SO EP:682 Bigfoot Vs Michael Myers

In this Halloween special from Paranormal World Productions, we head deep into the frozen wilderness of Alaska for a story where myth and terror collide.

After forty-five years of running from her murderous brother, Laurie Strode retreats to a remote cabin fifteen miles from her nearest neighbor—hoping the endless wilderness can finally offer peace. But this land holds secrets of its own.

When rocks crash against her walls in the night and haunting vocalizations echo through the valley, Laurie realizes she’s not alone. Something ancient watches from the treeline—a Sasquatch, massive and intelligent, drawn to her isolation.

An uneasy coexistence forms between two survivors the world refuses to believe in… until Michael Myers finds her again. On Halloween night, Alaska becomes a battleground between human trauma, primal instinct, and unstoppable evil. This haunting episode explores survival, isolation, and the strange kinship between beings who exist outside the normal world. When pure evil meets primal fury, the result is brutal, tragic, and unforgettable.

⚠️ This episode contains intense horror themes, violence, and adult content. Listener discretion is strongly advised.

Join us where the cold is colder, the dark is deeper, and sometimes the monsters in the wild are the only ones who can save us from the monsters that follow us home.



Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/sasquatch-odyssey--4839697/support.

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Now one of your pudding. I got a string going
on here. Something Just kise my dog. Something killed your dog.
My dog. We're flying through the air, over the tree.
I don't know how it did it, Okay, Damn, I'm
really confused. All I saw was my dog coming over
the fence and he was dead. And once you hit
the ground like, I didn't see any cars. All I
saw was my dog coming over the fence. Satan, what

(00:38):
are you putting? We got some wonder or something crawling
around out here. Did you see what it was?

Speaker 2 (00:51):
Was?

Speaker 1 (00:52):
It was standing up. I'm out here looking through the
window now and I don't see anything. I don't want
to go outside. Jesus, quiet you bick Hellohet thebody out here?
What quin on out there? I thought of a bit
about Tech forty nine. I don't know. Easy ann out there? Yeah,
I'm walking right.

Speaker 2 (01:11):
Head Tonight we're doing something different. This is a Halloween
special with a story that merges two forces, one from
the wild, one from the darkness of man. We're talking
Michael Myers, the unstoppable force of evil from the Halloween franchise,
going head to head with something even more primal, even

(01:32):
more ancient, A sasquatch deep in the Alaskan wilderness, and
caught in the middle is Laurie Strode, who spent her
entire life running from the nightmare that won't end. Now,
before we get started, I need to give you a warning.
This episode is intense. We're talking graphic violence, brutal fight scenes,
and some genuinely frightening imagery. This is not suitable for

(01:55):
younger listeners. If you've got kids around, maybe save this
one for after they've got on to bed. This is
adult horror content, plain and simple. It gets violent, it
gets dark, and it doesn't pull any punches. But if
you're ready for a wild ride that mixes slash or
horror with cryptid encounters, if you want to hear what
happens when two monsters collide in the frozen darkness of Alaska,

(02:19):
then settle in, turn off the lights, maybe lock your doors,
and let me tell you a story about the night
that evil finally met its match. And it all starts
with a woman who just wanted to be left alone.
There are things that live in the spaces between civilization
and wilderness that we were never meant to understand. Ancient things,

(02:40):
things that existed long before we carved our towns from
the forest and pretended we had conquered the wild. The
old timers in Alaska know this. They know that when
you go deep enough into those mountains, far enough from
the lights and the roads and the sound of human voices,
you're not alone. You're never alone. Something else you need

(03:00):
to understand about the darkness. It's not just one thing.
It's not just the creatures that have always lived in
the wild places. Sometimes the darkness follows you. Sometimes it
wears a mask, and it won't stop. It can't stop,
because that's what evil does. It endures, It persists, It
finds you no matter how far you run. This is

(03:22):
a story about two kinds of monsters, one that belongs
to the wilderness and one that should have stayed dead
a long time ago. And somewhere in between those two
forces stood a woman who had spent her entire life
running from the inevitable, only to discover that sometimes salvation
comes from the most unexpected places. The locals in the
small Alaskan settlement of Coldfoot will tell you about the

(03:45):
winter of twenty twenty three. If you ask them well,
they'll tell you part of it. They'll mention the strange
sounds that echoed through the valley that Halloween night, sounds
that made the dogs howl and the old folks lock.

Speaker 3 (03:57):
Their doors and pray.

Speaker 2 (03:59):
They'll talk about the woman who lived in the cabin
fifteen miles up the frozen creek, the one who kept
to herself and never quite met your eyes when she
came into town for supplies. And if you buy them
enough drinks, if you earn their trust, they might even
mention what they found in the woods when the snow
finally melted that spring. But they won't tell you everything.
They can't because some stories are too strange, too terrible,

(04:23):
too impossible to believe. This is one of those stories,
and every word of it is true, well, if you
choose to believe it. Laurie Strode had been running for
forty five years, and she was tired, bone tired, soul tired,
the kind of tired that settles into your marrow and

(04:44):
makes you feel like you're a thousand years old, even
though you've only lived through fifty nine of them. She
stood at the window of her new cabin, watching the
snow fall in the gathering dusk, and wondered for the
millionth time if this would finally be far enough vsca
the last frontier, a place where you could disappear if
you wanted to, where the wilderness was so vast and

(05:07):
unforgiving that a person could vanish into it like smoke
and never be seen again. That's what she'd been looking for.
Not peace exactly, she'd given up on peace decades ago.
But maybe distance, maybe silence, maybe a place where the
nightmares couldn't follow. The cabin was small, just two rooms

(05:27):
and aloft, but it was solid, built by someone who
understood the brutal winters up here, someone who knew that
when the temperature dropped to forty below and the wind
came howling down from the mountains, your walls better be
thick and your stove better be hot. She'd bought it
with cash from a trapper who was too old to
handle another winter, and he'd looked at her with eyes

(05:48):
that had seen too much and asked if she was
running from something. She'd met his gaze and told him
that everyone was running from something. He nodded like he understood,
and hadn't asked any more questions. That was three months ago,
late August, when the fireweed was still blooming and the
salmon were running.

Speaker 3 (06:06):
Now.

