by Watt Key
34
The next morning I woke to the sound of Uncle John knocking on my door. I opened my eyes and found myself in bed, staring at the ceiling. My body ached all over, like I could feel the strain of the broken bones knitting themselves together again.
“Come in,” I said.
He entered carrying my medicine and put it on the bedside table.
“Thanks,” I said, sitting up and taking a pill.
Uncle John sat on the side of the bed and rubbed his face, like he was thinking of something to say. “You want to go to church?”
“Not really. Not like this.”
“Well, I’m not much of a churchgoer, but I don’t have anything against it either.” He looked at me and smiled. “Maybe I’ll just cook us a big breakfast. We can sit around here and get fat.”
I figured he was trying to be funny, and I didn’t feel like laughing, but I gave him a weak smile.
Uncle John took a deep breath. “I want to tell you something,” he said. “Something I never told anybody before. Not even your parents.”
“Okay.”
“You get to be my age and you’ve never been married, and people get to talking about you. Think maybe you’re weird. Maybe something’s wrong with you … Don’t think I don’t know that.”
“I don’t think you’re weird,” I said.
“I had a girlfriend a long time ago. We were going to get married. She found out she couldn’t have children, and she couldn’t get over it. She thought she’d let me down. It didn’t matter to me at all, but I couldn’t make her believe it.”
I looked at the floor.
“She left me. It tore me up, and I’ve never been able to replace her. But, despite that, I’ve made a good life, Adam. I enjoy my life. It’s not real exciting, but I think I’ve made good decisions. I think I’ve been a good person. And I have no doubt I can help you on your way to becoming a man.”
I nodded. I felt like I would cry if I tried to say anything.
“Just give me a chance, will you?”
Suddenly I couldn’t hold it inside any longer. I wanted a parent again so bad. I fell against him and sobbed into his shirt. He put his arms around me and squeezed me closer. We stayed like that for a few minutes without saying anything.
Eventually I pulled away and sniffled and wiped my face with my sleeve. When I looked at Uncle John, he wiped his eyes and I saw he’d been crying too.
“You said I could talk to you,” I said.
“Of course you can. I’m right here listening.”
“I found them,” I said. And I felt some of the pain leave me, like I’d exhaled it.
“You found who?”
“I found my parents.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I don’t know how to explain it. I need you to take me somewhere.”
Uncle John pulled away and looked me in the eyes. “What are you telling me? You found their bodies?”
I wiped my face with the back of my hand and nodded.
“Where?”
“I don’t know where it is. I mean, I was there, but I couldn’t ever find the place again.”
He continued to stare at me.
“It was in the Refuge. Somebody put their bodies in a hole.”
“You saw them there?”
I shook my head. “No, but I know they were down there. Their clothes were beside the hole.”
“Who put them there?”
I looked at him.
“Who put them there, Adam?”
“Those things.”
“What things?”
“Bigfoot.”
I saw him wince slightly. I could see he wanted to react but was doing everything he could to keep his composure.
“All right,” he said, calmly.
“I don’t want you to ask me any more questions about it. I just can’t keep it inside me anymore. I want you to know I found Mom and Dad. They’re out there buried somewhere. And I know it all sounds crazy, but that’s the way it happened and I can’t do anything about it and neither can you. But I need you to know.”
“Okay,” he said.
“And I don’t want to go to a doctor about it. I just need you to know.”
“Okay.”
“And I need you to take me somewhere.”
“Where do you want to go?”
“Yellow Jacket,” I said.
“Yellow Jacket?”
“It’s where I went when I left here. I met a man there. I need to talk to him.”
“Is that where you were the whole time?”
I shook my head. “No, I was in the Refuge.”
“Alone?”
I nodded.
Uncle John took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said. “When do you want to go?”
“Now,” I said. “Before it’s too late.”
35
It was cold and rainy outside, so I put on a stocking cap and got into my jacket and pulled an extra sock over my foot on the leg with the cast. Uncle John helped me into his truck, then crammed the wheelchair into the back seat. Then we started out of town toward Yellow Jacket.
We were several miles down the road before he said anything.
