by F. T. Lukens
“What was that?”
Lacey tossed her hair over her shoulder and took a delicate bite of her chicken nugget. “She wants to interview everyone.”
“Who does?”
She rolled her eyes. “God, Bridger. Have you been listening at all?”
No. But he knew better than to say that.
“The monster reporter,” another kid said. “She’s interviewing Luke because of that animal who bit him.”
Bridger froze, but his heart skipped a beat. The Beast of Bladenboro had taken a chunk out of Zeke’s best friend, Luke, the day before the homecoming football game.
“And she wants to interview everyone about the day the big dog showed up at the sports field.”
“I thought we all agreed it was a very lost elk?” Bridger said, throat tight. “Because that’s what it sounded like. An elk’s bugle.” It sounded like an Ozark Howler because that was what it was, but he couldn’t say that because it was a very big secret.
“Yeah, but Chelsea said Derek said that Gretchen totally saw a bear with glowing eyes.”
Oh, shit.
Leaning over the table, Astrid elbowed her way into the conversation. “Yeah, but doesn’t Gretchen wear really thick glasses? Could she really see that far?”
“She was wearing her contacts that day. And not cool, Astrid. You know she’s sensitive about her eyesight.”
Astrid exchanged a glance with Bridger and backed down. “Yeah, sorry.”
Lacey pointed her fork at Bridger. “I’m sure she’ll want to talk to you because you were the one who drowned at the lake and all.”
Oh, shit.
“Hey, I didn’t drown. It was an almost-drowned situation.”
She huffed. “Fine. But you got scratched by the same thing I did. There was something in the water.”
“Lake weed?” he offered.
She scoffed and didn’t deign to respond.
Zeke turned in his seat. “Hey, weren’t you at the football field too, Bridge? That was the day Leo drove you home.” He raised his eyebrows.
Oh, shit.
“Leo told you about that?”
“Dude, I heard about nothing but that for a while. You held hands.”
Bridger blushed to his hairline. “Anyway,” he said, “moving on. Did you guys really order a ton of graduation announcements? Because I have to be honest, they were kind of expensive, even for the few I ordered.”
“So, if Luke is giving an interview,” another girl continued, “does that mean he is going to be on TV? That’s so cool.”
Bridger wilted.
Lacey’s eyes flashed with envy and Bridger could practically see the word “stardom” in neon lights blinking over her head.
“I think I may have underestimated our problem,” Astrid said around a mouthful of Bridger’s fries.
He cast her a withering glare. “Manticore tail.”
Bridger sat in the yearbook room for the last class of the day. The editor, a junior named Taylor who looked like they were constantly going to burst a blood vessel, held a meeting with the lead staff while Bridger hid at the very last desk in the corner of the room. He had his mythology and folklore book open and perused the list of suggested topics provided for the final paper. There were a few interesting ones, and he was certain he wouldn’t be bereft of sources for any of them. The question would be how he could cite those sources. He’d have to ask Pavel. Or he could have the pixies write the paper. Now that would be fun and interesting. Though he’d probably fail when whole paragraphs were devoted to the wonders of freshly churned butter and double chocolate-chunk cookies and frosted blueberry Pop-Tarts.
An announcement crackled over the speaker releasing the baseball and softball teams early for their away games. A few minutes later, Bridger received a text.
You got freshman girls’ phone numbers at lunch?
Bridger hid a smile behind his phone, and his stomach did the whole butterfly thing. He could practically hear the incredulousness-mixed-with-teasing tone of Leo’s voice. From experience, Bridger knew his eyebrows would be raised and his mouth tipped into a half-smile.
Bridger held his phone beneath the desk and texted back.
Untruth. But who told you?
Several interested parties. Should I be worried?
They’re not #’s but notes for you from your eager fanbase. Should I be worried?
The response was immediate.
I’m in a committed relationship. Also, not my type.
Bridger snorted. A few of the yearbook staff shot him dirty looks, but he ignored them. His cheeks heated.