Speaker 2 (06:06):
It was late October and the world had turned to
ice and darkness, and she was starting to think maybe
she'd made a terrible mistake. The cabin sat in a
small clearing, surrounded by spruce and birch, fifteen miles from
the nearest neighbor, accessible only by a four wheeler trail
that would be impassable once the heavy snows came. She
had six months of supplies, a satellite phone for emergencies,

(06:29):
and a shotgun that she knew how to use. She
had her pills for the anxiety and the nightmares. She
had her journals and her books, and her memories, both
the ones she wanted to keep and the one she'd
been trying to forget for most of her life. What
she didn't have was any illusions about what she was
doing here. This wasn't a fresh start, This was a
last stand. This was her version of dying, except she'd

(06:53):
still be breathing. She'd cut every tie, burned every bridge,
left no forwarding address. Her daughter Karen, thought she'd finally
lost her mind completely. Maybe she had, After everything, after Haddenfield,
after the fire, after the hospital, after watching her family
torn apart again, and again by the evil that refused

(07:15):
to die. Maybe going mad was the only sane response left.
The first week had been the hardest. The silence was oppressive,
almost physical. She'd spent so many years in a state
of hypervigilance, always looking over her shoulder, always waiting for
the other shoe to drop, that the absence of immediate
threat felt wrong. Somehow, her body didn't know how to rest.

(07:38):
She'd paced the cabin at night, checking the locks on
the doors and windows, peering out into the darkness, seeing
shadows that weren't there. But slowly, grudgingly, she'd started to adapt.
The rhythms of this place were different from anything she'd
known before. The days were getting shorter, the sun barely
clearing the mountains before it began its scent again. The

(08:01):
cold was a living thing, something you had to respect
and plan for. She'd learned to split wood, to keep
the fire going through the night, to read the weather
in the clouds and the behavior of the ravens. She
was learning to be alone with herself, and it was
harder than she'd ever imagined. By the end of September,
she'd fallen into a routine up before dawn, which came

(08:23):
late up here, coffee and oatmeal tend the fire, paul
water from the creek while it was still flowing. She'd
spent weeks preparing for winter, cutting firewood until her hands
were covered in blisters and calluses, reinforcing the cabin's chinking,
organizing her supplies. Physical labor helped it kept her mind occupied,

(08:44):
kept the memories at bay. It was early October when
things started getting strange. The first incident was the rocks.
She'd been inside reading when she heard a heavy thump
against the cabin's north wall. She'd grabbed the shotgun and
gone out to investigate, thinking maybe a branch had fallen,
but there was no branch. There was a rock about

(09:04):
the size of a soft ball sitting in the snow,
about three feet from the cabin. She'd looked up at
the roof, thinking maybe it had slid off, but that
didn't make sense. The rock hadn't fallen, it had been thrown.
The trajectory was all wrong for anything else. She'd scanned
the tree line, her heart pounding, her finger resting lightly
on the shotgun's trigger guard.

Speaker 3 (09:26):
Nothing moved.

Speaker 2 (09:27):
The forest was silent, except for the whisper of wind
through the spruce branches. She'd called out into the emptiness,
her voice sounding thin and small in the vastness, no answer,
just the wind and her own breathing, visible in the
cold air. She'd gone back inside and told herself it
was nothing. Maybe a snow slide from a tree, maybe

(09:48):
thermal expansion in a rock near the cabin, maybe anything
other than what her instincts were screaming at her, which
was that someone or something had deliberately thrown that rock
at her cabin. Three days later, it happened again. This
time she was outside splitting wood when a rock sailed
over her head and crashed into the woodpile. She spun around,

(10:09):
raising the axe defensively, and saw nothing but trees and shadows.
But she'd seen the trajectory this time. Whoever or whatever
had thrown that rock had done it from a position
about thirty yards into the forest, and they'd thrown it hard, strong,
very strong. She shouted into the forest that she was
armed and didn't want trouble, but would defend herself if

(10:31):
she had to. Silence answered her, and then, from somewhere
in the trees a sound she'd never heard before, low
and deep, almost subsonic, more felt than heard, not quite
a growl, not quite a vocalization, something in between. It
made the hair on the back of her neck stand

(10:51):
up and triggered some primal instinct that screamed at her
to run, to get inside, to hide. She'd back toward
the cabin, keeping her eyes on the forest, and once inside,
she'd locked the door and sat with the shotgun across
her lap until her hand stopped shaking. That night, she
didn't sleep. She sat at the window and watched the

(11:11):
darkness and wondered what the hell was out there. The
vocalization started after that. At first, just at night, that
same deep, resonant sound, but sometimes it would change in
pitch and tone. Sometimes it sounded almost curious. Sometimes it
sounded like a warning. She'd lie in her sleeping loft
and listen to it echoing through the valley, and she'd

(11:33):
think about all the stories she'd read about Alaska, about
the things that lived in the deep wilderness, bears, wolves, moose.
But this didn't sound like any animals she'd ever heard of.
She drove into Coldfoot on a supply run and casually
asked the woman at the general store if there were
bears still active this late in the season. The woman

(11:55):
whose name was Maggie and who looked like she'd been
born with callouses and a scowl, gave her a long look.
You're hearing something up at your place. Laurie kept her
voice neutral, just curious. Maggie leaned forward and lowered her voice,
even though they were alone in the store. You up
on the old Henderson property passed Minny Creek, Laurie nodded.

(12:18):
That's wild country up there, real wild. You get all
kinds of things moving through Bear sure, but they should
be denning up by now. Maggie paused, You're hearing something else.
Laurie hesitated, then decided to be honest. Deep vocalizations rocks
being thrown at the cabin. Maggie nodded slowly, like she'd

(12:40):
expected this. How long you've been up there three months
and you're just now mentioning this. Maggie smiled, but it
wasn't friendly. It was the smile of someone who knew
a secret and wasn't sure whether to share it. I'm
not going to tell you what to think, but there
are things in these mountains that don't show up in
any Whyild Life guide. Things that the old timers, the

(13:03):
native folks, especially they know about They have names for them,
the hairy Man, the tall one Bush, Indian bigfoot, Laurie said, flatly,
call it what you want. Point is, if something's taking
an interest in your place, best thing you can do
is show respect. Don't threaten it, don't try to shoot it.

(13:24):
Leave it be, and maybe it'll leave you be. Laurie
wanted to laugh. She'd fled across a continent to escape
one monster, she didn't need to worry about another one.
But Maggie's expression was dead serious, and Laurie spent too
many years learning to trust her instincts to dismiss it
out of hand. What happens if it doesn't leave me be?

(13:44):
Maggie shrugged. I guess you'll find out what you're made of,
though from the look of you, I'd say you already know.
That conversation was a week ago. Since then, Laurie saw
it just once, just for a moment, but it was enough.
She was coming back from the creek with water buckets,
taking the long way around because she'd seen moose tracks

(14:05):
and wanted to avoid any confrontation. The sun was setting
that brief twilight period when the light goes strange, and
everything is cast in shades of gold and purple. She
was tired, not paying as much attention as she should
have been, when movement caught her eye. There at the
edge of the clearing, partially obscured by a thick spruce,
stood something that made her stop dead in her tracks

(14:28):
and forget how to Breathe tall, very tall, at least
eight feet maybe more, covered in dark reddish brown hair
that seemed to blend with the shadows. It stood upright
like a man, but it was too broad, too massive,
too wrong.

