September 12, 2025 • 18 mins
Each night as dusk fell, the small cabin nestled deep in Deadroot Forest glowed warmly from within. It stood alone, hugged by tall, gnarled trees and blanketed in the soft hush of pine needles.
Wind whistled through the branches like whispers in an empty cathedral, but the forest was never truly silent—not anymore.
Wind whistled through the branches like whispers in an empty cathedral, but the forest was never truly silent—not anymore.
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:01):
Each night. As dusk fell, the small cabin, nestled deep
in dead fruit forest, glowed warmly from within. It stood alone,
hugged by tall gnarl trees and blanketed in the soft
hush of pine needles. Wind whistled through the branches like
(00:21):
whispers in an empty cathedral, But the forest was never
truly silent, not any more. Just beyond the tree line,
something moved, slow, heavy, deliberate. The soft crunch of underbrush
under enormous feet was nearly imperceptible, but always present to
(00:43):
those who listened carefully. The creature came just after sunset,
when the trees stretched long shadows across the ground and
the sky bled purple and ash. Its shadow merged seamlessly
with the trunks of old pines, towering, and still it
(01:04):
approached the windows inside. The old man followed his routine
dinner by five ketal on by six. Then, in his
warm arm chair by the fire, he'd open a book
and read aloud. His voice was raspy with age, but
(01:25):
filled with a gentle rhythm that wrapped the room in peace.
He read stories of ancient legends, distant lands, and forgotten kings.
He did not know he had an audience, but the
creature it listened. Yellow eyes blinked slowly from the dark,
(01:45):
watching through the window with fascination. The sound of the
old man's voice seemed a calm something inside it. The
creature didn't understand the stories, not exactly, but it felt
them the way a dog feels its owner's mood, or
the way trees feel before the storm. After the third week,
(02:10):
the old man began to notice signs deep unnatural gouges
in the tree trunks. Piles of pine cones arranged strangely
near his steps. The sharp, primal scent of damp soil
and musk clung to the air in the morning. He
said nothing at first, chalking it up to wild animals
(02:32):
or his own imagination. After all, the woods had always
been active and alive. Then came Maria, the housekeeper, who
came once a week from the nearby town. She was brisk, chatty,
and grounded in a way the old man admired as
she changed his linens and tidied the kitchen. She paused
(02:55):
at one of the windows. These are new, she muttered,
winting mud maybe, or something else. The old man looked
over his shoulder. She was studying the glass, frowning deeply.
Their handprints, she said, big ones, too too big for yours,
(03:20):
and look five fingers long, shaped like a human, but
not quite. She wiped the glass with a rag, but
the dirt had left smudged impressions behind, like echoes burned
into the surface. The old man chuckled uneasily, some prankster maybe,
(03:45):
or maybe a bear. Maria didn't laugh. She stared into
the trees. There's something prowling around here, she said, in
a low voice. You should be careful. Locked the doors
at night, keep something heavy by the bed. That night,
the old man sat by the fire, book in lap
(04:08):
and hesitated. He glanced at the windows and saw nothing
but his own reflection. Still, he read because it brought
him comfort, And out beyond the trees, the creature settled
into its usual place, eyes glowing faint as it listened
with a strange hunger. But when the old man skipped
(04:33):
a night too tired, two winded, the woods echoed with
a low, mournful howl. The sound rose like a sad horn,
vibrating through the forest and into the bones of the house.
The man jolted awake, heart thudding. He heard it again.
(04:53):
The following night, when he spent too long in bed.
The creature, it seems, missed the storm, worries, the cadence,
the comfort. Its howls came in the early evening as
darkness approached, each one laced with aching discontent. It didn't
understand time or sickness. It only knew the old man
(05:16):
had stopped the music. The truth, though, was grim. The
old man was dying slowly, quietly. His breath was thinner. Now,
he no longer ate as much. Sometimes he fell asleep
in the armchair without reading a single word. He didn't
(05:38):
tell Maria what was the use. He had no family.
