The Cryptid Catcher

by Lija Fisher

  Hernando stood behind Charles holding a rock and a stuffed animal far apart from each other. Then he slowly brought them toward each other while making loud jet-engine noises. At the last second he slammed them together with an explosive sound, a bit of spittle shooting from his lips.

  Charles applauded. “As Hernando just demonstrated, this is where astrobiology and cryptozoology intersect. We believe that a massive meteor discovered in southeast Alaska in the 1800s delivered a space organism that affected the DNA of an otter, allowing it to shape-shift into a wereotter.”

  Clivo tried to picture a cute furry creature turning into a flesh-eating beast. “And how does it camouflage itself?”

  “As far as we know, it just turns back into an otter,” Charles said, scratching his nose. “But we are still researching other options that would be more awesome.”

  “And where is it? Stephanie mentioned something about it no longer being in southeast Alaska,” Clivo said, feeling like he was talking to some kind of nerdy oracle.

  “Now, listen to this little awesome-sauce piece of adventure,” Charles began, his eyes opening even wider with excitement.

  “No way, dude, my turn. Move it,” Adam said, pushing Charles out of his seat. “Okay, so get this: the Otterman is still in Alaska, just in a different part. Fifteen years ago there was a big project to relocate some otters out of southeastern Alaska by airplane because there were just too many of them. The plane crashed en route to its destination, and since then there’s been no sightings whatsoever of the Otterman.”

  Adam took a bite of a jelly doughnut and stared at the screen in silence as he chewed.

  “Today, Adam,” Amelia’s annoyed voice said from off-camera.

  “Dramatic pause completed. Moving on,” Adam continued. “We believe the Otterman ended up on this plane in otter form and shape-shifted to the man beast when the plane was in flight, thus scaring the bejesus out of everyone on board and causing the plane to crash. More proof for this theory is that close to a year after the plane crash, sightings of the Alaskan Hairy Man began to pop up in the Revelation Mountains, where the plane crash happened. But the Alaskan Hairy Man is in the southwest part of the state, which is nowhere near the Revelation Mountains.”

  Clivo took a moment to absorb all the information. “And do you think it’s possible the Otterman is the immortal cryptid?”

  “YES!” Charles yelled from the back of the room, where he was pacing back and forth in excitement.

  Amelia pulled up a chair and sat next to Adam. “Honestly, we don’t know, Clivo, but it’s possible. If the Otterman was created by an extraterrestrial organism, who knows what other special powers it has? What proof do you have?”

  Clivo looked at the carpet where Thomas had stamped out the flaming fur. He found a little bit that wasn’t singed and grabbed some matches from a drawer in a cabinet. “Apparently this is some Otterman fur. Watch.” Clivo lit the fur with a match, silver sparks instantly springing from it. All five Myth Blasters looked at him with blank stares.

  “That’s your proof?” Amelia asked. “Sparkling fur?”

  “Don’t ever become a scientist, dude,” Adam said, shaking his head. “That’s the weakest proof I’ve ever seen.”

  “I thought it was pretty,” Hernando said quietly.

  “Guys, I’m just the messenger here,” Clivo said defensively. “The Order says they’ve run other tests on this fur, too, and it doesn’t come up as any known animal.”

  “Speaking of which, Clivo,” Amelia said, “we couldn’t find any information on this International Secret Order of Mythological Beasts, Legends, and Cryptid Catchers. They’re either off the grid or this Lana and Thomas are not who they say they are.”

  “They’re British. Maybe that’s why you can’t find stuff about them,” Clivo offered.

  The Blasters all rolled their eyes and murmured, “Oh, they’re British cryptozoologists.”

  “Still,” Amelia chimed in, “crypto folk love talking to each other and sharing their ideas. It’s part of what we do—mainly to try and one-up each other. If they’re for real, we should have heard of them. Just be careful.”

  “And watch out for bears and wolves in Alaska. That’s wild country up there,” Adam added.

  Clivo swallowed. “Does anything live there that doesn’t want to eat me?”

  Stephanie tapped Adam on the shoulder and took his place in front of the camera. “I e-mailed you a map with coordinates and satellite photos that show the plane crash site. There are a couple of lakes and streams around there where the Otterman should be.”

