Eight years ago, something happened on a lonely road in Washington State that changed my life forever.

My name is Devin McCriedy, and I’ve been hauling freight across America for over 15 years.

I’ve seen plenty of strange things on the road — from wild police chases to meteor showers lighting up the sky — but nothing prepared me for what I faced deep in the Olympic Peninsula.

It was a cold October night in 2016 when my dispatcher, Rick, handed me a job that seemed too good to be true.

The task was to transport illegally harvested old growth timber from a remote logging camp in the heart of the Olympic forest.

The pay was triple the normal rate — $40,000 for one night’s work — and I was desperate.

My truck payments were overdue, my ex-wife was threatening court battles, and my daughter’s college fund was almost empty.

Despite the risk, I accepted the job, convincing myself it was just one run and nobody would get hurt.

The drive started normally as I left Seattle late at night, heading west toward the coast on Highway 101.

But as I turned onto smaller, winding roads, the landscape changed dramatically.

The dense forest closed in around me, with towering Douglas firs and ancient cedars blocking out the moonlight.

My GPS signal flickered and failed, forcing me to rely on the handwritten directions Rick had given me.

By the time I reached the logging road, the pavement was cracked and uneven, and my trusted Peterbilt 379 was bouncing hard on the rough terrain.

At 1:47 a.m., everything went wrong.

I hit something in the road — something big.

The impact was subtle, like running over a large branch, but soon I noticed my steering was sluggish and the front passenger tire was shredded.

I pulled over, only to discover I had no spare tire, just some old rags and useless tools.

Stranded in the middle of nowhere, with no cell service and no other vehicles in sight, I knew I was in trouble.

Then, through the dense trees, I spotted a faint light — an abandoned logging camp with three weathered cabins arranged around a clearing.

Hoping for help, I made my way through the underbrush to the cabins.

Inside the largest one, I found signs of recent occupation — canned goods, tools, and unsettling items like heavy chains and large animal traps.

Photographs covered the walls, showing enormous footprints pressed deep into the mud just days before.

Suddenly, a low rumble shook the cabin floor.

Heavy footsteps circled the building, accompanied by deep, humanlike breathing and sniffing sounds.

I peered out the window and saw it — a towering creature nearly nine feet tall, covered in dark hair, with massive muscular limbs and a face that was neither fully human nor ape.

Its intelligent eyes locked onto mine, and I knew it recognized me.

Frozen with fear, I watched as it began to approach my cabin.

I barely escaped through the back door, crashing through the forest in a desperate run for my life.

The creature roared behind me, a terrifying sound that echoed through the trees.

My flashlight died, and I stumbled blindly through the darkness, guided only by moonlight.

After what felt like hours, I found a steep ravine and saw headlights below — a road cutting through the forest.

I scrambled down the slope and flagged down a passing car, but the driver lost control, crashing into a massive Douglas fir.

Before I could help, the creature charged onto the road at full speed and slammed into the car, pinning itself between the vehicle and the tree.

The impact was so violent that the creature went still — dead.

I managed to free the injured driver, a young woman unconscious but breathing, and tried to call for help.

When deputies arrived, a sudden federal roadblock blocked access to the crash site.

Men in dark suits with military-grade gear stopped us, claiming a classified federal investigation was underway.

Despite the urgency, we were forced to turn back, and the injured woman’s accident vanished from official records.

My truck was towed away, and I never delivered that illegal timber.

Rick, my dispatcher, was strangely unconcerned and evasive when I asked questions about the job.

I began to suspect the whole operation was a setup — that someone wanted me in those woods that night for reasons beyond my understanding.

Research revealed the land was owned by shell companies and government entities, with no official record of the cabins or the timber operation.

The government seemed determined to erase all evidence of what had happened.

Eight years later, I’m still driving trucks, but I avoid the Olympic Peninsula and off-the-books jobs.

I’ve shared this story with family and fellow truckers, but most don’t believe me.

Some say I hallucinated, maybe from stress or fatigue, but I know what I saw.

I know what chased me through those woods.

I know what died that night pinned between a Honda Civic and a Douglas fir.

This experience opened my eyes to a hidden world — a world where creatures like Sasquatch roam, and powerful forces work to keep their existence secret.

There are others out there who have seen the truth but are silenced or discredited.

The forests of the Pacific Northwest hold mysteries science won’t acknowledge and governments won’t disclose.

Sometimes, when I’m driving through remote areas, I catch glimpses of shadows moving just beyond my headlights.

I don’t stop anymore.

I keep my spare tires checked, my phone charged, and my CB radio tuned to emergency channels.

Because the road is long, and the secrets it holds are stranger than fiction.

If you ever find yourself driving through those deep woods and see something that shouldn’t exist, remember my story.

Don’t stop.

Keep moving.

And hope it doesn’t decide to follow you home.