The book had been his companion long before the thing
in the woods had come. But now, strangely, he began
to read for it. He sensed it, somehow felt the
(05:58):
presence beyond the window, And in those moments when he
could muster the energy to speak, he let his voice
rise a little louder, aiming towards the trees, and the
creature leaned closer, breath missing the glass, a silent student
(06:19):
in the dark. Then one cold evening, something changed. The
man fell asleep in his chair and didn't wake up
when Maria arrived. The next morning, she screamed and called
for help. The cabin, which had always been quiet and still,
(06:39):
burst into sudden chaos. An ambulance pulled up a long
gravel path, bathing the trees in dazzling red and blue lights.
The door slammed, men shouted, and the forest trembled at
the strange new sounds. There watched from the shadows, its
(07:04):
body pressed tightly to a tree. It squinted at the lights,
covering its ears at the sirens. Then it saw them
load the old man inside, watching as the vehicle broke away,
its brilliance fading into the night. The next evening, the
(07:26):
glow inside the cabin was gone. No voice, no fire,
no kettle, just silence. The creature returned to its spot
as usual, waiting, But the old man didn't come to
the window. He didn't read, he wasn't there. The thing
(07:46):
waited until full darkness, pacing the edges of the clearing. Then,
as something deep and primitive surged inside it, it stepped
forward with one hand, gripped the door and tore it off.
Inside the cabin smelled of dust and age. The chair
(08:08):
was empty, The books lay still, pages half turned. The
creature sniffed around searching for the scent of the man.
It picked up a blanket, held it close, then dropped
it with a frustrated grunt. It sat in the armchair
and stared at the fireplace. Then it reached out, clumsily,
(08:32):
picking up a book and opening it the way it
had seen the man do so many times. But there
was no voice, no warmth, only stillness, and out in
dead Root forest, the howling began again, but this time
it never stopped. The wilds of West Virginia hold secrets
(09:14):
older than memory. Deep in the Monongaheela National Forest, where
mist clung to the ancient trees and the rivers ran
dark and deep, was an old trapper named Silas, who
lived alone in a cabin of his own making. Silas
had spent his life in these woods, knowing the lay
(09:35):
of every ridge and hollow, every whisper of the wind.
He wasn't much for people. His only company was the
crackling of his fire and the call of the wild
things that roamed the trees. One spring morning, while changing
his trap near Seneca Creek, he heard a faint, pitiful sound.
(10:00):
Beneath a towering oak lay a baby crow, black as coal,
its tiny wings trembling. Looking up, Silas saw this shattered
remains of a nest, likely torn loose by the previous
night storm. The old trapper crouched watching it as the
(10:22):
little creature struggled. Ain't no way you'll last at here,
he muttered, he sighed, scooping up the fragile thing. Guess
that makes two of us. Silas took the crow home,
feted bits of bread and softened corn, and kept it
warm by the hearth. The bird grew quickly, its black
(10:46):
feathers sleek and glossy. It was a sharp little thing,
always watching, always learning. Reckon. Out to call you, Jasper,
Zilas said one evening, as the crow happened to cross
his table, pecking at his supper. Jasper was no ordinary bird.
(11:08):
He was clever, too clever. Before long he mimbed the
sounds of Silas's gruff voice. He followed Silas everywhere, riding
on his shoulder or gliding above him as he wandered
the deep woods. But the deep woods held more than
just birds and beasts. One autumn evening, with the air
(11:34):
thick and cool, Silas set out deeper than usual, Jasper
gliding silently above. He had heard strange sounds in these parts,
before low howls in the night, the snap of branches
where nothing should be. The old timers in towns spoke
of the wood booger, the hairy wild man of the mountains.
(12:00):
Pillas never paid it much mind until that night a
strange silence fell over the forest. The usual courus of
crickets and tree frogs had vanished. Even the wind seemed
to hush, as if the trees were holding their breath.
Jasper let out a low, uneasy shrill call from the
(12:25):
branch above. Then from the shadows beyond the pines, it
stepped forward, a giant, looming figure, half shadow, half beast.
It stood nearly eight feet tall, its shoulders broad, its
fur dark and matted, Its eyes burned like embers in
(12:48):
the fading light. Intelligent and knowing. Silas, a man who
had faced mountain lions and black bears, felt a cold,
direct coil in his chest. His hand drifted to the
hunting knife on his belt. The creature rumbled a deep,
(13:08):
guttural sound that made Silence's bones vibrate. It took a
slow step forward, its breath misting in the cool air. Then,
before Silas could react, Jasper swooped from the branches above.
