Bigfoot Abomination

by Dane Hatchell

“Hey, where the heck are you going? Cole!”

  As he rounded onto Sagehill, he searched the ditch and in front of the trees.

  The Mustang’s engine roared to life. If Brennon insisted on leaving, it would be by himself.

  As Cole scanned the different shades of brown grass, leaves, and foliage, something not like the other caught his gaze.

  The Mustang pulled up beside him. Rolling the window down, Brennon said, “Cole, let’s go.”

  Not looking up, he raised his right hand toward his teammate.

  “I mean it, dude. Let’s go. I will—”

  Something dark blue and triangular shaped, not much more than an inch long, jutted between some large dead leaves. Cole carefully reached down and pinched it between his thumb and pointer finger. A thin cloth pulled away from the leaves, exposed now to the light of day.

  “You found a rag. Big deal. Get in the car and let’s go,” Brennon said, and then raced the engine two times.

  Cole grabbed the other corner and held the cloth in front of him.

  It wasn’t a rag.

  It was a handkerchief.

  A handkerchief just like the one Mr. Buddy had wrapped around the purported bigfoot tooth the man had shown him in the hall the other day.

  He walked over to Brennon, holding the handkerchief in front of him. “This is our clue.”

  Brennon giggled. “Dude, you really have lost it.”

  “Listen,” Cole said; it wasn’t a request; it was a command.

  Brennon’s face tightened, it was obvious he got the message.

  “Mr. Buddy, the janitor, has a handkerchief just like this,” Cole said.

  “How do you know?”

  “I don’t want to get into all the details right now. But the other day he was trying to get me to come over to his house to look at bigfoot plaster casts of footprints he said that he had made. And, I saw a dark blue and white checkered handkerchief just like this one.”

  “This must just be a coincidence. I’m sure there are thousands of handkerchiefs just like that one.”

  “Look at it, though.” Cole flipped the cloth around for Brennon to examine the other side. “This hasn’t been here very long. The handkerchief is dry. It’s not dirty or stained from being under wet leaves for a long time.” He brought it to his nose, and then quickly tore it away. “Whoa!” He forced air in and out his nostrils with a few quick breaths. “There’s some chemical smell on it. This might have been used to knock Charlotte unconscious.”

  Brennon took the handkerchief and felt it with his fingertips. He too brought it close to his nose and took a whiff. “Yeah. I don’t know what that is, but if you breathed it full strength, it might be something that would knock you out. Cole, you might be on to something.” He stared into the distance. “Mr. Buddy is a strange dude. He’s quiet, though. And he always seems to be around. No matter where you are, he always seems to be around.” His words had trailed off.

  Cole didn’t know what was up with Brennon, but he gave the boy his space.

  “Yesterday…” Brennon looked up with fire in his eyes. “Yesterday, we were by her locker when I planned to meet Charlotte here. Mr. Buddy was there. He was in earshot of our plan. He could have been here waiting for her and dragged her into the woods and escaped.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought that Mr. Buddy could do something like that. But when you think about it, it’s not that farfetched. He’s nice, but he’s strange. Never got married. He’s a loner. And as far as I know, he doesn’t have any other family to call his own.”

  “Should we search the woods?”

  Thinking a moment, Cole said, “I hate to say this out loud, but if Charlotte’s alive, she wouldn’t be in the woods.”

  Brennon’s face flushed.

  “Yeah, I know, she might be dead.” Reality at times showed no mercy. “But, I don’t think so,” Cole said, careful to keep his emotions at bay.

  “Why?”

  “It’s a feeling. Just like I knew there was a clue for us to find here. Charlotte is alive.”

  Brennon nodded, inspired with new hope. “Okay, then where would Mr. Buddy take her?”

  “The first place for us to look is his house.” Cole took the handkerchief from Brennon and gripped it in his hand. This was a connection with Charlotte. He just knew it!

  *

  “Okay, what’s the plan?” Brennon asked as he slowly drove down the street to exit the subdivision.

