Sasquatch Caught Breaking Into House | “This Is Insane…” – BIGFOOT ENCOUNTER STORY

The Hermit and the Observer: An October in the Forests of Spokane

I never thought I’d be the guy telling a story like this. Three months ago, if you had told me you’d caught footage of a Sasquatch trying to break into your house, I would have laughed you out of the room. Now, I am that guy, and the irony is a heavy weight I carry every time I look out into the dense, silent forest surrounding my cabin. What I captured on the night of October 14th—and the weeks leading up to and following it—was not a hoax, not a misidentification, but sustained, unnerving contact with something that science claims doesn’t exist.

My name is irrelevant. What matters is the footage and the location: a cabin forty minutes outside of Spokane, Washington, nestled on twelve acres of pine and fir. It’s where I came to disappear after my divorce five years ago, finding solace in the isolation. As a remote software developer, the quiet suited me. My only company was Rex, my German Shepherd, and the sounds of the wilderness. I installed security cameras two years ago, not out of fear, but out of curiosity about the nocturnal visitors—deer, raccoons, perhaps a bear. What I got was something else entirely.

The Build-Up: Footsteps and Fear

The first sign that my isolation was being disturbed came three weeks before the main incident. I was working late when I heard them: heavy, deliberate footsteps on the gravel driveway. They stopped the moment my motion sensor lights kicked on, leaving the area illuminated but empty. I stood at the window, straining my ears. The forest was dead quiet, a deep, unnerving silence that meant every small creature was holding its breath. My cameras showed nothing. I rationalized it as a large animal, an elk or a bear, but the feeling of being watched lingered.

Over the next few weeks, the disturbances became frequent. Footsteps, breaking branches, a sound like something brushing against the side of the house. The motion lights would fire off multiple times a night, but the cameras remained stubbornly blank.

Rex’s reaction was what truly shattered my complacency. He’s a calm dog, used to the wildlife, but he transformed into a nervous wreck. He’d pace and whine softly, fixating on the windows and the front door, listening to something I couldn’t hear. He flat-out refused to go outside after dark, a total behavioral reversal. Even during the day, he’d stick to my side, constantly checking the treeline, his ears perpetually alert.

Then came the smell. It was musky and pungent, earthier and wilder than any dead animal. It was a strong, bodily odor that caught my attention when I stepped onto the deck, subtly alive and utterly alien.

On October 10th, four days before the most significant sighting, I found the first footprint in a muddy patch by the driveway. It wasn’t a bear print. It was too long and too narrow, the toe impressions looking almost human, but grotesquely oversized and spread out. The print was colossal: easily seventeen or eighteen inches long and seven inches wide. The depth of the impression suggested whatever made it was immensely heavy, dwarfing my size 11 boot. Researching alleged Bigfoot tracks online confirmed my growing dread; the proportions and shape were perfectly consistent with reports across the Pacific Northwest. I was still clinging to the hope of a rational explanation—a deformed bear, an elaborate prank—but the mounting evidence made that increasingly difficult.

Over the next few days, more prints appeared, forming a pattern that showed the creature was circling the house regularly, staying inside the treeline by day, and getting bolder at night. One flawless print outside my bedroom window, pressed into the soft earth, even showed what looked like dermal ridges—fingerprints—on the sole. The fear became a constant, cold companion.

The Close Observation

I became obsessive with the camera feeds, fast-forwarding through hours of footage. On October 13th, just after 2:00 a.m., I finally caught something on Camera 3, which covered the side yard. Rex was already pacing and whining. On the screen, the shadows were wrong. A massive dark shape was standing at the edge of the light, partially hidden behind a tree. It was too big to be a person, the wrong shape for an animal.

I watched for ten agonizing minutes as the shape moved slowly from tree to tree, always on the edge of visibility. Its movement was unsettlingly deliberate and intelligent, too fluid for a human, too purposeful for an animal. It seemed to be studying the house, a silent, observing presence.

The next morning, fresh, close prints confirmed it had been much nearer than it looked on camera. My garbage cans had been disturbed, not violently like a bear, but carefully opened, the lids set aside neatly. Only meat scraps and strong-smelling items were removed. I called in sick to work and spent the day reinforcing my cabin, checking locks, securing windows, feeling utterly ridiculous yet entirely justified. Rex was a nervous wreck, refusing to eat or go outside. I positioned myself in the living room, baseball bat nearby, monitoring all four camera feeds simultaneously.

The October 14th Incident

Around 10:00 p.m. on the 14th, I headed to bed, leaving the laptop open. I was just beginning to doze when Rex went rigid beside the bed, letting out a low, terrifying warning growl unlike anything I’d ever heard. Adrenaline surged.

Then I heard the sound: a soft, rhythmic scraping coming from the side of the house. It moved along the exterior wall, tracking its progress by the motion lights that triggered sequentially—sideyard, back patio, other sideyard. Whatever was out there was meticulously walking the perimeter, staying close to the walls. The camera angles failed to capture it, but the lights proved its steady, deliberate circuit. After fifteen minutes, the scraping and the lights ceased. I foolishly thought it was over.

