October 26, 2025 • 18 mins
The Salesman and the Shadow in the Clearing
Jack’s Prologue:
They say every small-town diner has its share of stories, but the one Jack told me over eggs and bad coffee still haunts me to this day.
Be sure to check out our Archive of stories here on this podcast.
Jack’s Prologue:
They say every small-town diner has its share of stories, but the one Jack told me over eggs and bad coffee still haunts me to this day.
Be sure to check out our Archive of stories here on this podcast.
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:02):
They say, every small town diner has its share of stories,
but the one that Jack told me over eggs and
bad coffee still haunts me to this day. The morning
light slants through the greasy window of that rundown roadside place,
and Jack, looking a bit worse for wear, his voice,
a gravelly whisper from the previous night's bourbon, leaned in
(00:27):
and told me a secret he'd never shared with anyone else.
The clatter of dishes and the low hum of conversations
around us made his tail feel even more surreal. Jack
had been an autoparts driver, a man who knew every
back road in service lane between the mountains and the valley.
(00:52):
He'd spent most of his life behind the wheel of
a blue pickup, just another working man chasing daily light
and deadlines. But one night, driving a route he'd taken
a hundred times before, something went wrong. The forest seemed
darker than usual, the mist heavier, the smell of pine
(01:16):
and damp earth clung to his clothes, and, for reasons
he couldn't explain, he felt watched. His first thought was
a bear. Something large had stepped out onto the road,
catching the beams of his headlights. It was tall, much
taller than a man, and for a second Jack's mind
(01:37):
tried to fit it into something familiar, maybe a prank
in a fur suit, maybe just the fog playing tricks.
But when it turned its head and looked directly at him,
something in its eyes, intelligent, wild, almost human, froze him
(01:58):
to his core. He said. The thing slammed its hands
down on the hood, rocking the truck so hard he
thought it would stall. Then just as quick it was gone,
disappearing into the tree line. He didn't call anyone, didn't
tell a soul, not even his wife. For years, he
(02:22):
just tried to forget it, but the memory wouldn't fade.
He told me that morning in the diner that he
wasn't sure what scared him more, the creature itself or
the way it had looked at him, like it knew
he'd seen too much. Jack's gone now, but I still
drive past that stretch of road sometimes, and I swear
(02:45):
the woods feel different there, quiet, watchful, waiting. Jack wasn't
supposed to be out this far north, not on a Thursday.
He'd already hit the ree garages and two autoparts stores
by ten, and that was usually enough for one day,
(03:08):
but the business was slow, and the small commissions he'd
earned from each sale barely filled the gap between his
pension and his social security. He'd retired once, a long,
quiet exit from a corporate world that had lost its soul,
but the check book didn't share his dream of peace. Now,
(03:31):
in his late sixties, he found himself back behind the
wheel of a faded blue pickup truck, bouncing over frost
cracked back roads of rural Maine, the bed loaded with
socket sets, wrenches, oil filters, and displays for chain stores
that no longer remembered what customer service meant. Jack sighed
(03:56):
as another stretch of pine forest blurred passed his windshield.
The air was crisp and brittle early March, and northern
Main still wore winter's coat, and the sky, though pale,
hinted at another dusting of snow. He wasn't supposed to
be here, but one of his accounts, a small town
(04:18):
garage called Johnson's Tyrannatto, had placed a large order that morning.
It meant a few extra dollars, maybe enough for a
nice bottle of bourbon. Come Friday night. He could already
hear the crackle of ice in the glass and taste
that first slow sip, Jack turned down a narrow road,
(04:40):
more a dirt lane than anything. The forest pressed closer
on either side, spruce and birch trees forming a corridor
of shadows. He checked his map, the kind still made
of paper, and followed the faint line that led to
a clearing two miles ahead. He drove slowly, the tires
(05:02):
crunching over gravel and frost. That's when he noticed it,
a flicker of movement in the trees to his right.
