Scary Dead Things - 02

by Rick Gualtieri

  Thus, Gil was forced to compromise, usually in their favor. He’d get a weekend here or there, and he’d always reserve at least three days out of his yearly vacation for a getaway; however, these were typically lone outings. Family trips were almost always decided in Maria’s favor, especially since she was usually smart enough to plan them close to either a theme park or fairground. In doing so, she knew that Carl was always sure to side with her. Gil had to admit it was hard to plan a good camping trip within walking distance of a killer roller coaster. Lots of those places had dedicated camp grounds; however, they were often so congested and filthy that he would have preferred a week sleeping in his mother-in-law’s backyard.

  Gil was suddenly brought out of his reverie by the loud snap of a stick he had stepped on. It was silly, but it seemed to have nearly the same report as a gun going off. No wonder, Gil realized a few moments later. All had become silent around him. Gone were the chirps and chatter of creatures scurrying through the underbrush. Gil stopped walking and looked around. He was suddenly glad he hadn’t kept any of the fish he had caught; silence like this usually meant that a predator was near.

  Gil was no fool. Loving the woods had meant learning about them, too. He’d heard similar silences before. Still, he wasn’t particularly worried. A black bear would typically give a person a wide berth. As long as cubs weren’t involved, they were often happy to leave people alone. An angry cougar could be a potential problem; however, they were typically ambush predators, and the stream upon which he walked had a nice, wide bank. He was probably too far away from the brush to make a good target.

  He decided to give it a few minutes. If things didn’t go back to normal by then, he’d begin hooting and hollering. Most animals in these woods would think twice before charging a full grown man making a boatload of freaky noise. Worst case scenario, he had bear spray in his jacket pocket; an eyeful of that would send even the ballsiest blackie running for the hills.

  A low grunt from across the streambed caught his attention. Gil turned and began scanning the area for signs of movement. The noise hadn’t been a familiar one, but Gil wasn’t fool enough to think he had heard every sound in Mother Nature’s arsenal. The grunt came again, this time a few yards to the left of where it had originated. A wild boar, perhaps? Gil didn’t think they were indigenous to these woods, but that didn’t necessarily rule it out. More likely a feral pig. Either way, that could potentially be a worry. Pigs could be nasty fuckers when they wanted to be. Gil didn’t relish the thought of having to climb a tree all because he had stumbled across a nasty side of bacon with an attitude problem.

  Whatever it was, it was moving. It was also apparently aware that Gil had heard it because a few seconds later, it ended all pretense of sneaking about quietly. Gil heard a series of leaves crunch underfoot, and then the distinct noise of branches being snapped as something moved past them. Considering the sounds, something large was out there - and it was no pig.

  That probably meant a bear; in that case, best to end this game now and scare it off before it got bold. Gil bent down, taking care to keep his eyes on the area from where the noises were coming. He picked up two flat rocks from the stream and stood. At once, he started banging them together. The loud noise reverberated off the trees. It would have been enough to rattle the resolve of most bruins he had come across in his adventures.

  He stopped what he was doing and listened. There was silence for about two seconds, and then a sound carried back to him. It was the same sound he had just made. Was it an echo? Suddenly, it happened again. Impossible, thought Gil. Bears didn’t bang rocks together. It would have been quite the task, given their lack of opposable thumbs.

  Almost immediately, all the tension went out of Gil. “Carl! That better not be you!” he yelled towards the bushes.

  This year, for the first time ever, Gil had won the argument over the family vacation. He had offered his wife a compromise of two days in San Francisco in return for driving East through the Rockies and taking a week-long camping trip deep in the backwoods of Colorado. Neither Maria nor Carl had been happy about it, but even they had to admit that fair was fair. Both had promised to keep an open mind and to try to enjoy things; Gil, in return, had assured them that if the campout was a disaster, next year they could have their beaches and their amusement parks with nary a peep from him.

  Unfortunately, three days in, and it was looking like Gil might be forced to live up to his word. No matter what sights he showed them, his family had been unceasingly miserable. Truth be told, Gil was glad they had slept in today. His little fishing excursion was the first real enjoyment that he had gotten so far on this trip.

  If his son was now playing tricks, though, that gave Gil some hope. It meant the child had finally given up on grousing in front of his Game Boy and had decided to live a little. Sure, he’d read Carl the riot act when he saw him. The woods really weren’t a place to screw around in if you didn’t know what you were doing. Still, he was within spitting distance of their camp, so the risks were low. He’d go easy on Carl so as to not spoil what little progress had been made.

  “Last chance, Carl. Come on out!” Still no response. Either the boy was being obnoxious (a not unheard of thing), or it wasn’t him. They were pretty far out, but this was still a known camping area. It was very possible he had stumbled across another hiker who was now having a little fun at his expense.

