Two Bigfoot Tales

by Dane Hatchell

  The steps echoed hollow as Evans climbed. The porch sagged under his two hundred and fifty pounds of bulk. Manuel waited in front of the car.

  Smith remained calm toward the abruptness of the uninvited guests.

  Evans reached to hand Smith the business card.

  Smith snaked his hand from underneath his seat pulling out a twelve-inch Bowie knife, and started digging dirt from under his thumbnail with it.

  Evans quickly pulled his hand back. “I’m not here to waste any of your valuable time, Mr. Smith. Let me get straight to the point. There have been a series of unfortunate accidents in the Willow Creek Forest. The area seems to be inhabited by a mysterious creature of some sort. It has killed at least one man, others are missing and we suspect may have met a similar fate. Most believe it to be a crazed bear that made the attack. But photos have us wondering if perhaps it’s something else.” Evan reached in his jacket pocket, pulled out a white envelope, and handed it to Smith.

  Smith took the envelope with the hand holding the knife. Evans winced as the blade came toward his hand.

  After looking at each photo, Smith placed them back in the envelope. “What is it you want me to do?”

  “Mr. Smith, this controversy is costing my client money. We want this problem to disappear,” Evans said. “Do you have any idea what this creature is? Furthermore, are you the man to handle it?”

  “I’m the man. I’ve got two hundred insurgent’s scalps in my closet from my last four stints in the Army to prove it.”

  “Really? Two hundred scalps?”

  “No, it was a metaphor. I’m quite successful at what I do, though. Why did you come to me? Why not someone else? I’m not even licensed yet.”

  “My client has a problem. I need to take care of this problem as quietly as I can. My first attempt failed miserably. I want to go old school with this now. I need a skilled hunter who can track this beast down and take it out. I know of your military history, and I was hoping that you possess some of the unique instincts of your heritage. When I called the State License board looking for a Native American that lived in the area that could work as a guide, your name was the only one to pick from.”

  “I know the land well. My great grandfather taught me the ways of my ancestors. I’ve even seen tracks like these before,” Smith said.

  “You have? What are they of then?” Evens said.

  “Sasquatch, Bigfoot, all the silly names given to the Wise Man of the woods.”

  “It doesn’t surprise me that you would say that. That’s obviously what the prints seem to indicate,” Evan’s said. “It may be a bear, suffering from rabies or another illness. Or it all could be a deception perpetrated by one sick individual. You may find that the beast you’re looking for walks upright on two legs and uses deodorant. There may be a madman on the loose.”

  “What’s in it for me?”

  “A thousand cash now for expenses, two thousand when the job is complete.”

  “That’s the best you can do for an unemployed Vet? The economy is rough out there. I can’t even buy a job. It’ll cost you more.”

  “Okay, in respect for your service to our country, I can bump it up to three thousand on the back end.”

  “I want nine.”

  Evans removed another envelope from his jacket, and counted out ten crisp one hundred dollar bills, folding them in his hand. “I can give you four. In the end you’ll have five thousand dollars in cash that you don’t have now. Take the deal, Mr. Smith. It’s hot, and my friend and I need to get back to the city.” He held out the money.

  Smith frowned and let out a huff of bad air. “I will take the job,” he said, as he took the money, squeezing it in his hand.

  “Thank you, Mr. Smith,” Evans said.

  Manuel walked by the porch in front of Smith handing him a cell phone and a small leather bag. “This is a satellite phone that can be used anywhere in the world. Use it to update us on a regular basis, or if you get into any kind of trouble. There will always be someone to take the call. It’s programmed only to dial one number. The bag contains extra batteries, fully charged. This deal is strictly confidential. You do not have permission to take photos or contact any member of the media during your mission, or once it’s complete. We represent a very powerful corporation, Mr. Smith. I would advise you in the strongest way possible not to do anything to violate their trust.”