The crow let out an ear splitting shriek, the sound
(13:28):
echoing through the trees like a ghostly warning. The beast froze.
Jasper flapped wildly, circling the creature's head, his shrill cries
ringing through the hollow. The bigfoot let out a deep growl,
not of rage, but something else, confusion, recognition. Slowly it
(13:52):
took a step back, its burning eyes locked onto Silas,
Then with the final huff, it melted back into the trees,
disappearing into the twilight. Silas stood motionless, breath caught in
his throat. Jasper landed neatly on his shoulder, puffing up
(14:13):
and proud. Silas exhaled a shaky laugh. Reckon, you just
save my life Jasper. From that night on, Silas knew
he was not the only watcher in the woods, and
though he never saw the creature again, he often felt
(14:34):
the presence just beyond the trees, just beyond the firelight.
Some nights deep in the West Virginia wilds, a low
call would echo through the trees, and an answer from
the old trapper's cabin. A crow's shrill cry would pierce
the dark. Can a crow speak if trained? The answer yes,
(15:00):
wild crows can learn to speak if they are hand
raised and trained. Crows are highly intelligent and have excellent
vocal mimicking skills, similar to parrots and ravens. If a
crow is raised around humans and frequently hears words or phrases,
it can learn to mimic them, especially if rewarded with
(15:23):
food or attention. Some crows in captivity have been taught
to say words like hello or even short phrases. While
they don't speak as clearly as parrots, their ability to
imitate human speech is impressive. In the wild, crows mimic
(15:45):
sounds from their environment, including other birds, animals, and even machinery.
And as we wrap up, I just want to take
a moment to say thank you to all of you
that are listening to Bigfoot Children podcast. It's been a
heavy week between the remembrance of nine to eleven, the
(16:05):
tragic assassination of Charlie Kirk, and the passing of doctor
Jeff Meldrum after his battle with brain cancer. It's been rough.
Sorry for the delay through it all, I truly appreciate
you hanging in there and giving me the time and
space to talk and reflect and say thank you for
(16:25):
being a part of the journey and from the heart.
I'd also like to thank David from Where Bigfoot Roams
for his continued support. Don't forget to check out his
podcast as well. He's doing great work. SA
Each night. As dusk fell, the small cabin, nestled deep
in dead fruit forest, glowed warmly from within. It stood alone,
hugged by tall gnarl trees and blanketed in the soft
hush of pine needles. Wind whistled through the branches like
(00:21):
whispers in an empty cathedral, But the forest was never
truly silent, not any more. Just beyond the tree line,
something moved, slow, heavy, deliberate. The soft crunch of underbrush
under enormous feet was nearly imperceptible, but always present to
(00:43):
those who listened carefully. The creature came just after sunset,
when the trees stretched long shadows across the ground and
the sky bled purple and ash. Its shadow merged seamlessly
with the trunks of old pines, towering, and still it
(01:04):
approached the windows inside. The old man followed his routine
dinner by five ketal on by six. Then, in his
warm arm chair by the fire, he'd open a book
and read aloud. His voice was raspy with age, but
(01:25):
filled with a gentle rhythm that wrapped the room in peace.
He read stories of ancient legends, distant lands, and forgotten kings.
He did not know he had an audience, but the
creature it listened. Yellow eyes blinked slowly from the dark,
(01:45):
watching through the window with fascination. The sound of the
old man's voice seemed a calm something inside it. The
creature didn't understand the stories, not exactly, but it felt
them the way a dog feels its owner's mood, or
the way trees feel before the storm. After the third week,
(02:10):
the old man began to notice signs deep unnatural gouges
in the tree trunks. Piles of pine cones arranged strangely
near his steps. The sharp, primal scent of damp soil
and musk clung to the air in the morning. He
said nothing at first, chalking it up to wild animals
(02:32):
or his own imagination. After all, the woods had always
been active and alive. Then came Maria, the housekeeper, who
came once a week from the nearby town. She was brisk, chatty,
and grounded in a way the old man admired as
she changed his linens and tidied the kitchen. She paused
(02:55):
at one of the windows. These are new, she muttered,
winting mud maybe, or something else. The old man looked
over his shoulder. She was studying the glass, frowning deeply.
