee
deep before the cold water and something else, something about
the way the water felt wrong, sent him scrambling back
to shore. But as the night wore on and the

(11:35):
beer took effect, the dares became bolder. Marcus was dared
to go into the woods and carve their initials into
a tree fifty yards from camp. He grabbed a flashlight
and a pocket knife, disappearing into the darkness with a
confidence that was only partially liquid courage. They could see
his flashlight beam bouncing between the trees, getting smaller and

(11:56):
more distant. Then it stopped moving. For a long moment,
it stayed perfectly still, pointed at something they couldn't see.
Then it went out entirely. They called out to him,
their voices echoing across the lake. No response came back.
Ashley stood up, her phone clutched in her hand, calling

(12:16):
his name with increasing panic. Tyler and Kevin grabbed flashlights
and started toward the woods. But before they could enter
the tree line, Marcus came crashing back through the underbrush.
His face was pale, his eyes wide, and his hands
were shaking so badly he could barely hold the flashlight
he'd somehow manage to keep grip of. He couldn't explain

(12:37):
what he'd seen, not in any way that made sense.
Something in the trees, he said, watching him. It had
been tall, impossibly tall, with eyes that reflected his flashlight
beam like a cat's. But it hadn't been an animal,
he was sure of that. It had been standing upright,
perfectly still, just watching him. And behind it, deeper in

(12:59):
the wood, he'd heard something else moving, something that walked
with a strange dragging gait, like someone pulling something heavy
through the underbrush. The group exchanged nervous glances. Derek suggested
it was probably just a bear, though black bears weren't
known for standing still when confronted by humans. Kevin thought

(13:19):
maybe it was another group trying to scare them, though
the fear in Marcus's eyes suggested he'd seen something that
couldn't be easily explained away. Sarah said nothing, but she
moved closer to the fire, her gaze fixed on the
darkness between the trees. They decided to move the party inside,
taking shelter in the main lodge. Despite its partially collapsed roof,

(13:41):
The building's interior was a maze of overturned furniture and debris,
but they cleared a space in what had been the
dining hall, setting up battery powered lanterns. They'd brought the
walls were covered in graffiti, years of messages from previous visitors.
Some were typical teenage vandalism, names and dates and crude drawings.
Others were stranger messages like he watches and never swim

(14:05):
alone and the trees have eyes written in what looked
disturbingly like dried blood. Ashley continued to document everything, though
her narration had lost its earlier enthusiasm. She panned her
phone across the messages on the walls, reading them aloud
for her followers. One in particular made her pause. Written
in neat, precise letters near the old stone fireplace were

(14:28):
the words Jason is real, but he's not the only
thing in these woods. Below it, in different handwriting, someone
had added the tall ones watch, but do not help.
The battery on her phone was dying, she noticed, which
was strange because she charged it fully before they left.
She wasn't the only one having technical difficulties. Tyler's bluetooth speaker,

(14:51):
which had been playing music earlier, suddenly cut out with
a burst of static. Kevin's flashlight began flickering despite having
fresh batteries. Even their lanterns seemed dimmer than they should be,
casting shadows that moved independently of the light source. Stay
tuned for more Backwoods Bigfoot stories. We'll be back after
these messages. It was then that they heard the first scream.

(15:16):
It came from outside, from the direction of the lake,
high pitched and terrified, before cutting off abruptly. They froze,
looking at each other with wide eyes. Derek laughed nervously,
suggesting it was probably just an animal, maybe an owl
or a fox, but they all knew what human fear
sounded like, and that had been unmistakably human. Marcus grabbed

(15:39):
a flashlight and headed for the door, with Tyler right
behind him. The others protested, but the two boys insisted
on checking it out. They stepped out into the night,
their flashlight beams cutting through the darkness. The fire they'd
left burning in the pit had gone out, though there
was no wind to explain it. The air was thick
and humid, making it hard hard to breathe, and there

(16:01):
was a smell in the air, metallic and wrong. They
made their way toward the lake, calling out to see
if anyone was there, if anyone needed help. The path
was treacherous in the dark, roots and rocks seeming to
appear out of nowhere to trip them. As they got
closer to the water, the smell got stronger, and Marcus
recognized it with a sick feeling in his stomach. Blood.

(16:24):
The air reeked of blood. Tyler's flashlight beam swept across
the beach and stopped, illuminating something that made both boys freeze.
There were footprints in the sand, but they weren't normal footprints.
They were huge, easily twice the size of a normal
human foot, and they led from the water's edge up
toward the tree line. But there was another set of

(16:47):
tracks too, bootprints that dragged, as if whoever made them
had been pulling one leg behind them. Before they could
process what they were seeing, a figure emerged from the water, tall,
broad shouldered, and moving with that same dragging gait Marcus
had heard in the woods. The figure wore what might
have once been closed but were now just rotted rags

(17:08):
hanging from its frame and its face. Its face was
covered by a hockey mask that gleamed white in their
flashlight beams, stained with dark patches that could only be blood.
Marcus and Tyler ran. They ran faster than they'd ever
run before, crashing through the underbrush their flashlights swinging wildly,

(17:28):
creating a strobe effect that made the world seem to
stutter around them. Behind them, they could hear pursuit, steady
and relentless branches, breaking in footsteps that never seemed to
tire or slow. They burst back into the lodge, slamming
the door behind them and pushing a heavy table against it.
The others bombarded them with questions, but all Marcus could

(17:49):
manage to say was that they needed to leave now.
Tyler was even less coherent, mumbling about the mask, the lake,
something coming out of the water, like it had been
waiting there. But before they could organize their escape, the
lights went out, all of them simultaneously, as if someone
had flipped a switch. In the absolute darkness that followed,

(18:11):
they heard the door to the lodge creak open, the
table they'd used as a barricade sliding across the floor
with a grinding sound that seemed to go on forever.
Then came the breathing, slow, labored, wet breathing that sounded
like it was coming through water or blood. It moved
through the room, circling them, and they pressed together in

(18:32):
the darkness, terrified to move, terrified to make a sound.
Ashley's phone provided the only light, its screen casting a
weak glow that barely penetrated the darkness. In that faint illumination,
they caught glimpses of their stalker. The mask cracked and stained,
the machete in its hand, rust colored with old blood.