At 11:47 p.m., I saw it. Camera 4, covering the back patio, detected motion, and my blood ran cold.

A massive dark figure stood on my back patio, right outside the sliding glass door. It had to be at least eight feet tall, covered in dark hair or fur, with impossibly broad shoulders and long limbs. The head was too small for the body, the proportions all wrong for a human.

The creature was examining the sliding door, running its enormous hands—easily twice the size of human hands—along the frame and testing the handle. Its movements were careful and methodical, like it was trying to figure out the mechanism. This was not a mindless animal; this was an intelligent entity investigating a puzzle. It pressed its face close to the glass, seemingly trying to see inside. I was paralyzed, watching this impossible scene less than ten feet away, separated only by glass and curtains, as Rex trembled beside me.

After an eternity, it moved out of range, only to appear moments later on Camera 2, examining the front door, then the windows, and even the basement hatch. For over an hour, it conducted a thorough, quiet reconnaissance of the house, systematically checking every entry point. The silence was the most disturbing part. For its size, moving across the deck and gravel, it made shockingly little noise.

The Growing Boldness and the Knocking

The creature vanished around 1:00 a.m. I woke up the next morning to fresh, clear footprints and, most terrifyingly, long parallel gouges in the metal frame of the sliding glass door—scratches that could only have been made by claws or heavy fingernails. The creature had been trying to get in.

Reviewing the footage confirmed the impossible. This was not a person in a suit, nor an identifiable animal. Its upright posture, humanlike movements, and intelligent behavior pointed to one conclusion: a Sasquatch. A creature supposedly mythical, yet now terrifyingly real and deeply interested in my life.

The visits continued for two more weeks, though less frequently. It always followed the same pattern: circling, testing, observing. But it grew bolder. It started approaching earlier, sometimes just after sunset, and began making more noise. I watched it rummage through my garbage for an hour, sorting through the contents with remarkable dexterity, saving some items in what looked like a crude bag made from woven plant material. It even tried the door handles of my locked truck, its curiosity extending to human technology.

The most unnerving incident occurred on October 28th. The creature approached the front door, and instead of just examining the lock, it began knocking. Not random banging, but a deliberate, rhythmic pattern: three slow knocks, pause, three more knocks, pause. It repeated this for ten minutes, occasionally pressing its ear to the door, seemingly listening for a reply. It was terrifying to consider that it might be attempting to communicate, that it knew I was inside and was demanding acknowledgment. Rex was frantic.

Seeking Validation

Trapped and terrified, I decided I couldn’t live like this. I began researching. I bypassed the sensationalists and finally found a credible group of researchers from the University of Washington conducting a legitimate study of unexplained wildlife encounters. I sent them the clearest photos, the video clips, the footprint measurements, and a comprehensive timeline.

Their response was cautiously optimistic. The evidence warranted investigation. On November 2nd, a professor and three graduate students visited. They spent the entire day documenting the prints, collecting plaster casts, and setting up additional trail cameras. Their analysis confirmed the prints were genuine, made by a large, bipedal creature weighing an estimated 600 to 800 pounds with an impossible stride length. Crucially, they validated the video footage, ruling out all conventional explanations. The professor told me my evidence was among the most compelling he’d ever reviewed.

The final visit occurred on November 7th. This time, the creature bypassed the perimeter and walked directly to the front door, clearly visible under the porch light. It seemed to be studying the new trail cameras the team had installed, occasionally reaching out to touch one before pulling back. Its behavior suggested it understood it was being watched and recorded.

Near the end of its hour-long visit, it looked directly into Camera 1, which is mounted above the front door, and maintained eye contact for several long minutes. It wasn’t the vacant stare of an animal, but the focused, intelligent gaze of something that understood exactly what it was looking at. Then, it simply turned and walked back into the forest. I haven’t seen it since.

A New Reality

The research team was ecstatic with the new footage, which they are now analyzing for publication. As for me, my life has been irrevocably changed. I’ve upgraded my security again, and I now keep a shotgun close. Rex is back to normal, though he still distrusts the darkness outside our immediate bubble. I’ve become a reluctant expert, fielding calls from researchers and skeptics alike.

I understand the skepticism. I was a skeptic myself six months ago. But I have seen what I have seen, and the consistent, methodical behavior captured on my cameras speaks a truth far stranger than fiction.

The creature I observed was methodical, intelligent, and surprisingly restrained. It had multiple opportunities to force entry or confront me directly, but it chose instead to observe and learn. That restraint, that intelligence, suggests a species far more sophisticated than the simple monster of folklore. It’s a species that has learned to coexist with human presence while maintaining its secrecy, disciplined enough to retreat when discovery becomes likely, and organized enough to survive undetected across generations in the vast, unexplored wilderness of the Pacific Northwest.

My footage represents an unprecedented documentation of a creature that exists right under our noses, intelligent and curious. The evidence is there for anyone willing to look with an open mind. The truth is, there are still mysteries left to solve, and sometimes those mysteries walk up to your back door in the middle of the night.