Their handprints, she said, big ones, too too big for yours,
(03:20):
and look five fingers long, shaped like a human, but
not quite. She wiped the glass with a rag, but
the dirt had left smudged impressions behind, like echoes burned
into the surface. The old man chuckled uneasily, some prankster maybe,
(03:45):
or maybe a bear. Maria didn't laugh. She stared into
the trees. There's something prowling around here, she said, in
a low voice. You should be careful. Locked the doors
at night, keep something heavy by the bed. That night,
the old man sat by the fire, book in lap
(04:08):
and hesitated. He glanced at the windows and saw nothing
but his own reflection. Still, he read because it brought
him comfort, And out beyond the trees, the creature settled
into its usual place, eyes glowing faint as it listened
with a strange hunger. But when the old man skipped
(04:33):
a night too tired, two winded, the woods echoed with
a low, mournful howl. The sound rose like a sad horn,
vibrating through the forest and into the bones of the house.
The man jolted awake, heart thudding. He heard it again.
(04:53):
The following night, when he spent too long in bed.
The creature, it seems, missed the storm, worries, the cadence,
the comfort. Its howls came in the early evening as
darkness approached, each one laced with aching discontent. It didn't
understand time or sickness. It only knew the old man
(05:16):
had stopped the music. The truth, though, was grim. The
old man was dying slowly, quietly. His breath was thinner. Now,
he no longer ate as much. Sometimes he fell asleep
in the armchair without reading a single word. He didn't
(05:38):
tell Maria what was the use. He had no family.
The book had been his companion long before the thing
in the woods had come. But now, strangely, he began
to read for it. He sensed it, somehow felt the
(05:58):
presence beyond the window, And in those moments when he
could muster the energy to speak, he let his voice
rise a little louder, aiming towards the trees, and the
creature leaned closer, breath missing the glass, a silent student
(06:19):
in the dark. Then one cold evening, something changed. The
man fell asleep in his chair and didn't wake up
when Maria arrived. The next morning, she screamed and called
for help. The cabin, which had always been quiet and still,
(06:39):
burst into sudden chaos. An ambulance pulled up a long
gravel path, bathing the trees in dazzling red and blue lights.
The door slammed, men shouted, and the forest trembled at
the strange new sounds. There watched from the shadows, its
(07:04):
body pressed tightly to a tree. It squinted at the lights,
covering its ears at the sirens. Then it saw them
load the old man inside, watching as the vehicle broke away,
its brilliance fading into the night. The next evening, the
(07:26):
glow inside the cabin was gone. No voice, no fire,
no kettle, just silence. The creature returned to its spot
as usual, waiting, But the old man didn't come to
the window. He didn't read, he wasn't there. The thing
(07:46):
waited until full darkness, pacing the edges of the clearing. Then,
as something deep and primitive surged inside it, it stepped
forward with one hand, gripped the door and tore it off.
Inside the cabin smelled of dust and age. The chair
(08:08):
was empty, The books lay still, pages half turned. The
creature sniffed around searching for the scent of the man.
It picked up a blanket, held it close, then dropped
it with a frustrated grunt. It sat in the armchair
and stared at the fireplace. Then it reached out, clumsily,
(08:32):
picking up a book and opening it the way it
had seen the man do so many times. But there
was no voice, no warmth, only stillness, and out in
dead Root forest, the howling began again, but this time
it never stopped. The wilds of West Virginia hold secrets
(09:14):
older than memory. Deep in the Monongaheela National Forest, where
mist clung to the ancient trees and the rivers ran
dark and deep, was an old trapper named Silas, who
lived alone in a cabin of his own making. Silas
had spent his life in these woods, knowing the lay
(09:35):
of every ridge and hollow, every whisper of the wind.
He wasn't much for people. His only company was the
crackling of his fire and the call of the wild
things that roamed the trees. One spring morning, while changing
his trap near Seneca Creek, he heard a faint, pitiful sound.