Speaker 3 (14:45):
To be human.

Speaker 2 (14:46):
She could see the shape of its head, conical and powerful,
and she could see its eyes catching the last of
the daylight. Dark eyes, intelligent eyes, eyes that were watching
her with what looked like curiosity, and stay tuned for
more sasquatch ott to see. We'll be right back after
these messages. They stared at each other for what felt

(15:11):
like an eternity but was probably only ten seconds. Laurie's
mind went completely blank. All her training, all her preparation,
all her years of paranoia and self defense, and she
just stood there, frozen, like a deer in headlights. Then
it moved, not toward her, Thank god, It simply took

(15:31):
a step backward, moving with a fluid grace that something
that large shouldn't possess, and melted into the forest like
it never existed at all, no sound, no crashing through brush,
just there one moment and gone the next. Laurie stood
there until the water buckets got so heavy her arms shook,
and then she walked very carefully back to the cabin,

(15:53):
locked herself inside, and poured three fingers of whiskey with
trembling hands. A sasquatch, Are you kidding me? A freaking sasquatch?

Speaker 3 (16:03):
Really?

Speaker 2 (16:04):
After everything she'd been through, after all the human monsters
and the knives and the fires and the fear, she
ended up in a cabin being watched by a creature
that wasn't supposed to exist. She should have been terrified,
should have packed her bags and driven straight back to civilization,
But instead, lying in her loft that night, listening to
the deep vocalizations echoing through the valley, she felt something unexpected.

Speaker 3 (16:28):
She felt less alone.

Speaker 2 (16:30):
Maggie's advice finally made Laurie decide to try something different,
show respect, leave it be, So she started doing research,
pulling up what she could on the satellite Internet about
sasquatch behavior, habituation, situations, people who claim to have ongoing encounters.
Most of it was probably nonsense, but some of it

(16:50):
rang true. The stories about rocks being thrown as territorial
markers or attempts at communication, the vocalizations, the way they'd
watch human habitations from a distance, curious but cautious.

Speaker 3 (17:05):
One thing kept coming up in the accounts. Food.

Speaker 2 (17:08):
People who'd had extended contact often reported that leaving food
out seemed to ease tensions, to transform the dynamic from
confrontational to something more like coexistence. So three days after
her sighting, Laurie took a bucket of apples she bought
in cold Foot, walked to the edge of the clearing
where she saw it, and placed them on a flat rock.

(17:29):
She stood there for a moment, feeling ridiculous, and then
spoke to the empty forest. I don't know if you
can understand me. Don't know what you want, but I'm
not here to hurt you, not here to prove you
exist or take pictures or do any of that nonsense.
I just want to be left alone. Figure you probably
want the same thing. So here's some apples. Consider it

(17:50):
a peace offering. From one refugee to another. She walked
back to the cabin feeling like an idiot, but that
night she slept better than she did in weeks. The
next morning, the apples were gone, all of them, and
in their place, arranged in a neat little pile, were
four pine cones. Laurie stood there looking at those pine
cones for a long time, a gift or a response,

(18:14):
or something, an acknowledgment. She picked them up carefully, like
they were precious and set them on her windowsill. That
night she left more apples and some smoked salmon she
bought from a local fisherman. The next morning those were
gone too, and there was a dear antler placed carefully
by her door, not dropped or tossed there, placed there deliberately.

(18:36):
And that's how it started. That's how Laurie Strode, survivor
of Michael Myers, veteran of forty five years of running
and fighting in trauma, ended up in a gift exchange
with a sasquatch in the Alaskan wilderness. She learned its
patterns over the next few weeks. It would come at dusk,
moving through the trees with remarkable silence for something so large.

(18:57):
She'd see glimpses of it, shadows at the edge of
the clearing. Sometimes she'd hear it moving around the cabin,
testing things.

Speaker 3 (19:05):
Curious.

Speaker 2 (19:06):
It never tried to break in, never acted aggressive, more
like it was trying to figure her out, trying to
understand what this strange human woman was doing in its territory.
The vocalizations changed. They became softer, almost conversational. Sometimes she'd
be inside and hear that deep sound, and she'd walk
to the window and see it standing at the tree line,

(19:28):
just watching. She'd wave feeling absurd, and it would shift
its weight from foot to foot, a gesture that looked
almost bashful, before melting back into the forest. She started
leaving better food. She'd cook extra portions of whatever she
was making and leave them out, stew bread. Once, she
made a barry cobbler and left half of it out,

(19:50):
wondering if sasquatches had a sweet tooth.

Speaker 3 (19:53):
It was gone.

Speaker 2 (19:53):
The next morning, the pan licked clean, and she laughed
for the first time in months. She started talking it,
even though she never knew if it was listening. She'd
be outside chopping wood and she'd just start talking, telling
stories about her life, about Karen about the grandchildren she'd
never see again. She talked about Haddenfield, about that first

(20:15):
night forty five years ago when she was a teenage
babysitter and her life turned into a nightmare. She talked
about Michael, about the shape that refused to die, about
how many times she thought it was over, only to
discover it never was.

Speaker 3 (20:29):
You're probably the.

Speaker 2 (20:30):
Only one who could understand what it's like to be
something people don't believe in, she told the forest, something
that gets written off as legend or delusion. They made
movies about what happened to me, made me into a
character in their horror stories.

Speaker 3 (20:44):
But we know the truth. Monsters are real.

Speaker 2 (20:47):
They walk among us, and sometimes they wear masks, and
sometimes they're covered in hair, and sometimes they're just your
brother who won't stop trying to kill you. The sasquatch
vocalized then, that deep, resonant sound, and she felt like
somehow it understood. The creature started leaving her gifts more frequently,

(21:07):
interesting rocks, feathers, once a perfectly intact wolverine skull that
she kept on her mantle. The arrangement seemed to work.
The sasquatch kept its distance, but stayed close, a presence
in the forest. Laurie went about her business preparing for winter,
and felt something she hadn't felt in decades. She felt safe.

(21:29):
That should have been her first warning. Laurie Strode should
have known better than to feel safe. She learned that
lesson over and over again throughout her life. Safety was
an illusion. Security was a lie. And the moment you
let your guard down, the moment you started to believe that, maybe,
just maybe you'd finally escaped, that's when it came for you.