  Cole realized that he and Brennon’s relationship had shifted. Now the guy who had tried to keep him in his place was taking orders from him. He wasn’t so sure he felt comfortable in that role, but if they were going to move forward, it would be by his direction.

  “Hang on,” Cole said and took out his cell phone. He tapped on the screen, and said, “William Johnson…You know, if he didn’t have his real name on the door to the supply room, I wouldn’t know what it is. I’ve never heard him called anything but Buddy.”

  Seven William Johnsons popped up in his search in the area. Cole didn’t know Mr. Buddy’s middle name or even the initial it started with. Fortunately, he knew that the janitor lived in Forest Heights subdivision. “Six-two-eight Rancher road. That’s in Forest Heights. You know where that is?”

  “That dump? Yeah, I can get us there.” The Mustang went from a trot to a full gallop now that they had a destination. “So, we’re just going to drive up there and break into his house?”

  Well, that didn’t sound like such a great plan. They would have to be a little sneakier than that. Cole thought a moment, considering his options.

  “Well?”

  “Okay, I got it. We need to go to a hardware store first.”

  “A hardware store?”

  “Yeah. We’ll buy some yard tools—pretend we’re clipping hedges or something. We’ll see if we can find an open door or window.”

  Brennon raised his eyebrows. “Okay, not bad. Hang on. We’ll be there in no time.”

  *

  Once they reached the hardware store, the plan had shaped up better in Cole’s mind. He bought two of the cheapest hedge clippers he could find, even though they were still nearly twenty dollars each. To go incognito, they picked out two wide brimmed, floppy hats to help hide their faces. They needed more than disguises, though. Because if they couldn’t find an open door or window, they would have to force their way in. Cole bought a hammer, chisel, putty knife, and flat head screwdriver, along with a tool belt to put them in.

  To pay for it all, Cole used a credit card his dad had given him to use in emergency situations. He couldn’t think of a greater emergency than saving Charlotte’s life.

  When the shopping spree finished, the two climbed aboard the Mustang and zoomed to their destination.

  “It’s just up ahead, on your left. Turn by that convenience store,” Cole said, following their travel on a phone app.

  The car slowed, and Brennon eased over into the turn lane.

  “Tell you what, park over by the side of the store,” Cole said.

  “Why? I don’t need an energy drink anymore. I’m wide awake and raring to go.”

  “Dude, your car is red and sticks out like a sore thumb. If Charlotte’s not there, we have a better chance of getting away with this if there’s no way to identify us.”

  “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

  “Plus, even if Charlotte’s not there, there may be a clue as to where she might be. You never know how things like this are going to work out.”

  “Okay.” Brennon made the turn when the light changed, and eased the Mustang down the street and into an open parking space near the dumpster. A sign on the side of the store said: NO PARKING TUESDAY AND SATURDAYS 2-4PM. “We’re good.”

  “Let’s go.” Cole opened the door and got assaulted by the stench of rotting fruit and spoiled milk, freezing him for a moment. “Yuck. Let’s hurry up.”

  Brennon had popped open the trunk and was bringing his hat to his head. “You taking the toolbelt?”

  “Sure.” Co
le put on the tool belt, slid the hammer in place, and placed the other smaller tools in a pouch. The hat went on his head, and he was ready to go.

  Both had their hedge clippers in hand as they slowly walked past an overgrown vacant lot, heading toward Buddy’s house, only three houses away.

  Forest Heights was an older subdivision, built in the ’60s. None of the houses were over thirteen hundred square feet. All had single car front carports.

  “What a dump,” Brennon said.

  “Not everyone is as well-off as your family. I don’t imagine Mr. Buddy makes a lot of money.”

  “He should have done something better with his life than becoming a janitor.”

  “Brennon, not everyone is born with a mom and dad who are successful. Not every guy grows up to be six foot two, has curly blonde hair that girls go nuts over, and has the genetics of an athlete. Being successful in life isn’t as easy for some as it is for others.”

