Bigfoot Beach

by Kristopher Rufty

  Scrolling down the page, the links seemed to carry on and on. A video link popped up for a local news station somewhere close to where Paul used to live. She clicked on it. As she waited for the opening advertisement to finish playing, she read the description underneath the video block.

  Local cop, Paul Thompson, saves life of Senator's daughter.

  The date showed the video was almost two years old.

  Finally the car insurance ad faded to black. A bumper of edited clips of news anchors and field reporters flashed across the screen, trying desperately to make the small time players seem more intense than what they truly were. When it was over, the camera cut to a blonde woman with way too much makeup sitting next to a much older male co-host.

  “Good evening, welcome to Your News Fix on Channel Six, and I'm Mary McDonald. Our top story comes from the small town of Granite Falls, where local cop, Paul Thompson resides. On his way home from a grueling day on the force, Mr. Thompson drove onto a scene that didn't sit quite right with him. Let's go to field reporter, Tawna Briarson, for the story. Tawna?”

  The video cut to the front of a large brick house. Camera slowly panning down to give the viewer a clear shot of just how lovely of a home it was. The shot stabilized on Paul Thompson. Though the date declared this video hadn't been recorded even two years ago, Paul looked five years younger. His hair was darker and fuller, less stress lines around the eyes and the dents leading down from his nose on each side of his mouth weren't nearly as deep. A woman who looked barely legal stood beside him, gripping a microphone. Her red hair was not her natural shade, Becky could tell, just from glimpsing its intense smoldering hue.

  There was a pause before Tawna spoke. “Thank you, Mary. I'm standing here with Paul Thompson in front of the mayor's home where he and his family have been invited. He's granted us at Channel Six his very first interview after the ordeal from two nights ago.” She turned to Paul, thrusting the microphone at his mouth.

  He cleared his throat. “Huh-hello there.”

  “Mr. Thompson, I want to thank you for talking with us today.”

  “My pleasure.” Smile.

  “Please, tell us exactly what happened when you left work two nights ago.”

  Paul took a deep breath. “Well, I was working the midshift, like I usually do on Thursdays. But because a cattle truck overturned on the highway, I had to assist with traffic and it was actually closer to one in the morning when I was able to end my shift.”

  “Lucky for Miss Blaylock.”

  Paul politely laughed. “I guess so, but maybe not so much for those cows. Anyway, I was driving my personal car along Bender Road. It's a private road, very scenic and woodsy.”

  “Right,” said Tawna.

  “Usually I don't even see any cars on that road at night, so when I saw a man and woman walking alongside the road, I was surprised. I was rounding a curve when they suddenly appeared and I veered to the left to avoid hitting them. I was passing by when I noticed the young lady's face.”

  “What was wrong with her face?”

  “Nothing was wrong with it. She's a very lovely girl.”

  Becky smiled. Paul just had to include that, didn't he?

  “What had me concerned was the fact that she'd obviously been crying. That caught my attention—her red eyes, tears coming down her cheeks. As my headlights swiped across them, I noticed, very subtly, that she mouthed something.”

  “Like saying something to you without speaking?”

  Paul paused. “Right.”

  Becky sighed. “You're a moron, Tawna.”

  “What did she say?” asked Tawna, her voice hardening with tension.

  “Help me.”

  “Oh, shit,” said Becky, getting into the video. She leaned even closer to the screen. A fingernail slipped between her teeth and she started to chew.

  “So what'd you do?”

  Paul took a deep breath, puffing out his cheeks when he exhaled. “I drove up a little ways, going no faster than ten miles an hour. I had decided that I was going to turn around and head back. As I was taking out my phone to call it into the station, I noticed some tire marks on the road.”

  “Skidmarks?” asked Tawna.

  “Exactly. They went off to the side. And that was where the car was. The passenger wheels had become lodged in the ditch, so the car wasn't going anywhere.”

  “What'd you think had happened?”