At first he thought it was a deer, maybe a moose,
but deer didn't move like that. Heavy, deliberate upright, Jack
(05:23):
slowed the truck, squinting through the windshield. The clearing ahead
opened up just enough for sunlight to stretch across a
patch of trampled grass. Something large was there, something dark
and broad shouldered. He eased the truck closer, engine idling low.
(05:43):
The creature stood hunched over something on the ground. Jack
couldn't tell what, maybe a deer carcass. It shifted, pulling,
tearing at something unseen. The size of it struck him immediately,
at least eight feet tall, thick arms corded with muscle,
(06:04):
beneath shaggy, dark brown hair. The shoulders seemed to be
wider than the hood of his own pickup truck. Jack blinked,
his breath fogged the inside of the windshield. What the hell,
he whispered. The creature's head rose. Even from fifty yards away,
(06:25):
he could see its face, not quite ape, not quite man,
but something caught between a heavy brow, deep intelligent eyes.
Its mouth glistened red. Jack's pulse jumped. He wasn't sure
(06:45):
what possessed him, curiosity, foolishness, or something deeper, but he
pressed the accelerator and rolled the truck forward, closing the
distance until he was maybe thirty yards away. He flicked
on the high beams. The twin cones of light cut
through the mist and struck the creature full in the chest.
(07:09):
It reared back, startled, muscles tensing beneath its matted fur. Then,
with a guttural snarl, it turned away from its prey
and locked eyes with the truck. Jack's stomach dropped. The
creature led out a sound, a deep, chest rattling bellow
(07:29):
that seemed to vibrate the air. Birds burst from the
nearby trees, scattering into the gray sky. Jack's instincts screamed
at him to leave, but his hands froze on the
steering wheel. Then the bigfoot charged. It crossed the clearing
faster than anything that size should have been able to.
(07:51):
In three strides, it was upon the truck. Jack barely
had time to slam it into reverse before the thing
slammed its fists onto the hood with a metallic boom,
The headlights flickered. One bulb shattered instantly, The grill bent
inward like it was made of tinfoil. Jesus Jack shouted,
(08:13):
jerking the wheel. The creature roared again and struck the windshield.
Cracks spiderwebbed across the glass. He could see its face
inches away, those wild eyes burning with confusion and fury.
Jack gunned the engine. The truck lurched backward, tires spitting gravel.
(08:34):
The bigfoot slammed its hands down again, denting the hood deeper,
then reaching for the mirror and ripped it clean off.
Shards of glass sprayed across the road. The truck fish tailed,
nearly colliding with a tree. Jack flooded the gas and
the trucks skidded into the clearing's edge. The creature moved
(08:58):
to the driver's side, undering alongside the door, fists pounding
the metal. The side mirror snapped, the windows shattered inwards,
sprang tiny cubes of glass across Jack's lap. He ducked,
shielding his face, heart pounding in his throat. The bigfoot's
snarl was guttural, angry, but not mindless. It seemed to
(09:22):
realize the truck wasn't attacking it. The noise, the lights,
the glare, that's what it had reacted to. Its rage
faltered for a second, confusion flashing across its face. That's
all the time Jack needed. He threw the truck into
first gear and swerved hard toward the road, tires biting
(09:44):
into mud. The rear wheels spun, caught, and the pickup
truck shot forward, clipping the creature's arm with a metallic thud.
In the rear view mirror. Jack saw it stumble backward,
catching itself, and retreat toward the tree line. He didn't
stop driving for miles. When he finally pulled over near
(10:08):
an old gas station outside Milanocket, his hands were trembling.
The hood of the truck was crushed in like an accordion,
one headlight dangling loose, The grill bent and twisted. The
windshield was cracked from end to end. He stepped out
on shaky legs, the cold air biting his cheeks. What
(10:30):
in God's name was that? He muttered. The attendant came out,
wiping grease from his hands on a rag rough morning. Huh, moose,
hit ya, Jack hesitated. He could have said yes, it
was the easy answer. People in Maine hit moose all
(10:51):
the time, but he found himself shaking his head slowly. No,
he said, no moose. The attendant raised an eyebrow bear.