(21:52):
The calendar pages turned, October deepened, the temperatures dropped, Snow
fell more frequently, beginning to pile up a round the cabin.
She talked to Karen on the satellite phone, a brief,
awkward conversation where her daughter asked if she was okay,
and Laurie lied and said yes. She didn't mention the sasquatch.

(22:12):
How do you explain something like that? She couldn't very
well tell her daughter she was living in the woods
and befriended a cryptid Halloween was approaching October thirty first.
That date defined her existence for so long. She tried
not to think about it, tried to tell herself that
up here, thousands of miles from Haddenfield. That date didn't matter,

(22:33):
just another day, just another rotation of the earth. But
deep down, in the place where instinct lives, she knew better.
She always knew better. October thirtieth dawned clear and cold,
the sky that impossible blue you only see in the north.
Laurie was outside splitting wood when the sasquatch appeared at
the tree line. Unusual, it rarely showed itself during the day.

(22:59):
It stood there, visible for once in full sunlight, and
Laurie got her first really good look at it. Massive,
at least eight and a half feet tall, probably heavier
than three men combined, dark reddish brown hair covering its
entire body except for its face, which was dark and leathery,
more human than ape, but not quite either. Its eyes

(23:21):
were deep set and intelligent, watching her with obvious concern,
It shifted from foot to foot, making low vocalizations that
sounded agitated.

Speaker 3 (23:31):
What's wrong. Laurie set down the axe.

Speaker 2 (23:34):
The sasquatch lifted one long arm and pointed toward the
trail that led away from the cabin, the trail that
connected her property to the access road miles away. Then
it vocalized again, louder, this time more insistent. It was
trying to warn her about something. Is someone coming? Ice
water flooded her veins. Someone on the trail. The sasquatch

(23:57):
beat its chest once hard, the sound echoing through the
clearing like a drum, and then it bounded into the
forest with shocking speed, disappearing into the trees. Laurie stood
there for a long moment, her heart hammering, and then
she walked quickly to the cabin. Inside, she locked the
doors and loaded the shotgun. She sat at the window

(24:17):
and watched the trail until the sun set and darkness fell,
but no one came. That night, she didn't sleep. She
sat in a chair by the door with the shotgun
across her lap, and watched and waited and felt something
she'd been trying to escape creeping up her spine. Fear,
the old, familiar fear, the knowledge that he was coming.

(24:38):
Because she knew, even without proof, even without evidence, Michael
was coming. He found her, somehow, impossibly, he tracked her
across thousands of miles to this remote cabin in the
Alaskan wilderness. That's what the Sasquatch was warning her about.
That's what the creature sensed evil, recognizes evil. October thirty

(25:01):
first arrived with a white out blizzard. By noon, the
world disappeared into a wall of white snow, falling so
thick you couldn't see ten feet in any direction. The
wind howled around the cabin like something alive and angry.
Laurie prepared for this. She had supplies, heat, light, but
she also had something else. Now she had certainty he

(25:22):
was coming. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow, but he was coming,
and this time she was ready. Laurie spent Halloween Day
turning her cabin into a fortress. She learned over the
years that you couldn't kill Michael Myers through conventional means.
She shot him, stabbed him, burned him, watched him fall

(25:42):
from heights that should have killed him, and still he
kept coming. He was the shape the Boogeyman, the embodiment
of pure evil.

Speaker 3 (25:51):
And evil didn't die easy.

Speaker 2 (25:53):
But you could slow him down, you could hurt him,
You could make him work for it. And if you
were smart, if you were prepared, if you spent forty
five years learning how predators think, you could maybe just
maybe survive long enough to find a way to end it.
The cabin had two doors, front and back, and four windows.

(26:13):
She barricaded the back door completely, nailing boards across it
and piling her heaviest furniture against it. That left the
front door as the only.

Speaker 3 (26:21):
Way in or out.

Speaker 2 (26:24):
She reinforced it with a heavy beam that dropped into
brackets she installed, making it strong enough to withstand significant force.
The windows were the weak points. She couldn't board them
all up without trapping herself inside, so she compromised. She
reinforced them with additional latches and prepared piles of furniture
that could be quickly shoved against them if needed. She

(26:45):
placed her heaviest cast iron skillet on the sill of
each window, ready to be used as a weapon. Then
she started on the traps. She learned a lot about
survival in Alaska, about the old ways of hunting and trapping.
She applied those lessons. Now, outside the front door, she
dug a pit, covering it with branches and snow, making

(27:05):
it look like solid ground. It wouldn't stop him, but
it might slow him down, might give her a few
extra seconds. She strung wire at ankle height across the porch,
nearly invisible in the darkness. She rigged a bucket of
boiling water over the door, ready to be tipped on
anyone who broke through. She scattered cowtrips she made from

(27:26):
nails and wood on the approaches to the cabin, hiding
them under a light dusting of snow. Inside, she prepared stations.
The shotgun by the front window with extra shells, a
fire axe by the door, knives within reach wherever she
might need them. She learned from her last encounters with
Michael that fire was one of the few things that
could genuinely hurt him, so she prepared accelerants, bottles of

(27:49):
lamp oil and grain alcohol that could be lit and thrown.
She thought about the sasquatch out there in the storm somewhere.
The creature hadn't shown itself since yesterday's warning, and Laurie
felt a pang of worry. Was it hiding from what
was coming or was it preparing to Either way, she
couldn't count on help. This was her fight, It always

(28:11):
was her fight. As the short winter day faded into
the long winter night, Laurie sat by the window and
thought about her life, about the girl she was before Haddenfield,
before Michael, before everything. That girl was long gone, burned
away by trauma and terror. But maybe that was okay.
Maybe that girl needed to die so this woman could

(28:33):
be born, this survivor who learned to stand her ground
and fight back. She thought about Karen and her grandchildren.
She left them a letter with her lawyer, to be
opened only if she died.

Speaker 3 (28:45):
In it.

Speaker 2 (28:46):
She tried to explain everything, tried to tell them she
loved them, tried to make them understand why she chose
this isolation overstaying with them and putting them at risk.
She hoped they'd forgive her. She hoped they'd understand. Mostly,
she hoped they'd live long, happy lives without ever having
to know the kind of fear she lived with. The

(29:06):
wind died around nine o'clock, the storm suddenly ceasing, as
winter storms sometimes do. The silence afterward was profound, absolute.
Laurie stood at the window and looked out at a
world transformed. Everything was buried under two feet of fresh snow,
The clearing a perfect white expanse, broken only by the

(29:27):
dark line of trees. And there at the edge of
the clearing, a shape moved, not the sasquatch. She knew
the creature's profile, its movements.

