by Lija Fisher
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To those who believe that when adventure knocks,
they don’t just open the door.
They fling it wide open and say,
“Hold on, let me grab my sword.”
I
Clivo Wren sat crouched in the dry yellow grass, a tranquilizer gun on his lap, peering through binoculars at the stream meandering through the boreal forest. A frigid breeze blew, and he wrapped his fur parka tighter around him. Dang, it’s freezing, he thought. It was the beginning of summer, but apparently the warmth wouldn’t hit northern Russia until much later. Why did every legendary creature he stalked have to live in the cold? There must be one by a beach somewhere that he could track in comfort from under a palm tree while drinking from coconuts.
Clivo gagged as he nibbled on some fish he’d caught and cooked the night before, then reminded himself to pack more food for his future quests. He’d been camping along the river for five days now, and his food had already run out, leaving him to survive on the plentiful trout from the river. He had considered snaring a hare for some variety, but had forgotten to bring anything to build a trap with, and he certainly didn’t want to waste another of his tranquilizer darts. He’d already used one on a black bear who’d wandered near his tent two nights before, leaving him with just two darts. He would have hated to ruin this catch because he’d wasted all his darts on other wandering wildlife.
He pulled a notebook from his backpack and made a list of things he needed to improve his hunts in the future: More food, more darts, more beaches.
Clivo sighed and looked through his binoculars again at the dam of sticks and twigs blocking the river. It was the third one he’d built to bait his prey, and if he didn’t find the creature soon, he knew he’d have to move to a different spot and build another one, which sounded like a miserable prospect. He was ready to go home and eat a hearty meal of something that didn’t have scales. A hot bath didn’t sound so bad, either, since he was freezing and beginning to stink like fish.
A loud crackle suddenly sounded from his ham radio and broke the stillness of the scene. “Dude! What’s taking you so long?!”
Clivo scrambled for the radio in his pocket as other voices also shouted through it.
“Charles! Be quiet! We’re not supposed to bother him unless it’s an emergency!”
“But this is taking forever, Amelia! How hard can it be to find the Ugly Merman?”
“Dude, it’s called the Vodyanoy. Use its proper Russian name and give it some respect!”
“Whatever, Adam. ‘Ugly Merman’ is so much cooler!”
“It so isn’t!”
“Yes it is! No! Give me back the radio! I’m the one talking!”
Clivo finally managed to pull the radio out of his thick parka and spoke in a harsh whisper. “Do you guys mind being a little quieter?”
“Oh, hey, dude!” Charles replied chirpily. “How’s the Arctic?”
“It’s freezing! And I’m tired of chopping down pine trees to build dams with. You sure they’re supposed to attract the Merman?” Clivo ran a gloved hand under his nose, which was dripping like a faucet.
“Pretty sure, Clivo.” Now it was Stephanie’s voice coming through the radio. “It hates anything that obstructs the flow of water. Satellite images show no dams along that stretch of river, whereas the rest of the river is covered with them.”
“You sure you’re in the right place, dude?” Adam piped in. “You do know how to read a compass, right?”
Clivo rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know how to read a compass. I’m in the right spot, but you gave me, like, five miles of river to cover, so it took a little while.”
“Hi, Clivo,” Hernando’s meek voice whispered through the radio.
“Well, hurry up, dude!” Charles whined. “I wanna see what the Ugly Merman really looks like!”
“It’s called the Vodyanoy, man!” Adam yelled.
“Okay, guys, can you only contact me in case of emergencies, please? I’m kinda trying to stay hidden here,” Clivo begged.
“Sorry, dude,” Adam said.
“Dude, sorry,” Charles agreed.
The radio thankfully went silent, and Clivo pocketed it. The Myth Blasters were an amazing team to work with, and they were always right on with their research on where exactly to find legendary creatures—cryptids—that shouldn’t exist. But they were still new to the idea that cryptids actually did exist, as he was, so their excitement often got the best of them.
Clivo peered through the binoculars again and scanned the river. The sun was beginning to set, and soon it’d be time to return to his tent and build a fire. He was already dreading his evening meal of more cooked fish.
He tried not to be too hard on himself for coming totally unprepared, seeing as how it was only his fifth catch. Becoming an orphan and then discovering his dad was a cryptid catcher who was searching for the one special beast that could make humans immortal would have been a lot for any kid to handle. Finding out that his dad had secretly been training Clivo all his life to take over as the world’s best catcher—which also included fighting off the bad guys—had almost sent him over the edge.
But Clivo eventually discovered that he was more than willing to face the dangers posed by the evil ones to find the immortal. After battling with two Luxembourgers who were dangerous but quite dumb, he knew he had to protect the world from the evil resistance, which sought to use the gift of eternal life for its own gain. He also wanted to protect the cryptids, which were beautiful, mysterious creatures that others sought to lock up in zoos or sell to science if they were ever found.
