Watching until my owner was behind the closed door, he let out a series of quick grunts. He stood tall, seemingly proud, and somewhat amused at his results. Walking over to where the shotgun lay, he examined it with interest before bending the barrel into a half circle. Giving us a parting glance, he raised his hand as if to wave before picking up the two dead piglets and exiting into the night.
In less than five minutes, the creature had succeeded in procuring food and scaring every living animal and human present. Now, that’s the way to make a statement!
Amazed and excited at what I'd witnessed—and having no desire in wasting an opportunity—I grabbed a quick bedtime snack of the closest mouse and lay back between the hay bales. My head, full of the sights of the event, recalled a conversation in Hell with another feline. He had described an elusive beast not unlike the one here. It had been called a “Bigfoot” by him, which obviously applied. My acquaintance had expressed relief at having been able to escape the creature’s wrath, only to be hit by a car a week later while chasing a small field mouse. I felt much the same.
The next morning—while dreaming of a Siamese fantasy lover with the most gorgeous green eyes—I was stirred from my delights by the voices of my owner and many more of his kind.
“Damn thing was a monster, bigger than anything I've ever seen,” Bobby told the others gathered. “It roared so loud I thought my ears were gonna bust wide open. Grabbed my gun away, like it knew what I'd planned on doin’, and was ready to tear me apart. I barely escaped with my life!”
“Now, Bobby, might you not be telling us a tale? After all, you said you'd just woke up to the pigs squealing,” one of the men offered while trying to hide a grin. “Ain't never seen nothin' like you describe. Could it have been a bear, instead?”
“Wasn't no bear,” my owner spat out, frowning at the suggestion. “You think I'm crazy, do you? Let me show you the tracks I found. You'll see for yourselves, wasn't no damn bear. Looks like a barefoot giant's footprint, I swear!”
As Bobby headed the men toward his evidence, I thought back a few hours and of the Bigfoot creature. It did look like a hairy giant and nothing like a bear. The beast had displayed skills in stealth, thievery, and killing, much like many in the animal kingdom. Yet, bravery, calculating intelligence, and even humor made it humanlike. Bigfoot was indeed a creature of profound uniqueness.
I passed on breakfast—my midnight snack still lying heavy in my stomach—and joined Bobby and the men. Disbelief covered the faces of most of the men as Bobby presented them the footprints he'd found. Hoping to help, I strolled over beside one of the impressions, dropped to the ground, and stretched out. Able to compare, many of the disbelievers gasped seeing the footprint was much longer. And, I'm no small kitty!
Hunting dogs, barking in the back of the men’s trucks, reminded me to return to the barn before I became part of the canine breakfast menu. There, I watched as all gathered their weapons and dogs and headed off into the woods. The baying of the hounds on a scent trail faded after a few minutes. All the activity had brought around my appetite, so I grabbed a small mouse for my own breakfast and took a nap.
Between the excitement of the previous night and my early awakening, I must have been more tired than I'd imagined. The sun fading over the horizon greeted me as I awoke. Exiting the barn, I relieved myself under one of the pick-up trucks still sitting in the barn lot. The lateness of the day made me wonder where all the men were. Even during hunting season, they would have returned by this time of day. Of course, humans are not the most predictable creatures, but this was odd even for them. From the barn, group of snorting, hungry hogs and mooing cattle wondered the same.
Famished, I partook of my evening meal and headed to the loft. Cleaning myself off, I heard footsteps running from the woods. Hoping to see Bobby—more for the sake of the penned-up livestock than myself—I hopped down to greet him.
Instead of Bobby, one of the others came into view. His face was filled with fear as he headed towards his truck. Panting with exhaustion, he turned and emptied his rifle into the forest before digging in his pocket for his keys. Before he could open the door, a nine-feet-tall monster burst from the woods and pulled him away. The man’s legs wagged in mid-air as the Bigfoot held him high with one arm, roaring in his face. I guess he didn’t like being shot at.