Speaker 3 (29:38):
This was different. This was human.

Speaker 2 (29:40):
This was a man walking slowly, deliberately, wading through the
deep snow toward her cabin. He wore coveralls and boots.
His face was obscured by a white mask. Pale and
expressionless in the darkness. He moved with mechanical purpose, not hurrying,
not hesitating, walking forward with the inevitability of a glacier. Michael,

(30:05):
and stay tuned for mar sasquatch oat to see We'll
be right back. After these messages, Laurie felt her hand
start to shake and force them to be still. She
knew he was coming. She prepared for this, but knowing
and seeing were two different things. After everything, after all
this time, there he was her brother, her tormentor, the

(30:30):
shape that defined her life. It's okay, she whispered to herself,
We're going to finish this. She watched him approach the cabin,
watched him step onto the approach and trigger the first trap.
His foot came down on a cow trip and he paused,
looking down. In anyone else, that would have been a
moment of pain, of shock. In Michael, it was just

(30:52):
a moment of curiosity. He pulled his foot up the nail,
pulling free and continued forward without any sign of distress.
The ankle wire caught him next. He stumbled, his momentum
carrying him forward, and crashed into the snow. For a moment,
Laurie felt a surge of hope. Maybe the fall would
disorient him, give her more time. But Michael pushed himself up, slowly, methodically,

(31:17):
and continued forward. Nothing stopped him, nothing ever stopped him.
He reached the pit trap and fell through, disappearing from view.
Laurie ran to the door. Peering out through the reinforced window,
she could hear him down there, moving around in.

Speaker 3 (31:33):
The six foot deep hole. She dug.

Speaker 2 (31:35):
Then she saw his hands appear on the edge, impossibly strong,
and he hauled himself up and out, like the pit
was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. He stood at
the base of the porch steps, snow covered, and tilted
his head in that characteristic gesture, looking at the cabin,
looking at her. She could feel his eyes on her,

(31:55):
even through the mask in the distance. You're not getting in,
she shouted, not this time, not ever Again.

Speaker 3 (32:03):
He took another.

Speaker 2 (32:04):
Step forward and triggered the bucket trap. Boiling water cascaded
down on him, steam rising into the cold air. Any
normal person would have screamed, would have fallen back. Michael
just stood there and took it, the water soaking into
his coveralls, and then he reached for the door. The
door held, the reinforced frame and the heavy beam did

(32:25):
their job. He pulled on it, shook it, and when
it didn't open, he stopped and looked at it, studying
it problem solving. Then he raised his fist and started
to punch through it. The door was solid wood, thick
and heavy, but under Michael's assault, it began to splinter.
Each blow landed with mechanical precision, the sound echoing through

(32:46):
the small cabin. Laurie grabbed the shotgun and aimed it
at the door, her finger on the trigger, waiting. The
door cracked, splintered, a hole appeared, and Michael's hand thrust through,
Groping for the latch. Laurie fired the shotgun directly at
the opening. The blast was deafening in the enclosed space,
and she saw Michael's hand jerk back. She pumped another

(33:09):
shell into the chamber and fired again and again, blowing
chunks out of the door, trying to drive him back.
She heard him fall from the porch, and for a
moment there was silence. She ejected the empty shells and
reloaded with shaking hands, her ears ringing from the shots.
The smell of gunpowder filled the air, acrid and bitter.

(33:30):
A window shattered. She spun around and saw Michael's arm
reaching through, sweeping aside the curtains, finding the latch, she
ran across the room and brought the fire axe down
on his forearm with all her strength. The blade bit
deep and she felt it hit bone, but Michael didn't react.
He just kept reaching, kept moving, mechanical and unstoppable. She

(33:52):
wrenched the axe free and swung again, and this time
he pulled his arm back. She grabbed the heavy cast
iron skillet from the windowsill and smashed it against his
hand as he reached through again. The window frame was
too small for him to fit through, but he was
tearing at it, enlarging it, making an opening. Laurie ran
back to the other side of the cabin.

Speaker 3 (34:13):
The door was.

Speaker 2 (34:14):
Barely hanging on now, just splinters and nails holding it together.
She grabbed one of her prepared bottles, lit the rag
stuffed in its neck with a lighter, and threw it
at the door. As Michael's hand came through again, the
bottle shattered and liquid fire spread across the porch. Through
the damaged door, she could see Michael standing in the flames,
his coveralls starting to burn. He looked down at the fire,

(34:37):
almost curious, and then he stepped through it and slammed
his full weight against what was left of the door.
It gave way, The beam cracked, the hinges tore free,
and suddenly Michael was inside the cabin, burning and relentless.
Laurie screamed and swung the axe. It caught him in
the chest and stuck there. He looked down at it,

(34:58):
reached up and pulled it free like it was a splinter.
Blood was soaking through his coveralls, now mixing with the
water and the fire, but he kept coming. She threw
another Molotov cocktail and it shattered against his chest, igniting
the oil soaked coveralls. Michael was fully ablaze, now a
walking inferno, and still he advanced. She backed toward the

(35:20):
ladder to the loft, firing the shotgun point blank into
his midsection. The blast knocked him back a step, maybe two,
but he just kept coming. Her heel hit the bottom
of the ladder and she made a decision. She dropped
the shotgun and scrambled up to the loft as fast
as she could, hearing Michael's footsteps behind her. The loft
was a dead end, she knew that, but it would

(35:42):
give her a few more seconds to plan, to think,
to find a way out of this. Michael reached the
ladder and started to climb, methodical as always. Laurie grabbed
her sleeping bag and lit it with her lighter, then
threw it down on top of him. More fire, more smoke.
The cab was filling with it. Now the heat was
overwhelming and she was choking. She could barely see, barely breathe.

(36:07):
Michael reached the top of the ladder, fully engulfed in flames,
now a burning figure of death, and grabbed for her ankle.
She kicked at his face, her boot heel connecting with
that white mask, and he lost his grip on the ladder.
He fell backward, crashing down to the main floor, taking
the ladder with him. Laurie coughed her lungs, burning from

(36:28):
the smoke. The loft was filling up fast, heat rising,
and she realized with horror that she trapped herself the
cabin was burning, Michael was down there, somewhere in the
smoke and flames, and she had nowhere to go. She
crawled to the loft window, the one she kept clear
for ventilation, and kicked it open. Cold air rushed in,

(36:49):
making the fire roar louder. She looked down about a
twelve foot dropped to the snow below, and she had
no choice. She heard Michael moving below, climbing through the wreckage,
coming for her. She didn't look back, she just jumped.
The landing knocked the wind out of her, driving her
deep into the snow. She lay there, gasping, trying to

(37:10):
get air back into her lungs, trying to make her
body move. The cabin was fully involved now, flames shooting
through the roof, lighting up the clearing like a beacon.
She could see her shadow cast stark and black against
the snow movement in the doorway. Michael emerged from the inferno,
still burning, pieces of his coveralls falling away as charred debris.