Clivo thought of Nessie, the Loch Ness Monster, and the Otterman—his first two catches. Neither had turned out to be the immortal, but he’d gotten to see them up close and even touch them, which had been like stepping into a wonderland. Nessie had been very sweet for a massive dinosaur that had been frozen for over sixty-five million years. The Otterman had seemed dangerous at first, with its razor-sharp teeth and claws, but ended up being rather polite and enjoyed eating chocolate much more than human flesh. The horrible thought of these majestic animals being experimented on in labs made Clivo’s task of protecting them feel that much more pressing.
Clivo focused his thoughts back on the present and tried to think through the details in the crypto-research manual Adam had prepared for him on the Ugly Merman. The Vodyanoy was a water creature from Russia who’d been sighted since the 1800s. Local folklorists claimed it was a frog-faced naked man who enjoyed playing a game of cards while smoking a wooden pipe, and who occasionally partook in drowning the locals. But Adam’s origin theory was that the Merman was actually a harmless Siberian salamander that had undergone a genetic mutation during a particularly strong solar flare and grown to humongous proportions.
Clivo had been relieved by the “harmless” part. Being chased by the Otterman had made him realize that he much preferred catching cryptids that didn’
t want to rip his face off.
He was just about to call it a night when a loud crack sounded. He raised his binoculars and instantly saw the source of the noise—a wart-covered frog the size of a baby elephant was wading in the river and powerfully tearing apart the dam.
One thing was for sure—the Ugly Merman sure was ugly.
“Wow, you really do hate dams, don’t you?” Clivo whispered, excited that his time in the Arctic was finally coming to an end.
He grabbed his tranquilizer gun, figuring it should only take one dart to hit the creature since it was so round and bloated. He moved as silently as possible through the tall, dry grass, knowing that if he spooked the Merman it could disappear for days in the freezing-cold water.
When he was finally close enough, he raised his gun and took careful aim, feeling confident that he could easily hit his target. But just as his finger began pressing against the trigger, his radio crackled back to life, disturbing his focus.
“Charles! Give me the radio! Let him do his job!” Amelia yelled.
“I just want to ask him something!” Charles replied.
Clivo flicked his eyes back to the Ugly Merman, which had lifted its head and was staring directly at him, its frog-like face looking very angry.
Clivo fired.
The dart was on target, but suddenly a red tongue at least six feet long whipped out of the monster’s mouth and knocked the dart harmlessly into the water.
“Come on!” Clivo mumbled.
His cover blown, he quickly stood up from his place of camouflage and fitted another dart into the gun just as a large log went flying past his head. “What the—?”
He looked up as the creature’s enormous and extremely powerful tongue wrapped around a boulder and flung it with ease straight toward him. Clivo barely had enough time to duck and roll before the rock smashed into the ground right where he had just been standing.
“I thought you were supposed to be harmless!” Clivo yelled.
The creature kept attacking Clivo with a constant barrage of projectiles, croaking like a frog all the while. Clivo was so busy scurrying away from the logs and rocks flying at him that he didn’t have time to raise his gun.
“All right, buddy, this is getting ridiculous!” Clivo complained as a fish whacked him right in the forehead.
He gripped his gun and rolled down the hill just as the Ugly Merman wrapped its tongue around another rock. Clivo sprang to one knee and fired.
The dart made a smacking sound as it hit the giant frog right in its blubbery belly. The creature let out a mournful croak, its short limbs pawing at the air, before slipping into unconsciousness with its gigantic tongue splayed out on the ground.
Clivo waited a good few minutes before approaching the creature to make sure it was completely passed out. He was pretty sure the lasso-like tongue could easily pick him up and throw him halfway to the North Pole.
When he was certain he wasn’t in any danger, he knelt by the creature and pressed the blood sampler to its skin, keeping his eyes on the tongue the whole time.
As the blood traveled up the sampler’s chamber, Clivo admired the creature with fascination, as he always did with the cryptids he caught. It looked nothing like a merman, but it sure was unique. It had a bulbous, slimy green body with a broad, flat face and large, protruding eyes. It snored loudly, and its breath smelled like the inside of a sardine can that’s been left out in the sun for a few hours.
There was really nothing beautiful about this creature, except for the fact that it was a two-hundred-year-old mysterious animal that was supposed to exist only in imagination and folklore. Clivo patted the slimy skin and smiled. He would do everything in his power to keep it safe from nefarious people who sought to capture and cage it.
The blood sampler finally beeped and Clivo blew air through his lips in disappointment.
NOT IMMORTAL.
Well, apparently this wasn’t going to be his last catch after all.
He took a selfie with the creature to show to the Myth Blasters and gathered his things to leave. A hot shower sure was going to feel good.
To be sure some wayward fisherman didn’t come across the beast while it was still unconscious, Clivo waited at a distance on the hill until the creature woke up and slid into the water. Then, as Clivo was about to leave, something in the distance caught his eye—a glint of light he hadn’t seen before. He knew there was nothing in that direction except more expansive wilderness of yellow grass and pine trees, so who was out there?
