It was one of those crisp March evenings in 2026 when the calls started pouring in from Portage County, Ohio—eight credible Bigfoot sightings crammed into barely a hundred hours, each one more jaw-dropping than the last. People weren’t just spotting shadows in the woods; they were locking eyes with something massive, something that didn’t belong in our tidy little version of reality. One report came from a mom and her daughter, who were driving along a back road near Mantua Center, right around 8:00 p.m. on March 7th. They almost hit it. The thing stepped out of the treeline and stood there three feet from the passenger door—close enough, the daughter said, that she could have reached out and touched it if the window had been down. It was around six-foot-five, brown, and moving with that casual, unhurried stride that big creatures seem to have when they know they own the night. But here’s the part that is most chilling: its face was blurry. Not out of focus like a bad photo, but genuinely indistinct, as if the creature was only halfway rendered into our four-dimensional world. The mom slammed the brakes, the daughter screamed, and then it was gone—melted back into the trees as if it had never been there at all. No aggression, no chase, just a quiet acknowledgment that something ancient had crossed their path and decided, for whatever reason, to let them live with the memory.
By the time the Bigfoot Society podcast and local news outlets like Cleveland 19 and FOX 8 started mapping it out, the reports were stacking up from Mantua Center to Garrettsville to Windham to Newton Township. Daytime sightings in broad sunlight on the Headwaters Trail—a nine-foot brown male standing 120 yards off Route 44 at 12:23 p.m. on March 6th. Nighttime grunts and muddy prints the size of dinner plates. An older woman in Windham who had never believed in any of this nonsense watched something massive bolt through the woods on March 9th. A man walking his German Shepherd at 4:00 a.m. on March 10th had the dog lose its mind at the back door before the shadow of an eight- to ten-foot figure vanished into the blackness. Multiple independent witnesses, at different times of day, on different roads, under different lighting conditions. Some smelled that unmistakable wet-dog-meets-skunk odor. Others heard deep, vibrating grunts that carried through the trees like distant thunder. And every single one of them swore it wasn’t a bear, wasn’t a hoax, wasn’t some kid in a costume. These were ordinary Ohioans—hikers, dog walkers, a mom just trying to get her kid home—who suddenly found themselves face-to-face with the impossible.

The internet, of course, went wild with the usual explanations. “Undocumented Neanderthal remnant!” cried the cryptid enthusiasts. “Lost tribe of giant hairy hominids migrating through the Midwest!” But I’ve spent too many years chasing these things—camping at the Mothman Museum with my grandkids, hiking the haunted Moonville Tunnel at midnight, standing on the ridges of Little Round Top at Gettysburg—to buy the simple “flesh-and-blood ape-man hiding in the woods” story. The more I read the reports, the more I kept coming back to the same conclusion I’ve reached after researching the Ohio Valley mounds for decades: these aren’t just undiscovered animals. They’re something far older, far stranger, and far more connected to the Politics of Heaven than most people are ready to admit. They’re dimensional. They’re quantum-entangled echoes of beings who have been walking these same trails for thousands of years—sometimes in our reality, sometimes bleeding through from somewhere else entirely. And the reason they keep showing up right here, right now, in the same corridors where ancient earthworks once stood, is because those earthworks were never just “religious monuments.” They were communication devices. Calling cards. Mathematical beacons built by people who understood something we’ve spent centuries trying to forget.
Let me take you back to the source of all this strangeness—the Ohio River Valley itself, that ribbon of land that runs from the Serpent Mound down near Cincinnati all the way up through the Newark Earthworks and beyond. This isn’t random wilderness. It’s one of the most concentrated paranormal hotspots on the planet, and it has been for a very long time. The same week those Portage County sightings were making national news, I pulled out the old hidden-haunts map I’d bought at the Mothman Museum and started plotting the locations. Every single sighting clustered around old mound corridors, old Indian trails that modern roads had paved over, places where the veil has always been thin. Serpent Mound, Fort Ancient, the massive geometric works at Newark that once covered more ground than the Great Pyramid complex in Egypt—those aren’t just piles of dirt left by “primitive” hunter-gatherers. They’re precise mathematical constructs aligned to the Pleiades, to solstices, to the movement of stars in ways that required calculus-level understanding of Earth’s circumference and axial tilt. The same mathematics you find at Stonehenge and Avebury in England. The same geometric obsession you see at Flag Fen near Peterborough, where Francis Pryor and his team uncovered an entire Bronze Age village built on a bog around 1300 B.C.—a place so sophisticated it makes the Romans who later conquered Britain look like amateurs playing catch-up.

