IMAGINE . . .

. . . a night as dark as it is quiet—a night wrapped in a blanket of late autumn fog. You’re walking home from a friend’s house past a stretch of thick, undeveloped forest. You have flashlight in your hand, and your jacket is pulled tight around you to keep out the damp, evening chill.

Step after step, the only sound you hear is gravel scratching beneath your sneakers. Then a strange howl freezes you in your tracks. A foul odor wafts through the fog, and even though your feet aren’t moving, you hear something creeping up from behind, snapping twigs and rustling leaves.

You gather all your courage and do a quick about-face to stare eyelevel at the belly of a hair-covered giant. You don’t see its gentle brown eyes until you look up almost seven feet above the ground. A frightened yelp escapes your open mouth before your hands can cover it.

Startled by your sound, the creature turns faster than you did and, in a panicked gallop, vanishes into the depths of the piney woods. The smell fades slowly, but your memory never will.

You’ve just seen a Bigfoot.