In 1980, we lived in Washington State near a large state forest with many gigantic trees. Our home was about 100 feet from the woods, and a creek ran between us and the trees. Summertimes we would go down to the water and skip stones, seeing who could go the farthest.

My friend Chris was the best at throwing stones. His aim was terrific, and a few years back, when he was just a kid, he killed scores of migrating fish with his deadly throw. Today there were no fish but Chris was still skipping stones.

“Hey, Chris?”

“Yeah?”

“Wanna go to the forest?”

Chris seemed to ponder the question. After a moment he nodded slowly. We left the creek and moved toward the forest, which was full of bird chirps and the rustlings of squirrels and raccoons. Although we heard the animals, we didn’t see any of them. Night was falling. We had maybe an hour to explore in the forest before we were forced to go home for our (late) dinners. Chris and I walked along the edge of the forest, seeking a way in. There was a break in the forest about 250 feet on.

That’s when we saw it.

A hairy brown shape loomed out of the mist. At first I thought it was a forestry worker in a long fur coat. But then Chris gasped and pointed.

Bigfoot ran into the forest and disappeared.

Excited by the possibility of a hunt, we pursued. Going through tangled branches and sticky burrs, marching at army-forced-march speed, we gained ground on the creature. We heard Bigfoot before we saw him again. He was crashing through the trees making a huge racket.

When we broke through the final clearing, he was there.

Bigfoot had two giant black eyes, no pupils. His arms hung limply at his sides, helpless against us and utterly motionless. He was at least seven feet all, two feet taller than Chris and I.

Chris, always the bolder one of the two of us, began to approach the strange beast-man. He walked stealthily, making no sound. Bigfoot watched placidly as Chris came closer, and the thing didn’t have much of a reaction on what passed for its face.

When Chris was within five feet, Bigfoot leaped toward him like an Olympic athlete trying for a distance record in the sand. The two collided in pain and awkwardness. Chris screamed as I heard the sound of his ribs snapping. Bigfoot came down on Chris’s chest and straddled him. With a wild rage, Bigfoot began pounding down on Chris’s frail chest. Each blow shook Chris like electric shockers begin applied to boost up a heart attack victim. He leaped and settled again, leaped and settled. I was too frozen with fear to even begin to approach.

After five minutes of this, Chris began to foam saliva and blood at the mouth. Rivers of sweat ran from Bigfoot’s armpits to his sides. The creature was tiring, but Chris was almost finished.

At that moment I chose to turn and run, like a coward, leaving my close friend behind. I had no choice. I heard the savage cry of triumph of Bigfoot as I exited the tree line running. I passed the creek. I passed a long patch of tall grasses, crushing them as I ran. When I got home I flung myself on my bed only to pass out in exhaustion.

They never found Chris’s body. They saw his ghost still haunts those woods where he’d died.