The beast’s other hand covered the top of the man’s head and twisted, duplicating the crackling sound of the piglets’ necks, and silencing the hunter’s screams of agony. Not stopping there, he continued to rotate the head until the flesh and bones could take no more, ripping it from the man’s body. Dropping the lifeless parts, the beast let loose with a series of loud, but short roars. I guessed it to be a victory announcement. How wrong I was.
In seconds, nine more of the beasts appeared, their heights varying between five to eight feet. Like a pillaging horde, the group raided the barn of livestock--killing the poultry and pigs--and herding the larger cattle into the forest. Barking out commands, the largest directed the plundering with efficiency, as if this wasn’t the first farm they’d raided. Soon, only the mice and I remained alive, watching as the last of them disappeared into the underbrush.
Curious, I followed using their scent to guide me. It was a simple task—them stinking as they did—and soon I was deeper in the woods than I'd ever been. Sidestepping the strike of a Timber Rattler, I barely escaped its fangs. Straying from the path had its dangers, but so did being easily seen. I proceeded with caution, lurking in the brush at every opportunity. Within a few minutes, I picked up the familiar grunts of the beasts. I took to the brush and crept forward, hoping to remain undiscovered … and alive!
A few more feet forward presented me with over a dozen of the Bigfoot creatures working together in a clearing next to a bare rock wall. Young and old were busy stripping the meat from the bones of the livestock, now lying motionless on bloody beds of leaves. Many gorged themselves on their sinewy, bounty treats while others wrapped up the extra in the hides they had skinned from the bodies. The smallest, which I calculated to be the youngest, played a role by digging deep holes into the rocky soil. Others, a little larger, searched the area gathering the evidence of their butchery—bones and such—and burying all in these same holes.
What amazed me most was the blazing fire next to the rock wall. No animal could create fire. Yet, these creatures had done exactly that. In addition, they knew enough to know exactly what to burn—the clothes of those humans killed. I recognized several of the shirt patterns of those that had left our farm early that day, including that of Bobby’s. They’d even sent a creature back to bring the body of the last one killed. His clothes joined the others in the flame as his skeleton was stripped of flesh. Obviously, these creatures weren’t picky eaters, if it was meat they consumed.
I stayed hidden for hours, watching the creatures communicate and complete their tasks. Ashes from the fire were scattered and all remaining shreds of clothing, bone splinters, and bloody leaves were buried and covered with clean leaves. When finished, the area showed no hint of the creatures having ever been present, nor of their crimes.
The darkness of night arriving, the largest made a final inspection tour of the area ensuring no traces remained. Again, barking out orders, the group formed a single file line. Walking in the footsteps of the one they followed, they marched into the forest, the last, the eight-foot-tall one that I’d seen the night before, turning to give me a wave before heading out of sight.
It all made sense to me. The strange disappearances of hikers and families from their homes, farm animals, even family pets, all could be associated with these creatures. Elusive? Of course, they were. While Bigfoot hunters searched areas in which they’d been, the creatures traveled to another. They were nomadic, never staying too long in one spot. They buried all evidence of their kills, and probably did the same to those of their group that passed away due to accident or normal death. Unless someone was to strip away the surface of entire forest floors t
he world over, they’d never find proof these creatures existed.
Alone, the sadness of Bobby’s death set in. He hadn’t been a bad owner, nothing like Amy had been, and now there would be no human in my life. But, there was nothing I could do about it. So, I retraced my steps—being especially aware of the night hunting rattlers, foxes, and bobcats—and returned to the barn.
For over a year, I was able to thrive on the mice that chewed their way into the barrels of grain and the fresh spring behind the barn gave me plenty of water to drink. Unfortunately, it froze up in the cold months, making my thirst unbearable at times.
Most of the pick-up trucks were towed away early on, leaving only my owner's to rust away. The roof of the house collapsed, crushing all inside. Soon, the remains were covered with wild plants as Mother Nature reclaimed the land as her own.
The vicious attack would never be forgotten. Many nights I would wake and listen for their approaching grunts and sniff the air for their stench. It was terrible stress—a recurring nightmare—one that shortened my life and turned my black whiskers white before their time.