(37:34):
How was he still moving? How was any of this possible?
But she knew the answer, She always knew. Michael Myers
wasn't human anymore. If he ever was, he was something else.
Something that wouldn't stop, couldn't stop. He started walking toward
her through the snow, leaving a trail of fire and
smoke in his wake. Laurie tried to crawl away, but

(37:56):
her body wouldn't cooperate. The fall injured something. Ribs are back,
and every movement was agony.

Speaker 3 (38:03):
This was it.

Speaker 2 (38:04):
After forty five years of running, forty five years of fighting,
it was going to end here in the snow, far
from home, far from everyone she loved. Michael reached down
and grabbed her by the throat, lifting her effortlessly. His
hands were charred, the flesh burned and cracked, but his
grip was iron. He held her up so she could

(38:25):
see his mask, so she could look into those empty
eyes one last time. She tried to speak, but couldn't.
Tried to fight, but had no strength left. The world
was going dark at the edges, her vision tunneling down
to just that white mask and those dead eyes. Then
something hit Michael from the side with the force of
a freight train, and suddenly Laurie was flying through the air.

(38:48):
Released from his grip, she hit the snow hard and
lay there, gasping, trying to understand what just happened. It
was the Sasquatch. The creature stood between Laurie and Michael,
and in that moment, Laurie understood why people told stories
about these beings for thousands of years. He was magnificent
and terrifying in equal measure, a force of nature, given

(39:10):
flesh and hair, It stood at its full height, easily
eight and a half feet of corded muscle and primal power.
Its chest thrust out, arms spread wide, making itself as
large and intimidating as possible. It beat its chest with
both massive hands. The sound like thunder rolling across the clearing,

(39:30):
reverberating off the trees and echoing back from the mountains.
The vocalization that followed was something Laurie felt in her bones,
in her teeth, in the cavity of her chest. It
was deeper than sound, more vibration than noise, a challenge
that spoke to something ancient and instinctual. This is my territory,

(39:50):
This human is under my protection. Back off. Michael, still burning,
still bleeding, turned to face this new threat, his head
studying the Sasquatch like he might study an interesting puzzle.
There was no fear in his posture, no hesitation. He
simply processed this new variable in his mechanical, inhuman way.

(40:12):
Then he took a step forward. The sasquatch didn't back down.
It roared again, even louder this time, and charged. The
collision was cataclysmic, eight and a half feet of pure
muscle and primal fury meeting the unstoppable force of evil Incarnate.
The impact when they came together sounded like a car crash,

(40:33):
like two bull moose, and rut like the end of
the world. They went down together in the snow, rolling
and grappling, and Laurie could only watch in horror and awe.
The sasquatch was stronger than Michael, much stronger. Where Michael
had inhuman resilience and mechanical determination, the creature had raw
physical power that defied comprehension. It got its arms around

(40:57):
Michael's torso and lifted him off the ground, spinning with
terrifying speed, before hurling him across the clearing like he
was made of straw. Michael's body sailed through the air
in an arc of flame and blood, covering at least
twenty feet before he hit a thick spruce tree. The
impact was devastating. The tree trunk easily two feet in diameter,

(41:18):
cracked audibly. Snow cascaded down from the branches in a
white avalanche. Any normal person would have been killed instantly,
their spine shattered, their organs ruptured. Michael hit the snow
at the base of the tree. His body bent at
an unnatural angle, and then he stood up. He rose slowly, methodically,

(41:39):
pieces of burning fabric falling from his body like molting skin.
His coveralls were mostly gone, now burned away, revealing the
scarred flesh beneath, flesh that should have been dead long ago,
but somehow kept moving, kept functioning, driven by something that
existed beyond the realm of biology or reason. He had

(41:59):
a knife, now, that knife, the one he used for
so many kills over so many years. He pulled it
from somewhere in what remained of his clothing, and the
blade caught the firelight from the burning cabin, glinting orange
and red like it was already covered in blood. The
sasquatch circled him warily, now its initial charge spent assessing

(42:20):
this opponent that refused to stay down. The creature's dark
eyes narrowed, intelligence and calculation visible in its gaze It
dealt with bears, with wolves, with all manner of predators
in these mountains. But this was different, this thing that
looked like a man but moved like a machine, that
burned but didn't die, that took punishment that would kill

(42:43):
any living thing, but kept coming. Michael lunged with the knife,
faster than something so damaged should have been able to move.
The blade arked through the air, aimed at the Sasquatch's throat,
but the creature was faster. It caught Michael's wrist in
one massive hand, wrapping completely around his forearm. The Sasquatch's

(43:03):
other hand shot out and grabbed Michael by the throat,
lifting him off the ground with terrible ease. For a moment,
they were frozen there, a tableau of two monsters locked
in combat. Michael dangled in the air, held at arm's
length by the creature's massive hands, still trying to drive
the knife forward, even as his windpipe was being crushed.

(43:24):
The Sasquatch's muscles bulged, cords standing out beneath its hair
as it squeezed, But Michael was still burning. The fire
that covered his body, fed by the accelerant, soaked into
his flesh, and the remaining tatters of his coveralls was
spreading to the sasquatch's hair. Where they made contact. The
smell of burning hair filled the air, acrid and nauseating.

(43:47):
The creature's hand wrapped around Michael's burning throat, began to smoke.
The sasquatch made a sound of pain, a vocalization unlike
anything Laurie heard from it before. It was a sound
of suppse and agony, high pitched and terrible. The creature
released Michael and stumbled backward, its hand already blistering patches

(44:09):
of fur on its arm. Blackened and smoking, it beat
at the burning spots, frantically, slapping them with its other hand,
rolling patches of snow over its arm to extinguish the flames.
Michael hit the ground and came at the sasquatch again, immediately,
relentless as a machine, giving no quarter for the creature's pain,
he drove the knife forward in a straight thrust, putting

(44:31):
his full weight behind it. The blade caught the sasquatch
in the left shoulder, sinking deep into muscle and tissue.
The creature roared and swung back handed, catching Michael across
the face with enough force to snap a normal person's neck.
Michael's head snapped to the side, the white mask, finally
cracking down the middle, but he didn't go down. He

(44:53):
twisted with the momentum of the blow, using it to
drive the knife in deeper, wrenching its sideways. The sasquatch
bellowed in pain and rage, a sound that shook snow
from the trees and set Laurie's ears ringing and stay
tuned for more sasquatch ott to see We'll be right back.