Jack forced a smile something like that. He paid for
gas and coffee and sat in the cab for a
(11:12):
long time before starting the engine again. His mind replayed
the image, the clearing, the blood, the massive silhouette framed
by his headlights. Whatever that thing was, it had been real.
He'd spent a lifetime working around people who faked things,
(11:36):
faked ethics, faked friendship, faked the numbers on the bottom line.
But this, this had been raw, unfiltered truth. He touched
the cracked glass on the windshield and exhaled. As he
drove back toward home. Every shadow between the trees seemed
to move, every patch of fog on the road looked alive.
(12:01):
He tried to shake it, but something inside him had shifted,
the same way his career had shifted, the same way
life itself had forced him to keep going when all
he wanted to do was stop. That night, Jack parked
the damaged pickup truck in the driveway and went inside
(12:22):
without unpacking. He poured himself that bourbon, turned off every light,
and sat staring through the window toward the dark woods
beyond his property. Somewhere out there, he thought, was a
creature as tired and misplaced as he was, just trying
to survive in a world that no longer made sense.
(12:46):
He raised his glass in a quiet toast. Here's to you,
big fella, he whispered, Hope you made it home too.
Outside the forest held its breath, A soft wind brushed
through the pines, and for a moment, just faintly, Jack
thought he heard something, a deep, distant howl, echoing through
(13:09):
the main night. He smiled wearily, finished his drink, and
turned off the light. That wraps up tonight's story here
on Bigfoot's Wilderness. Thanks so much for listening. Don't forget
(13:31):
to check out another great Bigfoot podcast wear Bigfoot roams.
They've got some amazing encounters over there as well. And
until next time, good night everyone, and keep your eyes
on the tree line to.
Speaker 2 (14:35):
The bot. Remember dream.
Speaker 3 (15:48):
Ypar pregnant motion.
Speaker 2 (16:12):
And carrying the Bamorial where lay.
Speaker 4 (17:08):
A giant, hairy creature, part ape, part man. Indians call
him Sasquatch. They believe he is as gentle as he
is powerful and mysterious. He has been seen many times
in the rugged mountains and deep woods of the Pacific Northwest.
The encounters have not always been peaceful.
They say, every small town diner has its share of stories,
but the one that Jack told me over eggs and
bad coffee still haunts me to this day. The morning
light slants through the greasy window of that rundown roadside place,
and Jack, looking a bit worse for wear, his voice,
a gravelly whisper from the previous night's bourbon, leaned in
(00:27):
and told me a secret he'd never shared with anyone else.
The clatter of dishes and the low hum of conversations
around us made his tail feel even more surreal. Jack
had been an autoparts driver, a man who knew every
back road in service lane between the mountains and the valley.
(00:52):
He'd spent most of his life behind the wheel of
a blue pickup, just another working man chasing daily light
and deadlines. But one night, driving a route he'd taken
a hundred times before, something went wrong. The forest seemed
darker than usual, the mist heavier, the smell of pine
(01:16):
and damp earth clung to his clothes, and, for reasons
he couldn't explain, he felt watched. His first thought was
a bear. Something large had stepped out onto the road,
catching the beams of his headlights. It was tall, much
taller than a man, and for a second Jack's mind
(01:37):
tried to fit it into something familiar, maybe a prank
in a fur suit, maybe just the fog playing tricks.
But when it turned its head and looked directly at him,
something in its eyes, intelligent, wild, almost human, froze him
(01:58):
to his core. He said. The thing slammed its hands
down on the hood, rocking the truck so hard he
thought it would stall. Then just as quick it was gone,
disappearing into the tree line. He didn't call anyone, didn't
tell a soul, not even his wife. For years, he
(02:22):
just tried to forget it, but the memory wouldn't fade.
He told me that morning in the diner that he
wasn't sure what scared him more, the creature itself or
the way it had looked at him, like it knew
he'd seen too much. Jack's gone now, but I still
drive past that stretch of road sometimes, and I swear
(02:45):
the woods feel different there, quiet, watchful, waiting. Jack wasn't
supposed to be out this far north, not on a Thursday.
