Discovering a Pregnant Bigfoot and Helping Her Give Birth in Montana Forest

Hey Squatchable readers! Have you heard about the incredible video we stumbled upon on YouTube? It's a heartwarming tale of a farmer in Montana who helps a pregnant Bigfoot give birth, and the gift she gives him in return changes his life forever. Bill Mallister, a 47-year-old farmer living alone on a small, worn-out farm deep in northern Montana, was struggling to make ends meet. The cold came early and stayed late, and Bill lost most of his livestock. His debts were growing, and every month, the bills came faster than the money. One cold night around 2:00 a.m., Bill was awake when he heard strange sounds coming from the forest behind his barn. At first, he thought it was a cougar, but the screams were different, rougher, more desperate. The next night, the screams came again, and the night after that, they changed each time. Sometimes, the screams sounded like someone in agony. Other times, they sounded panicked, like someone running or calling for help. Bill didn't know what to think. He kept telling himself to ignore it. Maybe it was a wild animal trapped or hurt, or some stranger lost in the woods. But the sounds didn't stop. They only grew louder and more frequent. After several nights, Bill decided he couldn't just sit and listen anymore. He had to know what was out there. He grabbed his old flashlight and stepped out into the cold, quiet night. The forest loomed dark and still. Bill moved slowly toward the barn, then into the trees. The cold night air was quiet, except for the occasional crack of dry branches under his boots. He stayed alert, listening carefully. The screams had stopped for a moment, but he was sure they would start again. He wanted to find the source to see if someone or something was in trouble. Bill moved slowly through the thick forest, holding his old lantern in one hand and his rifle in the other. The cold night air was quiet, except for the occasional crack of dry branches under his boots. He followed the faint sound of those strange screams deeper into the woods than he'd ever gone before. After a few minutes, Bill spotted something unusual by a large pine tree. There, slumped against the rough bark, was a massive creature covered in thick, dark hair. At first, Bill thought it was a bear, but the shape wasn't right. The creature sat upright, not moving much, but its size was larger than any animal he'd seen around here. As Bill got closer, he realized the creature was female. She was heavily pregnant, her belly round and swollen. She looked weak and hurt. Cuts and bruises showed on her arms and legs, and her heavy breathing was slow but strained. Her eyes met Bills, and he saw the pain in them. Despite her size and strength, she didn't attack or make a sound. She just stared at him, almost like she was asking for help. Bill kept his rifle ready, but lowered it slowly. There was no anger or threat in her gaze, only fear and exhaustion. He took the canteen from his belt and offered it. She looked at it, then slowly reached out. Her massive hand took it carefully, and she drank. Bill gave a slow nod. That's right. You're okay. He stepped closer, moving slow. Carefully, he helped her to her feet. She was heavy, and she leaned on him more than he expected. Step by step, he guided her through the woods, back toward his land. The old horse, sheltered behind the barn, wasn't much, but it was dry, and out of the wind. He opened the gate and helped her inside, easing her down onto a bed of old hay. She didn't fight it. She trusted him. Back at the farm, Bill went to work fixing up the old horse shed. It hadn't been used in years, but it still stood strong. He lined the floor with fresh hay and stacked old feed bags along the walls to block the wind. He hung an old tarp across the front for a bit of privacy and added a propane heater he used in the barn during cving season. The creature, the Bigfoot, stayed inside, curled up and quiet. She didn't try to leave. Bill brought her food. At first, just a few apples and raw oats in a metal pan. She ate them without hesitation. The next day, he brought cooked potatoes warmed in the wood stove. She ate those, too. He didn't try to touch her again, but he talked to her. Storm's coming, he'd say, standing just outside the tarp. Hope you're warm enough in there. She never spoke back, but he knew she understood. When he talked, she looked right at him, calm, eyes steady, no fear. By the second night, she started watching him more closely when he arrived. Sometimes she made soft grunts or slow movements with her hands, not threatening, more like acknowledgement. Bill didn't know what it meant, but she wasn't just some wild animal. Trust was building slowly, and he felt it deep down. He wasn't alone anymore. On the third night, the storm hit hard. Wind howled through the trees. Snow came down in sheets, and the cold pressed in from all sides. Bill had just settled by the stove when he heard it, a cry louder than anything before. It came straight from the shed. He yanked open the tarp and stepped inside. The propane heater still burned, but the shed was filled with raw, wild energy. She was lying on her side, panting, body shaking, blood on the hay. Her eyes were wide with fear and exhaustion. She was in labor. Bill had helped cows birth calves before, even delivered a fool once, but this was something else, bigger, more human. He hesitated for only a second, then knelt down beside her. It's all right, he said, voice low and steady. You're not alone, she didn't fight him. Just locked eyes with him as if to say, "Help me." Bill worked quickly. The labor was hard. She screamed once. A deep bone-shaking sound, then pushed. A large wet form slid out onto the hay. At first, the baby didn't move. Bill wiped its face with an old flannel rag, rubbed its back. Then, finally, it let out a sound. Not a cry, but a low, strange whimper. Weak, but alive. The mother reached out, gently, pulling the infant close to her chest. She looked at the child, then back at Bill. Her hand, massive and rough, reached for his. She touched it. Just a brief press of palm to hand. It was thanks, pure and simple. Bill felt a tightness in his chest he hadn't felt in years. No words were spoken. None were needed.