(18:54):
The way it moved, purposeful and patient, like it had
all the time in the world. Sarah was the first
to break, making a run for the back door. The
others followed, stumbling over debris in the darkness. Guided more
by panic than sight, they burst out of the lodge
and scattered, some heading for the van, others for the woods,

(19:15):
their rational thought completely overcome by primitive fear. Derek ran alone,
having been separated from the others in the chaos. He
crashed through the underbrush, branches, tearing at his clothes, his
breath coming in ragged gasps. He could hear something behind him,
matching his pace, never falling behind but never quite catching up,

(19:37):
like a cat playing with a mouse. He stumbled into
a clearing and found himself at the old archery range,
targets still standing in rows like pale soldiers in the moonlight.
That's when he saw it, not Jason, but something else,
something that stood at the edge of the clearing, easily
eight feet tall, covered in dark fur that seemed to

(19:57):
absorb the moonlight rather than reflect it. It stood perfectly still,
watching him with eyes that glowed a soft amber in
the darkness. For a moment, Derek thought he was hallucinating
that fear had broken something in his mind. But then
the creature moved just slightly, its head tilting as if
considering him. The sound of Jason approaching grew louder, and

(20:19):
Derek found himself caught between two impossibilities, the masked killer
behind him, the legendary creature before him. He chose the unknown,
running toward the sasquatch rather than away from it, some
instinct telling him that whatever this thing was, it wasn't
the immediate threat. The sasquatch didn't move as Derek ran past.

(20:40):
It didn't even seem to notice him. Its attention was
fixed on Jason, who had emerged from the tree line
machete raised. For a moment, the two beings regarded each
other predator and protector, though which was which remained unclear.
Then Jason charged, moving with supernatural speed, and the sasquatch
moved to meet him. The collision was like thunder, shaking

(21:03):
the ground and sending Derek sprawling. He scrambled behind one
of the archery targets, peering around it to watch the
impossible battle. Jason's machete swung in deadly arcs, but the
Sasquatch moved with surprising grace for something so large, dodging
the blade with minimal effort. Its own attacks were devastating
when they landed, massive fists, sending Jason flying backward, crashing

(21:27):
through targets and small trees alike. But Jason kept getting
back up, no matter how hard he was hit, no
matter how far he was thrown, he rose again, that
same relentless determination, driving him forward. The Sasquatch seemed to
realize this, changing tactics. Instead of trying to defeat Jason,
it began to lead him away, deeper into the woods,

(21:50):
away from the camp and away from the scattered teenagers.
Derek didn't waste the opportunity. He ran back toward the
main camp, hoping to find the others, hoping to find
the van, hoping to find any way out of this nightmare.
He found Kevin and Tyler near the parking lot, trying
to hot wire the van after Marcus had lost the
keys somewhere in their flight. Sarah and Jen were there too,

(22:12):
huddled together, both crying, but Marcus and Ashley were missing.
They could hear Ashley screaming somewhere in the distance, the
sound carrying across the lake with horrible clarity. Marcus's voice
joined hers, shouting her name, followed by a wet, choking
sound that cut off abruptly. Then Ashley's screams changed, became

(22:33):
something worse, something that spoke of pain beyond comprehension. Then
those two stopped, leaving only silence. The van's engine finally
roared to life, Tyler's desperate hot wiring attempts finally bearing fruit.
They piled in, not waiting to see if Marcus and
Ashley might still make it, knowing in their hearts that

(22:54):
their friends were gone. But as Tyler threw the van
into reverse, shapes emerged from the woods on all sides,
not just one sasquatch, but three, four, maybe more. They
stood at the edge of the parking lot, watching, waiting.
Tyler slammed on the brakes, unsure what to do. The
creatures didn't move to attack, didn't even move toward them.

(23:17):
They just stood there, like a living wall between the
van and the road out. Then from behind them came
that dragging footstep they'd all come to dread. Jason emerged
from the darkness, his mask now cracked down the middle,
his clothes torn and muddy from his battle with the Sasquatch.
He was wounded, moving slower than before, but still coming,

(23:39):
still focused on his prey with single minded determination. The
Sasquatch moved as one, turning to face Jason, placing themselves
between him and the van. The message was clear, even
if the reasoning wasn't. They were letting the teenagers go,
but Jason would have to get through them first. Tyler
didn't need a second invitation. He gunned the engine, swerving

(24:01):
around the creatures and onto the dirt road that led
to freedom. In the rear view mirror, they could see
the Sasquatch closing in on Jason, see him raising his
machete to meet them, see the beginning of an impossible battle.
Then the van rounded a corner and the camp disappeared
behind them, though the sounds of that impossible conflict echoed
through the forest for miles. The van tore down the

(24:24):
dirt road, its headlights swinging wildly as Tyler fought to
keep control on the uneven surface. The others were silent,
pressed against their seats, eyes wide with shock. Sarah had
her arms wrapped around herself, rocking slightly, tears streaming down
her face. Kevin kept looking back through the rear window,
as if expecting to see Jason or those impossible creatures

(24:47):
pursuing them. Derek sat frozen, his mind still trying to
process what he'd witnessed at the archery range, and Jen
held Sarah, whispering comforting words that neither of them believed
they'd made it maybe two miles from the camp when
the van suddenly lurched and died. Tyler turned the key frantically,
but the engine wouldn't turn over. The lights flickered and

(25:10):
went out, leaving them in darkness, broken only by the
moon filtering through the trees. The silence was absolute, even
their breathing seeming muffled. Kevin was the first to speak,
his voice barely above a whisper. They needed to keep moving,
he said. They couldn't stay here, not after what they'd seen.
The others agreed, though none of them wanted to leave.

(25:32):
The relative safety of the van. But what choice did
they have. They were still miles from the main road,
miles from cell phone reception, miles from help. They climbed out, carefully,
staying close together, using their phones dying batteries for light.
The forest around them was different from the camp, older, denser.

(25:52):
The trees here were massive, their trunks wider than the van,
their branches forming a canopy so thick that even the
moonlight struggled to penetrate. And there was something else, a
feeling of being watched, that made the hair on their
necks stand up. They started walking, following the road, though
it was harder to see now, the path barely distinguishable

(26:14):
from the forest floor. Every sound made them jump. Every
shadow could have been Jason, could have been something worse.
Derek kept seeing movement in his peripheral vision, tall shapes
moving between the trees, keeping pace with them, but never
coming closer. It was Jen who noticed the markings first,
scratches on the trees, too deliberate to be natural, forming

(26:37):
patterns that almost looked like riding. They appeared every few
dozen yards, always at eye level for someone very tall,
always fresh enough that SAPs still oozed from the wounds
in the bark. Sarah, despite her fear, found herself fascinated
by them. She'd studied anthropology before switching to nursing, and
something about these marks triggered a memory from a long

(26:59):
ago left ure about territorial markers, about how certain primates
would mark their territory to warn others away. But these
weren't made by any known primate. The marks were too complex,
too intentional. They told a story, though none of the
teenagers could read it, a story of boundaries, of warnings,
of ancient claims to land that predated any human ownership.

