by Lija Fisher
Charles snort-barked again.
“Right? That’s what I’m saying! Dude is so cool.”
Clivo would have asked for more information on the Yeti, but searching for a flesh-eating monster in a blizzard sounded horrible, to say the least.
“Any others that might be a bit less … dangerous?” Clivo asked.
“Well, sure. If you need a creature that won’t try to eat your face off, I recommend Nessie.”
“The Loch Ness Monster?” That sounded good to Clivo. A gentle manatee-like creature that floated in a lake. Much better.
“Oh, yeah. I didn’t mention her because she’s kinda the obvious one. And pretty boring, if you ask me,” Charles said, rubbing his nose. “Everybody and their mother have been going to Scotland for decades trying to find her.”
“So if I were to go to Scotland and look for her, do you know how I could find her? I mean, exactly where to look and stuff?”
That shut Charles up like a Venus flytrap snagging its dinner. “You sure do ask a lot of questions,” he said, leaning back and crossing his arms.
“Oh. Well, I thought that, this being a museum and all…”
“That info’s not included in the price of admission, buddy.”
“No problem, I can totally pay.” Clivo pulled out the Diamond Card and slid it across the counter. The tactic had worked for him so far.
But Charles barely glanced at the card and seemed completely unimpressed. He narrowed his eyes. “Password?”
“Password?”
“Pass. Word.” Charles clearly enunciated both syllables.
The kid seemed to know other information that might be useful, but he obviously wasn’t giving it up without the password. Clivo wondered if maybe this was why his dad had taught him other languages?
“Um, pomogite?” Clivo offered, saying “help” in Russian.
“What?” Charles asked, wrinkling his nose.
“Tasuke?” Clivo continued, trying it in Japanese.
“Huh?”
Clivo tried Arabic and Hindustani, but Charles just looked at him like he was losing his marbles.
Clivo racked his brain about where his dad might have kept the password before realizing the obvious. He pulled out his wallet to check the museum’s business card.
“Cyborg?”
Charles’s eyes snapped to him. They narrowed again, but he nodded in begrudging acceptance. “Put your arms out to your sides,” Charles commanded, stepping from behind the counter.
“What for?”
“I have to pat you down for weapons.”
Clivo let out a laugh before noticing the no-fooling expression on Charles’s face. “Oh. Are you being serious?”
“Dude, just let me pat you down, okay? It’s part of the code.”
Clivo put his arms out to his sides as Charles patted him down. Not that Clivo had ever been through a pat-down before, but he was pretty sure this was a poor excuse for one.
“Just checking to see if you’re packing any heat. Not that that’d worry me. I take karate.” Charles put his hands together and gave a little bow. “I could totally take you out with one hand.”
By way of example, he quickly punched a hand toward Clivo’s face. Without thinking, Clivo blocked it and twisted Charles’s arm behind his back as he swung him around, slamming his body onto the countertop.
“Foliage! Foliage!” Charles squealed.
“What?” Clivo asked. His body had reacted so quickly to the attack that he wasn’t even sure what had just happened.
“It’s the safe word I use in karate class. It means ‘Let me go, man!’”
Clivo released Charles, who stood up and rubbed his shoulder with a pained expression.
“Dang, I was just going to give an example,” Charles complained. “You didn’t have to go all Green Beret on me.”
“I’m really sorry. I do jujitsu. I guess it’s a bit instinctual at this point,” Clivo apologized.
“Yeah, well, I run track but it doesn’t mean I hurdle everything I see,” Charles said, still rubbing his shoulder and eyeing Clivo sideways as he retreated back behind the counter.
Charles pulled a notebook from under the counter and opened it to a page that read The Beast of Bradford Mountain. Below it was a drawing of a massive Bigfoot-like creature with glowing red eyes and extremely hairy knuckles. “We haven’t had time to put up an official exhibit yet ’cause the sightings for this guy are pretty new. There was a report just last night, actually. If you’re interested, we could sure use your help verifying its existence.”
Clivo swallowed. “It looks pretty vicious.”
