One story from a viewer who claims he witnessed three sasquatch do battle to the death. What if its True?

I can’t stay silent another day. I have the right amount of booze in me to relive this one more time, but not so much that I’m incoherent. It was the summer of 1992 and I had decided to live the best summer of my life before becoming a productive member of society. I’d fished, camped, and hiked throughout my entire youth, but that was all about to come to an end with two simple words – “I do.” I left my parents’ house early that morning with my pistol on my hip and my rifle in my hand. The park I was heading to was a couple of hours away and not often visited by anyone. I had heard all the wild stories about it and was anxious to see it for myself. At first glance, I was not disappointed. Off in the distance, I could see the open patches high up in the hills, bordered by large clusters of trees. To the left of the road was a dry riverbed that would make an easy trail for me. Time stood still in this place. Old moss-covered rock fences were the only evidence that human hands had ever been there. I thrilled as I took my first step, wondering what lay before me. If only I had known. After a couple of hours and a few stops, I came to a spot where the creek narrowed with a three-foot bank. A cluster of trees sat to the left and to the right was an open field of wildflowers. The wind that I had heard whistling through the trees all day was gone. I was suddenly aware of something dark. It was a gut-twisting feeling that came out of nowhere. I stopped and held my breath, afraid even to exhale, though I had no idea why. Then I saw it. Up ahead, a hundred yards to my right was something dark. It was as if that feeling had taken physical form. There was no movement or sound, yet, I felt it demanded my attention. Slowly, I reached for my binoculars. Immediately, I was hit with a blast of “DON’T!” I stopped dead for a single moment before continuing to lift them to my eyes. Why, or why, didn’t I listen? There, up ahead in the bushes, was a… a thing. A massive, black, hairy thing. I tried to tell myself it was a bear, but I couldn’t lie that well. It was a little after noon, and the sun was high in the sky. The downward shadow it cast made the thing’s face darker. Its eyes were cloaked under its massive brow, but somehow, I knew it was glaring at me. I could see its fangs – yes fangs – contrasted against its black face. There was no definition to its chest, but it was incredibly wide. I felt sick. My knees buckled and my head began to swim. I reached for the riverbank to steady myself and saw the creature vanish. Somewhere inside me, I felt a bit of relief, thinking it had left. Within seconds, it popped its head up again. Now it was 70 yards away. It stared its dark, evil intent at me through black, vacant eye sockets. It seemed to be saying in my mind, “if only you hadn’t looked.” It stretched up and over, as if it was getting a better look. Then it vanished again. I stumbled backwards, fighting the urge to turn and run. My mind raced. Some will tell you that they think of their loved ones. Or they might say the idea of becoming a part of the Missing 411 phenomenon crossed their minds. That wasn’t the case with me. I thought about how this thing might attack me, how bad it would hurt and how long it would take to die. I wondered if it would rip me apart or eat me while I still struggled to get away. Every thought was a horror worse than the last. Now I could hear it making noise as if it wanted me to be scared. I had heard tell that blood was sweeter when adrenaline was dumped into it, so I wondered if this was what the thing was doing. It stomped, broke branches, and huffed as it moved through the brush. Again, it raised its head. It was 40 yards away. Its details were now more defined. It was more disgusting than I imagined. Its face glistened in the sun. A patch on its chest also shimmered as silvery strings ran from the corners of its mouth. That mouth slit its face in two – wide, slightly parted, giving it an almost grinning effect. Its head and body were all one. If it had a neck, it was surrounded by pure muscle. Impressions – the descriptions of others – have filled in the blanks for its description. I was too afraid to gather details. If I were to describe it honestly, I would only be able to say that it was big, black, and horrific. Again, it vanished. Each time it did, it moved so fast that it blurred out of sight. It seemed unnatural in its movement. This sick game of peek-a-boo was more than my mind could take in. I struggled. Part of me was resigned to death, while another part, a more primal part, wanted to run. Still another part of me said fight. These emotions combined to create a mind warping, stomach churning mess. I