Original Short Fiction: How to Hunt Bigfoot for Fun and College Credit, Part Two, Bigfoot's Kids!

Who knew listening to people who take Bigfoot seriously all day could be sooo boring?

*If you haven't read part one, read it here, first. *

We’d recorded three sessions with “experts” in the field of Cryptozoology and I was expecting the next one to “prove” that Santa existed with reindeer droppings and teeth marks on carrots. Seriously.

“When you compare the width of the footpad between the Upper Michigan peninsula man, and the Washington finds, you can see that they are nearly identical. While we don’t understand enough about their migratory patterns yet, similar tracks have been found across the Yellowstone basin and as far south as Jackson Hole, like this set of tracks found behind a popular watering hole, in Jackson’s tourist district.”

On the screen a picture of a salloon popped up and the audience chuckled. At least this guy had a sense of humor about it.

“All of these print sets are attributed to this hoaxster, Robert McGillicuddy.” A picture of a skinny man, with thick glasses popped up on the screen.

**

The morning had started out with two big confessions on my part.

**

First, I had to tell Phil the truth about what he had encountered last night, “… so, I’m sorry I told you he left because he was scared. Truth is, you probably ruined Carlos’ chances of reproducing, at least in the near future.”

Phil hadn’t taken well to making a fool of himself, but after seeing the footage, agreed it was hilarious and well worth it and that he should probably get Carlos a nice apology gift. That was one thing about Phil most people missed. He was so straight laced much of the time, but the guy has a wicked sense of humor.

“That sucks, now we’re short a boom mic operator. If we’re going to get good audio, we need to ask around and see if we can hire someone that’s not a complete idiot,” he said, sipping black coffee from a Styrofoam cup from a pot outside the office.

Which led to confession number two.

“Well, I have a pretty good idea who might just fit the bill. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

We walked out toward the parking area, but before I could explain, Phil was on the run, “Dude! Someone’s been in the van, the door’s open,” he turned back, “Come on, if that gear is gone, or damaged, our lives are pretty much over.

Phil charged around the back of the van, then pulled up, looking surprised. There, going over the audio gear with a checklist on a clipboard, was Gwen, the blonde from my picture. While Carlos and Phil had loaded gear into the trailer, I’d snuck Gwen into the back and that’s where she’d spent the night, waiting for me to make my big reveal.

“Tada!” I said, jumping in front of Phil, with my biggest smile and best “jazzhands”. “I knew she’d come in useful, so, I brought her, and now that Carlos is, um, out of commission, it’s a good thing. Her dad runs a video production company, she’s been doing this stuff since she could walk.”

“Hi, I’m Gwen,” she said, extending a hand, which Phil reluctantly took. “I’ve got everything loaded with batteries and checked so far. You guys about ready?” She checked a pink watch, on one of the most beautiful arms I’d ever seen.

Phil just huffed.

So, while Phil manned the camera from an aisle seat, Gwen was down front, with a boundary mic and a shotgun, catching audio on two channels.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a huge man walk in through the back door of the church that was serving as a conference hall. It was more the ripple effect of bodies shuffling aside to make room for him that caught my attention.

He had to pull his hat off to get through the door, his hair was a brillo pad afro that stood out from his head by a good ten inches, and when he re-perched the hat on top of the hair, I had to hold in my laughter. The effect was staggering.

The hat, a small-ish denim cowboy hat, setting at an impossible angle, as it the fro had picked it up, like carpet lint and it was hanging there from sheer static cling.

Phil turned to see what I was looking at and immediately turned back to the speaker, apparently the boredom was mine alone, as the majority of people in the hall seemed fully intent on the presentation, taking notes, and scowling thoughtfully.

From my position at the outside end of a pew, near the front, I could sit almost facing the center aisle, giving me a perfect view as the big man scanned the crowd, checking faces, I assumed, against an image on an impossibly small smart phone, he held cradled in the palm of his giant hand.

When he saw me he did a double take, from me, to the phone and back again.

I was definitely the face he was looking for. Who was he?

The man turned and walked out the door, snatching the hat down and expertly repositioning it on the other side. I tapped Phil on the shoulder, “Hey, I need a restroom break, be right back.” I said.

The hallway outside the auditorium was too bright. The lights inside had been turned out for video projection and the windows covered in foil. I blinked, catching the back of the giant has he shuffled off into a side hall, with a restroom sign pointing down it.

Perfect.

The men’s room only had two stalls and a single urinal, but I couldn’t see where the guy had gone.

I stepped into a stall, and dropped my shorts. About a second after my cheeks met the cold seat, my feet slipped out from under me, cupped in the impossibly large hands of the man with the hat as he dragged me from the stall, underneath the door.

Somehow I managed to avoid hitting my head, and pull my shorts up at the same time as he dragged me out into the bathroom and lifted my feet toward the ceiling, my head dangling a few inches above the floor.

He wasn’t alone, a little guy, with sharp, spicy breath bent over and peered at me. “This is him,” he said.

The room spun as I was returned to my feet, a bit woozy, but none the worse for wear. I buttoned my pants and looked up, “How can I help you gentlemen?”

“Get your friend, or I’ll snap your neck,” the big one grunted, making no effort to move out of my path. After a few seconds of jockeying, it became apparent that the only way out was under his legs. I moved as quickly as possible to the door.

I had a choice. Run, or get Phil and find out what was going on.
My brain spun through the options. If I ran, I might make it back to the city before they caught me, then what? I could text Phil and warn him, but, if there were other exits out of that sanctuary, I hadn’t seen them.

His odds of escape were nil.

These might not be the only two. I had no choice, I re-entered the auditorium and made my way down front.