It was too late in the day for someone to be out hunting—unless, Clivo realized with a shudder, he was the prey. There were evil groups out there who were not only after the immortal, but also after him. He was known as the best catcher in the world, thanks to his father’s training and help from the Myth Blasters, and the bad guys were eager to know his secrets. So he stayed on his toes, always making sure he wasn’t followed or tracked. He had no desire to be thrown into a dungeon and tortured for information.
Clivo quickly packed up his camp and made the long trek back to the small nearby village, constantly glancing behind him for some sign that he was being followed. His dad had been killed by a fellow cryptid catcher, though which one, Clivo didn’t know.
But the one thing he knew for certain was that that person was coming for him next.
II
Two days, three countries, and four airports later, Clivo finally hailed a taxi and arrived at his home in the Rocky Mountains, outside of Old Colorado City. The snow from winter had melted and the aspen trees were sprouting green leaves that shimmered in the breeze. His cozy Craftsman-style home was tucked away in the pine trees. Curious sculptures and mementos from his dad’s world travels littered the lawn, causing the taxi driver to lift an eyebrow in surprise at the interesting scene.
Clivo entered the house and was instantly attacked by Aunt Pearl’s two long-haired cats.
“Okay, guys, that’s enough, it’s good to see you, too,” Clivo said, trying to shake Julio Iglesias and Ricky Martin off his leg.
“You back, sweetie?” Aunt Pearl called from the kitchen, the sound of banging pots and pans echoing down the hall.
“Hi, Aunt Pearl,” Clivo said, knocking on Bernie, the suit of armor in the foyer, in a ritual he always did for good luck. The inside of the house was also filled with treasures from his dad’s trips: a zebra’s head hung on the wall (from which Aunt Pearl had hung a WELCOME sign), a didgeridoo stood in a corner, and a brass incense burner dangled from the ceiling on a chain. Clivo reminded himself to start collecting souvenirs from his trips, as well, to add to the museum-like feeling of the home.
Clivo entered the kitchen as Aunt Pearl pulled what smelled like peanut butter cookies from the oven. Pearl was tall and thin like a stork and had a beak-like nose, but ever since she had admitted to Clivo that she spent more time salsa dancing than at church, she had quit wearing her conservative drab clothes and fully embraced colorful tops and flowy skirts.
“Welcome home, sweetie. How was your thing?” Aunt Pearl asked, a bit of flour dotting her pointed nose. She kissed Clivo’s dimpled cheek and ruffled his shaggy brown hair with her fingers.
“Oh, the math camp went really well. I learned all about the different kinds of triangles—you know, acute, obtuse, isosceles…”
“That’s great, sweetie. Can you please hand me the spatula?” Aunt Pearl asked absentmindedly.
“It’s in your hand, Aunt Pearl,” Clivo pointed out.
“Huh? Oh! Silly me, I’d lose my head if it wasn’t attached!” Aunt Pearl giggled.
Clivo had had to come up with believable reasons why he kept leaving for days at a time. His dad had used the cover story that he was an archaeologist traveling the world for digs, but obviously that reason wouldn’t work for a kid. So he simply told Pearl he was attending various science and math camps, which she was pleased to hear about. Ever since Clivo had turned thirteen, she was terrified that he was going to start exhibiting horrible teenager traits,
like lighting things on fire or stealing cars. But hearing that he was supposedly turning into a studious nerd made her very happy. Little did she know that his “camps” were trips around the world to find an immortal legendary creature.
“Were you okay with my friends while I was away?” Clivo asked, accepting a warm cookie from Aunt Pearl.
Aunt Pearl looked disconcerted. “Oh, they’re all very nice, if a tad energetic. I was wary about having a house full of teenagers, but so far they haven’t started an underground gambling ring in the basement—have they?”
Clivo laughed. “No, Aunt Pearl, they haven’t. And I can’t tell you again how much I appreciate you letting my science team stay here for the summer. We’re really getting a lot done.”
Aunt Pearl fiddled nervously with her fingers. “Oh, you’re welcome, sweetie. They’re all very nice, but again, they are rather exuberant. Perhaps the one with the big teeth should lay off the energy drinks?”
“I’ll tell them to keep it down, Aunt Pearl,” Clivo said, taking the plate of goodies that his aunt was offering. “Thank you for the cookies!”
“Tell the tall one they’re gluten-free!” Aunt Pearl called after him.
Clivo walked down to the basement, where the Myth Blasters had set up their headquarters, and instantly heard the exuberance that Pearl had been talking about.
“Dude, how many times do I have to tell you that banshees don’t exist? She’s just a spirit from Irish mythology who screams a lot,” Adam yelled, his gangly arms swooping through the air like a flamingo.
“I’m just saying that demons and fairies are cryptids, so maybe we need to expand our search into looking for some of those!” Charles yelled back, his curly hair puffier than usual and his buck teeth protruding from between his lips like an angry rabbit’s.
“I’m not chasing after fairies!” Adam retorted, his voice rising even more and his thick-framed glasses bouncing on his nose. “Demons, maybe, ’cause they’re super manly, but even in that case, I don’t think Clivo wants to go after something that’ll stab him with a fiery pitchfork!”