“Who is this man? Can you tell me that much?”
“His name’s Stanley.”
After a few minutes he spoke again.
“Adam, you know we can’t just keep it to ourselves if you know where your parents are.”
“I told you, I don’t know how to find the place again. It’s deep into the Refuge some—somebody carried me out of the woods when I was sick. I don’t know where I was.”
“But you didn’t actually see the bodies?”
“No.”
“So, you don’t know for sure?”
“I—”
“Forget it. Let’s just leave it at that for now.”
I nodded.
We drove the rest of the way in silence. What had taken me almost all night to walk only took us a half hour to drive. When we got to the crossroads at Yellow Jacket, I pointed to the left and Uncle John turned onto the dirt road. After a moment I saw the farmhouse ahead of us, and I told him to turn into the driveway and pull up to the porch.
As we approached Stanley’s house, I saw that the windows were dark. There didn’t seem to be a light on anywhere in the place. I got an uneasy feeling that maybe I was too late.
Uncle John stopped the truck in front of the porch and looked at me. “You sure this is the place?”
I nodded, watching the windows.
“Doesn’t look like anybody’s home.”
“Honk your horn,” I said.
Uncle John tapped on the horn. I watched the front door. Nothing.
“Do it again,” I said.
“You want me to just go up there and knock?”
“Better not,” I said.
“Why not?”
“Because he doesn’t like visitors.”
“Is he gonna shoot at us?”
“No, they took away his guns.”
“Who took away his guns?”
“I don’t know. Will you just honk again? Louder this time.”
“Crap,” he said. He pressed the horn again and held it down for a second.
Suddenly the front door flew open, and Stanley wheeled onto the porch, his eyes bloodshot with rage.
“What the hell!” he screamed. “Get off my property!”
“Good lord, Adam. Is that him?”
I didn’t answer. I wondered if this had all been a stupid mistake. I rolled down my window and leaned my head out. Stanley studied me for a moment. Then I saw some of the fire die in his eyes.
“That you?” he said.
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s me.”
His eyes went soft. “Where’d you go?”
At that moment I think I really smiled for the first time in months. “Where do you think I went?”
I don’t know how to explain why I felt such relief and happiness. Maybe part of me was j
ust glad Stanley was still okay. But it didn’t make sense I would even care about that. And it was more than that. All I know is everything about being there felt like something I’d needed for a long time.
“Is that your uncle?”
“Yeah. He’s gonna wait while I come inside.”
“I am?” Uncle John said.
“Well, come on, then,” Stanley continued. “But I don’t know what else I can tell you.”
I turned to Uncle John. “Can you help me out?”
He frowned with disapproval. “I guess so. That old man’s about a brick shy of a load.”
“I’ll be all right,” I said.
Uncle John got out, and I heard him getting the wheelchair from the back. Stanley watched as he came around to my side and opened my door and set the chair up next to it. Uncle John got me in his arms and lifted me out and set me into the chair.
“What the hell happened to you?” Stanley said.
“Long story,” I said.
Stanley motioned toward the ramp at the end of the porch. “Wheel him up here.”
Uncle John pushed me to the top of the ramp and then I was able to take over from there. “I’ll be in the truck,” he said.
“All right,” I said. “I might be a while.”
“Fine,” he said. “Go on.”
36
I followed Stanley inside and shut the door behind me.
“Didn’t think I’d see you again,” he said.
“I’m sorry I ran off like that.”
“I got a little carried away. All the talking brought back a lot of memories.”
“It’s okay,” I said.
“No, it’s not okay. I’m not always like that. I try not to be.”
“I know,” I said.
Stanley turned and faced me. “So what’s all this about?”
I found myself so eager to get the words out, my hands were trembling. “I did it, Stanley.”
“You did what?”
I leaned forward. “I went out there. Like you said. And I found them.”
“You found what?”
“You know what.”
He studied me long and hard. “And they did that to you?”
“Yeah,” I laughed. “The big one beat the crap out of me. He almost killed me.”
“What do you mean? What are you talking about, ‘the big one’?”