And, even as I tell you this story, I sit here, worried about who these creatures are killing tonight. I’ve heard several families in the area are missing. I wonder…
* * * * *
“For a moment I thought you were going to get corny and say something like, “What’s that noise at the back door?”
“No, that would be beneath my standards,” Gabriela hissed back, obviously pissed at my comment. “No need to embellish when you’re speaking the truth.”
“So, Bigfoots do exist. Or, is the correct term Bigfeets?”
She almost smiled. “Now, who’s getting corny?”
“Okay, you got me. That was bad. Seriously, do the Bigfoot creatures exist? I always thought they were myths.”
“That’s what they want you to believe. It’s easier for them to remain hidden and catch victims unaware. By the way, what’s that noise at the back door?”
“You really didn’t go there, did you?”
“I couldn’t resist. Here’s a story you might find a little easier to believe.”
The Devil's Gift
Blood sprayed from the exploding chest, soaking the five-year-old and her aunt’s white bedspread. The body fell forward, crushing her deep into the mattress, its weight forcing her to feel the guts—still warm--slide against her bare torso. It was there she lay when her aunt returned home and discovered the gruesome scene. The woman ran from the house, leaving the girl still trapped, forcing herself to close her eyes and pray for someone to free her.
“Oh, shit … what in the hell happened here? Look, there’s a girl under his body. Her leg is moving! Help me get her out.”
Her eyes opened as a strange man and woman worked to shove her uncle’s body aside and pull her out. They rushed her to the bathroom, washing her off and wrapping her in a full-size towel. She watched the police rush into the home, anxious to investigate the crime, only to hurry to the bathroom to release their late lunches in the commode. Wary looks in her direction were combined with a fear of the unknown as the violent nature of the uncle’s death remained undetermined. She closed her eyes, hoping to forget what had happened, scared of what she had done and the punishment that would come her way. Curling up in the corner of the couch, she allowed herself to drift into a land where the people wore smiles, and no one thought of attacking another. Soon, she fell into a deep sleep. A sleep that would allow her to forget what had taken place—for years to come.
* * * * *
“What do you mean my alarm is going off?”
“Yes, ma'am, your home alarm has been triggered and has shown movement in the home,” the voice on the phone responded. “We wanted to alert you in case you'd triggered it accidentally.”
“I'm forty miles away and heading toward Indianapolis. Call the police, now!”
Just what I need, a damn burglar. Oh, God, what if they're vandals? The whole house will be destroyed by the time the police arrive—they're always so fast to respond these days—like following a fat woman in flip-flops with three kids pushing a cart down a supermarket aisle. I need to turnaround, fast.
Slamming on the brakes, Catherine cut the wheel and barely managed to skid into the “Authorized Vehicles Only” interstate crossing. “Yeah, I love you, too,” she yelled out as the driver of the car following her flipped up his middle finger and blasted his horn. Nothing coming, she spun tires and spewed gravel as she whipped out into the closest southbound lane.
Gotta get home. Can't depend on the cops to stop anyone. Will the house be a mess? What will they steal? Will they hurt my little dog? No, they can't hurt him—I just got him a couple of weeks ago. I swear if they do anything to Peanut Butter, I'll...
Thoughts poured through her head faster than the speedometer could hit eighty-five. He's such a sweet little thing for a Pekingese—wouldn't hurt a fly. Horrible images of teenage ruffians beating her sweet Peanut Butter took the place of the road in front of her. She'd seen videos on social media of kids thinking it funny and laughing as they stepped on puppies with spiked heels, mimicking their yelps and giggling as ribs and spines splintered. Some had shown demented youngsters grabbing hold of the poor animal's legs and yanking them until muscles and cartilage ripped, leaving the animals unable to do anything but roll about in anguish. How cruel and appalling. I swear, if anything like that happens to Peanut Butter, you better be sure to not let me find you. I'll do the same damn thing to you!
