by RD Hale
'We came to have fun and we got lost,' I explain.
'FUN?! I know what fun humans have,' the alpha male roars.
'We didn't come to hunt you. Not all humans are hunters! We were exploring and we almost got ourselves killed. We were trying to find the way to our van,' I shriek.
'You mean you don't kill us?'
'No!'
'Oh… Why we believe you?'
'Why not? What could we possibly do to hurt you? We're lost kids, we have no weapons and we're half your size!'
'So you saying we not eat you?'
'No, I mean yes! Don't eat us!'
'You come to have fun? This place dangerous, you shouldn't come for fun.'
'We've gathered that! We just want to get back to our van.'
Crumpling his brow with hand under jowl, the alpha male ponders my protestation of harmlessness then spins abruptly. Sighing elders clamber to their feet and continue their simple-brained assessment.
'Boy tell truth, lie not. Don't eat.'
'These humans no harm. Puny, weak children may grow, become hunters.'
'Can't say, not fair. Make sky gods angry. Must give chance. Agreed?'
'Agreed.'
The alpha male finally drops his spear and opens his palms with a tarter-encrusted smile, apparently offering to cuddle his titchy captives but we have no interest in niceties other than our immediate release; especially when a friendly embrace could result in someone being crushed. Fearful the lack of reciprocation could invoke his wrath, we nervously grin and I hope he lacks the facial recognition skills to notice our insincerity.
'It is agreed, you no threat. We won't eat now, but if you lie...'
'We're not lying!'
'You like stories?'
'Stories? Y-yeah.'
'Me too! We tell stories, let's sit. I start, my name Agnarok. When I was little - your size - they let us out. Me and friends were raised in human cave. It was different to our cave, ours nicer. We did not know outside. Agnarok excited when let out but they not give food and we got hungry. I ran and saw deer, smashed with bare hands. And ate. Well, not all. Most. Then made antler hat! I was first kill. That's why I am legend!'
Uproarious cheers assault our senses as the raconteur places hands on hips with groin thrust forward like an egotistical superhero. When Agnarok is finished posing, his index finger waves at the captives stepping crabwise to isolate a gawping Bex who touches her clavicle with both hands.
'Er...er... Well there was this lad a few weeks ago, thought he was something special but he wasn't. He tried to touch me so I clawed his eyes and kicked him between the legs and he squealed like a pathetic little child in front of his friends. Taught him not to mess with me!' Bex grins broadly, nodding with upturned palms.
'YOU!' Agnarok booms over the commotion, pointing as though he has caught me in an act of transgression and is ready to dish out corporal punishment. However I relish the opportunity to reminisce; politely waiting for the droopy-breasted, beardless sasquatches to stop applauding the preceding story whilst their bulging-bellied counterparts shrug with indifference.
'When I was small my mother abandoned me and my sister. We had to live in a school which we hated. I had a toy and one day a teacher took it off me for no reason so I punched him in the face. I was only seven! They pinned me down to make me repent and said if I did it again I'd be out on the streets. They said I was heading to hell. Then one day when I was older we escaped and raised ourselves. We found a building and made it our home. And now we intend to topple the powers that be. People like the ones who hunt you. They caught me and threw me in prison but I escaped again! They'll never stop me!'
'That sound just like us!' Agnarok booms.
The bespectacled adolescent with the camera approaches, rolling shoulders like a boxer about to step into the ring. The weakling of the group (if there is such a thing) looks determined to assert his authority and show how unimpressed he is by the guests he probably still perceives as supper. He stares suspiciously into my eyes but the bumfluff sprouting from his mug makes it difficult to greet him respectfully. Despite his bulkiness I could out-brawl him if we were alone.
'You like me but smaller. You challenge me?' the adolescent asks.
'Challenge you? No I don't challenge you!' I reply.
'You coward. I thought humans warriors.' The sneering adolescent bears a saliva-coated fang.
'I'm not a coward, I just don't want to challenge you. Where did you get that camera on your neck?'
'My human trophy, you challenge for it?'
'No! But I can show you how it works.'