See you tonight after your game. Just come over. Good luck.
He tacked on the kiss emoji.
Bridger waited for the reply. And waited. He wondered if he’d get one at all. Leo must be on the bus by now, traveling to the game, focusing and entering his sports headspace. Finally, Bridger’s phone lit up.
C U 2nite. I’ll bring ur bday present. Followed by the eggplant emoji. Hope ur DTF.
A high and truly undignified noise escaped before Bridger clapped a hand over his mouth. His classmates whipped their heads around, and their dirty looks became glares. He ducked his head in embarrassment as his pulse thundered.
What the hell?
That wasn’t like Leo. At all.
Oh, God. Bridger choked on air. He should’ve talked with his mom the night before instead of blowing her off. He needed to talk to Astrid. He needed to shower. He needed to figure out how to buy a box of condoms. He needed to ditch his monster-show-viewing party with his best friend and spend the time between the end of school and Leo’s arrival trying not to vibrate out of his skin. He needed—
His phone screen lit up.
I am so sorry! Cal stole my phone and texted you that. That was not me.
Bridger’s brain came to a screeching halt. He blinked. He breathed. He rebooted. The abrupt bucket of ice on his adrenal glands left him shaky, but at least he hadn’t amped himself up to the point of no return before he found out his sex life was someone else’s joke. Not cool, Cal. Seriously not cool.
Your birthday present is not an eggplant. Or my dick.
Bridger dropped his head to his desk with a thud. He tried not to laugh or cry hysterically; both were options. His fingers hovered over his phone. How to respond to that? He wasn’t going to lie and say he wasn’t disappointed that his night wouldn’t involve… an eggplant. But he wasn’t going to type that. Not with baseball bros hovering around Leo’s phone.
Ugh. How to respond?
Each passing second that he didn’t say something made it all the more awkward. Think, Bridger. Think. Type something witty you could both laugh about later. A joke about how he hated eggplant. No. Too much room for insinuation or error there. A remark about how Leo probably forgot his birthday and that’s all he could think of as a present. Ugh. No. That’s even worse. Is it an aubergine? Maybe? But that’s still dick joke territory.
Quick. Something. Type something.
LOL.
Bridger stared at his hands, betrayed. LOL? Laugh out loud? Seriously? That’s all he could come up with? Fuck.
Bridger? You okay?
This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. Why was this happening?
I’m good. Tell Cal he sucks, btw. I hope he strikes out.
I’ll pass that along. Also, I think we should talk.
Bridger dropped his phone. It clattered on the linoleum, and the only reason the screen didn’t shatter was that it clipped his shoe before striking the ground.
I think we should talk?
That was bad. All the knowledge he’d gleaned from romantic comedies told him that “we should talk” was the death sentence of relationships.
He scrambled for his phone; the legs of his chair scraped across the f
loor while he tried not to fall off. Scooping it up, he shot an apologetic look to Taylor. They scowled back, their expression pinched, murder in their eyes. Taylor scared him. They were one typo away from losing their shit on their staff, and that would include Bridger despite the very little work he did. He wouldn’t put it past them to erase him from the whole book if they thought they’d get away with it. Bridger went back to pretending to study. Gulping, head down, he tapped out the most chill reply he could think of.
Sure. Tonight.
Cool. Gotta go. Need to focus on the game.
Ok. Kick ass.
There wasn’t a response. No cute follow up emoji or acronym. He didn’t expect one. Leo did have to focus on the game. Baseball was his ticket to college, and Bridger wasn’t going to interfere with it no matter what. Leo’s future career was more important than Bridger’s relationship drama. But he did keep his phone in his hand the rest of the class period, just in case.
Chapter 3
Bridger didn’t tell Astrid about his horrible faux pas during the text conversation or the dreaded “we should talk” that came toward the end. He didn’t want to ruin their fact-finding mission with his boyfriend crisis. Living in his head and being epically self-centered had almost cost him her friendship last semester, and he didn’t want to make that mistake again.
