Four Bigfoot Creatures Filmed at Alaska Cabin Before Owner Disappears

Four figures standing in the snow under a porch light in the dead of an Alaskan winter. That's what showed up on a doorbell camera at 3:04 in the morning on December 3, 2021, and the story behind those figures is one of the most haunting things to surface in a long time. The footage comes from a cabin off the Steese Highway in central Alaska, belonging to a 64-year-old trapper named Abel Matson. He'd been running marten and lynx lines out of that cabin for nearly four decades. His nephew, Jesse Matson, had mounted a doorbell camera by the front door back in 2019 after Abel's wife Loretta died under strange circumstances. She was found 200 yards from the cabin in her nightgown, barefoot in the snow, in February of that year. The official call was hypothermia, possibly brought on by confusion. Abel never argued with it. He just nodded and signed the papers. For two and a half years, that camera caught nothing unusual. A cow moose and her calf. Buck Ellery's truck now and then. Abel coming and going on his snow machine. But Jesse started noticing something odd when he visited in person. Abel set two plates at dinner every single night, his and hers. He'd dish out stew into both, eat his, and scrape hers back into the pot when he was done. And he never turned off the porch light. Not in summer when it didn't get dark. Not in winter when the bulbs burned out and he had to drive to Central for more. When Jesse asked him about it, Abel said it was for Loretta, so she could find her way back. Then in November 2021, the camera started sending alerts with nothing in them. No animal, no truck, just the empty porch and the snow and the light. The first one came on November 14, a little after 3:00 in the morning. When Jesse played it back, the only thing moving was the porch light itself, flickering slow and even, brighter, dimmer, brighter, dimmer, like something was breathing on the bulb. Abel changed the bulb. The new one did the same thing the next night. He changed it again. Same thing. What Jesse didn't know then was that those were the first nights they came. The camera just couldn't see them yet. The alert that changed everything came on December 3, 2021, at 3:04 in the morning. Jesse was asleep in his apartment in Fairbanks, 160 miles to the south. His phone buzzed on the nightstand and he grabbed it half-awake, thumb already on the screen. He figured it was the light again. It wasn't the light. There were four of them standing on his uncle's porch. According to Jesse's account, each of them stood over seven feet tall. They looked far more Neanderthal than ape, with heavy bony brow ridges, broad prominent noses, and wide, flat, human-like faces with no muzzle at all. Their hair was dark rust brown shading to charcoal. The skin that showed was weathered gray-brown, like old leather left out in the weather. Three of them were dark. One was paler, almost gray in that light, and it stood closest to the door. They weren't doing anything. That was the worst part. They weren't sniffing around or pulling at the garbage or trying the door. They just stood there in the snow, all four of them facing the front door like people waiting for someone to answer. About three minutes in, the gray one lifted its head and looked directly into the camera. Its eyes caught the porch light and threw it back flat, no color, no shine the way a dog's eyes shine, just flat and reflective, like two discs of tin. And that's when Jesse saw the ear. The left one. There was a torn notch in it, a V cut out of the edge, healed over a long time ago. Jesse watched about four minutes, then couldn't watch anymore. He called his uncle. It rang out. He called again. It rang out again. He sat there on the edge of his bed trying to decide whether to call the troopers and what he would even say to them. He opened the live view instead. By then it was 3:40. The porch was empty, just tracks in the snow, a lot of them, and the light going brighter, dimmer, brighter, dimmer. The next morning, Abel told Jesse he'd slept through the night and heard nothing. Jesse believed him. Then he watched the rest of the clip. At 3:11 a.m., the footage appears to show the front door opening and Abel walking out onto the porch barefoot in his long johns. At 28 below zero. He walks down the steps and stands among the four of them for 20 minutes. Then he goes back inside and shuts the door. The camera's history showed the same thing on 11 separate nights. On the morning of April 10, 2022, a neighbor found the cabin door standing open. The wood stove was cold. Two plates were set on the table. Abel's boots were still lined up inside the door. Bare human footprints led off the porch and into the spruce. Within 40 yards, they were walking between four sets of large tracks. Abel Matson has not been found. Jesse kept every clip from that winter. He kept his uncle's phone records and a journal that belonged to Loretta. He has told this story to very few people. The full account, including Jesse's recollections of his uncle's life at that cabin, the strange behavior with the porch light, and the details of those 11 nights of footage, is worth sitting down and watching in its entirety. The video runs long, but the pacing matches the weight of what's being described. There's a quietness to it that makes the whole thing land harder. Go find it on the Bigfoot's Trail channel and give it the time it deserves.