  “I get it, good lawyer, bad lawyer,” Smith said

  “It’s only business, Mr. Smith. Strictly business. If it does turn out to be a genuine Bigfoot out there, my client will never be able to start drilling. We can’t allow that, now can we?” Evans said.

  “No, I guess not.”

  “Then we do understand each other. Thank you, Mr. Smith. Goodbye and happy hunting.”

  Manuel gave Smith a nod. He and Evans returned inside the vehicle.

  “You low-balled that guy and he took it!” Manuel said.

  Evans removed a paper towel from the door’s side pocket and wiped his face. “To be a successful lawyer, you have to rely on precedent.”

  “China International gave you twenty-thousand dollars in cash to buy this guy. What precedent made you think you could take him for five?”

  “Well, the Indians sold Manhattan for twenty-four dollars in beads, right? I figured that if it could work once, it could work again.”

  “What will you do with the rest of the cash if he completes the deal?”

  “Smith will have his five grand, the problem will be eradicated, C.I. starts drilling, I keep the rest. Business expenses if you will. It’s not cheap to keep a BMW on the road. And I won’t bore you with how much it cost to keep a mistress entertained.”

  Manuel let the day’s events stew in his mind, feeling dirty inside, wondering if he had made a poor choice in choosing a career.

  *

  It had been over twenty years since Smith communed under the shade of the mighty forest. The sweet perfume of untainted air filled his nostrils and purged the inner rot of civilization from his mind. He was one again with nature, just another animal in the forest as his brothers the deer and the rabbit.

  He became lightheaded with the intoxicating freedom induced by the forest. He ran, weaved around trees, dodged low hanging branches, and skipped across protruding roots and gullies. He was one with the Sky Spirit. One with Mother Earth. He was Istaqa, the ‘coyote man,’ his Native American name his great grandfather called him.

  As he ran through a natural clearing, ghostly images appeared around him. Ethereal wigwams dotted the land, offering shelter made from bark and animal hides. Cooking fires sent black smoke into the blue skies and filled the air with hearty smells of savory food. Children chased about playing games, while their mothers busied themselves with daily chores. His ancestral father’s looked down from above and smiled, welcoming a lost spirit back to his true home.

  As he ran, a foreign shape above the ground caught the corner of his gaze, giving him pause, and bringing him back to the confines of the physical world. He slowed to a stop, breathing heavily, and drank from his canteen. The weight from his backpack suddenly felt five times heavier. In a slow march, Smith headed toward the mound, rubbing water from his hand to the back of his neck.

  It was a shallow grave covered in grasses and pine needles, under a layer of rocks. As near as he could tell it appeared to be less than a couple of weeks old. He immediately began to pull the rock and grass away to discover the hidden treasure.

  As he scratched through the first layer of covering, the smell of death rose to greet him. It was then he realized that the grass was foxtail, an aromatic grass. That, along with the pine needles, helped cover the scent of the decaying body. Only a creature possessing a higher level of intelligence would have learned to do that.

  The dead foliage parted to reveal a tuft of reddish brown hair, which led to the head of a Bigfoot beast. There it was before him, the recluse neighbor of his forefathers. Insects and decay had marred the façade of the magnifi
cent creature, leaving it with a withered scowl as if it shunned the daylight that had disturbed its eternal rest.

  Smith moved down the mound, cleared the grave of covering, and discovered that the Bigfoot that had died was male. Bigfoots mated for life. He now understood why a rogue Bigfoot had become so brazen and violated an unwritten pact with man. She was scared and alone without her mate. Smith knew there was nothing more dangerous, not even a band of insurgents, than the wrath of an irrational Bigfoot female.

  *

  Morty Drucker crashed through the forest of Willow Creek, wishing he had doused himself with bug spray. Misquotes and gnats didn’t normally bother him like this the closer he approached his weekly bath date, which was only two days away.

  The police made his mission more difficult by blocking a ten-mile accesses to the forest until the bear problem had been eliminated. If he hadn’t known about an old logging road, he would have been denied any chance.