  “Whatever.”

  Cole watched the indifference on Brennon’s face. There was no question the boy was self-centered; a fact that Brennon would more than likely agree with. This wasn’t the time or place to give him a lesson in compassion.

  They turned and walked up the cracked driveway leading to the house. No one was outside as far as Cole could see, but you never knew who might be looking from behind a curtain from inside of their house.

  “What a dump,” Brennon said, as if looking at the peeling paint and rotting shutters made him dirty.

  “Let’s put on a good show out front, and then work our way to the back,” Cole said.

  There were bushes between the carport and the front door, and at the front corner of the left side of the house. Cole went to chopping away with his clippers, and Brennon went to the side of the house.

  Fifteen minutes later, Cole’s arms were getting tired, and he wasn’t anywhere near finished. He looked over at Brennon, and it hardly looked like the boy had even gotten started, despite the constant snip-snip he had heard.

  “We don’t have time for this,” Cole said.

  Brennon stopped working and looked over his way.

  Approaching his teammate, he said, “We’ve been here long enough that I don’t think anyone suspects anything. My arms are tired, and this tool belt weighs a ton. Let’s work our way to the back.”

  Cole led the way, pretending to examine the foliage around the side of the house until reaching the back.

  A large tree in the back provided ample shade as the sun rose higher in the sky. Cole felt cool relief as sweat evaporated from the back of his neck. He hadn’t realized how hot it had gotten.

  There were three windows down the back of the house, and a rear door by where it looked like a patio had once been. Wirey grass covered a broken ten-by-ten concrete slab.

  Brennon looked about and then tried the nearest window. It was locked, but the curtains were open enough that he could see inside the room. There were boxes and junk on top of boxes. No room for Charlotte in there.

  Cole tried the next window and found it locked. This window didn’t have curtains. The room was lined with bookshelves filled with books. No Charlotte, though.

  The next window had frosted glass, probably the bathroom. It was locked, too, limiting their options.

  The handle to the rear door was loose. Cole thought he could twist it off if he tried hard enough but didn’t know if that would open it or make it to where it wouldn’t open.

  He looked over at the windows, which were two-by-three feet and on the upper portion of the house, and didn’t like the challenge.

  Taking the putty knife from the tool pouch, he worked it between the door by the lock.

  “You ever done this before?” Brennon asked.

  “No, but I feel something moving.” He stopped and looked in the crack to see what was moving. There was a small spring loaded keeper in front of the latch. Cole found that he could push that to the side and then place the putty knife blade on the latch. Once he caught the latch on the angled end, he was able to pry it out of the strike plate. A quick pull of the handle and the door opened.

  “Wow. That was pretty good,” Brennon said.

  Cole thought so too, but now was the time to get down to business. Was Charlotte in the house somewhere? For some reason, he didn’t think so, but he did think they would learn something of her whereabouts here.

  Brennon followed Cole in. “What a dump.”

  “Is that all you can say about something you don’t like?”

  The teammate shrugged. “A dump’s a dump.”

  A fountain of witticisms, such as the great Yogi Berra, Brennon was not.

  They stood in the kitchen. The Formica countertops had yellowed, and the stained cabinets and trim were dull. The refrigerator looked relatively new.

  Cole felt a wave of dread wash over him. The refrigerator. The door to the freezer. He stepped over toward it.

  “What are you doing?”

  “We have to check.” Cole took a deep breath. He grabbed the freezer door, opening it like he was expecting a monster to spring out. He let out a sigh of relief. “Nothing in here but cheese pizza.”

  “What did you expect to find? Dude, don’t wig out on me now.”

  “I’m not wigging out. We don’t know how sick Mr. Buddy is. He could have chopped up Charlotte and put parts of her in the freezer. Jeffery Dahmer did things like that.”

  “I don’t know, man. I think you’re taking this a bit too far.”

  “Whatever,” it was Cole’s turn to brush Brennon off.