I remember the first time I stood at Stonehenge with my family, the same trip where I picked up Pryor’s book Britain BC at the visitor center gift shop. You see the famous stones on TV, and you think, “cool rocks.” But when you’re actually there, walking the landscape, you realize the stones are just the tip of the iceberg. The entire countryside is dotted with burial mounds—hundreds of them—some almost identical in size and construction to the ones at Miamisburg and Middletown right here in Ohio. There’s a massive cursus—a long, linear earthwork over a mile long—that you can’t even see properly from the ground; it only makes sense from the air. It looks like a giant runway aimed at the heavens. And just a few miles north at Avebury, you’ve got the same thing: enormous circular henges, burial barrows, and geometric patterns that mirror the Newark Octagon and the Great Circle earthworks back home. Pryor’s work at Flag Fen blew the lid off the whole “primitive Britons” myth. They built an entire wooden platform and causeway across a bog, throwing broken tools and weapons into the water as offerings to the dead. Why? Because they understood that bogs preserve. They understood that the afterlife wasn’t some vague cloud kingdom—it was a place you could send messages to. And they used mathematics and geometry to do it.
Fritz Zimmerman has been saying the same thing about North America for years, only louder and with more receipts. His books—The Encyclopedia of Ancient Giants in North America, The Nephilim Chronicles: Fallen Angels in the Ohio Valley, Ancient America: The Dark Side, and Mysteries of Ancient America—aren’t fringe conspiracy rants. They’re the result of decades of boots-on-the-ground research, cross-referencing thousands of old newspaper accounts, county histories, and Smithsonian reports that mainstream archaeology would rather pretend don’t exist. Zimmerman’s core thesis is as elegant as it is explosive: the giant bones reported in over 500 separate accounts across the Midwest weren’t hoaxes or exaggerations. They belonged to the Amorites—biblical giants, descendants of the Nephilim—who fled Joshua’s conquest of Canaan, migrated through Europe (building or influencing Stonehenge and Avebury along the way), and eventually crossed the Atlantic in sophisticated boats to settle the Ohio Valley. The mounds they left behind aren’t random; they’re the same celestial observatories and ritual centers you find in England, only transplanted here. And the paranormal activity that clusters around them—Bigfoot, orbs, Mothman, shadowy figures—aren’t new phenomena. They’re the lingering echoes of the same entities those ancient builders were trying to communicate with.
Think about it. The Book of Enoch—preserved in the Dead Sea Scrolls and left out of our modern canon for reasons that should make every honest person furious—gives us the clearest picture. Two hundred Watchers, led by Semyaza and Azazel, descend on Mount Hermon, lust after human women, and produce giant offspring. God punishes them, but their disembodied spirits are cursed to roam the earth until the final judgment. These aren’t cartoon devils with pitchforks. They’re principalities and powers (Ephesians 6:12), interdimensional beings who once had physical bodies and now operate from the quantum edges of our reality. The Amorites carried that knowledge with them. They built geometric earthworks—circles, octagons, serpents aligned to the stars—because those shapes spoke the language those fallen entities understood. It wasn’t “religion” in the Sunday-school sense. It was technology. It was science. It was an attempt to maintain a relationship with the divine council, which Psalm 82 warns is still plotting against Yahweh to this day.
That’s why the mom and her daughter didn’t see a clear-faced ape-man on that dark Ohio road. They saw something bleeding through the veil—something that exists in a higher or adjacent dimension and only partially manifests here. The blurry face? That’s what quantum entanglement looks like when two realities briefly overlap. The creature wasn’t “lost.” It was answering an ancient call that still resonates through the mounds it once helped build. The same thing explains the Mothman at Point Pleasant in 1966–67—Stolas, the 36th demon from the Lesser Key of Solomon, appearing as a prophetic harbinger before the Silver Bridge collapse. The same thing explains the orbs we photographed at the Moonville Tunnel, the green healing spirits that seem to drift down from the ridges at Gettysburg, the Bigfoot sightings that spike whenever someone disturbs an old mound corridor. These aren’t separate mysteries. They’re the same phenomenon wearing different masks depending on who’s looking and what the local geometry is tuned to.