He wasn’t going to lie though. He was jittery. But if Bridger was good at anything, it was compartmentalizing. The Leo conversation was a concern for Future Bridger. Present Bridger had other problems—mainly a TV show.
“According to Wikipedia, Monster of the Week has been on the air for ten seasons. How did we not know about this before?”
Bridger shrugged. “Uh… cryptids literally weren’t on my radar until last semester. Also, new episodes air on a pretty obscure network. It’s not even cable. It’s like cable’s third cousin.”
“Huh? And you’re worried because?”
Bridger leveled Astrid with a look. “Have you met me?”
Sighing, Astrid scrolled through the information on her phone. “Yeah. Fair point. Anyway, it looks like there was a break of a few years between the sixth and seventh. Wonder what happened.”
“Maybe it was cancelled and brought back? That seems to be a trend these days.”
Astrid shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t see anything about a cancellation. Oh, well, the important thing is that it is still airing, and Midden is going to host the season premiere for season eleven.”
“Great. Just what we need: a ratings grab.” He picked up the remote. “The first few seasons are streaming on Netflix.” Bridger scrolled until he found an episode featuring something he knew about. “Aha. A hominid monster: a hoax by local teenagers, a misidentified bear, or a cousin to my good friend sasquatch? The real answer: all of the above. Okay, Monster of the Week, show us what you got.” Bridger put his feet up on the coffee table. He balanced a carton of beef and broccoli in his lap and held an eggroll in one hand. With the other, he hit play.
Astrid jammed her chopstick into a piece of sweet and sour chicken and lifted it to her mouth. She’d never mastered the art of eating with chopsticks and preferred to hunt and spear her food, which was fine, but she always refused a fork.
“We’ll know if you’re wrong,” Astrid said to the TV.
Bridger forced a grin. “Please be wrong. I really need you to be very wrong.”
The guidebook was open beside Bridger on the couch. Leather bound and ancient, the book was handwritten on parchment, sewn together, and full of information about varying cryptids. By no means a full compendium—that sat on a very sturdy shelf in Pavel’s library—the small version Bridger carried was meant as a field guide, vital information for assistants out in the wild cavorting with real live folklore. Notes from previous intermediaries and assistants jotted along the edges added and corrected information; Pavel’s cramped script was distinctive.
Marv had curled up on the pages, purring like a machine, absently flicking her tail. Her big yellow eyes followed Bridger’s hand each time he lifted a piece of beef to his mouth. He offered her a tiny piece, and she abandoned the guidebook for Bridger’s side and licked his fingers with her rough tongue.
The opening credits of the show were cheesy, as expected, full of spooky music and fog-machine effects and altered pictures.
“Fake!” Bridger yelled when they showed a grainy picture of Bigfoot as part of the title sequence. “Looks nothing like the big guy. At all.”
“I’m so envious you met a sasquatch.”
“It was awesome,” Bridger said around a piece of broccoli. “But terrifying and freezing. And I cried that day, so, kind of a win?”
“God, you’re a mess. I worry for your college experience.”
“You and me both, friend. But at least I’ll have you.”
“And Leo,” she said, spooning rice into her mouth.
The knife in Bridger’s gut twisted as he smiled. “Yep.”
The episode opened on a picturesque shot of a small town; the camera panned over a welcome sign declaring the town as Fouke, Arkansas. Then it focused on the host, Summer Lore, standing in the middle of the street and staring into the distance with a pensive look on her face. She turned to the camera and walked toward it down the centerline of the main street; the wind blew her blond hair behind her. She wore a skirt suit with heeled boots, not suitable attire for tromping after cryptids.