  “I summoned Nessie with food; maybe I’ll try the same thing with the Otterman. Any idea what it eats?” Clivo asked.

  Stephanie pursed her mouth shut and looked worried. Charles once again yelled from the back of the room, “It’s a man-eater, dude! You’re the food!”

  Clivo gulped.

  Stephanie gave Clivo an encouraging smile. “Remember, an animal shape-shifts to protect itself when it’s in danger. You may have to provoke whatever otters are up there to find the right one. You got this.”

  “Right, I just need to encourage a man-eating beast to attack me,” Clivo said, attempting to return the smile. “Talk to you guys soon. I hope.”

  Clivo hung up with the Myth Blasters and grabbed his phone to call Douglas.

  “Are you dying?” Douglas’s gruff voice asked.

  “No,” Clivo replied, already wincing in anticipation of Douglas yelling at him.

  “Then why are you calling me?” It sounded like Douglas was chewing on some very crunchy chips.

  “Well, I just wanted to let you know that I think I’ve found the immortal,” Clivo said excitedly.

  “You think, or you have?” Douglas replied, giving a little belch.

  “I think I have. I mean, I’m pretty sure. I just have to go find it.” Clivo’s excitement was slowly leaking out of him like a deflating balloon. Douglas tended to have that effect on him.

  “Good. Go find it, then you can call me and I’ll be sure to shower you with congratulations. Otherwise, you’re just a pest. Anything else?”

  Clivo took a deep breath. “Well, I’m going to find the Otterman.”

  There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “Oh, I’m sorry, am I supposed to say something here?”

  “It’s just … well, it’s pretty dangerous, and if for some reason I don’t, you know, make it back, I just wanted to make sure you’ll tell Aunt Pearl. I mean, not that I was killed by the Otterman, obviously, but just let her know nicely that I won’t be coming home. And that I love her.”

  “I’ll do all of that, except telling her you love her. Too mushy for my taste. Good luck, kid, and try not to get killed,” Douglas said.

  “Wait, wait! I have one question!” Clivo quickly said.

  Douglas moaned heavily in exasperation but didn’t say anything.

  “Do you know who killed my dad? I know it wasn’t the chupacabra.”

  “How do you know that?” Douglas growled.

  “Well, to be honest, I’ve met—”

  “Bah, doesn’t matter,” Douglas interrupted. He let out a long sigh, and for the first time his voice sounded comforting. “I don’t know who killed him, kid. And I’m sorry about that, but believe me, I’m looking for them. I told you it was the chupacabra because it was far better than the truth. And it made for a good story, your dad going down fighting a fearsome beast. Instead, his death was senseless, a huge loss, and I’ll be honest, I miss the man. And if I ever find out who did it, you can be sure they’ll be answering to me. You probably haven’t noticed, but if I put my mind to it I can be a very nasty person.”

  The last part almost made Clivo laugh, which was good because it tamped down the lump that had been growing in his throat. “Okay, thank you, Mr. Chancery.”

  “You’re welcome, kid. Now, this heartfelt conversation is about to make me throw up on my shoes, so I’m going to rudely hang up on you. Good luck. Go and
save the world.”

  XIX

  A few hours later, Thomas and Lana came knocking. Clivo opened the door to a hailstorm that was blanketing the ground with icy pebbles.

  “Good afternoon, sunshine!” Thomas said, clapping him on the back and sauntering in, tracking water all over the hardwood floors.

  “Good afternoon,” Lana said, climbing up the stairs with a smile. Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail and she was wearing a cozy, oversized sweater. But she still wore her vampire-red lipstick.

  “So, give us the update on your progress, chief,” Thomas said, helping himself to a ginger ale from the fridge.

  Lana looked at Clivo’s backpack resting by the door, all packed and ready for the trip.

  “You found the Otterman already,” Lana said. It wasn’t a question, and once again she looked like she was trying to read his mind.

  “I did,” Clivo said, averting his gaze. If she could read minds, he wasn’t taking any chances. Amelia had said not to trust these guys, so he didn’t.