And here’s where the real conspiracy kicks in—the one that has nothing to do with the CIA and everything to do with the spiritual wickedness in high places. Mainstream archaeology, the Smithsonian, and the political class that funds them have spent over a century burying this truth under layers of political correctness and bad assumptions. The Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA) of 1990—passed right after Dances with Wolves tugged at everyone’s heartstrings—made it illegal to study many of these sites properly. Bones that could prove the existence of pre-Columbian European or Near Eastern contact? Reburied. Giant skeletons reported in hundreds of 19th-century newspapers? Carted off to Smithsonian vaults and never seen again. The Windover Bog site in Florida is the perfect example. Discovered in the 1980s during housing construction, it yielded 168 incredibly preserved skeletons from 7,000–8,000 years ago—people with advanced woven textiles, bog-preservation knowledge identical to European practices, and thigh bones so large that Dr. Geoffrey Thomas held one up next to his own leg on camera at the Brevard Museum and basically admitted these folks were giants. Average height estimates got downplayed to 5’5” in some reports, but the video evidence and the bone density tell a different story. These weren’t primitive hunter-gatherers. They were part of a sophisticated culture that understood time, astronomy, and the spirit world in ways we’re only beginning to rediscover. And what happened? The site was covered up. Research stalled. NAGPRA kicked in. End of story.
Meanwhile, in England, Francis Pryor and the English Heritage team get to dig Flag Fen like it’s the greatest adventure on Earth. They uncover a Bronze Age village built on a bog, with broken swords and tools thrown in as offerings, and everyone celebrates the sophistication of prehistoric Britons. Why the double standard? Because admitting the same people—or at least the same knowledge—crossed the Atlantic thousands of years before Columbus shatters too many comfortable narratives. It forces us to confront the biblical timeline. It forces us to admit that the “indigenous” label we slap on every pre-Columbian culture is as accurate as calling the Romans “indigenous” to Britain. Migration, trade, and the collision of cultures happened constantly. Giants walked among us. Fallen angels taught forbidden knowledge. And their disembodied offspring are still here, still walking the old paths, still answering calls that were broadcast through geometric earthworks when the stars were in different alignments.
This is the Politics of Heaven playing out on Earth. Yahweh’s divine council—Elohim plural, as Psalm 82 makes painfully clear—has been in rebellion since before the Flood. The Watchers’ sin produced the Nephilim, whose spirits became the principalities and powers that still rule from the shadows. Solomon commanded them to build his Temple. The Canaanites sacrificed children to Moloch to appease them. The mound builders aligned their works to the stars to communicate with them. And today, in 2026, when eight Bigfoot encounters happen in a single week in Portage County, we’re seeing the same entities responding to the same ancient geometry. The mounds may be paved over, but the call still echoes. The quantum entanglement still happens. The blurry faces still peer through the veil.
I’ve stood on Little Round Top at Gettysburg at night with my family. I’ve hiked the Moonville Tunnel when the mist rolls in, and the green orbs appear exactly where my wife said they would. I’ve walked the ridges at Stonehenge and felt the same electric charge I feel standing on Fortified Hill or the Middletown Mound back home. The pattern is undeniable. The science—real science, the kind Pryor practices in England and the kind Zimmerman has been quietly practicing in America for decades—points to a lost chapter of human history in which advanced cultures used mathematics not just to measure the stars but to speak to the beings who live among them. We call them cryptids. The Bible calls them demons, watchers, principalities. The Japanese call them kami. The Muslims call them jinn. Every culture that ever built geometric earthworks knew them by a different name, but they all knew the same truth: these entities are real, they’re ancient, and they never really left.
The mom and her daughter in Portage County didn’t almost hit a lost ape. They brushed up against something that has been walking these trails since the Amorites—or whoever came before them—first laid out the geometric patterns that still whisper across time. The Bigfoot that stood three feet away with the blurry face wasn’t confused. It was exactly where it was supposed to be—answering a call that was programmed into the landscape thousands of years ago. And until we stop pretending that our textbooks tell the whole story, until we start digging the mounds again with the same adventurous spirit that Pryor brought to Flag Fen, we’ll keep mistaking echoes for myths and calling the messengers monsters.
The Politics of Heaven (the title of my new book coming up) aren’t happening somewhere far away in the clouds. They’re happening on the back roads of Ohio in March 2026, when the veil thins and something very old decides to step through for a moment and remind us that the war never ended. It just changed costumes. And the next time you see a blurry figure on the side of the road, don’t reach for your phone to call it a hoax. Reach for the truth instead. The mounds are still talking. The Watchers are still listening. And the rest of us? We’re just now starting to remember how to hear them.
BOOK SUMMARY of the upcoming Politics of Heaven (I will be finishing the final chapter in Washington D.C. at the Museum of the Bible soon after this posting)
The Politics of Heaven is a sweeping, unconventional investigation into the hidden structure of history — blending biblical archaeology, supernatural encounters, political warfare, cryptid phenomena, and ancient mathematics into a single, high‑powered thesis:
Earth’s political conflicts are the surface-level reflections of a much older, multidimensional battle among the Elohim — the divine council referenced throughout the Bible.