(27:23):
And underneath the fresh marks they could see older ones,
years old, decades old, maybe centuries old, layer upon layer
of the same symbols, carved by different hands or pause.
Tyler stopped, suddenly, holding up his hand for silence. There
was something on the road ahead, a dark shape that
didn't match the shadows around it. They approached slowly, phones

(27:47):
raised to cast their weak light on it. It was
a backpack, torn open, its contents scattered across the ground,
but it wasn't one of theirs. The style was older,
for maybe the early two thousands, and among the scattered
belongings was a student id from a college in Pennsylvania.
The photo showed a young woman smiling, full of life.

(28:08):
The date on the ID was two thousand and nine.
Jen gasped, recognizing it from her research. This was one
of the documentary students who disappeared, one of the ones
who'd never been found. But what was her backpack doing
here so far from the camp, so perfectly preserved after
all these years. It was as if someone or something

(28:29):
had placed it here deliberately, like a warning or a memorial.
Before they could discuss it further, they heard it, that
dragging footstep they'd come to dread, coming from behind them
on the road. But it was wrong somehow, the rhythm off,
like whatever was making it was injured, struggling. They turned
to look, and there was Jason. But he was different.

(28:52):
His mask was gone, revealing a face that was somehow
worse than anything they'd imagined, deformed, twisted, one eye clouded
and dead, the other burning with an intelligence that was
both human and utterly alien. He was wounded, black, blood
oozing from dozens of gashes across his body, his left
arm hanging useless at his side. The Sasquatch had hurt him,

(29:16):
hurt him in ways that should have killed anything mortal,
But Jason wasn't mortal, had it been for a very
long time. He was something else, now, something sustained by
rage and purpose that transcended death itself. The teenagers ran again,
but this time they knew it was hopeless. Jason was slower,
but he was still coming, still relentless, and they were tired,

(29:40):
so tired their bodies pushed beyond exhaustion by fear and adrenaline.
Sarah stumbled first, crying out as her ankle twisted on
a root. Jen stopped to help her, and the others
stopped too, unwilling to leave them behind. That's when the
forest exploded into motion. Stay tuned for more Backwoods big
Foot store. We'll be back after these messages. They came

(30:05):
from everywhere and nowhere, moving through the trees like shadows,
given form not one or two sasquatch, but dozens surrounding them,
surrounding Jason. They were all different sizes, from ones barely
taller than a human to giants that towered above the teens.
Some were dark furred, others lighter, and a few were

(30:25):
almost white, their furs seeming to glow in the moonlight.
But all had the same intelligent eyes, the same careful,
deliberate movements. Jason stopped, his head, turning slowly as he
took in the situation. Even in his damaged state, even
driven by supernatural fury, some part of him recognized the threat.

(30:46):
These weren't teenagers to be stalked and slaughtered. These were
something else, something that belonged here in a way that
even he didn't. The largest of the sasquatch stepped forward,
and when it moved, the others moved with it, maintaining
their circle but tightening it. It made a sound, not
quite a growl, not quite speech, but something that conveyed meaning,

(31:09):
nonetheless a warning, a claim, a declaration that these humans
were under protection, at least for now. Jason raised his machete,
the blade catching the moonlight. Despite being covered in blood
and gore, he took a step forward, then another, that
relentless determination driving him even in the face of overwhelming odds.

(31:31):
The sasquatch responded, several of them, picking up branches that
looked like twigs in their massive hands, but were actually
entire young trees torn from the ground with roots still attached.
The battle, when it came was unlike anything the teenagers
could have imagined. Jason fought with the fury of the damned,
his machete singing through the air, finding flesh. Despite the

(31:53):
speed of his opponents, the Sasquatch fought with intelligence and coordination,
working together using the four forest itself as a weapon.
Trees became clubs, rocks became projectiles, and the very ground
seemed to work against Jason, roots rising up to trip him,
branches falling at just the right moment to block his attacks.

(32:13):
But it was Kevin who noticed the real strategy. The
Sasquatch weren't trying to kill Jason. They were hurting him,
driving him in a specific direction, away from the teenagers,
but also away from the camp, away from the lake
that was his source of power. With each exchange, they
pushed him further from his territory, further from the water
that had birthed and sustained his unnatural existence. One of

(32:37):
the smaller Sasquatch broke from the battle and approached the teenagers.
It was female, they realized, with softer features and eyes
that held something almost like compassion. She gestured for them
to follow, and when they hesitated, she made that same
not quite speech sound but gentler, more insistent. Sarah, surprising

(32:57):
everyone including herself, was the first move, limping forward with
gen support. The others followed, too exhausted and overwhelmed to
do anything else. The female led them through paths that
didn't seem to exist until they were walking on them,
through gaps in the trees that should have been too narrow,
Across streams that appeared from nowhere and disappeared just as

(33:19):
quickly behind them. They could hear the battle continuing, Jason's
rage filled roars mixing with the deeper bellows of the Sasquatch,
but the sounds grew more distant with each step, until
finally they couldn't hear them at all. They emerged from
the forest onto a different road, this one paved and
well maintained. In the distance, they could see lights, the

(33:41):
blessed sight of civilization. The female Sasquatch stood at the
tree line, watching them up close. They could see details
they'd missed before, scars across her arms and chest, old
wounds that told of other battles, other nights like this.
Her fur was streaked with gray, and her eyes held
an ancient weariness. Derek finding courage he didn't know he

(34:05):
had stepped toward her. He wanted to say something, to
thank her, to ask why, to understand something, anything about
what had happened. But she held up one massive hand
palm out a gesture that needed no translation. Some mysteries
weren't meant to be solved, some questions weren't meant to
be answered. She turned and melted back into the forest,

(34:28):
disappearing so completely it was as if she'd never been
there at all. The teenagers stood there for a long moment,
looking back at the forest that had nearly killed them,
that had saved them, that had shown them wonders and
horrors beyond imagination. Then, without speaking, they started walking toward
the lights, towards safety, toward a world that would never