'Show,' the adolescent instructs and the strap barely stretches over his head as he removes the camera, dangling the lens an inch from my nose.
I press the On switch and the adolescent views the onscreen depiction of the cavern as I briefly describe the function of each button. 'Could I?' With a short nod, I am allowed to take hold of his prized possession. The snapshot I take of the bonfire results in his finger prodding a flattened but vivid picture and as he pokes his mouth close to the display screen I switch to three dimensional mode. He recoils from holographic flames which distort as I wave my hand through a technological illusion.
'They use this to take holograms. To switch it on you have to push this little button here but this might be difficult with your fingers,' I advise.
'It not burn?' the adolescent asks.
'No, it's just a representation.'
'Magic from sky gods.'
'The humans who made this would take exception to that! They would say they were inspired by their goddess.' I chuckle.
'I would like to speak to this goddess,' the adolescent requests.
'Well you could, but she's not real.'
'Not real? Make no sense. Why goddess not real?'
'Well I can't say for certain the goddess is not real. The universe may have been created by a creature which just happens to be exactly like a human female, but then again it's just as plausible the universe was created by sasquatches who live in the sky.'
'You clever human,' the adolescent correctly observes.
'You think I'm clever? Let me show you this. Say cheese!'
A droplet of water falls from a stalactite onto my forehead and down the bridge of my nose but I maintain focus as the overgrown nerd curls lips inwards to show off chunky ginger gnashers. Peering over spectacle brims, he revels in calcilight as I line up the closest thing to a flattering angle with his baby brother clapping in the background, but the unveiling of this portrait causes him to bluster.
'Who is stupid looking sasquatch with my face necklace?'
'That's you!'
'Me? That not me!'
'It is, I'll prove it. Stand with the group and I'll take a family portrait... Everybody stand up... Excellent. Now huddle a little closer together so I can get you all in... Smile.'
With a click of the camera I successfully capture each of the sasquatches' eager grins at the first attempt. 'Show! Show! Oooooh.'
I reveal the touching photograph of the flee-ridden family who continue to grin like extremely hairy children awaiting their birthday presents. Claustrophobia increases as they huddle and gasp and ooh and aah, leaning towards the hologram like they so desperately want to touch, but are bizarrely afraid to appear impolite. Their cumbersome social graces suggest they could be the offspring of unfortunate humans crossbred with a troop of gorillas who were given large dosages of growth hormone and now have the pleasure of meeting their pygmy cousins for the first time.
'I can safely say this is the most beautiful array of smiles I've seen since I was in prison! If you want to scroll through the pictures, you press this button... Uh-oh!'
I scroll to an image of a sasquatch tied to a framework of tree branches, carried by men with rifles strapped to their backs and it does not take a bigfoot genius to understand he is dead. The cruelty of this blood sport is especially affecting in the presence of the victim's relatives so I tactfully press the scroll but
ton, but an enraged hand crushes my arm. And within a split second I am hurtling through the air and thudding against a stalagmite.
Relatively unscathed after being subjected to extreme, yet semi-developed power I shuffle back without any real effort due to the knowledge escape is impossible. The underestimated youngster charges with the apparent intention of tearing my tiny human skull from my neck and I wince from a deafening blast of halitosis.
'HUMANS! HUMANS KILL NIMOY! RARRRGH!'
'I-I didn't know. I'm sorry.'
'SORRY? SORRY?'
'ALGOS STOP! It not their fault.'
Despite the still-burning fire, the adolescent's murderous eyes and quivering lips become pronounced against a backdrop of swirling darkness. Our respective clans have faded into non-existence and my arms are hidden behind my arched back in the hope this will prevent them being snacked on like chicken wings.
The alpha male emerges from the turbulent void to grab the traumatised adolescent, ushering him away to sit with the group who at present are thankfully not of one mind. Agnarok's empathy has spared an enemy from a fate worse than a combatant on Warrior's Code and my friends' faces depict the torment of almost witnessing my final moments.
'You humans not like them humans. Agnarok understand. I would like to speak to human goddess. You show me how?' the alpha male asks as my back aches and hands tremble but I regain composure to stay on his gentle side.