  “You found the Otterman already?” Thomas sputtered, dripping soda on his lab coat. “How did you do that?”

  “Does it matter?” Clivo challenged. “The point is, we need to leave immediately. I have to be back by Monday or my aunt Pearl will send the whole U.S. Army after me. We might have time to find the immortal and be back by then.”

  “Your aunt Pearl is the least of our worries right now. If you know where the Otterman is, I’m sure other catchers do as well,” Lana said distractedly, her eyes still on him. Clivo thought she should have a staring contest with Blirgenbach to see whose eyes shot laser beams first. “But really, how did you do this so quickly? Did you have help?”

  Clivo glanced at her. Her expression was innocent, but she was waiting eagerly, her fingernails clicking together. Even her nail polish was blood-red. Clivo made a mental note to ask the Myth Blasters if they had evidence that witches exist.

  He grabbed his things and ignored her probing question. “Do you guys have winter gear?”

  “We came prepared for anything; we’re fine,” Lana said. She looked outside at the storm that was whipping into a windy frenzy. “But I don’t know about getting a flight out. They’re all probably canceled with this hail.”

  Clivo had a thought. “I might know someone who can help us.”

  * * *

  Thomas’s rental car practically slid to the airport in the ferocious storm. The roads were flooded and visibility was nearly zero. Spun-out cars littered the sides of the road like some apocalyptic wasteland. Finding a plane to take them in this weather would be a miracle.

  They ran into the terminal, which was packed with stranded passengers dragging their luggage, looks of defeat on their faces. Clivo wove his way through the throng to the Pangaea Air counter, and his heart sank when he saw the long line of angry passengers.

  He glanced frantically at the ticketing agents and was relieved to see the woman with heavy makeup who had helped him a few days earlier. She was calmly talking to a red-faced man who was screaming at her, her disheveled hair showing the strain she was under. Clivo pushed to the front of the line, much to the shouted indignation of those around him.

  “Sir, as I’ve stated, Pangaea Air does not control the weather,” she said with a weary smile.

  “Well, who does?” the red-faced man retorted.

  “That would be Mother Nature, sir.”

  “Well, get her out here. Immediately. I have some strong words for her.”

  The woman sighed, but her face brightened when she saw Clivo waving his Diamond Card.

  “Mr. Wren! Welcome back, young man. How can I help you?”

  The red-faced man was so flustered by being dismissed that he huffed and puffed as he tried to get some strong words out.

  “Hi,” Clivo gasped, chest heaving from his run through the airport. “Is Serge here? It’s an emergency.”

  The woman slammed her hand on the red button without another word, and Serge practically broke down the door behind her.

  “Mr. Wren! You okay?” Serge asked, his high voice rising even higher.

  Clivo spoke softly. “Serge, can you help me and a couple friends fly out of here?”

  “Come on back. I’ve gotcha covered.”

  Clivo motioned to Lana and Thomas and they all hurried through the door behind the counter. The red-faced man picked up his things and attempted to follow, but Serge slammed the door in his face.

  “Come on, folks, head to the back,” Serge said, hustling them along with his tree-trunk arms.

  They ran through the inner workings of the airport, past empty luggage conveyor belts that were squeaking and shuddering. Bored airport workers sat on crates, playing cards underneath flickering fluorescent bulbs.

  “Are you in danger, Mr. Wren?” Serge asked, his caterpillar brow doubling up in worry.

  “I’m going to be if I don’t get to the Revelation Mountains in Alaska as soon as possible. Can you help us?”

  “Of course. Take the hallway to your right.”

  They turned down a hallway that was filled with cardboard boxes on wooden pallets stamped with the words SPEEDY STAMP!: WHEN YOU NEED A PACKAGE TODAY, WE’LL GET IT THERE YESTERDAY. An open freight door stood in front of them, ushering in the pelting ice.

  As they approached the door, Clivo heard the welcome sound of an airplane engine. Standing in the storm was an older guy decked out like an English barnstormer in a leather jacket, brown cap, and long white scarf. He was loading some of the packages into an old but sturdy-looking propeller airplane.

  “Alex!” Serge yelled, though it sounded like a baby squeaking.