“This is Fouke, Arkansas,” she said, her tone professional but tinged with excitement, her movements animated as she gestured at the scene behind her. “A sleepy town with a population of less than a thousand. A safe community, built on faith, family, and friends. A haven in an otherwise bustling world. The residents, mostly born and bred, didn’t have anything to fear in this quiet part of the state. That is, until the night of May second, 1971, when two residents were brutally attacked by an ape-like creature. Described as having long hair, three toes, and a horrible smell, it had no business being in Arkansas much less trying to break into a family’s home. Today’s Monster of the Week is the Fouke Monster. Hi, I’m Summer Lore, and over the next hour, we’ll investigate the numerous sightings of this terrifying creature and separate the facts from the fiction. Is the Fouke Monster real? Or a product of the town’s imagination? Join us as we investigate.”
The show launched into a dramatic narrative and reenactment of the cryptid trying to break into a house and then cut to interviews with various residents.
“This is really cheesy,” Astrid said.
“This is the first season. Production values are going to be lower. But look how hard she is selling it. Like she believes the people she’s interviewing.”
“So?”
“So this is way different from the tenth-season episode I watched with my mom.” He pointed at the screen. “This Summer Lore is an investigative journalist tasked with finding the truth. The Summer Lore from season ten is a mannequin brought to life for an hour to woodenly recite tidbits from the Internet.”
“But what about the information? Is it correct? Is there a monster wandering around the creeks of Fouke, Arkansas?”
Bridger grabbed the book and knocked into Marv with his hip, earning a kitten glare. He flipped through until he found the appropriate entry. “Well, they’re not wrong. A cryptid does indeed live near there.” He angled the page to allow Astrid to see the hand-drawn depiction. “Also known as the Beast of Boggy Creek, it’s a combination of Bigfoot and Swamp Thing. It’s not as tall as they’re making out on the show and it doesn’t eat people. It’s a vegetarian. Oh, and look.” He pointed to a scribble in the margin made by another intermediary. “It has a family.”
“I’m sensing we’ll have to watch another episode. This one seems too straightforward for our purposes.” She popped open the tab on her can of pop. “I can’t believe this is how we’re spending our Friday night.”
Bridger
bit his eggroll. “I can. We’re too awesome for all the weekend parties.”
“You keep telling yourself that.”
“I will. It helps me sleep at night.”
“At least you have a boyfriend.” She sighed. “I don’t even have a prom date. No one has asked me.” She fiddled with the end of her sleeve. “I don’t think anyone is going to.”
Prom. Bridger hadn’t totally forgotten about it, but it wasn’t on the forefront of his radar. It was at the end of the month followed quickly by graduation.
“You still have time.” A sentiment meant for him as well.
“Yeah,” she said. “Maybe I’ll ask Carrie from the field hockey team, and we can go together as friends. And we can double with you and Leo, and be the two cutest couples at the dance.”
“That would be adorable. I say go for it.” He didn’t mention that he hadn’t asked Leo to prom yet or that maybe he’d blown it and would be staying home alone that night because he didn’t know how to respond to a dick joke. Ugh. He was a teenage boy; he should be able to handle an aubergine. “Okay, how do you feel about ghost lights?”
By episode five, Marv had disappeared to whatever it was she did when she wasn’t visible. Bridger had long finished his dinner and opted to sprawl on the couch with a bowl of popcorn within reach. Astrid held her chin in her hand with her elbow propped on the arm of the sofa.
Overall, the show was a mixed bag. The information on ghost lights was way off but the description of the Pope Lick Goatman was too close for comfort according to the guidebook. After that episode, Astrid and Bridger called Pavel via mirror to ensure that Kentucky was out of their jurisdiction because no way in hell could they sleep at night knowing otherwise. Pavel chuckled and assured them that there were no interactions with the Goatman in their future, but also never to walk on train trestles, especially if compelled by a song.
In the episode they were now watching, Summer tromped through a wooded area on the lookout for a Witch of the Woods in Missouri. There was information about witches in general in the guidebook, but nothing about one who lived in Missouri and definitely not one who mimicked the Blair Witch. Bridger lost focus sometime after the intro to the episode and, concerned that he hadn’t heard from Leo yet, checked his phone. The game had to be over. Had they won? Lost? Was Leo feeling as weird as Bridger over the dick conversation?