  After a few minutes of inspecting the house, looking under the two beds, in closets, and even the attic, they came up with no Charlotte and zero clues.

  Cole did find two plaster casts of bigfoot footprints. He even found the mold Mr. Buddy used to make them. The casts were right next to his porn collection. It seemed Mr. Buddy had a thing for women with big butts.

  “Cole, there’s nothing here,” Brennon said, disappointment weighing down his words.

  Feeling somewhat in a quandary, there was something else that seemed so close, but he just couldn’t grasp it. “No. You’re right. There’s nothing here. But there’s something somewhere. It’s close. I just haven’t figured it out yet.”

  “Come on. We can be back at school in plenty of time before lunch. We’ve done everything that we can. It’s up to the police and FBI to find Charlotte.”

  With tools in hand, the two exited the way they came and trodded back to the convenience store, each lost in their own thoughts.

  “Let’s get something to drink. My treat,” Brennon said after they unloaded their tools in the Mustang’s trunk.

  Cole followed like a sad puppy, telling Brennon just to get two of whatever he chose.

  After paying for it, his teammate led him outside where they both opened their canned drinks.

  “Thanks,” Cole said and drank deeply from the can. He then worked out some of the soreness from his right elbow brought on by the hedge trimming.

  Gazing up at the street, an old green Chevy S-10 with a camper was slowing to a stop. It was Mr. Buddy! “Brennon, look!” He nodded toward the S-10.

  “What?”

  “Look who’s pulling up to the light. It’s Mr. Buddy.”

  “What’s he doing here? He’s supposed to be at school.”

  “I don’t know, but he’s not in the turn lane, so he’s not heading home,” Cole said. “He’s up to something. He’s up to something, and we have to follow him.”

  “Cole, I—”

  “Brennon! Don’t argue. This could save Charlotte. Let’s go.” Cole sped off toward the Mustang and was relieved to see Brennon didn’t hesitate to follow.

  The two jumped in the car, and Brennon fired it up.

  They backed up and pulled up to the street in time to see Mr. Buddy’s S-10 continue slowly down the highway.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll catch up. I’ve seen how that man drives. It’s usually a good ten miles an hour below the speed limit,” Br
ennon said, waiting for the light to change.

  *

  Mr. Buddy surprisingly drove near the speed limit as he led them away from urban sprawl toward the rural area not all that far as the crow flies from where Cole lived. For the janitor to drive faster than normal hinted that something important had to be going on to give him a sense of urgency.

  Brennon did an excellent job of maintaining a steady distance. It would have been suspicious to anyone if a hot red car followed them for miles and miles.

  Cole had been this way enough in his life to know exactly where the road would lead. It was the last place he would ever have expected, although now he felt foolish for not thinking of this place first. “I know where he’s going.”

  “Huh?” Brennon said, coming out of a funk.

  “Watch, he’ll be turning soon.” No sooner had Cole said the words than his prediction came true.

  “How’d you know?”

  “Because that’s the only farm around here for miles. That’s old man Douglas’ place.”

  “Oh, so this is where it is. I only knew the general location.” Brennon braked to a stop. “We can’t follow him there. Douglas might shoot us. Plus, we’ve been warned to stay away. We might get kicked off the team. We can’t throw our lives away going on some wild goose chase.”

  He hated to admit it, but his teammate was right.

  “What do you think? Are you getting any kind of feeling like you did earlier?” Brennon asked.

  From the way the boy asked the question, Cole couldn’t tell if he was being mocked or not. Regardless, his feeling had left him. The game set before them seemed to have changed. There were new rules now, and he didn’t know what they were.

  It was time to pull back, he felt. Charlotte was not lost. Not yet. “Let’s go back to school.”

  Without any other words, Brennon made a wide turn in the road and now traveled the opposite direction.

  There was something brewing underneath the perceived reality. Charlotte goes missing right after Douglas reports unusually large footprints in his garden. Was there a connection?

  He checked the service bars on his phone and saw two. Good, at least his phone would work this far from the city.