Drawing from firsthand experiences at sites like Chichen Itza, Stonehenge, Serpent Mound, Osaka’s Kofun tombs, Moonville Tunnel, and Washington D.C.’s Masonic grid — combined with encounters in modern political war rooms — Hoffman argues that the veil separating Heaven, Earth, and the unseen realm is thinner than we admit.
The book culminates in Chapter 19, where recent Bigfoot sightings in Ohio become the key to unifying the narrative. These blurry, partially‑manifest beings are framed as:
Residual spiritual entities tied to the Amorites, the Watchers, and the pre‑Flood giants — evidence of dimensional interference and the limits of human free will.
The result is a revelatory, provocative work for readers of Biblical studies, ancient mysteries, UFO/paranormal research, and political philosophy.
Footnotes
1. Cleveland 19 News, “Several Bigfoot sightings reported in Portage County,” March 2026; FOX8, “Bigfoot roaming Portage County: Several reported sightings within days,” March 10, 2026.
2. The Bigfoot Society podcast and mapping project documented at least eight high-credibility reports between March 6–10, 2026, including the Mantua Center daytime encounter and the Newton Township 4 a.m. sighting.
3. Francis Pryor, Flag Fen: Life and Death of a Prehistoric Landscape (Tempus, 2005; updated editions). Pryor’s excavations revealed a sophisticated Bronze Age platform and votive offerings in the bog.
4. Fritz Zimmerman, The Encyclopedia of Ancient Giants in North America (2015); The Nephilim Chronicles: Fallen Angels in the Ohio Valley (2010); Ancient America: The Dark Side (2024). Zimmerman’s fieldwork and archival research compile over 500 historical giant-bone reports.
5. Windover Archaeological Site reports, including video testimony from Dr. Geoffrey Thomas at the Brevard Museum of History and Natural Science (Brevard County, Florida). Skeletons dated to 7000–8000 years ago; some long bones indicate individuals were taller than those in typical Archaic populations.
6. English Heritage maps of Stonehenge and Avebury World Heritage Site (1:10,000 scale) show cursus, barrows, and geometric alignments mirroring Newark Earthworks in Ohio.
7. Book of Enoch (1 Enoch), chapters 6–16, Dead Sea Scrolls fragments; cross-referenced with The Book of Giants also found at Qumran.
8. Psalm 82; Ephesians 6:12 (KJV).
Bibliography for Further Reading
• Zimmerman, Fritz. The Encyclopedia of Ancient Giants in North America. 2015.
• Zimmerman, Fritz. The Nephilim Chronicles: Fallen Angels in the Ohio Valley. 2010.
• Zimmerman, Fritz. Ancient America: The Dark Side. 2024.
• Pryor, Francis. Flag Fen: Life and Death of a Prehistoric Landscape. Tempus, 2005.
• Pryor, Francis. Britain BC. Harper Perennial, 2004.
• The Book of Enoch. Translated by R.H. Charles. 1912 (modern editions widely available).
• Biblical Archaeology Review archives on Dead Sea Scrolls and Qumran texts.
• English Heritage official guides to Stonehenge and Avebury (2020s editions).
• Windover site reports: “Windover: Prehistoric Past Revealed,” Orange County Regional History Center; Ancient Origins coverage, 2016–2025 updates.
Rich Hoffman
More about me
Click Here to Protect Yourself with Second Call Defense https://www.secondcalldefense.org/?affiliate=20707

About the Author: Rich Hoffman
Rich Hoffman is an aerospace executive, political strategist, systems thinker, and independent researcher of ancient history, the paranormal, and the Dead Sea Scrolls tradition. His life in high‑stakes manufacturing, high‑level politics, and cross‑functional crisis management gives him a field‑tested understanding of power — both human and unseen.
He has advised candidates, executives, and public leaders, while conducting deep, hands‑on exploration of archaeological and supernatural hotspots across the world.
Hoffman writes with the credibility of a problem-solver, the curiosity of an archaeologist, and the courage of a frontline witness who has gone to very scary places and reported what lurked there. Hoffman has authored books including The Symposium of Justice, The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business, and Tail of the Dragon, often exploring themes of freedom, individual will, and societal structures through a lens influenced by philosophy (e.g., Nietzschean overman concepts) and current events.


