(34:49):
quite make sense again. As the teenagers disappeared down the road,
the female sasquatch moved through the forest with purpose. Her
name in the language of her people translated roughly to
keeper of the Old Ways, though human vocal cords could
never properly pronounce it. She'd lived for over two centuries,
had seen the forests shrink and the humans multiply, had

(35:13):
watched as her kind retreated deeper and deeper into the
remaining wilderness. She found the battle still raging, in a
clearing that had been created by the conflict itself. Trees
knocked down like matchsticks, the ground torn and bloodied. Jason
was still fighting, though he was clearly weakening. His movements
were slower, his attacks less precise. The machete that had

(35:36):
been his weapon for so long was gone, lost somewhere
in the battle, and he was fighting with his bare hands,
now fingers curved like claws. The other sasquatch, had formed
a tight circle around him, taking turns engaging him, wearing
him down through attrition. It was an old tactic, one
they'd used against bears and mountain lions and in the

(35:58):
very old days again, things that human mythology had forgotten existed.
But Jason was proving more resilient than any natural predator.
The keeper made a decision. She called out, in their
true language, a series of vocalizations that human scientists would
have classified as infrasound, below the range of human hearing,
but perfectly clear to her kind. The others responded immediately,

(36:22):
backing away from Jason, giving him space. He stood in
the center of the clearing, swaying slightly. His one good
eye scanning for the next attack. She approached him slowly, carefully,
her hands empty and visible. Jason tensed, ready to attack,
but something made him pause. Perhaps it was her age,

(36:43):
the weight of years that surrounded her like an aura.
Perhaps it was the lack of fear in her movements,
Or perhaps somewhere in what remained of his consciousness, he
recognized a fellow guardian of territory, a fellow creature caught
between worlds. She spoke to him, not in the human language,
but in something older, more fundamental, the language of the

(37:05):
forest itself, of soil and root and stone. She told
him of the time before the camp, before the lake
had a name, when her people and the indigenous humans
had lived in balance. She told him of the agreement
they'd made with those first humans to remain hidden, to
become legend, in exchange for certain territories being left untouched.

(37:27):
Jason listened, or seemed to his head tilted slightly that
one burning eye fixed on her. She told him of
watching his drowning, of feeling his mother's grief poison the lake,
of seeing him rise again, transformed by rage and dark
purpose into something that shouldn't exist, but did. She told
him that she understood his need for vengeance, his compulsion

(37:50):
to protect his territory, but that his methods were bringing
danger to them all. Every time humans disappeared at the lake,
more came looking, and with modern tech technology, with thermal
cameras and DNA analysis and satellite imaging, it was only
a matter of time before someone found something they shouldn't,
not just Jason, but the Sasquatch themselves. The balance that

(38:13):
had protected them all for centuries was breaking down, and
Jason's murders were accelerating the process. She made him an offer.
The deep woods, the places even hikers didn't go, the
valleys hidden in the mountains, where the old growth trees
still stood, territory of his own, far from humans, far
from the temptation of vengeance. The Sasquatch would show him

(38:36):
the hidden paths, the cave systems that connected to underground rivers,
the places where he could exist without human interference. In exchange,
he would leave the lake, leave the camp, leave the
humans alone. Jason stood perfectly still for a long moment,
so still he might have been a statue. Then he

(38:56):
turned slowly, looking back toward the lake that had in
his home, his prison, his kingdom for so long, the
keeper could feel his struggle, the war between his nature
and his need. The lake called to him, the water
that had taken his life and given him this cursed existence.
But there was something else, too, a weariness that even

(39:18):
his supernatural rage couldn't completely mask. He looked back at her,
and she saw something in that one good eye that
might have been understanding, might have been agreement, might have
been nothing at all. Then he turned and began walking,
not toward the lake, but away from it, toward the
mountains that rose in the distance. His gait was still

(39:39):
that dragging, limping walk, but there was purpose in it
now direction. The other sasquatch, moved to follow to ensure
he kept his part of the bargain, but the Keeper
stopped them with a gesture. This was Jason's choice to
make his path to walk. They would watch, as they
always watched, but they wouldn't force him. That wasn't their way.

(40:02):
As Jason disappeared into the darkness, the keeper turned her
attention to the camp itself. The teenagers were gone, hopefully
smart enough never to return, but there would be others.
There always were. The camp was a wound in the
forest that kept drawing the curious, the foolish, the thrill seekers.
It needed to be closed permanently. She called her people together,

(40:25):
and they moved through the camp like a force of nature,
not destroying that would only draw more attention. Instead, they
made it inhospitable, unwelcoming. They redirected streams to flood certain areas,
encouraged the growth of poison ivy and thorn bushes around
the buildings. They marked the trees with their warning signs,

(40:45):
layering them so thick that even humans who couldn't consciously
read them would feel the wrongness, the sense of being unwelcome.
But their real master stroke was more subtle. Using knowledge
passed down through generations, they located and cared carefully exposed
natural gas vents throughout the camp, not enough to be dangerous,
but enough to create and smell that would make humans

(41:07):
uncomfortable nauseous. They introduced certain fungui to the buildings, types
that would create psychoactive spores and small enough quantities to
cause unease and mild hallucinations without real harm. Within weeks,
the camp would have such a reputation for strange smells
and unsettling experiences that even the most determined urban explorers

(41:29):
would stay away. As dawn began to break over Crystal Lake,
painting the sky in shades of pink and gold, the
keeper stood on the shore, looking out over the water.
It was peaceful, now, almost serene, giving no hint of
the horrors it had witnessed. But she could feel it,
the wrongness that had seeped into the very molecules of

(41:50):
the water. Jason's presence had changed it made it something
other than what nature intended. She waded in the cold water,
not bothering her through her thick fur, and began to sing.
It wasn't singing in any way humans would recognize, but
it was music, nonetheless, older than human civilization, older than

(42:11):
the lake itself. She sang of cleansing, of healing, of
returning to balance. Other sasquatch, joined her, their voices creating
harmonies that made the water itself vibrate. Fish that had
long abandoned the lake began to return, drawn by something
they couldn't understand. Plants that had withered in the tainted

(42:32):
water began to grow again. The lake was healing, slowly,
but healing. Nonetheless, it would never be completely clean. Jason's
presence had marked it too deeply for that, but it
could be made neutral, no longer a beacon for darkness.
Tyler brought the van to a stop at the first
gas station they found, his hands still shaking so badly

(42:53):
he could barely put it in park. The fluorescent lights
of the station seemed impossibly bright after the darkness of
the forest and the normal sounds of civilization cars passing
on the nearby highway. The hum of the pumps felt surreal,
like they'd stepped from one world into another entirely. None
of them spoke as they climbed out of the van.