  A gnat tried to enter a nostril, but he managed to shoo it away. A black fly found its target and bit through his pants on the left check of his butt.

  “Sun’o-bitch!” Morty removed the lid from a Mason jar he carried and took a sip. Then, poured a little of the moonshine in his hand and dabbed it around his face and neck. It burned, but in a good sort of way, making him feel impervious to the pesky insects from the inside and out.

  His heart swelled with hope in his adventure. Lady Luck seemed to be calling him by name when he heard the police report a few days before, intercepting it over a scanner. They said that a helicopter went down in Willow Creek Forest. But the newspaper printed that no flight report had been filed with the FAA, and no pictures were allowed of the wreckage. The site had been off limits ever since. Morty knew what the police were hiding. It had to be Roswell all over again.

  If he could get to the site, he could find some scrap pieces and parts of the crashed UFO. Maybe something unique enough with some super-special properties that could be back-engineered and bring in millions of dollars. He needed to get to it before anyone else had a chance to steal his fame and fortune.

  He removed a compass from his front pocket and adjusted the distance from his eyes until the needle came in focus. Satisfied he was still heading in the right direction, he lifted his head toward his destination.

  Hulking before him as large as the Bigfoot chiseled from wood at the Bigfoot Museum in Willow Creek, stood a real live female Bigfoot.

  Morty did a double take and rubbed his eyes. Even after taking another sip from his Mason jar the beast remained in his path.

  “Glory be! I was hoping to find little gray aliens and instead I found Bigfoot,” he said to himself.

  The creature remained reserved, hardly batting an eyelid.

  Thinking of ways he could communicate, Morty slowly removed his backpack and fished out an apple.

  “Are you hungry, big girl? I got a nice Granny Smith apple for you. Grew it on my place, I did,” Morty said, stepping cautiously forward. He rolled it on the ground over to her. It stopped when it bumped against her big toe.

  The creature curiously looked down at it, picked it up and lifted it to her nose.

  “Go ahead, it’s good for you. Eat it.”

  She bit off a small piece, and popped the whole thing in her mouth.

  “See, I was right, wasn’t I? How about a banana?” Morty hurried back to the backpack and snatched out the banana, peeling the skin down halfway. “Try this. It’s good too, even though I didn’t grow it,” he said, tossing it over.

  He was close enough to see her eyes light up when she sniffed it. She ate it whole, smacking her lips with obvious approval. Her eyes narrowed toward him after it was gone, looking at him with a cross expression.

  “What? Oh, you want more? I . . . I don’t have any more fruit. All I have is some canned soup,” Morty said, feeling the tension thickening the air around him. “Hey, how about some white lighting? That’ll knock the edge off of whatever’s bothering you.”

  Morty stepped toward her, slowly opening the Mason jar. He stopped within arm’s reach, and brought the jar to his mouth. “See what I’m doing? Just a sip. Just take a sip to get used to it.”

  He raised it up to her, balancing it on the open palm of his hand. She reached and grabbed it with her thumb and forefinger, lifting it to her nose. The Bigfoot’s nostrils flared. She emptied the jars contents in her wide-open mouth in one motion.

  White lightening and Bigfoot flem spewed out her mouth, raining all over Morty.

  “I told you to sip it!”

  Morty never contemplated that the last six words he would utter before his death would have been those.

  The hairy she-beast grabbed him by his pin-head and twisted it off like a bottle cap. After eating her fill, she disappeared into the forest.

  *

  The tracks along the stream’s edge and surrounding area were distinct and plentiful. This was totally out of character for a Bigfoot. The creature known as the Wise Man earned that name because of its ability to live among the Native Americans and for the most part elude detection. This female hunted in a confined area, and now he understood why, it was because of her mate buried not far away. For some reason unknown to him, it was binding her from leaving.

  It didn’t make any sense to Smith. She should have sought solace in her kind for protection. If not for herself, then for her child.