“Very,” Charles said with foreboding. “If you’re not careful it’ll suck your brain out right through your ears.”
Clivo winced as Charles made another loud sucking sound through his buck teeth. “Is there maybe another cryptid around here that won’t do that?”
Charles slammed the notebook shut and put it away. “You wanted information about where to find a cryptid; I gave it to you. Now, are you interested in helping out or not?”
Clivo’s long, cross-country day was beginning to catch up with him. He was more interested in having Nate take him to a cheap motel where he could crash for the night, but it sounded like he’d stumbled onto his very first cryptid-catching opportunity, and he didn’t want to miss the boat.
“I’ll do it,” Clivo said. “Just tell me where I need to go.”
Charles gave him directions to a park on the north side of the city and drew him a little map with the exact path to follow once he was there.
“Good luck, dude,” he said.
Clivo headed out the door, realizing that life as a cryptid catcher had just become a lot more dangerous.
X
Clivo exited the museum and climbed inside the Porsche, which was still parked right out front. He gave Nate directions to the park, grateful that the driver didn’t ask why he wanted to go there in the dark of night, way after the park’s closing time. Instead, Nate seemed excited to have more driving to do.
They drove to Bradford Mountain, and this time Clivo asked Nate to drop him off in the empty parking lot and leave. He had no idea how long it would take to catch his first cryptid, and he didn’t want Nate to get worried and come looking for him right as he tranquilized the Beast.
To a kid raised in the Rockies, Bradford Mountain seemed more like a molehill than a mountain, from what Clivo could tell in the gloom. He grabbed his backpack with the tranquilizer gun and blood sampler and headed to a dirt pathway. The forest was dense, with tall trees so packed together that the trail quickly disappeared into shadow. Thick patches of scrubby plants blanketed the forest floor, making the place feel very lush, but also incredibly spooky. An owl hooted overhead, as if in warning not to go in.
“Okay, all you have to do is walk into this incredibly creepy deserted forest and find a beast that wants to eat your head. Piece of cake,” Clivo mumbled.
He took a deep breath and entered the dark forest, his skin rising with goose bumps even though the air was warm and humid. He walked slowly, all of his senses sharp for any sight or sound around him. A few night birds chirped overhead, and there was the occasional scurry of something in the underbrush, but all in all the forest was quiet, save for Clivo’s racing heartbeat, which pounded like a gong in his head.
Russell had taken him animal tracking many times in the Rockies, though Clivo had never understood why. They’d track a deer or a moose, sometimes for hours, and once they spotted it, Clivo would see how close he could get to the animal before it discovered him and ran away. He’d always thought it was pretty fun, and spending time with his dad was the best, but now he understood it had been more than a game; it was part of his training for finding cryptids.
Clivo realized that that training would probably come in handy right about then, and he focused his attention on the dirt path in front of him, looking for any animal tracks that would direct him toward the Beast of Bradford Mountain that lu
rked in the trees. He quickly noticed footprints and paw prints of all sizes, but nothing that looked like some unknown creature. After wandering up and down the main trail and several smaller offshoots, he was ready to give up. Then he rounded a sharp bend and saw a print right in the middle of the path that most definitely belonged to a beast. It was twice as big as any human print, but what really gave it away were the two massive toes that split the foot apart like a hoof. Whatever this thing was, it was enormous.
Clivo swallowed but kept on, doing his best to track the prints. But there was only the one. Either the Beast had just disappeared or its footsteps were too far apart to track. So he continued forward, really not liking the feeling that he was the prey and not the hunter.
He was moving through the pitch-black forest when a growl sounded to his right. Clivo immediately froze, out of both fear and instinct. He turned his head as slowly as possible toward the noise, terrified of the monster he knew he was about to see.
But no creature sprang out at him. Clivo stood stiffly, trying to stifle his loud breathing, and scanned the spaces between the shadowy leaves and branches. Nothing was there, and no other growls sounded from the bush.