“Let’s go,” I tapped Phil on the shoulder and the look on my face must have been pretty serious, because instead of arguing, he packed up and followed me out. Signaling Gwen, who did the same.
“Where we going?” he asked, nearly bumping into the afro mountain, who smiled. I think.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen, I’m Luis. I think you know my cousin, Carlos,” the smaller man said, with a leer that revealed a gold front tooth.

My stomach sank.

Whatever these guys wanted, it couldn’t be good. Phil looked like he was going to be sick, and Gwen, who had heard the entire saga of last nights misadventures stood awkwardly, not sure what to do.

“Guys, I am so sorry about last night, I had no idea, they were playing a prank….”

The big man started laughing, his denim hat bouncing on top of the springy curls, the little guy smiled, chuckling silently.

Through tears, the giant patted Phil on the shoulder, “You kidding me, man? First, shake!” he took Phil's hand in his massive fist, “Nice shot! Nah, we ain’t mad bro, but we got something you need to see.”

“Who’s your friend? Carlos said two guys,” the thin one said, smiling.
Gwen stuck out a hand, “Hi, I’m Gwen. The new Carlos, I guess.” She bit her lip, uncertain how her joke would be received.

The giant just laughed harder, “Damn, Carlos, looking good today, bro!” he fist bumped Gwen, then turned for the door.

With a collective sigh of relief we followed them out into the sunshine. The big man drove a Jeep Wagoneer, sort of. The top had been cut out, and the back sides were chopped down, so that the rear seat, sat in a sort of makeshift bed, without a roof or windows.

I followed them as far as the van would go, through a series of twisting roads, growing narrower with each turnoff, until we reached a creek, where it seemed to reach a dead end. The smaller guy climbed out of the jeep and walked back. Phil rolled his window down.

“You’re gonna have to ride with us the rest of the way,” he said, turning back to the jeep.

Phil and Gwen grabbed what they needed to record whatever we were about to be shown and we climbed into the back of the jeep, crowding together, with Gwen in the middle.

The Jeep was much more capable than I would have expected, climbing up and over the boulders and onto a narrow, rutted track that was little more than a game trail. We climbed up through pine forest, along rocky ledges and through two or three narrow gorges, I couldn’t keep track.

Finally Luis pulled the jeep to a halt and we climbed out. The big man continued on foot, surprisingly agile for his size. He squeezed between two trees and as we followed, we found ourselves at the edge of a sheer drop off at the foot of a narrow footbridge, running over a water fall plunging into a deep recession in the rock.

The big man scrambled across the bridge, his smaller companion right behind.

We waited for Luis to clear the other side, and the bridges swaying to subside, then ventured across. It was, surprisingly, stable.

After a short climb to the top of a ridge, we arrived at the door of a tiny cabin. It seemed to be held together through sheer source of will, more than anything else.

The room inside was dark, and in the corner set a tiny old woman. From the way that Luis and the second man responded to her, it was obvious they had a deep love and respect for her.

“Abuela,” Luis said, “Carlos asked me to bring these men here to hear your story.” He said.

The old women lit up and began to chatter in Spanish.

“She says have a seat, and she will tell you the story of the “Miracle Bear” children.”

I sat on the floor, “Is it okay if we record this?” I asked.

The old woman nodded and smiled, “She understands English, but she says it makes her too tired to think in English, so she only speaks Spanish.” Luis explained.

The old woman started in, Gwen and Phil positioned the equipment to capture her story and I sat and listened as Luis interpreted for me.

“Once, when I was young, there was a family in our town who found two “Miracle Bears”. They looked like children, except for their long faces, long fingers, and hair that covered every inch of them. They raised them as you would a child. They even went with the family’s children to our one room school.”

The old woman got a far away look in her eye and reached out to the thin man, who rummaged through a bookshelf and pulled out a weathered photo album, placing it in the woman’s lap.

Luis continued, as the old woman began to speak again, “They never spoke, but could do sums, and read with understanding. They played games, and could understand the rules. We were told never to speak of the Miracle Bears, because men from the Forest keepers would come and take them away and lock them in a cage to study.”

Here she opened the book and took out two photos, on paper so brittle it felt like it might crumble.

One showed two tiny sasquatch looking creatures, wearing clothes that appeared to be early 50s in style. The second was the same two children, on either side of a smiling, dark eyed girl with jet black hair.

“This is my grandmother with the Miracle Bear children, and the two Miracle Bears,” Luis said.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. There must be some explanation, some glandular condition, something. I had too many questions.

“Where did they come from, the Miracle Bears?” I asked.

“Their mother was found killed on the side of a highway, her two tiny infants clinging to her body,” Luis translated, “After the children were rescued, they went back for the mother, but the body was gone.”
Phil looked up from the camera with a look of awe, “Dude, these photos look legit. I can’t believe what we’re hearing.”

The old women began to speak again, this time she seemed angry, Luis translated, “There are stories now that another pair of Miracle Bears have returned to the town. But it is not the same. These children, are not treated as children, they are kept in a cage."

"Their mother is not dead, they were taken from a nest, on the other side of this mountain and moved a long distance from their mother. The mother mourns at night, you can hear her howls from here.”

A chill ran down my spine, Sasquatch children, being kept in cages and we might be the only ones that knew.

“Where?” I asked.

The old woman spoke at length with Luis, then he replied to me, “She says she wants your word that you will not add to their mother’s grief by revealing them. Some day, she says, the Miracle Bears will grow and gain their freedom, but, if their location gets out, nothing will stop the terror that will come on the Miracle Bears.”

“We swear,” Phil said, a little too eaglerly, “We would just like to see them.”

“No cameras must be taken there,” Luis said. “We can show you to a guide who can take you there.”

My heart beat through my chest, this had all started as a prank and now we were about to be introduced to real live Sasquatch children.

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