The bass to it shook my bed.
He lives in a trailer at the top of a farm on the side of Mount Ida, out in the middle of nowhere in BC's Interior. No cell service, neighbours well out of shouting distance, and forest on every side except the little road up. He's heard stories about that mountain since he was a kid, from the Indigenous people of the area. The short version of all of them: the spirits make the mountain dangerous, so people stay off it.
One January night around 10:45, three sets of sirens went by on the road below. In fifteen years out there he'd heard exactly one siren before, earlier that same week. About half an hour later the power went out. He was already in bed with the lights off, and only noticed because the wifi dropped. Out there, no wifi means you're completely on your own, and his first worry was a fire he couldn't call in.
Then, out of nowhere, came a sharp, loud cry, like a little kid who'd just wiped out on a bike. Hysterical crying. His dogs went nuts at the door. Cougars can mimic a crying child scarily well, and he's heard plenty of them, so he lay there telling himself that's all it was. Honestly, a cougar was the best-case scenario.
The dogs finally settled, and he was trying to get some sleep when the second sound came. He'd never heard anything like it. About five seconds of pure screeching, like every horror movie monster at once, 'a demonic banshee with the vocal cords of a T. rex'. The bass in it shook his bed. It was like a concert sound system hidden in the forest.
Now the dogs were snarling and growling at the door like whatever screamed was right on the other side. He could taste his heartbeat. With no way to reach anyone and his generator and router both up in the dark barn, he wasn't going anywhere. He lay there in the dark checking his phone every thirty seconds for wifi until he finally fell asleep.
In the morning everything was back to normal. The sirens and the outage turned out to be a car hitting a power pole a kilometre down the road, almost the same spot as the crash earlier that week. Nobody in the local Facebook group had heard the scream. He checked around the yard and found no tracks. The first cry he's happy to call a cougar, especially with the weather so weirdly warm that winter. The second one, he just can't. And the more people told him about Bigfoot, the more it sounded like what he heard.