Clivo relaxed his shoulders, figuring he’d imagined the sound, and continued on his way, his feet moving as quickly and silently as possible.
After another fifteen minutes of walking with his head whipping back and forth at the slightest rustling in the bushes and trees, he saw a clearing lit with moonlight. At least he could get out of the pitch-blackness of the forest for a moment …
Clivo froze again as a growl—and it was most definitely a growl, low and deep—sounded right next to him. He swiveled his head toward the noise and was pretty sure his heart came to a complete standstill as a pair of red eyes glowed from the bushes beside him.
“Shoot,” Clivo murmured.
He dropped to his knees and slowly crawled backward into the brush, where he hid on his belly, keeping his eyes on the red glow. But nothing more happened. There was no rustling of shrubbery, no further growls, and the red eyes blinked out like a light.
Moving as silently as possible, he pulled out the case with the tranquilizer gun and darts. There were about ten darts, and they came in different sizes, probably depending on the size of the cryptid being captured. At the base of each needle was a glass bubble with a yellowish viscous liquid inside.
He chose the largest dart and fitted it in the gun, listening for any more beast noises. After a moment another growl sounded, but it was farther down the path. Clivo couldn’t believe he was making the decision to go toward a deadly creature, but he was eager to have his first catch under his belt. He wanted to prove to Douglas—and to himself—that he could actually do this. He held his gun with shaking hands and silently went in pursuit.
He reached the open clearing and barely had a moment to get his bearings when another growl shattered the peaceful scene and a pair of red eyes appeared to his right. He didn’t hesitate; he swept down to his knees and fired the gun directly toward the creature. The tranq gun clicked, but nothing happened.
“Come on,” Clivo mumbled, clicking off the safety latch.
He aimed and fired again, the dart finding its mark. But instead of a thud and some sort of zombie squeal like he was expecting, a metallic thwack sounded and a shower of sparks exploded in the air.
Before Clivo could guess what was going on, a hairy creature stumbled from the brush and ran straight toward him. It was short—shorter than Clivo—but had impossibly long, shaggy arms that reached toward him as a roar pierced the air.
Clivo ducked and tripped the creature, causing it to fly forward with a wail of shock. Clivo jumped on it, not really sure what he was doing, but he figured he’d better wrestle with the Beast while he had the element of surprise in his favor.
He had raised his fist to deliver a solid punch when the creature squealed in a young voice, “Klondike Bar! Klondike Bar!”
“What?” Clivo asked. He had been too panicked to notice that his assailant was hardly putting up a fight.
“That’s his safe word, man! Let him go!” another voice yelled as a figure bolted from the trees.
Clivo released his attacker just as Charles ran up, a smoldering toy robot in his hands.
“Hernando! I warned you not to do that! I told you he’d go all Green Beret on you. And you”—he pointed a stabbing finger at Clivo—“what’s with shooting my robot?”
“Oh, sorry,” Clivo replied, trying to calm his breath. “I was trying to tranquilize the Beast. What are you guys doing here?”
“Ha-ha! The Beast doesn’t exist, dude!” Charles waved a walkie-talkie that emitted the scary growling sound. “Oldest trick in the book!”
Hernando, a pudgy kid Clivo’s age, crawled to his feet. He shook off his costume, which was simply an oversized fur coat with broomsticks in the sleeves to make them extra long. “Congratulations. Nobody’s ever tackled me before,” he said meekly. “Usually people go screaming in terror at the first growl.”
“Don’t give him that much credit, it’s not like he faced an actual cryptid,” Charles pointed out.
Clivo finally caught his breath, his racing heartbeat returning to normal. “Was this an initiation or something?”
“Obviously, dude.” Charles snorted. “Every top secret club has an initiation to weed out the unworthy ones.”
“Very unworthy,” Hernando agreed.
“Did I pass?” Clivo asked hopefully.
“I guess so.” Charles shrugged. “Just don’t let it go to your head. Now, put that gun away! You’re holding it like an amateur.”