  “In a quick glance of the scene, I became convinced the young woman had been abducted and she'd struggled with her captor, making him crash the car.”

  “You knew this just by looking?”

  “Yes. It was a gut feeling. Maybe it was the look in her eyes, but I knew she was in some serious trouble.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I turned around.”

  “And went after them?”

  “That's right, after I called it in.”

  “And you caught up to them.”

  “I did. They were still walking. I had no idea where they were heading. But once I got close enough, I hit the brakes. When my car stopped, I hopped out and attacked the guy. I was on him before he even knew I was coming. I told the woman to get into my car.”

  “Did she?”

  “Not at first. She helped me…incapacitate the man. I put cuffs on him, and helped her into the car. Then we waited for my backup to arrive.”

  “Incredible.” Tawna shook her head. “And it turned out the man had kidnapped Miss Blaylock for a ransom, correct?”

  “That's what I learned, yes.”

  “And did you know at the time that the young woman was Katrina Blaylock, the daughter of our state senator?”

  Becky remembered hearing about this incident two years ago. They'd only done a reprint from a larger paper and Becky had hardly given the story a glance when she'd added it to the spread. No wonder Mayor Caine acted as if he wanted to make out with Paul last night. A hero had moved to Seashell Cove. She wished she would’ve known sooner or she might have run an article about it. Now that she thought about it, how had she not known Thompson’s brother was a celebrity?

  Becky considered it. Maybe she should run that story: Hero comes to Bigfoot Beach, ready to tackle a monster!

  Smirking, Becky returned her focus to the computer.

  “Such an amazing story, Mr. Thompson,” said Tawna from the streaming video.

  “Nah. I just did what anyone else would’ve done. Plus, it's my job.”

  “Yeah, right,” said Tawna. “Most would’ve kept driving. I wouldn't put it past any off-duty cop to shrug off their walking as taking a late night stroll.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. I try to have more faith in people, but you might be right.”

  “Thank you, again, Mr. Thompson. I understand that you and your lovely family will be eating dinner tonight, here at the Mayor's mansion.”

  “He's been kind enough to invite us, yes.”

  “I hope you're ready for the change, Mr. Thompson.”

  “Change?”

  “Yes. Your life will never be the same again.”

  The video ended. Becky sat there a moment, digesting what she'd just watched. She hated to agree with such a twit like Tawna Briarson, but it really was an incredible story. Paul just happened to be in the right place at the right time and had acted fearlessly. Becky wasn't one to admit when she was wrong, but she had definitely misjudged Paul. An apology was in order.

  Intrigued, she started to dig a little deeper. For months, Paul's popularity seemed only to expand. There were talk show appearances, public speaking appearances, and he even got to tell the gentlemen to start their engines in several Nascar races. Then, as with most cases, the stories came less often. Then they ceased to exist entirely. There wasn't another article about Paul until several months ago that read: Hero Cop loses his job in budget cuts.

  “Damn,” she said.

  Another article followed a few weeks later. When she read its headline, she felt sick inside and couldn't read the st
ory that followed.

  Hero Cop's wife suffers nervous breakdown, attacks him with a knife.

  10

  Derek squirted a pearly line of suntan lotion onto the small of Marcie's back. She arched from the cold stream, releasing a quiet squeal, but relaxed when he started smoothing it across her tawny skin. Her flesh absorbed the white goop, turning her skin velvety and slick under his fingertips. Fingers sliding across, he massaged her as he worked.

  She lay on a towel, arms folded under the side of her head, a cheek on her forearms. Moaning, Marcie said, “It's nice out here, isn't it?”

  “Yeah,” he said. He squirted another quarter-sized puddle between her shoulder blades.

  “Hang on.” She reached back and pulled the strap of her bikini where it was knotted at the center of her back. The strings unraveled, falling like soggy noodles on each side of her. “Get it all, rub it in gooood.” Laying her head back down, she wiggled with excitement.

