Oh my God, that's two feet.
The teller lives in Oregon near a mountain they have visited many times to collect quartz crystals, tourmaline and gold. It's an old mining district full of abandoned shafts and crumbling 1800s buildings, reached by rough roads that can take hours if you pick the wrong one. One spring weekday they drove up with their roommate. School was still in session and there was no sign of anyone else in that part of the national forest.
They set up camp in a crude clearing with a makeshift outhouse, backed by a boulder field and a sheer rock face, with the car about fifty feet from the tent. The teller has hiked in very remote country for years and has been scared before, hours from a vehicle on foot. This time the car was right there, so what could go wrong? Even so, all day they couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, which they had never felt there before.
At about nine they went to bed. The roommate fell asleep at once. The teller was just drifting off when the brush at the tree line began to shake. Elk and small animals often wander through camp, but this sounded big.
Then the shaking stopped, and something stepped out onto the open ground with a heavy, distinct footfall. It walked right up to the tent, and it was walking on two legs. They lay rigid, listening to heavy breathing. Then silence. Then the bushes rattled again, and again something walked up to the tent. What unnerved them most was that they never heard it walk away.
They elbowed their roommate awake and whispered at him to just listen. He gave them a look as if they'd lost their mind, until the bushes shook and the footsteps came up to the tent once more. His eyes went wide, and he whispered, "Oh my God, that's two feet." For twenty minutes it kept happening: steps up to the tent, over and over, and never any steps going away. Then something went over to the outhouse and shook it violently.
After about forty-five minutes everything fell silent. They waited another twenty. Then the teller grabbed the only weapon they had, a small axe, and they ripped open the tent and sprinted for the car. The roommate started it and turned on the headlights, flooding the clearing. There was nothing in sight. The roommate jumped out, grabbed the whole tent with everything still in it, flung it into the back seat, and they drove down the mountain in pitch darkness, expecting at any moment something to come running out at the car.
They have been back a few times since, because it is one of the most beautiful subalpine places they know, and they've had two more strange experiences there. Both times they slept in the car. They will never sleep in a tent again.