Clivo secured the gun in his backpack and the three boys walked down the long path to the main road, where they caught a city bus that wound them away from the park and eventually into a nice residential neighborhood.
Charles sat across the aisle from Clivo with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face, whereas Hernando clasped his hands in his lap and observed Clivo with a pleasant smile.
They exited the bus in front of a pale-blue house and Charles led them around the back, where they descended some concrete stairs into a basement doorway.
Clivo followed Charles into the house and felt like he had just entered a crypto fantasyland. The large room was unlit except for a string of white Christmas lights and vanilla-scented candles that cast a mysterious glow around the space. Teetering wooden bookcases crammed with books of all sizes leaned against the walls, and small figurines of cryptids dangled from the ceiling on strings. Multicolored fabrics were strung from the ceiling as well, making the place feel like a tent. Battered old wall maps hung next to a frayed fire-breathing dragon poster that read IF YOU CAN’T STAND THE HEAT, GET OUT OF THE DUNGEON. Several wooden desks were crowded into the corners, and all were lit by what looked to be old oil wick lanterns. Between the candles and the lanterns and the exotic drapery, the place was a fire hazard for sure, but the dim lighting certainly created the feeling of a secret headquarters.
Scattered around the room, sitting on sofas or beanbag chairs, were several kids who looked roughly Clivo’s age, their faces lit by the glow of laptops. They stared at him with mouths open in surprise.
“Dude, why isn’t he blindfolded?” a kid on a red beanbag chair asked. It was hard to tell with him sitting down, but he looked to be really gangly and thin, with a pair of glasses that Jerry would have referred to as “single-forever glasses” because there was no way anyone could get a girlfriend with such big, ugly frames.
“He passed the initiation, Adam, no thanks to Hernando’s poor fighting skills,” Charles replied, pointing an accusing finger at Hernando.
“I had to use my safe word,” Hernando said quietly.
“But now he’s seen our faces, dumbwad!” Adam yelled.
“Then you try blindfolding him, goggle breath, and see how you like getting tackled!” Charles retorted.
Clivo had no idea what kind of motley crew he had stumbled upon, but it was definitely not the sha
dowy, grim group he’d been expecting. These kids couldn’t have been the people his dad had gotten his information from, but maybe they could tell him something of use. Seeing as how he knew absolutely nothing, any piece of information would be helpful.
Adam got up from his seat and sauntered over until he was standing nose to nose with Clivo.
“You with McConaughey’s clan?” Adam sucked his top teeth with his bottom lip as if he was in some kind of Old West standoff.
“Uh, no.”
“So you’re not with McConaughey?”
“Who’s McConaughey?”
“You look like you’re with McConaughey.”
Clivo looked to Charles. “Help?”
“McConaughey is a fellow cryptozoologist,” Charles said, stepping between them. “Lives over in Vermont. He wants to join forces, but the guy couldn’t find a unicorn if he sat on its horn. Now he keeps sending moles to infiltrate our headquarters and steal our intel.”
Adam cracked his knuckles.
“It’s a major turf war, man. Major.”
Clivo laughed, but clamped his mouth shut when he saw their serious expressions. “You mean, you guys actually have crypto turf wars?”
“Darn straight,” Adam said. “They keep trying to impress people in the chat rooms with data they steal from us. But we got back at ’em.”
“How did you do that?” Clivo asked, curious how conspiracy groups went to battle. Maybe they stood in a field and threw flash drives at each other.
“Just by … jeez … you know, e-mailing them that that’s not cool and stuff and not to do that kind of thing,” Charles said.
“Don’t do that,” Hernando agreed, wagging a finger back and forth.
Adam stepped around Charles so he could point his big nose at Clivo’s face. Clivo wished he would stop doing that—his breath smelled worse than Jerry’s dog Hercules’s did.
“But you passed our terrifying initiation, so I guess you’re cool. Just don’t test me, or you’ll regret it.”
“You’ll be full of regrets,” Hernando softly agreed.
Clivo was so busy squinting away from Adam’s invasive face that he barely noticed the girls in the room until they spoke.