He'd already hit the ree garages and two autoparts stores
by ten, and that was usually enough for one day,
(03:08):
but the business was slow, and the small commissions he'd
earned from each sale barely filled the gap between his
pension and his social security. He'd retired once, a long,
quiet exit from a corporate world that had lost its soul,
but the check book didn't share his dream of peace. Now,
(03:31):
in his late sixties, he found himself back behind the
wheel of a faded blue pickup truck, bouncing over frost
cracked back roads of rural Maine, the bed loaded with
socket sets, wrenches, oil filters, and displays for chain stores
that no longer remembered what customer service meant. Jack sighed
(03:56):
as another stretch of pine forest blurred passed his windshield.
The air was crisp and brittle early March, and northern
Main still wore winter's coat, and the sky, though pale,
hinted at another dusting of snow. He wasn't supposed to
be here, but one of his accounts, a small town
(04:18):
garage called Johnson's Tyrannatto, had placed a large order that morning.
It meant a few extra dollars, maybe enough for a
nice bottle of bourbon. Come Friday night. He could already
hear the crackle of ice in the glass and taste
that first slow sip, Jack turned down a narrow road,
(04:40):
more a dirt lane than anything. The forest pressed closer
on either side, spruce and birch trees forming a corridor
of shadows. He checked his map, the kind still made
of paper, and followed the faint line that led to
a clearing two miles ahead. He drove slowly, the tires
(05:02):
crunching over gravel and frost. That's when he noticed it,
a flicker of movement in the trees to his right.
At first he thought it was a deer, maybe a moose,
but deer didn't move like that. Heavy, deliberate upright, Jack
(05:23):
slowed the truck, squinting through the windshield. The clearing ahead
opened up just enough for sunlight to stretch across a
patch of trampled grass. Something large was there, something dark
and broad shouldered. He eased the truck closer, engine idling low.
(05:43):
The creature stood hunched over something on the ground. Jack
couldn't tell what, maybe a deer carcass. It shifted, pulling,
tearing at something unseen. The size of it struck him immediately,
at least eight feet tall, thick arms corded with muscle,
(06:04):
beneath shaggy, dark brown hair. The shoulders seemed to be
wider than the hood of his own pickup truck. Jack blinked,
his breath fogged the inside of the windshield. What the hell,
he whispered. The creature's head rose. Even from fifty yards away,
(06:25):
he could see its face, not quite ape, not quite man,
but something caught between a heavy brow, deep intelligent eyes.
Its mouth glistened red. Jack's pulse jumped. He wasn't sure
(06:45):
what possessed him, curiosity, foolishness, or something deeper, but he
pressed the accelerator and rolled the truck forward, closing the
distance until he was maybe thirty yards away. He flicked
on the high beams. The twin cones of light cut
through the mist and struck the creature full in the chest.
(07:09):
It reared back, startled, muscles tensing beneath its matted fur. Then,
with a guttural snarl, it turned away from its prey
and locked eyes with the truck. Jack's stomach dropped. The
creature led out a sound, a deep, chest rattling bellow
(07:29):
that seemed to vibrate the air. Birds burst from the
nearby trees, scattering into the gray sky. Jack's instincts screamed
at him to leave, but his hands froze on the
steering wheel. Then the bigfoot charged. It crossed the clearing
faster than anything that size should have been able to.
(07:51):
In three strides, it was upon the truck. Jack barely
had time to slam it into reverse before the thing
slammed its fists onto the hood with a metallic boom,
The headlights flickered. One bulb shattered instantly, The grill bent
inward like it was made of tinfoil. Jesus Jack shouted,
(08:13):
jerking the wheel. The creature roared again and struck the windshield.
Cracks spiderwebbed across the glass. He could see its face
inches away, those wild eyes burning with confusion and fury.
Jack gunned the engine. The truck lurched backward, tires spitting gravel.