(43:15):
What was there to say? How could they explain what
they'd seen? Who would believe them? They stood there in
the harsh artificial light, looking at each other, seeing their
own shock and disbelief reflected in each other's faces. They
were different, now changed by what they'd witnessed. The world
was bigger, stranger, more dangerous, and more wonderful than they'd

(43:37):
ever imagined. Kevin was the first to break the silence,
pulling out his phone to call nine to one one,
But as he started to dial, he stopped. What would
he say? That their friends had been killed by Jason Vorhees,
that they'd been saved by Sasquatches. They'd be dismissed as
pranksters at best, treated as suspects. At worst. Marcus and

(44:00):
and Ashley were dead. They were certain of that, but
without bodies, without evidence, what could the police do. It
was Sarah who made the decision for them. They would
report Marcus and Ashley as missing. Say they'd gotten separated
while exploring the camp and never came back. It was
close enough to the truth, and it would get search
teams out there. Maybe they'd find the bodies, give their

(44:22):
families closure. Maybe they'd find nothing, and Marcus and Ashley
would become just two more names added to Crystal Lake's
long list of unexplained disappearances. The call to the police
was surreal. Tyler did most of the talking, sticking to
their agreed upon story. They'd gone to explore the abandoned
camp just for fun, just to see it. Marcus and

(44:45):
Ashley had wandered off together and hadn't come back. They'd
searched but couldn't find them. No, they hadn't seen anyone else. No,
they hadn't heard anything unusual. Just got spooked when their
friends didn't return and decided to leave to get help.
Stay tuned for more Backwoods Bigfoot stories. We'll be back
after these messages. The police took their statements with the

(45:09):
weary patience of officers who'd heard similar stories before. Crystal
Lake had a reputation, and kids going missing there wasn't
unheard of. They promised to send search teams at first light,
took down contact information, and sent the teenagers on their
way with warnings about trespassing on private property. The drive
home was silent, each of them lost in their own thoughts,

(45:32):
processing what they'd experienced in their own way. Derek kept
replaying the battle in his mind, trying to reconcile what
he'd seen. Jen held Sarah, who hadn't stopped shaking since
they'd left the forest. Kevin stared out the window, watching
the normal world pass by, wondering if it had always
been a facade hiding something deeper, stranger. When they finally

(45:54):
made it back to the city, they went their separate
ways with promises to stay in touch to support each
other through whatever came next, but they all knew things
would never be the same between them. They'd shared something
that couldn't be explained, couldn't be understood by anyone who
hadn't been there. It would bind them together forever, but
it would also isolate them, set them apart from everyone else.

(46:18):
The news coverage started within days. Two college students missing
at infamous Crystal Lake. The headlines read Marcus and Ashley's
faces were everywhere on news websites, social media missing person posters.
Their families made tearful pleas for information for their safe return.
Search teams combed the camp and surrounding forest, but found nothing.

(46:41):
No bodies, no evidence of violence, no clues at all.
It was as if Marcus and Ashley had simply vanished.
Tyler couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he
saw Jason emerging from the lake, saw those impossible creatures
in the forest. He started researching, diving deep into internet
forms and obscure websites, trying to find others who'd had

(47:04):
similar experiences. He found more than he expected, stories dating
back decades, centuries, even of tall hair covered beings and
forests around the world. Most were dismissed as hoaxes or misidentifications,
but some had details that matched what they'd seen too
closely to be coincidence. Kevin threw himself into normalcy, with

(47:25):
desperate determination. He went to work, hung out with friends
who hadn't been there, pretended everything was fine, but he
couldn't stop himself from checking the news about the search,
couldn't stop hoping they'd find something, anything, that would provide closure.
He started drinking more, trying to dull the memories, but
alcohol only made the nightmares worse. Sarah and Jen found

(47:48):
comfort in each other. They moved in together, unable to
bear being alone with their memories. They didn't talk about
what happened, didn't need to. Just being near someone who
understood was a Sarah changed her major back to anthropology,
driven by a need to understand what they'd encountered. She
researched indigenous legends, cryptozoology, the intersection of myth and reality.

(48:14):
Jen started painting, creating abstract works that captured the fear
and wonder of that night without explicitly depicting it. Derek
became obsessed with going back, not to the camp he
wasn't that foolish, but to the forests around it. He
bought camping gear, cameras, recording equipment. He spent weekends hiking
trails in the area, looking for signs, evidence, anything that

(48:38):
would prove what they'd seen was real. He never found
anything concrete, but sometimes in the deep woods, he'd feel
that sensation of being watched, and he'd know they were there,
keeping their distance, but aware of his presence. Three weeks
after that night, the search for Marcus and Ashley was
officially called off. They were listed as missing, presumed did

(49:00):
their cases, added to the cold case files that grew
thicker every year. The camp was temporarily closed to the public,
though everyone knew that wouldn't last. It never did. Crystal
Lake was too infamous, its draw too strong. Within a year,
new fences would be cut, new teenagers would come seeking thrills,

(49:21):
and the cycle would continue. But something had changed. The
camp felt different, now, wrong in a way that went
beyond its bloody history. Urban explorers who visited reported strange smells,
unsettling feelings, minor hallucinations. The few who stayed overnight told
stories of being watched, of seeing things in the forest

(49:42):
that couldn't be explained. Most dismissed these accounts as the
power of suggestion, people psyching themselves out in a place
with such a dark reputation, but some wondered if there
was more to it. The Sasquatch had done their work well.
The camp was becoming uninhabitable, not through violence or obvious intervention,
but through subtle manipulation of the environment. Within a year,

(50:05):
even the most determined thrill seekers would avoid it, sensing
something off about the place, without being able to articulate what.
Crystal Lake would finally begin to heal, to return to nature,
to become what it had been before humans had marked
it with their presence and their tragedy. Six months had
passed since that night at Crystal Lake. Autumn had given

(50:27):
way to winter, and now spring was beginning to show
its first signs. The five survivors had maintained contact. Bound
by their shared trauma and secret, they met monthly, usually
at a coffee shop in the city, to check in
on each other, to remind themselves they weren't alone in
carrying the weight of what they'd witnessed. It was during
one of these meetings that Sarah made her announcement. She'd