Speaker 3 (45:10):
After these messages.

Speaker 2 (45:15):
The creature grabbed Michael with both hands, one on his arm,
one on his torso, and pulled. Laurie heard Michael's shoulder
dislocate with a wet pop that carried across the clearing.
The sasquatch lifted him overhead like a wrestler performing a
power slam, holding him there for a moment, silhouetted against
the burning cabin and the star strewn sky beyond. Then

(45:37):
it brought Michael down across its knee. The sound of
Michael's spine bending cracking was like green wood breaking. The
Sasquatch held him there for a moment, bent backward over
its knee in a position that should have paralyzed him instantly.
Then it threw him aside like garbage, and he tumbled
through the snow, leaving a trail of blood and ash.

(45:58):
Laurie dragged herself to the base of a tree, using
it for support, trying to stay conscious through the pain
in her ribs and the horror of what she was witnessing.
She watched the sasquatch lumber toward where Michael fell, its
left arm hanging useless at its side, blood streaming from
the knife wound in its shoulder. The creature was favoring
that side, its movements less fluid, now pain evident in

(46:22):
every step.

Speaker 3 (46:24):
But Michael wasn't finished. He never was.

Speaker 2 (46:27):
He rose from the snow like a revenant, like something
that already died, but refused to accept it. His body
was broken, now truly broken. His left arm hung at
an impossible angle, the shoulder destroyed, his spine had to
be fractured, damaged beyond any reasonable hope of function.

Speaker 3 (46:45):
But still he stood still.

Speaker 2 (46:47):
He moved toward the sasquatch with mechanical determination. They came
together again, and this time there was no grace to it,
no display of strength. It was ugly, and brutal, two
damaged monsters trying to destroy each other through sheer attrition.
The sasquatch swung its good arm and a haymaker that
caught Michael in the ribs. Laurie heard bone's crack, saw

(47:10):
Michael's torso compress from the impact. He staggered but didn't fall,
driving forward inside the creature's reach, punching at its wounded
side with his one functioning arm. They grappled, crashed through
the underbrush, destroying young trees and churning up the snow.
The sasquatch got its good arm around Michael's waist and
squeezed a crushing bear hug that should have pulverized his

(47:33):
internal organs. Michael's mask fell away completely, now revealing his face.
Laurie could see it in the firelight, that face she
knew since childhood, transformed by evil and damage into something
barely recognizable as human. Burns and scars covered his features.
One eye was clouded and dead. His mouth was fixed

(47:54):
in a permanent rictus that might have been a snarl,
or might have just been the way his damaged facial
muscle naturally rested. He drove his thumb into the Sasquatch's eye.
The creature shrieked and released him, staggering backward, one hand
going to its face. Michael fell to his knees, but
didn't stop. Even on his knees, even with his broken body,

(48:15):
he lunged forward and grabbed the knife that was still
sticking out off the sasquatch's shoulder. He wrenched it free
and drove it into the creature's chest, just below the sternum.
Angling upward, the sasquatch stumbled backward, blood pumping from the
new wound, dark blood, almost black in the firelight, steaming
in the cold air. The creature's hand went to the

(48:36):
knife handle, wrapped around it and pulled it free with
the sound that Laurie would hear in her nightmares for
the rest of her life. The knife came out, followed
by a gush of blood that told Laurie everything she
needed to know. That wound was mortal, deep, and mortal.
But the sasquatch wasn't done fighting. It lurched forward, using

(48:57):
its good arm to grab Michael by the head. Michael
tried to twist away, but his damaged body couldn't move
fast enough. The creature's massive hand wrapped around Michael's skull,
fingers digging in, and it began to squeeze. Michael drove
his fist into the Sasquatch's wounded chest again and again,
each blow sending fresh gouts of blood streaming down the

(49:18):
creature's torso, But the Sasquatch held on its hand, tightening
more and more. Laurie heard Michael's skull beginning to crack,
small popping sounds, like ice breaking on a frozen lake.
They stood there, locked together, each dealing death to the other,
both refusing to fall. Michael's fists pummeled the Sasquatch's chest, cavity,

(49:40):
breaking ribs, rupturing organs. The Sasquatch's hand compressed Michael's skull,
fracturing bone, crushing the tissue beneath, and then the Sasquatch
got its other arm, working the wounded one, and brought
it up, despite the pain, despite the damage, Both hands
now on Michael's head, the creature roared one final time,

(50:02):
a sound of triumph and agony combined and twisted. The
crack echoed across the clearing like a rifle shot. Michael's
body went limp instantly completely, his arms dropping to his sides.

Speaker 3 (50:15):
The sasquatch held him there for.

Speaker 2 (50:16):
A moment longer, making sure than released him. Michael Myers
collapsed into the snow, face first and didn't move. His
head lay at an angle that was not compatible with life,
with consciousness, with anything except death. The shape was finally still.
The sasquatch stood over Michael's body, swaying slightly, blood pouring

(50:38):
from its chest wound. It looked down at the dead
man for a long moment, as if making certain the
threat was truly ended.

Speaker 3 (50:46):
Then it turned its gaze to Laurie. Their eyes met.

Speaker 2 (50:49):
Across the clearing, across the burning cabin and the churned
snow and the blood soaked battlefield. Laurie saw intelligence in
those dark eyes. She saw pain, She saw recognition, and
she saw something that might have been a question, or
might have been goodbye. She tried to speak to thank
this impossible being that saved her life, but her voice

(51:11):
wouldn't work. She could only watch as the sasquatch took
a step toward her, then stumbled. Its hand went to
the wound in its chest, and came away, dark with blood.
The creature looked at its own hand, seemed to understand
what that meant, and turned away. It limped toward the
tree line, toward the deep forest, leaving a trail of blood,

(51:32):
black and stark against the white snow. Laurie found her voice, wait,
but the sasquatch didn't stop. It moved with painful determination
into the shadows between the trees, moving towards some destination
only it new, someplace it chose to die. And then
it was gone, swallowed by the darkness and the vast wilderness,

(51:54):
leaving only that trail of blood, disappearing into the forest.
Laurie sagged against the tree, tears streaming down her face,
mixing with the smoke and the blood and the snow.
She looked at Michael's body, lying motionless in the clearing.
The fire from the cabin was beginning to die down, now,
the structure collapsing in on itself. The clearing was lit

(52:15):
by dying flames and starlight, and in that light she
could see clearly that Michael Myers was finally truly dead.
After forty five years, the nightmare was over, but the
cost was terrible. The creature that showed her kindness, that
became her unlikely companion in this remote place, gave its
life to end the evil that pursued her across a continent.