(10:00):
Beneath a towering oak lay a baby crow, black as coal,
its tiny wings trembling. Looking up, Silas saw this shattered
remains of a nest, likely torn loose by the previous
night storm. The old trapper crouched watching it as the
(10:22):
little creature struggled. Ain't no way you'll last at here,
he muttered, he sighed, scooping up the fragile thing. Guess
that makes two of us. Silas took the crow home,
feted bits of bread and softened corn, and kept it
warm by the hearth. The bird grew quickly, its black
(10:46):
feathers sleek and glossy. It was a sharp little thing,
always watching, always learning. Reckon. Out to call you, Jasper,
Zilas said one evening, as the crow happened to cross
his table, pecking at his supper. Jasper was no ordinary bird.
(11:08):
He was clever, too clever. Before long he mimbed the
sounds of Silas's gruff voice. He followed Silas everywhere, riding
on his shoulder or gliding above him as he wandered
the deep woods. But the deep woods held more than
just birds and beasts. One autumn evening, with the air
(11:34):
thick and cool, Silas set out deeper than usual, Jasper
gliding silently above. He had heard strange sounds in these parts,
before low howls in the night, the snap of branches
where nothing should be. The old timers in towns spoke
of the wood booger, the hairy wild man of the mountains.
(12:00):
Pillas never paid it much mind until that night a
strange silence fell over the forest. The usual courus of
crickets and tree frogs had vanished. Even the wind seemed
to hush, as if the trees were holding their breath.
Jasper let out a low, uneasy shrill call from the
(12:25):
branch above. Then from the shadows beyond the pines, it
stepped forward, a giant, looming figure, half shadow, half beast.
It stood nearly eight feet tall, its shoulders broad, its
fur dark and matted, Its eyes burned like embers in
(12:48):
the fading light. Intelligent and knowing. Silas, a man who
had faced mountain lions and black bears, felt a cold,
direct coil in his chest. His hand drifted to the
hunting knife on his belt. The creature rumbled a deep,
(13:08):
guttural sound that made Silence's bones vibrate. It took a
slow step forward, its breath misting in the cool air. Then,
before Silas could react, Jasper swooped from the branches above.
The crow let out an ear splitting shriek, the sound
(13:28):
echoing through the trees like a ghostly warning. The beast froze.
Jasper flapped wildly, circling the creature's head, his shrill cries
ringing through the hollow. The bigfoot let out a deep growl,
not of rage, but something else, confusion, recognition. Slowly it
(13:52):
took a step back, its burning eyes locked onto Silas,
Then with the final huff, it melted back into the trees,
disappearing into the twilight. Silas stood motionless, breath caught in
his throat. Jasper landed neatly on his shoulder, puffing up
(14:13):
and proud. Silas exhaled a shaky laugh. Reckon, you just
save my life Jasper. From that night on, Silas knew
he was not the only watcher in the woods, and
though he never saw the creature again, he often felt
(14:34):
the presence just beyond the trees, just beyond the firelight.
Some nights deep in the West Virginia wilds, a low
call would echo through the trees, and an answer from
the old trapper's cabin. A crow's shrill cry would pierce
the dark. Can a crow speak if trained? The answer yes,
(15:00):
wild crows can learn to speak if they are hand
raised and trained. Crows are highly intelligent and have excellent
vocal mimicking skills, similar to parrots and ravens. If a
crow is raised around humans and frequently hears words or phrases,
it can learn to mimic them, especially if rewarded with
(15:23):
food or attention. Some crows in captivity have been taught
to say words like hello or even short phrases. While
they don't speak as clearly as parrots, their ability to
imitate human speech is impressive. In the wild, crows mimic
(15:45):
sounds from their environment, including other birds, animals, and even machinery.
And as we wrap up, I just want to take
a moment to say thank you to all of you
that are listening to Bigfoot Children podcast. It's been a
heavy week between the remembrance of nine to eleven, the
(16:05):
tragic assassination of Charlie Kirk, and the passing of doctor
Jeff Meldrum after his battle with brain cancer. It's been rough.
Sorry for the delay through it all, I truly appreciate
you hanging in there and giving me the time and
space to talk and reflect and say thank you for
(16:25):
being a part of the journey and from the heart.
I'd also like to thank David from Where Bigfoot Roams
for his continued support. Don't forget to check out his
podcast as well. He's doing great work. SA
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