(50:50):
been researching, she said, deeper than any of them had gone.
She'd found something, connections that nobody else had made, patterns
that revealed a truth larger and more complex than they'd imagined.
She spread documents across the table print outs of old
newspaper articles, indigenous oral histories, geological surveys, and population studies

(51:12):
of the areas around Crystal Lake. The others leaned in, intrigued.
Despite themselves, Sarah had always been the smart one, the
one who needed to understand things, to find logical explanations
even for the illogical. She started with the geological surveys.
Crystal Lake, she explained, sat on top of a unique

(51:32):
geological formation, a series of underground caves and water systems
that stretched for miles in all directions. But more interesting
was what the surveys didn't show, gaps in the data,
areas where the equipment had malfunctioned or given impossible readings.
These gaps formed a pattern, a network of spaces beneath
the earth that shouldn't exist according to conventional geology. Then

(51:56):
she moved to the indigenous histories. Every tribe that had
lived in the area had stories about the tall Ones
or the first people who lived in the deep forests,
But they also had stories about places of power, spots
where the boundary between worlds was thin. Crystal Lake was
one of these places, but it wasn't the only one.

(52:16):
There were dozens scattered throughout the mountains, and they all
connected to those geological anomalies. The newspaper articles came next,
spanning over a century. Disappearances, yes, but also sightings encounters,
always near those same locations. But here's what everyone had missed.
The pattern that Sarah had found. The disappearances weren't random.

(52:39):
They followed cycles, increasing when human development encroached on certain areas,
decreasing when those areas were abandoned. It was as if
something was pushing back, defending territory, maintaining boundaries. But the
real revelation came from the population studies. Sarah had accessed
census data going back to the eighteen hundreds tracking population

(53:02):
growth in the areas around Crystal Lake and similar sites.
What she'd found was subtle, but undeniable. Towns near these
sites never grew beyond a certain size. Development projects failed
for mysterious reasons. Roads were re routed due to unstable ground.
It was as if something was actively managing human expansion,

(53:22):
keeping it within acceptable limits. Tyler was the first to
understand what she was suggesting. The Sasquatch weren't just random
cryptids hiding in the forest. They were guardians stewards of
something ancient and important. They'd made a calculated decision to
save the teenagers that night, not out of altruism, but
out of pragmatism. Too many disappearances would bring, too much attention,

(53:46):
would threaten the delicate balance they'd maintained for centuries. Kevin
asked the question they were all thinking. If the Sasquatch
were managing human expansion containing it, what were they protecting?
What was so important that they'd risk exposure to prevent
humans from finding it. Sarah pulled out her final piece
of evidence, a map she'd created overlaying all the data

(54:08):
she'd collected. The geological anomalies, the disappearances, the sightings, the
failed development projects. They all centered on specific locations, and
at the heart of each cluster was something the surveys
couldn't explain. Spaces that seemed to exist outside normal three
dimensional space, places where the laws of physics seemed to

(54:30):
break down. She believed, though she couldn't prove it, that
these were doorways of some kind, not to other planets
or dimensions necessarily, but to other states of being, other
ways of existing. The Sasquatch weren't protecting territory in the
traditional sense, they were protecting the boundaries between worlds, ensuring
that things stayed where they belonged. Jason, in this context

(54:54):
became something even more terrifying. He wasn't just a revenant
driven by revenge. It was an anomaly, something that had
crossed a boundary it shouldn't have, brought back by his
mother's grief and the unique properties of Crystal Lake, his
existence was a violation of the natural order, which explained
why the Sasquatch had intervened. He was a threat not

(55:15):
just to humans, but to the balance they'd spent millennia maintaining.
Derek had been quiet throughout Sarah's presentation, but now he
spoke up. He'd gone back to the forest, he admitted,
multiple times, and on his last trip he'd found something.
He pulled out his phone, scrolling to a video he'd taken.
The quality was poor, the image shaky, but it showed

(55:38):
a tree with those same carved symbols they'd seen that night.
But these were fresh, made recently, and they were different
from the territorial markers. Sarah studied the video, her eyes
widening with recognition. She'd seen similar symbols in her research
and photographs from other encounter sites. They weren't territorial markers

(55:58):
or warnings. They were messages, communications between different groups of
Sasquatch across vast distances, and based on the pattern the
repetition of certain symbols, they seemed to be discussing the
teenagers debating what to do about the humans who'd seen
too much. The implications were staggering. The Sasquatch weren't just intelligent.

(56:19):
They had a complex society, a communication network, a purpose
that went beyond mere survival. They were actively managing the
interaction between two worlds, maybe more maintaining a balance that
humans weren't even aware existed. Jen who'd been silent until now,
asked the question that hung in the air, what did

(56:40):
this mean for them? They knew something that could change everything,
that could rewrite humanity's understanding of its place in the world,
But they also knew that revealing it could destroy the
very balance. The Sasquatch risked everything to protect more than that,
who would believe them, and even if someone did, what
would happen into places like Crystal Lake to the Sasquatch,

(57:03):
to the delicate ecosystem of mystery that had protected both
species for so long they sat with that question. Five
young people carrying a secret too big to share, too
important to forget. They'd gone to Crystal Lake looking for thrills,
for a story to tell at parties. They'd left with
knowledge that would burden them for the rest of their lives.

(57:24):
Knowledge that they were not alone, had never been alone,
and that sometimes ignorance wasn't just bliss, but necessary for survival.
One year, that's how long they'd managed to stay away.
One year of nightmares, of therapy sessions where they couldn't
tell the whole truth, of jumping at shadows and avoiding forests.

(57:45):
One year of carrying the weight of Marcus and Ashley's deaths,
of knowing what had really happened but being unable to
tell anyone. One year was all they could take. It
was Derek who suggested it during one of their monthly meetings.
They needed to go back, not to the camp, but
to the forest. They needed closure, understanding something more than

(58:06):
the fragments of truth they'd pieced together. The others resisted
at first, the trauma still too fresh, the fear too real,
But eventually even they had to admit that living with
unanswered questions was its own form of torture. They planned
it carefully, this time, no camping, no overnight stays. They
would go during the day, stay together, stay on marked

(58:28):
trails near but not at the camp. They brought emergency beacons,
GPS devices, enough gear to handle any normal emergency. They
told people where they were going, when they'd be back.
They took every precaution except the only one that really mattered.
They shouldn't have gone at all. The forest was different
in daylight, less menacing, but somehow more alien. The trees

(58:52):
that had seemed threatening in darkness now appeared ancient, wise,
indifferent to human concerns. The trails were well maintained, popular
with hikers who had no idea how close they were
to mysteries beyond imagination. The five of them walked in silence,
each lost in their own memories, their own fears. It

(59:12):
was Sarah who noticed the changes, first, subtle things. A
tree that had been healthy a year ago, now showing
signs of disease. A stream that had run clear, now
murky with algae. The forest was sick, or perhaps transformed
would be a better word. Something fundamental had shifted. The
balance they theorized about, disrupted in ways they couldn't quite understand.