  Smith watched the bait struggle in the trap set for the Bigfoot, while hiding in a nearby tree after dousing himself in fox scent. A fat rabbit struggled amidst thick briers and tied to a willow near the stream. Smith had trapped the rabbit earlier, and then chained it securely to the root of the tree.

  The rabbit made plenty of noise trying to make its escape. Smith’s only concern was another predator would come upon it before the Bigfoot.

  Nearly two hours passed before Smith heard the approaching sound of two sets of feet mashing twigs and grass. His heart raced, he suddenly felt exposed high in the tree.

  He had no doubt the Wise Woman of the woods could climb, and now feared his 9mm pistol wouldn’t be powerful enough to stop her, as she and her child walked into view.

  She looked just as his great grandfather had described: More human than not, but fiercer than a mighty grizzly. A cross between a marvel to behold and the worst of nightmares. Mankind had a brother who lived hidden among them throughout time. Maybe it was merely being patient, waiting for man to make himself extinct before inheriting the planet.

  It was then he noticed the mother held a human arm by the wrist. Lifting it to her mouth, she pulled the meat off the bicep with her teeth, and chewed with obvious satisfaction.

  Cold sweat ran down Smith’s neck. He prayed for her not to smell his fear.

  Immediately hearing the rabbit she dropped to one knee while pointing for her son to see. She whispered something in his ear. He lowered himself to the ground, as if waiting to launch on her command.

  With a slap on his rear, the child beast ran with the speed of a pouncing cougar toward the rabbit, which now lay still, its nose to the wind.

  Just before the boy could make his dive for the prey, the ground cover of leaves and branches gave way underneath, sending him plunging into the twelve-foot deep, narrow gully below.

  The child’s all too human scream and his disappearance from sight had the mother quickly over to the hole and down in its belly to save her son.

  Smith dropped past branches and onto the ground as fast as gravity would allow. The gully was nearly six foot wide. It wouldn’t take very long for her to climb out.

  He ran to the side of the gully and looked down at the surprised faces of his captives, grabbing a pouch from his belt. He reached his arm over as much as he dared and shook out the contents of the pouch.

  A cloud of dust rained on the two Bigfoot beasts, over ferocious protest. Powered hallucinogenic mushrooms once used by his tribe’s Shaman to induce dreams of the future filled their lungs. It channeled the inner rage through a wild wonderla
nd unimagined, ushering a rollercoaster ride into oblivion.

  Smith let the pouch drop and rolled away on his side. He didn’t want to breathe any of the airborne hallucinogenic.

  With a sigh of relief, he removed the phone from his pocket and assured the voice on the other end that the deal was now complete.

  Over the next thirty minutes, Smith celebrated his catch with water and several pieces of jerky. Enough time had passed for the powder to settle. He brushed his hands clean on his thighs and removed the Berretta 9mm from its holster.

  The two creatures lay motionless, as harmless as stuffed animals at the fair. Smith put the sights between the mother’s eyes and cocked back the hammer. Something fought against him from the inside, denying him the ability to pull the trigger.

  The two were just animals, he told himself, ones to be feared at that. He had no idea how long the mushrooms would hold them in its spell. He needed to close the deal, and still, he couldn’t bring himself to squeeze the trigger.

  Mother Earth took him by the hand and led his mind through the eyes of the wolf, hunting with its brothers and sisters. Then, through the eyes of a buck deer, charging through the woods to meet another challenging his territory. Finally, from above he soared on the wings of an eagle, spying a squirrel hiding still on a tree limb.

  Then, he saw himself through the eyes of the Bigfoot. A horrific monster, bleeding from open wounds gashed out by the talons of lust and greed. Turning instantly to rot everything that his spoiling fingers and his selfish dreams touched. Spewing refuge on the simple ways of nature, and in his gluttony stealing any hope from the pure and innocent.

  Smith found no justification in killing the creatures. In fact, he felt they deserved to live more than he.

  Faint engine roars of four wheelers fast approaching pulled him from the deep pit of shame. He stood with the 9mm hanging limp in his hand.