“Move, damn it,” hollering at a slow-moving eighteen-wheeler blocking the fast lane as it crawled past a slower one. “I don't have time to waste on your slow ass. Move!”
Fed up with the driver’s insolence, Catherine whipped the SUV over to the right onto the road's shoulder. Accelerator punched to the floorboard, the vehicle lurched forward, passing the semi-trucks on the right, and jumping in front of them within seconds. Horns blared behind her from both trucks. Yeah, it was dangerous, I know. But if your slow-moving asses hadn't had been in the way I wouldn't have had to do it.
Glancing up, the trucks were only dots in the background in her rearview mirror. Whizzing past cars, the SUV dared any to block its progress. At ninety mph, the number of cars increased as she got closer to her hometown. Weaving in and out of traffic, Catherine pictured her dog lying dead in a pool of blood in the middle of the living room floor. Teenagers, laughing and joking, spray painting graffiti on her walls and shattering her glassware. All she and her husband had worked for would be gone or broken. Why in the hell did you leave me, Jim? Why? We struggled for twenty-eight years. Then, when the kids were off and married, you looked at me and said, “Time for me to go.” Off you went, like nothing we'd been through mattered. You cast it all aside. The last eight years have been hell. I got a job and paid off the house and did the things you should be doing--painting, feeding the cows and pigs, running the farm--man stuff. You left me, you bastard … you left me. Now, everything's going to be ruined and little Peanut Butter is going to be dead. You son-of-a-bitch, it's all your fault!
The blaring of a siren and blue lights flashing in the mirrors broke her concentration. Slowing down and pulling over, she grew more frustrated waiting for the officer to approach. Will you hurry up and get your butt out of the car. I've got to get home. Maybe I can talk you into giving me an escort. Naw, that's never going to happen.
“Ma'am, I need to see your license and proof of insurance.”
“Officer, that's no problem,” handing them to him. “But, can we hurry? I just got a call from the security company. My house has been broken into and I'm desperately trying to get home before something happens to my dog. I'm so afraid the burglars will hurt him and destroy everything I own. You can call CBA Security or the Mt. Johnson police. They'll verify it. I really need to get going.”
“Do you realize how fast you were going through town? You were doing over eighty in a fifty-five zone. By all rights, I should take you to jail for reckless driving a
nd endangerment.”
“Officer, check out what I told you. I know I was driving fast, but there's a reason. This is an emergency!”
“I'll check it out, ma'am. Just stay in your car and I'll be back in a few minutes.”
You better be, you bastard. I need to get to my Peanut Butter! I don't have time for you to play around on your radio and computer. My dog needs me!
The next nine minutes took forever to pass. Catherine, tempted to forget about the cop and head down the road, pulled her fingers from the key several times. I think of the most stupid stuff when I’m supposed to be patient. Just like when I was young. Mom and Dad could never keep me from finding out where they hid the Christmas presents. Jim used to get so aggravated when I’d nag him about getting things done. There was no need to procrastinate, but he was the king of it. He had faults, too. He should have accepted mine.
“Okay, we need to discuss several things,” the officer started out after returning to her window. “First, I'm only going to give you a warning this time, but I've alerted the state police to be on the lookout for you. If they catch you doing one mph over the limit, you're going to jail. Second, your story checked out. The Mt. Johnson police are waiting at your house. Your dog is fine and so is the house. It's their guess that when the front door opened, and the alarm went off, the intruder was scared off. You'll need to verify that nothing was stolen once you got there. Be careful and don't let me catch you speeding ever again!”
“You won't, officer, I guarantee it,” taking her I.D.’s from the officer and dropping them into the passenger's seat. Taking her time, Catherine pulled into her driveway twenty minutes later and saw the officer sitting on her porch. Waiting for her to walk over, he spoke out, “I’ve already searched the house for intruders. No one around. Why don’t you look and see if you have anything missing?”
Opening the front door, Peanut Butter jumped up and ran to her arms. “My baby, I’m so glad you’re okay. Momma was so worried about you.”
Gabriela_Tales from a Demon Cat Page 5