slowly began to back up, afraid to look behind me or even turn my head. The noises were getting louder, closer. I began to say The Lord’s Prayer. It popped up its head again from 20 feet away. Emboldened, it stood erect, craning to see me. It rose well above the bushes that I guessed were around six feet tall. It was running out of brush. Soon it would be in the clearing across from me. I felt a warmth explode from my crotch as I soiled myself. I began to cry. I knew it was the end. There was nothing I could do to avoid it. I snapped out of my self-pity as the thing disappeared once again into the foliage. Then it stepped out of the brush, slightly bent at the waist. Its arms, hanging at its sides, were tipped with claws that I couldn’t stop staring at. Its body heaved with each breath that grew increasingly faster as it seemed to be working itself into a frenzy. It wheezed when it inhaled. Faster and faster, it huffed in and out, then silence. In slow motion, I watched it as it bent its knees, leaned forward, and threw its arms back, ready to jump. I was falling backwards when all hell broke loose. The silence was shattered by something exploding to my left, showering the creek bed in shrapnel. I felt a gust of wind as a reddish-brown blur flew out of the chaos and hit the creature square on. Only an empty space loomed before me now. Then I was hit by a soundwave that came from the other side of the brush and vibrated me to my core. It was followed by deep thumps that shook the ground and rattled my teeth. I rolled and tried to force my body to move, but I couldn’t. I could only lie there feeling and hearing what sounded like a freight train and bombs bursting all around me. I’m not sure how long it was before I could move again. To my horror, when I finally did, I was moving toward the source of the noise. Almost trancelike, I inched to the edge of the creek and peered over the side. There, 30 feet away, two monsters were fighting. They were biting, clawing, clubbing, and tearing at each other. It was a dogfight. Each was twisting and turning to get the upper hand. Jaws snapped. Heads bobbed and weaved. It was primal and vicious. I clamped my hands over my ears to block out the screaming and barking that was emitted with each bite. Finally, I realized what had saved me. It was a sasquatch. I had watched all the shows, seen all the trail cam footage. As I was beginning to understand, it became distracted for a moment which allowed the other creature to get its feet up against the bigfoot’s chest. With a massive push, it flipped the sasquatch onto his back and leapt on him, biting down on his upper thigh. The scream of pain was so much louder than the other sounds I had heard. Once again, I fell to the ground and covered my ears. The tables had turned. The young sasquatch was now in trouble. He was the one fending off the clubbing blows. He was losing. I knew I had to do something, but what? If that creature won, I would be dinner again. Then I remembered my gun. I knew I couldn’t kill it, but maybe I could distract that thing long enough to give the sasquatch a chance. I took a deep breath and raised my rifle. The monster’s head was moving too fast to get a clean shot. Most of its body was moving too fast. Then, with an almost perverse pleasure, I realized the only part of it that wasn’t moving too fast was its backside. I almost snickered at the thought of shooting it there. As I started to pull the trigger, a massive scream, louder than anything I had heard so far, burst through the air from my far right. Spinning around, I saw an even larger beast break through the tree line and rush headlong into the fray. The monster straightened up and braced for the attack. It was too late. The larger sasquatch had already reached it, hitting it in the back so hard that the top of its head snapped back and bounced off its massive back with a resounding crack. It crumpled forward onto its face. Seconds passed like hours as the two watched, waiting for movement that never came. A kick to the side confirmed that the monster would never move again. The victor raised his head, sniffed the air, and screamed a victory roar before grabbing the monster’s ankle and dragging it off into the trees. The first bigfoot now turned its focus on me. As it stood up, the sight of its nine-foot frame sent a shudder through me. It was studying me as it cautiously inched forward. When I realized that I was still pointing my rifle at it with my finger on the trigger, I lowered it, and that appeared to give it some relief. However, it began to move toward me faster. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was the crash after such an adrenalin rush, I couldn’t say. All I know is that the edges of my vision began to darken, and the earth was beginning to