(08:34):
The bigfoot slammed its hands down again, denting the hood deeper,
then reaching for the mirror and ripped it clean off.
Shards of glass sprayed across the road. The truck fish tailed,
nearly colliding with a tree. Jack flooded the gas and
the trucks skidded into the clearing's edge. The creature moved
(08:58):
to the driver's side, undering alongside the door, fists pounding
the metal. The side mirror snapped, the windows shattered inwards,
sprang tiny cubes of glass across Jack's lap. He ducked,
shielding his face, heart pounding in his throat. The bigfoot's
snarl was guttural, angry, but not mindless. It seemed to
(09:22):
realize the truck wasn't attacking it. The noise, the lights,
the glare, that's what it had reacted to. Its rage
faltered for a second, confusion flashing across its face. That's
all the time Jack needed. He threw the truck into
first gear and swerved hard toward the road, tires biting
(09:44):
into mud. The rear wheels spun, caught, and the pickup
truck shot forward, clipping the creature's arm with a metallic thud.
In the rear view mirror. Jack saw it stumble backward,
catching itself, and retreat toward the tree line. He didn't
stop driving for miles. When he finally pulled over near
(10:08):
an old gas station outside Milanocket, his hands were trembling.
The hood of the truck was crushed in like an accordion,
one headlight dangling loose, The grill bent and twisted. The
windshield was cracked from end to end. He stepped out
on shaky legs, the cold air biting his cheeks. What
(10:30):
in God's name was that? He muttered. The attendant came out,
wiping grease from his hands on a rag rough morning. Huh, moose,
hit ya, Jack hesitated. He could have said yes, it
was the easy answer. People in Maine hit moose all
(10:51):
the time, but he found himself shaking his head slowly. No,
he said, no moose. The attendant raised an eyebrow bear.
Jack forced a smile something like that. He paid for
gas and coffee and sat in the cab for a
(11:12):
long time before starting the engine again. His mind replayed
the image, the clearing, the blood, the massive silhouette framed
by his headlights. Whatever that thing was, it had been real.
He'd spent a lifetime working around people who faked things,
(11:36):
faked ethics, faked friendship, faked the numbers on the bottom line.
But this, this had been raw, unfiltered truth. He touched
the cracked glass on the windshield and exhaled. As he
drove back toward home. Every shadow between the trees seemed
to move, every patch of fog on the road looked alive.
(12:01):
He tried to shake it, but something inside him had shifted,
the same way his career had shifted, the same way
life itself had forced him to keep going when all
he wanted to do was stop. That night, Jack parked
the damaged pickup truck in the driveway and went inside
(12:22):
without unpacking. He poured himself that bourbon, turned off every light,
and sat staring through the window toward the dark woods
beyond his property. Somewhere out there, he thought, was a
creature as tired and misplaced as he was, just trying
to survive in a world that no longer made sense.
(12:46):
He raised his glass in a quiet toast. Here's to you,
big fella, he whispered, Hope you made it home too.
Outside the forest held its breath, A soft wind brushed
through the pines, and for a moment, just faintly, Jack
thought he heard something, a deep, distant howl, echoing through
(13:09):
the main night. He smiled wearily, finished his drink, and
turned off the light. That wraps up tonight's story here
on Bigfoot's Wilderness. Thanks so much for listening. Don't forget
(13:31):
to check out another great Bigfoot podcast wear Bigfoot roams.
They've got some amazing encounters over there as well. And
until next time, good night everyone, and keep your eyes
on the tree line to.
Speaker 2 (14:35):
The bot. Remember dream.
Speaker 3 (15:48):
Ypar pregnant motion.
Speaker 2 (16:12):
And carrying the Bamorial where lay.
Speaker 4 (17:08):
A giant, hairy creature, part ape, part man. Indians call
him Sasquatch. They believe he is as gentle as he
is powerful and mysterious. He has been seen many times
in the rugged mountains and deep woods of the Pacific Northwest.
The encounters have not always been peaceful.
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