(59:35):
They found the first sign, three miles in, carved into
a tree just off the main trail. It wasn't the
territorial markings they'd seen before, or the communication symbols Derek
had documented. This was something new, more urgent, almost frantic
in its execution. Sarah photographed it, planning to research it later,

(59:56):
but something about it made them all uneasy. It felt
like a warning, but not directed at them. Stay tuned
for more Backwoods Bigfoot stories. We'll be back after these messages.
It was warning about something else, something coming, or perhaps
already here. As they went deeper into the forest, following

(01:00:16):
trails that became progressively less traveled, they found more signs,
not just carved symbols, but physical evidence of disturbance. Trees
knocked down in patterns that didn't match any storm damage,
ground torn up as if something massive had been dragged through,
and strangest of all, areas where the forest seemed to
be growing differently, plants that shouldn't exist at this elevation,

(01:00:39):
flowers blooming out of season. It was Tyler who saw
it first, or rather who saw him, Jason standing perfectly still,
about one hundred yards off the trail, partially hidden behind
a massive oak. But something was wrong. He wasn't wearing
his mask, and his face what they could see of
it was different, less human than before, if that was possible,

(01:01:03):
more elemental, as if he was becoming part of the
forest itself. They froze, waiting for him to attack, to
resume the hunt that had nearly killed them all a
year ago. But he didn't move, didn't even seem to
notice them. His attention was fixed on something else, something
deeper in the forest that they couldn't see, and in

(01:01:24):
his posture, in the way he stood, there was something
that looked almost like fear. Before they could decide whether
to run or investigate further, she appeared, the female sasquatch
who had led them to safety, though she too was changed.
Her fur was darker, traces of something that might have
been ash, or might have been something else entirely streaked

(01:01:44):
across it. She moved with purpose, not the careful grace
they remembered, but something more urgent, more desperate. She saw them,
paused for a moment, as if surprised to find them there,
then did something that shocked them all. She spoke, not
in the growls and sounds they'd heard before, but in English,

(01:02:04):
accented and rough, as if formed by vocal cords, never
meant for human speech, but understandable. You should not be here,
she said, each word a struggle. The boundaries fail, the
old agreements break. He, she gestured toward Jason, is symptom,
not cause something else comes through. Sarah found her voice first,

(01:02:28):
the researcher. In her overcoming fear. She asked what was happening,
what was coming through, what they could do to help.
The Sasquatch looked at her with those ancient eyes, and
for a moment, something like respect flickered across her features.
She explained, in broken sentences and concepts that human language
could barely contain what was happening. The places of power,

(01:02:51):
the thin spots between worlds, were rupturing, not naturally but deliberately.
Something from beyond was forcing its way through, using the
damage Jason had caused, the imbalance his existence had created
as a foothold, the Sasquatch had contained Jason managed him,
but in doing so they'd weakened themselves, spread too thin,

(01:03:14):
protecting too many boundaries. Jason, she explained, was fighting it too,
in his own way. His connection to the lake to
the land made him a part of the defense. Now, however,
unwilling the thing coming through was antithetical to everything, not
just life, but existence. As this reality understood it, It
would unmake things, not destroy them, but retroactively prevent them

(01:03:38):
from ever having been. The forest around them was evidence
of its influence, Time and space becoming fluid, past and
present and future bleeding together, Plants from different eras growing
side by side, Animals that had been extinct appearing briefly
before vanishing, the very matter of reality becoming uncertain. Derek asked,

(01:04:00):
that's the obvious question. How did they stop it? The
sasquatch made a sound that might have been a laugh
if it hadn't been so sad. Stop it. They couldn't
stop it. They could only hope to contain it, to
reinforce the boundaries, to hold it back long enough for
reality to heal itself. But that would require sacrifice, specifically

(01:04:20):
human sacrifice, but not in the way he might think.
She explained that humans had something the Sasquatch didn't, something
even Jason in his corrupted state didn't. They had the
ability to choose to willingly accept or reject reality. Their consciousness,
their observation could collapse. Quantum uncertainties force things to be

(01:04:42):
one way or another. In the places where reality was
becoming uncertain, human will could tip the balance, but it
would cost them to stand in those spaces. To force
reality to choose a shape would expose them to things
human minds weren't meant to perceive. Some would go mad,
others would be changed, transformed in ways that couldn't be predicted,

(01:05:04):
and some would simply cease, not die, but be erased,
their existence undone. From the beginning, the five of them
looked at each other, remembering another choice they'd made a
year ago, to run, to survive, to leave their friends behind.
This was different. This wasn't about them or even about humanity.

(01:05:26):
This was about existence itself, about preventing something that would
make Jason look like a child's nightmare. In comparison, Tyler
was the first to volunteer, surprising everyone, including himself. Kevin
followed immediately, not wanting his friend to face it alone.
Sarah volunteered her knowledge, her research, her understanding of patterns

(01:05:47):
and connections. Jen offered her art, her ability to perceive
and represent things that couldn't be described in words. And Derek.
Derek offered his obsession, his need to understand his willingness
to go places others wouldn't. The Sasquatch studied them for
a long moment, then nodded. She turned and began walking

(01:06:08):
deeper into the forest, and they followed, leaving the trail behind,
leaving the normal world behind, walking into a reality that
was coming apart at the seams. Three days. That's how
long they were in the deep forest, though time had
become a fluid concept in those places where reality was thin.
Three days of horrors and wonders that human language could

(01:06:31):
never properly describe. Three days of standing in spaces that
shouldn't exist, forcing them to choose a shape, to be
one thing instead of all things or nothing. Three days
of working alongside creatures they'd feared, including Jason himself, who
fought with a fury that transcended his usual homicidal rage,

(01:06:52):
as if he understood that if this thing succeeded, there
would be no lake to haunt, no camp to guard,
no existence in which he had ever been. When they emerged,
if emerged was the right word for what happened. They
were changed, not obviously, not in ways that would show
up on medical exams or photographs, but in their eyes,