  He was thinking these thoughts when he noticed that the normal sounds of the forest had finally returned. Whoever had been lurking there, having what they no doubt thought was a good joke, had moved away from the area. Gil sighed. Assholes; even in the big woods, you couldn’t always escape them. Oh well, Gil wasn’t too upset. He had played his fair share of pranks on fellow outdoorsmen in the not-so-distant past of his youth. No harm done, he thought as he continued on his way.

  Gil rounded a bend and could see the site about fifty yards away. Odd, he suddenly thought. Where were the tents? He should’ve been able to see them by now, especially the gaudy orange one he shared with his wife; it stuck out like a sore thumb in all but the deepest of woods. In the clearing where they had made camp, it was practically a beacon.

  Oh shit! He was afraid this would happen. Bored and miserable, they had gone and packed everything back up in the SUV. He wouldn’t have put it past them. They were probably thinking that if they put up a united front he’d have to cave in and drive them back to civilization; well, they had another thing coming. As far as Gil Mercer was concerned, a deal was a deal. He had no tolerance for welchers, especially in his own family.

  As Gil got closer, he noticed that things weren’t as he had first assumed. The site wasn’t stripped clean after all. Maybe he had caught them in the act. No, there was no movement. If they had been scurrying like ants to pack things up, he’d have seen them by now.

  It wasn’t until Gil reached the edge of the camp that a bad feeling began to enter his gut. The bright orange tent was still there after all; it had just been pounded into the dirt - flattened, actually - and was plainly missing a few large chunks. However, there was still enough color left for it to be unmistakable. A moment passed while this sank in, and then Gil dropped his fishing gear and sprinted full speed into the campsite.

  “MARIA! CARL!” he began shouting as he circled the center of the site. Here, it became evident exactly how bad things were. The tents were destroyed, and the sleeping bags were torn apart. Debris was spread across the entire area. It looked like a tornado had hit. Hell, it looked like someone had dropped a bomb on the place.

  Gil had never seen anything like it. He’d seen hungry bears attack campsites before; they’d make a hell of a mess - but nothing like this. The thought of bears brought another uncomfortable feeling to the pit of his stomach. Not wanting to, he forced himself to look more closely at the surrounding area; it didn’t take him long. Gil was no tracker, but even he could see the rust-colored stains on the grass. It told a grim story.

  Gil refused to believe
it; it had to be something else. The SUV! He was sure of it. He’d go there and find them waiting for him, then they’d all have a good laugh and drive off together. He held onto that thought like a drowning man; it was the only thing that was keeping him on his feet. He continued shouting for his wife and son as he raced to where the SUV had been parked, another fifty yards hence at the edge of the trail they had followed to this spot.

  Gil ran through a copse of trees and tripped over something hard sticking out of the dirt. He pulled himself to his knees and saw it was one of the doors of their Dodge Durango. Gil suddenly felt like he had stepped out of reality and into one of the horror movies that he and Carl would occasionally stay up late to watch. In the eerie silence of the forest, it was almost unreal.

  The silence! Gil hadn’t noticed it while he’d been shouting Maria and Carl’s names, but now he did. The sounds of the woods had once again retreated into nothingness. For a few seconds, all he could hear was the beating of his own heart. Then he heard another of those grunts from earlier.

  Gil turned towards the sound. Less than twenty yards away, just outside of the tree line, stood a nightmare. It was nearly nine-feet tall and at least twice as broad as Gil, all of it muscle...hairy muscle. It stared at him with red-rimmed eyes that bespoke of intelligence tinged with madness. Brown fur covered the creature from head to toe, with the exception of around its mouth; there, the fur was stained the same rust color as the grass in the campsite. The creature opened its mouth wide and let loose a roar that sounded as if it had escaped from the gates of Hell itself. Gil’s bladder emptied as the beast charged him.

  The next two minutes were both the longest and last of his life. Much of what came out of his throat - while he could still make noise - was little more than inarticulate screams; however, there was one thing that would have been obvious to any onlooker bold enough to have bared witness: during those few minutes, Gil Mercer loved camping a whole lot less than he usually did.

  * * *

  Bigfoot Hunters

  Available in both ebook and paperback.

  Table of Contents

  Introduction

  Just Another Brick in the Wall

  Time for a Recap

  Not Exactly a UN Summit

  Dating Habits of the Undead

  Here, Kitty Kitty

  A Sandwich with a Side of Chips

  A Test? I Didn’t Even Study!

  He Who Fights and Runs Away

  Green with Envy

  Fat Chicks versus Vampire Cake

  Attack of the Mighty Mongolian Monsters

  Gan and Billy Sitting in a Tree

  Slumber Party of the Damned

  Satan’s Shopping Mall

  The Scent of a Woman

  Heads Up

  Toked-up Television

  Magically Delicious

  Random Monster Encounter

  Lend Me a Hand

  Swords and Sorcerers

  Working Hard or Hardly Working

  A View to Die For

  What's a Little Murder Amongst Friends

  The Epic Epilogue

  About the Author

  Bonus Chapter