Bigfoot Left a Handprint on my Window

Jerry Mills had always been at home in the woods. Raised on tales of the forest and its many secrets, he learned the ways of the wild from his granddad—a seasoned hunter who treated the forest with a quiet reverence. Despite his deep familiarity with the woods, one late afternoon in the dense wilderness would profoundly alter Jerry's understanding of what might lurk beyond the known trails and the underbrush.

The day had started like any other hunting trip. The autumn air was brisk, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. Jerry and his buddy Mike had set up their blind near a clearing that had always been good for deer sightings. However, as the sunlight began to wane, casting long shadows across the ground, Jerry felt an inexplicable pull towards a distant point along the tree line.

He remembered his granddad's stern advice about using the scope only when necessary, as "the forest has eyes," he'd say. Ignoring the unease curling in his stomach, Jerry lifted his rifle and peered through the scope toward the spot that had inexplicably drawn his attention. At first, there was nothing, just the still, silent trees. But the feeling didn't wane; it grew stronger, urging him to look again.

On the third attempt, his breath caught in his throat. From the shadows darted a small figure—swift and startling. It was no bigger than a large dog, but its movements were unlike any creature he'd known. "Its arms and legs were just a blur," Jerry recounted, his voice tinged with awe. "Like a bolt, it shot back into the trees. Fast enough to catch a deer, I’d bet."

As dusk settled, the normal sounds of the woods were replaced by a heavy silence. Then, a sudden, deep sound rolled out from a treeless clearing. It was unlike any animal Jerry knew. Exchanging a glance with Mike, they decided it was time to leave.

Retreating to their truck, the air was still, heavy with the scent of the impending night. Yet, as they neared their vehicle, another figure emerged from the treeline—an imposing creature, easily eight feet tall, stepping into the clearing with calm, measured strides.

"She walked across the road, not twenty yards from us," Jerry said, his voice a mix of fear and fascination. "Just watching her move, so effortlessly, was like seeing a ghost; like she was part of the woods itself."

Weeks later, Jerry returned to the same spot, drawn back by a mix of curiosity and an unspoken challenge to face his fears. This time, the woods offered no sightings, but on the back window of the truck, amidst the dust and dirt, was a large handprint—undeniable proof of their encounter.

"The hand was massive, the thumb turned up as if questioning the solidity of our world," Jerry mused. "Who knows why it was there, but that print on the glass was a clear sign—we aren't always alone out here."

From that day forward, Jerry viewed the forest differently. Every rustle of leaves and snap of a twig carried a new weight, a new possibility. For him, the woods were no longer just a place for hunting; they were a domain where the unseen and unbelievable made their presence known, quietly watching from just beyond the veil of the ordinary.

Watch “Sasquatch of the South: Bigfoot Stories from the Swamps” where Jerry retells this story in full.