  Alex turned around and smiled broadly.

  “Serge! My man! How’s it shakin’?”

  Serge gestured to Clivo, Lana, and Thomas. “I have some very precious cargo for you. You still heading to Alaska?”

  “Does a beaver chew on wood? It’d take more than a few raindrops to ground me and Bertha.” Alex patted the airplane, which was covered with scratches and corrosion. A fleck of paint came loose and landed on the ground.

  Thomas turned to Serge, craning his neck to look up at him. “You want this very precious cargo to fly in that?”

  “Trust me, Alex is the best. He flew dogfight missions in Vietnam. Rumor has it he landed a fighter jet on a carrier after its wings were half blown off. If anyone can get you good folks through this storm, it’s him.”

  They looked at Alex, who was rubbing his hands furiously and cackling with glee. “All aboard! I hope you don’t get airsick!”

  * * *

  Alex took off into the storm, the plane dipping and dodging as if trying to avoid every pellet of hail. Clivo cinched his seat belt tight and looked out the window into nothing but gray clouds. He did his best to shut out the sound of Thomas losing his lunch in one airsickness bag after another behind him.

  After the plane had traveled through the worst of the storm and leveled off above the clouds, Alex called back to them over the roar of the propellers.

  “Okay, folks, someone want to tell me where you’re going?”

  Clivo unbuckled his seat belt, grabbed the printed map from Stephanie’s e-mail, and took the seat next to Alex. He looked out the front window into the dark sky and felt like he was flying into a black hole. “We’re heading to the Revelation Mountains.”

  Alex whistled. “Can’t get any more remote than that. Just plug the coordinates into my GPS there.”

  Clivo moved to type the coordinates on an ancient keyboard attached to a small screen with dangling wires. On his first tap of a key, a small spark shot out, causing him to withdraw his hand with a yelp.

  Alex cackled. “Ha! Does that every time! Should be fine now; go ahead.”

  Clivo delicately typed in the rest of the coordinates, grateful that he wasn’t electrocuted again. As soon as he was done, a red dot emerged on a radar screen. Alex let out another whistle.

  “Going right into the belly of the beast, aren’t you?”<
br />
  “What do you mean?” Clivo asked.

  “That’s where the beast lives. You going monster hunting?” Alex gave him a wink.

  “No, no monster hunting for us. We’re just doing some camping,” Clivo lied.

  “It’s okay to admit it,” Alex continued. “Lots of folk go up there looking to find a creature. And there’s plenty of ’em. Alaska is filled to the brim with superstitions and lore. My guess is you’re looking for the Hairy Man. Can’t be the Otterman, he’s only been seen farther south.”

  “You know the stories about the Hairy Man?” Clivo asked, turning toward him.

  “Sure do,” Alex said, taking his hands off the steering yoke and giving his arms a good stretch over his head, causing the plane to go into a sharp dive. Clivo resisted the urge to reach over and pull the plane up. After a good yawn, Alex grabbed the yoke’s handles again and leveled them off. “I fly up there a lot to deliver packages. The locals who work at the airport talk about this stuff all the time. Howls heard in the night, large footprints in the snow. The Dena’ina Indians have plenty of stories about seeing the Hairy Man, always from a distance, though. Some natives claim the Hairy Man ran off with their children, but those are just stories to keep their kids from misbehaving.”

  “How do you know they’re just stories?” Clivo asked, intrigued.

  “Most monster folklore is just stories to scare people into doing the right thing. The ‘Don’t lie or the bogeyman will get you’ sort of thing. But the real monsters, the real legends? They exist all right, but they’ll never be found.”

  “Why not?” Clivo asked, picturing his father and the twelve cryptids he had caught.

  Alex was scanning the horizon. “Well, creatures become legends when they exist but are never discovered. That’s because although they walk the same earth as us, they exist in a different dimension, a magical one, if you will, that’s just slightly out of time from us. We may catch glimpses of them occasionally, if our two worlds intersect, but only for a second.”

  Clivo considered that. He supposed it was possible, although he wondered what the Myth Blasters thought about the existence of magic. “But what about Nessie? She’s a legend and someone found her.”