'That's easy. Everyone needs to sit down and cross their legs like this and place their hands together, then whoever is leading the prayer says what they want to say. Apparently the goddess is always listening but most of the time she does not bother replying,' I explain as sasquatches assume the demonstrated position.
'Human goddess, why stupid humans hunt sasquatch? Tell them stop or we crush. Send more good humans like these. Make sure they not turn bad humans,' Agnarok demands.
Sasquatch knee joints creak and crack during the struggle to uncross their legs, following our spontaneous prayer meeting. They stare in expectation as the vessel they have unofficially nominated for the goddess to communicate through (me) sits uncomfortably. A coffernut leaf flutters into the snaking cavern and lands at my feet, becoming the focus of eyes eager to have the wishful confirmed. And the unlikeliness of the wind carrying this innocuous symbol so far underground is of course - a revelation.
'It sign! It sign! Human goddess heard! Hunters come no more.'
'Er Agnarok, I would not trust this goddess. She does not always do what you ask her to,' I reply.
'Stupid goddess lie? Argh, sky gods crush! Why can't humans be like you?' Agnarok asks, the anger in his eyes fading to sadness.
'Humans are like us, half are bad, the rest are indifferent. The bad ones hunt. We not, I mean don't hunt!'
'Tell more human stories. We like human stories.'
Many incommodious, but entertaining hours pass as we share tales of adversity, developing bonds of friendship tinged with mutual fear and distrust. Inappreciable sasquatch jokes draw bemused silence from everyone bar the teller and terrible human jokes invoke frightening roars of laughter. Whilst I wonder where they draw their energy to continue, the sasquatches treat us to a ground-shattering dance accompanied by tuneless 'singing' which we applaud due to the grace of self-preservation.
One by one our captors drift off to sleep, literally thumping into unconsciousness on the communal bed of rock. Although the over-used idiot part of my brain savours the experience, we bide our time for an opportunity to flee this lair as snoring resonates; but frustratingly Agnarok, Algos and a female called Kumal are reluctant to doze.
'Art-oo-roh we like you. You like us, only little. We friends now,' Agnarok declares with eyelids half-closed.
'In that case, can you help us find our van?'
'No problem. What is van?'
'A van is rusty rectangle with... round things on the bottom.'
'Oh, come.'
Sasquatches lead the hostages they befriended into Charwood Forest, somehow adopting graceful movements which are only occasionally let down by a twig breaking under foot. But the world's most effective bodyguards have no need to be stealthy because the threat of lurking carnivores has paled into insignificance. Sleepiness causes flashes of imagined movement in the corner of my eyes but if one flicker turns out to be a foolhardy predator the result will be thrilling.
A Drinking Session
Our sasquatch guides appear to have a seventh sense as they anticipate every geological feature, notable hardwood and monstrous fungus before they come into view. After several hours of trekking a wave of relief is carried by morning sun highlighting the brownness of our van parked in the glade.
'We're going home, right now!' Mila insists.
'Not so quick. I think we should give our new friends their first taste of alcohol!' I suggest.
'Yeah!' everyone cheers in unison.
'Arturo, are you insane? You're not going to leave until you get us killed, are you?' Mila barks.
Grabbing the van keys from Killow, I place the cartridge and pebble into the glove compartment then reach into my pocket to remove the artifact retrieved from the lake. Debris in the glove compartment crunches as I ram the metal slab inside, but rather than be offended it whispers without sound to convey the contentment of being amongst friends. And the very concept of a talking object could be considered insane but if I can understand that principle then by definition I cannot be a crazy person. I count the cider in the back of the van and there are seven crates, each filled with a dozen bottles, one half full crate and a load of scattered empties.
'Agnarok, come here. I'm not sure how much alcohol it will take to get someone your size drunk... but luckily we have plenty! Here, try this.'