(52:38):
She knelt there in the snow beside Michael's corpse and
wept for the Sasquatch, for herself, for all the years
of fear and trauma, for the impossible price of her survival.
The cold bit into her damaged body, and she knew
she couldn't stay here much longer. She would freeze to
death if she didn't find shelter, get warm, call for help.

(52:59):
But for now, for just a few more moments, she
let herself cry, She let herself mourn, and she looked
at the forest where the creature disappeared, and whispered words
of gratitude that the wind carried away into the vast
Alaskan night. They found Lauri three days later, half frozen
and delirious in the burned remains of her cabin. A

(53:20):
passing bush pilot saw the smoke and called it in.
The state troopers came, and then the medics, and they
airlifted her to the hospital and Fairbanks, where she spent
two weeks recovering from broken ribs, frostbite, smoke inhalation, and
severe hypothermia. They found Michael's body too, or what was
left of it. The official report said it was a

(53:41):
home invader, probably someone high on drugs, who attacked her
and whom she killed in self defense. The burned condition
of the body made identification difficult. They checked dental records
and DNA, but the samples were so degraded that they
came back inconclusive. Eventually, they listed him as John Doe
and cremated the remains. Laurie didn't correct them. What would

(54:05):
she have said, that was my brother, the serial killer
who was supposed to be dead thirty years ago. They'd
have put her in a psychiatric ward. She told them
someone helped her, a large man who lived in the woods.
But the troopers never found any evidence of anyone else
being there, just animal tracks in the snow. They said,
probably a bear. Laurie didn't argue. Some things were better

(54:29):
left unsaid. Karen flew up as soon as she heard.
They had a long, tearful reunion in the hospital, and
Laurie tried to explain why she came here, why she ran.
Karen didn't understand, not really, but she stopped arguing. Maybe
she could see something in her mother's eyes, some fundamental change,
some burden that finally lifted. It's over now, Laurie told

(54:52):
her daughter, really over. He's gone forever this time. Are
you sure, Karen asked, and heard all the years of
fear in that question. I'm sure I watched him die.
I saw it end. Spring came to Alaska like it
always does, sudden and overwhelming. After the long winter, the

(55:13):
snow melted and the rivers ran high, and the tundra
exploded with flowers.

Speaker 3 (55:18):
Laurie bought a new.

Speaker 2 (55:18):
Cabin, smaller, this time, closer to Coldfoot, where neighbors could
check on her. She was healing, both physically and mentally,
going to therapy for the first time in her life
and actually talking about everything she'd been through, but she
couldn't stop thinking about the Sasquatch. On a warm day
in May, when the fireweed was starting to bloom, she

(55:39):
made a trip back to the old property. The burned
remains of her original cabin were still there, black and
skeletal against the new green growth. She walked past them
into the forest, following paths she remembered, looking for something
she knew she probably wouldn't find. She found it anyway.
The skeleton was laid out in a small clearing covered

(55:59):
in maws and new vegetation already being reclaimed by the forest.
It was massive, the bones thick and heavy, the skull
unlike anything in any anatomy textbook, sasquatch, real, undeniable, proof
of something that wasn't supposed to exist. Laurie stood there
for a long time, looking at all that remained of

(56:21):
the creature that saved her life. Then she knelt down
and placed her hand on the skull, feeling the bone
solid and real under her palm. Thank you, she whispered
to the empty air. I wish I could have saved
you too. I wish you could have lived to see
another spring. A raven called somewhere in the trees, its
voice harsh and clear. The wind rustled through the birch leaves.

(56:45):
Life continued as it always did, indifferent to the small
tragedies and victories that played out beneath its green canopy.
Laurie stood and looked around the clearing. This was where
it happened. This was where two monsters fought and was
finally defeated, not by fire or bullets or traps, but
by something far more primal, by a creature defending its territory,

(57:09):
protecting something it cared about.

Speaker 3 (57:11):
She pulled out her satellite phone and made a call.

Speaker 2 (57:14):
It took a few tries to get through, but eventually
she heard Maggie's voice on the other end. I need
help with something, and I need you to promise to
keep it quiet. An hour later, Maggie arrived on her
four wheeler with shovels and heavy duty trash bags. She
looked at the skeleton. You weren't kidding, were you, No,
Laurie said quietly, I wasn't. They worked together in silence,

(57:38):
carefully bagging the bones, handling them with respect. Maggie knew
people native elders who understood these things, who would know
what to do with the remains, how to honor them properly.
The bones would be hidden away, protected, kept safe from
trophy hunters and scientists and all the people who would
want to prove something or make money off the discovery.

(58:00):
Some secrets were meant to stay secret. Some stories weren't
meant to be told to everyone. As they loaded the
last of the bags onto the four wheeler, Maggie put
a hand on Laurie's shoulder. You okay, yeah, Laurie said,
and she meant it for the first time in a
very long time, she thought she actually was. What are
you going to do now? Laurie looked back at the forest,

(58:23):
at the clearing where the sasquatch made its last stand.
She thought about all the years she spent running, all
the fear and trauma and sleepless nights. She thought about
her family, about the life she'd been too afraid to live.
I think I'm going to go home, going to see
my grandchildren, going to stop running and start living. He's dead,

(58:44):
it's over, and I'm still here. That's good, Maggie said,
that's real good. They drove back to Coldfoot together, the
bones of a legend secured on the four wheeler, a
secret that would be kept. Laurie looked back one last
time as they crested a hill, seeing her old property
disappearing behind them, the burned cabin and the clearing and

(59:07):
the forest that briefly was home. Goodbye, she whispered into
the wind, thank you for giving me back my life.
That night, in her new cabin, Laurie slept without nightmares
for the first time in forty five years. And far
away in the mountains, in the deep places where humans
rarely go, something moved through the trees, something large and

(59:28):
quiet and impossible, because legends don't die easily, and the
wild places always keep their secrets.

Speaker 3 (59:35):
The sasquatch that saved her.

Speaker 2 (59:37):
Was gone, yes, but the forest was full of mysteries,
full of things that watched from the shadows and left
no trace. And maybe, just maybe that creature wasn't alone.
Maybe there were others out there, moving through the darkness,
living their ancient lives far from human eyes. Some stories end,

(59:57):
some monsters die, but the wilderness endures, vast and unknowable,
full of wonders were not meant to understand. And sometimes,
when the wind is right and the night is dark,
people in the remote parts of Alaska hear sounds echoing
through the valleys, deep vocalizations, calls that might be bear
or wolf or wind, or might be something else entirely

(01:01:00):
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