  Derek squirmed, fidgeting with the rising pressure inside his swimming trunks. He'd been dating Marcie for over a year now and he still had these reactions whenever he touched her bare skin. The supplementary lotion and rubbing, and now that she'd unhooked her straps, made it even worse. He had to restrain to keep from pouncing her.

  “I'm about to admit something, and that isn't easy for me,” she said.

  “You do want to have some beach sex? I knew it.” He got to his knees and was tugging down his trunks when she started laughing. He paused. “Oh…that's not it?”

  Laughing, Marcie shook her head. “You're so silly.”

  Disappointed, Derek plopped back down, taking the lotion bottle in his hand. “That's me. Silly as can be.”

  “What I'm about to admit is that I was wrong.”

  Derek stared at the back of her head, the reddish hair tangled from sweat and humidity. “Wrong? About what?”

  “You were right. This is the perfect time to come to the beach. Being so close to the end of summer we have it all. The hot weather, the ocean and sand, and we can enjoy every bit without the crowds.”

  Derek's mouth dropped open. She had argued with him all summer about their vacation plans. If she'd had her way, they would’ve been out here Fourth of July weekend. With the mobs, the ocean would’ve been like a public swimming pool. He'd claimed the end of summer would also mean the end of the tourist spike, so the heavy hordes would be gone. He hated crowds, especially when he was on vacation. How could he be expected to relax and have a great time with strangers smothering him?

  “Glad to see you admit the error of your ways,” he said, giving her a light pop on the rump.

  Marcie squealed, laughing as she shook her butt for another, which he obliged.

  “You're something else,” she said. “And this spot, wow, it's great! Like something from an old romance movie, with the rocks and everything.”

  “Wow, two in one day?”

  “I don't know what's gotten into me.”

  “Neither do I, but I like it. I get some credit. Maybe I should rub lotion on your back more often. It weakens your defense systems and you admit I'm right.”

  “I can still get off this towel and dropkick you,” she said.

  “With your top being untied, that might just be worth it.”

  Marcie laughed even harder. “Get to rubbing, lotion-boy.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  He started on her legs, rubbing the backs of her thighs. They were perfectly shaped, tapering down to her knees and arching back out at her muscular calves. Derek was very relieved to hear her say she liked the spot. He'd worried she would never forgive him for making her cross over the rocks along the shore as they were lashed by the heavy waves. It was a small section of surf, heavily shaded underneath a large rock jutting from a huddle of even larger boulders. There was probably a cave somewhere farther up the incline, but he had no desire to hike up there to find out for sure.

  No, it was much better down here, sliding his hands across Marcie's backside. Maybe if he was lucky, she'd let him do her front.

  Should he do it now? Should he ask her? He'd been planning it all summer. The engagement ring had waited at the jewelry store for him to rescue it from layaway since Valentine's Day. Yesterday before driving to pick up Marcie, he'd made the final payment and now the ring was in his bag.

  He looked at the bag sitting on top of his towel. Now would be a good time. Maybe he could sneak it out of the bag and start rubbing it across her back. He imagined her face scrunching with confusion.

  “What's that?” she'd ask.

  “What?”

  “That sharp thing? Do you have a hangnail or something?”

  “I don't think so. Maybe you should check.”

  Even more puzzled, she'd roll over and grab his hand. When she pulled it open, the ring would be sitting there, its small diamond twinkling. A tear would bud in the corner of her eye, breaking free and sliding down her cheek.

  He was tearing up thinking about it.

  Derek reached for the bag.

  And saw a shadow flutter across Marcie's back. Something large plunged in front of him. A rock the size of a bowling ball smashed into Marcie's back, imbedding itself deep into her skin. There was a horrible crunching of her spine snapping.

  Marcie tensed. Her legs lifted, feet arched, toes extended. Her arms stretched out ahead of her as if groping the air in a skydiving adventure. Eyes and mouth wide, she squeaked underneath her breathy groans.

  “Mar-Marcie?”