I demonstrate how to unscrew the lid of a two-litre bottle of Spectral Cider which I hand to Agnarok. Squeezing one eye shut he scratches the label and squeezes the bottle above his gaping mouth. Green plastic splits as the lid shoots off and foam sprays all over his hairy face. 'More!' I give Agnarok another and he changes technique, biting the lid off and squirting cider down his drain-like throat. Then he wipes froth from his dripping beard and the smell of rotten apples wafts towards my nose as he discharges a colossal belch.
The others join in the cider fest which has come as a wonderful reward and celebration of our survival. Basking on long soft grass I watch leathery fingers envelop forearms as children and giants commence a hazardous line dance. Apple juice fizzes as hunched sasquatches stomp to howls of laughter from those of us watching the spectacle from a safe distance, knowing a misplaced foot could crush us like fragile mice.
Mila and Cari sit and whisper as Algos grabs Bex by the waist and tosses her high into the air, catching her mid-scream. 'Ouch you hurt my ears!' Algos complains, freeing his petulant pet and as she brushes 'monkey germs' from her already dirtied outfit, the breathless performers take a break. Kumal's generously proportioned backside slams onto turf with an impact comparable to that which wiped out the dinosaurs.
'Oof, I'm out of breath. That was fun.'
'That's cause you eat too much, Kumal. Steal Agnarok's food.'
'Stop being mean, Agnarok. You said your food is my food.'
'Yes I did, Kumal. Now you get too big.'
'If you think I'm too big, find other sasquatch,' Kumal snorts, turning away from Agnarok.
'Come on, you two good together,' Algos interrupts.
'He mean sasquatch,' Kumal says and the girls follow as she tramples away.
'I know he is, he doesn't deserve you,' Sylvie says as the lasses sit at a distance, forming a gender divide which none of the lads are particularly unhappy about.
Empty bottles accumulate as Agnarok and Algos sit with the boys, guzzling our stockpile which would otherwise have lasted at least a fortnight. Billowing clouds smother sun but inebriation reduces the chill factor as we blather on, with Scoop and Oscar making about as much sense as the sasquatches. Roughly twenty bottles later Agnarok's speech slurs as he shares soppy
sentiments: 'Kuuumal ssshpecial, can beat up mossst male sasssquatch.'
Agnarok's lovestruck gaze lingers in the direction of the girls who are applying lipstick to a pouting Kumal and my eyebrows wriggle as I question whether any part of this experience is a dream, but these days dreams are no weirder than reality, whatever that is.
'Ssshe good sasssquatch. Agnarok luuucky… Arturo, which river yooouu get water from?'
'It doesn't come from a river Agnarok. You have to buy it.'
'Buy it?'
'From other people. Humans make it by fermenting apples.'
'Can you make?'
'Sorry Agnarok, I don't know how.'
Our drinking buddies babble about how the forest is the centre of the universe and was created by sky gods for the benefit of sasquatch kind. And how human demons are the product of the devil, but thankfully human gods have created us who are not demons, which is always nice to know. They ask barely comprehensible questions about 'human world' until evening sets in and my lack of sleep is taking its toll.
Every slurred word unintentionally reinforces my position as a prophetic figure so I just go with the flow... and I cannot recall the last time I had so much fun. Well maybe during the trip to Sky City. Or the day I went flying in the Delos Pod. Or... Never mind. Dusty clouds part and Agnarok points to the largest moon - a golden disc debasing its deformed midget brother.
'I goooo therrre. Big one. Not other one. That little and stupid like human. Not yooou!' Agnarok gasps.
'How do you think you're gonna do that?' I ask.
'Not know. Agnarok dream.'
'Some dreams are out of reach, Agnarok.'
'Humans not go?'
'Humans have cities there, but if you wanna go you'll have to build yourself a spaceship.'
'Agnarok build shpayship!'
'Sure you will, Agnarok. It's getting cold, we should gather some wood to build a bonfire.'
Mila and Cari sit and whisper as the rest of the gang gather armfuls of twigs and bracken, but our efforts are made redundant by Agnarok and Algos who tear unreasonably large branches from trees and show off by flexing their muscles. The fire-building task develops into a competition which we abstain from, happy to see our pile grow as barkless patches accumulate on wounded trunks.