(01:07:12):
in the way they moved through space, in the way
reality seemed to bend just slightly around them, as if
uncertain of their exact position. Tyler's hair had gone partially white,
not gray, but pure white, in patterns that seemed to
shift when you weren't looking directly at them. He found
he could sometimes see things before they happened. Not the

(01:07:33):
future exactly, but the probability of futures, the shape of
what might be. Kevin had lost the ability to forget
every moment of his life. Every second of those three
days was perfectly preserved in his memory. He could recall
with perfect clarity the sensation of standing in a space
where he both did and didn't exist, where he was

(01:07:54):
both alive and dead, both human and other. It was
a gift and a curse that would follow him for
whatever remained of his life. Sarah's understanding had expanded in
ways that made normal human knowledge seem quaint. She could
see the patterns now, not just in the research she'd done,
but in everything, the connection between seemingly unrelated events, the

(01:08:17):
hidden structures that held reality together, the fragile mathematics that
kept existence from collapsing into paradox. She would go on
to make discoveries that would change science, though she could
never explain how she knew what she knew. Jen's art
transformed completely. She could no longer create representations of things

(01:08:37):
that were. Instead, she painted things that might be, could be,
should be. Her paintings became windows into other possibilities, and
those who looked at them too long reported seeing movement,
hearing sounds, smelling sense that couldn't possibly be coming from
canvas and paint. Derek had perhaps the strangest change of all.

(01:08:59):
He could no longer be properly observed. Cameras would malfunction
when pointed at him, or the images would show someone
who was clearly him, but somehow different. Each time. In mirrors,
his reflection was always a half second off, as if
it was catching up to where he was, rather than
showing where he is. He existed in a state of
quantum uncertainty, never quite fully in one place or state

(01:09:22):
until someone looked directly at him. But they had succeeded.
After a fashion, The thing trying to force its way
through had been pushed back, the boundaries reinforced, the balance
restored Crystal Lake was truly abandoned, now, not just by
humans but by everything. It had become a dead zone,
a place where reality was so heavily patched and reinforced

(01:09:46):
that nothing could exist there properly. Even Jason couldn't return
to it, though he still wandered the forests around it.
A revenant without a home, a guardian without anything left
to guard. The Sasquatch had retreated deeper into the wilderness,
exhausted by the effort, their numbers diminished. They would recover eventually,

(01:10:06):
but it would take generations. The female who had spoken
to them, who had led them into the deep woods,
was gone, not dead, they'd been told, but transformed into
something else, something that could better guard the boundaries from
the other side. They would never see her again, but
sometimes in the deep woods they would feel her presence, watching, protecting,

(01:10:29):
maintaining the balance she'd given everything to preserve. The authorities
never found out what really happened. The five teenagers who'd
gone hiking had returned seemingly unharmed, if a bit shaken.
They stuck to their story of getting lost, of camping overnight,
of finding their way back. If anyone noticed the strange
changes in them. They attributed it to trauma, to the

(01:10:53):
lingering effects of their friend's disappearance a year ago. Eventually
the question stopped, and life, or something like it continued.
They still meet the five of them, though less frequently now,
not monthly, but yearly, always on the anniversary of that
first night at Crystal Lake. They don't talk much during

(01:11:13):
these meetings, don't need to. They just sit together, five
people who've seen beyond the veil, who've stood in places
where existence itself was uncertain, who fought alongside monsters to
prevent something worse. Sometimes late at night, they wonder if
they made the right choice, if ignorance would have been better,
if running would have been smarter, if someone else could

(01:11:35):
have done what they did without paying the price they paid.
But then they remember the thing, trying to break through
the wrongness of it, the threat it posed not just
to life, but to the very concept of being, And
they know they had no choice. The world continues, unaware
of how close it came to unmaking. People still tell

(01:11:56):
stories about Jason Vorhees, about the murders at Crystal Lake,
about the teenagers who disappear in the woods. They make movies,
write books, share creepy pastas online, but they don't know
the real story, the true horror that lurks, not in
a masked killer or a hidden cryptid, but in the
spaces between, in the boundaries that must be maintained, in

(01:12:18):
the balance that must be preserved, and in the deep woods,
in the places humans instinctively avoid, without knowing why. The
watchers remain diminished but not defeated, changed but not broken.
They continue their ancient duty. They guard the boundaries, maintain
the balance, and ensure that things stay where they belong.

(01:12:39):
It's thankless work, invisible work, but necessary. Crystal Lake sits
empty now, its waters still, its cabins crumbling, its legend,
fading into obscurity as new horrors capture the public imagination.
But sometimes, on certain nights, when the moon is dark
and the mist rises from the water, you can see

(01:13:00):
lights in the forest around it. Not electric lights, not fires,
but something else, something older, the lights of things that
should not be, but are of guardians who should not exist,
but do, of a balance that should not hold, but must.
And somewhere in those woods, Jason Vorhees still walks, no

(01:13:21):
longer the nightmare he once was, but something else, something
caught between worlds. Like the teenagers who once fled from him.
He is part of the balance now, whether he wants
to be or not, a reminder that sometimes the real
monsters are the ones that save us, and sometimes the
real heroes are the ones we run from. The Sasquatch

(01:13:42):
watch him as they watch everything from the shadows between
the trees. They've learned something from this experience, from these
humans who chose to stand and fight when they could
have run. They've learned that courage isn't the absence of fear,
but action despite it, that sometimes the smallest beings can
the greatest scales, and that the balance they've maintained for

(01:14:03):
so long might require more than just watching from the shadows.
Change is coming to the deep woods, to the hidden places,
to the boundaries between worlds. The old agreements are breaking down,
the ancient patterns, shifting. What worked for millennia might not
work for much longer. The Sasquatch know this, Jason, in

(01:14:24):
his own twisted way, knows this, and five young humans
who've been forever changed know this. But for now, tonight,
the balance holds, The boundaries remain intact, The things that
should not be are kept at bay by things that
should not exist, and the world spins on, blissfully unaware
of the razor's edge. It balances on. In the morning,

(01:14:47):
people will wake up, go about their lives, complain about
trivial things, never knowing how close they came to never
having existed at all. And in the woods around Crystal Lake,
in the spaces between what is and what is, the
vigil continues. It always has it always will until the
last boundary fails, until the last guardian falls, until the

(01:15:10):
balance finally inevitably breaks. But not tonight, not yet tonight.
The monsters hold the line ba