  What felt like endless hours of dumbstruck watching passed, but in reality Derek knew it was only a couple seconds. He shook his head, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. The rock was buried in the soft skin his hands had just been massaging, the soft skin that had wrapped around his body during sex. All the showers they'd taken together, the baths, and the skinny dips.

  Now a hefty rock extended from a spread of pulpy gore.

  Her face was frozen in a combination of surprise and agony as she tried to peer over her shoulder. Her eyes seemed to be searching for him.

  Crawling around beside her, he got on his knees and leaned down. “Marcie, my God, are you okay?!”

  Groan, squeaky shrills.

  “My God, what happened?”

  He doubted she could even answer, but he would never know. Another rock struck the back of her head, exploding through her face. Hot streaks of blood and prickling bits of skull splattered across his face and chest. Her stiff arms and legs dropped to the sand, limp and still.

  Derek's screams broke off. Holding out his hands as if to ask what happened, he slowly shook his head from one side to the other. He felt his lips moving though he had no words to give them. Looking up, he saw the darkened shape of a large man on an angled ledge above him. He looked ragged, long nappy hair flapping in the wind. His arms were coated in dark hair that matched what was on his head. The longer Derek studied him, the more he realized it couldn't really be a man. Not that big and hairy, no way.

  Then he remembered the stories the locals had told him. Sighting of a monster on the beach. It had killed one person already, was still on the loose.

  Derek screamed.

  The thing hoisted another large rock above his head and shook it with both hands. And roared.

  Derek wet himself. The warm streams of urine filled the netting inside his trunks, spilling through the folds of his legs. There was no way any ordinary man could roar like that.

  He glimpsed the rock coming down at him fast.

  And he only felt the punching shock of pain from the mini boulder colliding with his face for a moment before blackness took him.

  11

  Gunner bit down on the hot dog. Chili and mustard dribbled down his chin. Quickly, he grabbed a napkin and wiped his mouth. He looked across the table to where Megan was forming her lips around the end of a corn dog blotted in ketchup. Suddenly his stomach began to feel as if he'd swallowed a cell phone set on vibrate. It was how her lips tightened around the corn bread, wrinkling sli
ghtly and puckering out. Even though she'd taste like a carnival, he wanted to kiss her.

  Noticing him staring, she winked.

  And that simple gesture sapped the rest of his appetite. He was too nervous to eat. Looking down at his plate, he had two and a half chili dogs left. How was he going to do this?

  Malcolm arrived, putting his Styrofoam cup of soda down first, then he swung one leg over the bench and sat down, straddling it like a motorcycle seat. “How is it?” he asked Gunner.

  “The food?”

  “What else?”

  “It's good.” And it really had been until his nerves ruined his hunger. He took another bite and its juicy warmth reminded him he wanted to eat. “Really good.”

  “Told you so. Quigley has the best hot dogs.” He set his plate beside the cup. On top were five aluminum-wrapped tubes.

  “Damn, Malcolm,” said Megan. “Did you leave any for anyone else?”

  “Doubtful,” he said, taking one from the plate. He unfurled the aluminum wrapping. The dog was fully loaded, with onions and slaw smothering the chili.

  Quigley's was located on the beach at the end of a pier that charged five dollars a person for its view. The food was expensive, but Malcolm had demanded he be allowed to pay. Gunner was grateful for the offer, for it kept more money in his wallet, but he also felt like a moocher for allowing it. When the cashier saw it was Malcolm, she'd given them the food for free, so the offer had only been for amusement.

  “How'd you manage that?” Gunner had asked.

  “You get free shit when your father's the king.”

  “Your dad's Quigley?”

  Laughing, Malcolm shook his head. “Quigley is an old kook that can't piss without someone's help. Nope. Our dad's the mayor and he bought the place from Quigley’s family when the old fart went senile.”

  Gunner resisted his initial reaction which would have been shock. Instead, he nodded coolly, making his way down the buffet line, telling the people behind the counter what he wanted on his dogs. Just like a Subway restaurant, they prepared his meal to his liking.