“I was out there for almost two months. I nearly died. But I found them—or they found me. And I was so scared sometimes, I wanted to die. There was the one I saw on the road that night. And I think he had a daughter and a little boy. And then there was the alpha. I called him Alpha. He’s the one that almost killed me. And there were more I didn’t see very good—but they were out there too. There’s at least six or eight of them. They bury their dead, Stanley. They have a hole in the ground, like a cave where they put them. They put my parents in there too. I—”
Stanley suddenly put his hands in the air. “Hold on a second, will you?”
I nodded and found myself catching my breath.
“What are you telling me?”
“I’m telling you I’ve got the proof.”
“You killed one? You got a body?”
I shook my head. “No.”
I reached into the pocket of my jacket and pulled out the camera. I wheeled close to him and held it out. Stanley stared at it for a moment, then took it and continued to stare at it in his hands.
“What is this?” he said quietly.
“It’s thirty-two close-up pictures of a female Sasquatch. From all angles. She let me take them. I mean, it was like she was posing for me, Stanley. These pictures are like something out of National Geographic.”
His fingers began to caress the plastic. “On this camera?” he said.
“Yes. Right there in your hands.”
“How? How did—”
“I told you I—”
“Is this a joke?”
I shook my head. “It’s no joke. Look at me. This is what it took to get those pictures. And a lot more you can’t even imagine.”
“No, I know what it takes. But—”
“But I did it. I did it for us.”
“For us?”
“I want you to have them. Do what you want with them.”
He studied me curiously without speaking.
“Now you have the proof,” I continued. “Now you can stop looking for them. Now we both know they exist, and we can prove it if we want. But the searching is over.”
“You don’t want to try and show them to anybody?”
I shook my head. “No. But if it makes you feel better, then you can. But the search is over.”
I saw him start to tear up. And suddenly it was hard to see him as a seventy-year-old man, but more like a kid, like this thing that happened to us reduced us both to the same level.
“It’s over,” I said again.
“But there’s no body.”
“No, there’s not. We don’t need one.”
He wiped his face and nodded.
“We don’t need one, do we?” I said.
He shook his head. “Not if we have these. Not if they’re as good as you say they are.”
“That’s right.”
“Does it help?” he asked. “I mean, do you feel better?”
“Yes, it helps, but not like you think. Now I realize, at least for me, that it wasn’t about the proof. It was about having a purpose. I just needed a new purpose. Now I need you to be here for me. You’re the only one who understands. I need to be able to call you and talk to you. I need you to get a phone, Stanley.”
He looked at the camera again. “How would we even get them developed?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s going to be easy.”
Stanley looked up. “What if they’re bad? What if the camera didn’t work?”
I shrugged. “It’s possible. But it’s a weatherproof camera. Chances are they’re good. The best the world has ever seen.”
“So, it’s over for you?”
“This part of it is, yeah. And now it’s over for you too. But I don’t think I’ll ever stop thinking about them. And I want to tell you everything I learned.”
“They bury their dead?”
“Yes.”
“The infrasound?”
“Made me puke and curl up like a baby.”
He sort of coughed and laughed with excitement. “A language? Did they talk?”
“I saw it all. There’s too much to tell you right now while Uncle John’s out there waiting for me. I’m going to come see you whenever I can, but you have to get a phone.”
“I can do that.”
“And you can call me.”
“Yeah, fine.”
“Oh, and one more thing.”
“What?”
“I lost your boat.”
“My boat?”
“Yeah. Your old boat.”
Stanley’s jaw dropped. “My God, son. To hell with that boat.”
I laughed. “I figured you wouldn’t miss it.”
“I’m going to get a phone,” he said. “You have to call me. You have to tell me everything.”
“I said I would.”
“Okay,” he said. “Okay … Tell your uncle I’m sorry I yelled at him.”
“Why don’t you come out and talk to him.”
Stanley nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I’d like to meet him.”
* * *
On the ride back I felt whole again for the first time in months. Uncle John could sense it.
“You seem happier,” he said.
“Yes, sir. I am.”
“I don’t suppose you want to tell me what all that was about?”
I looked at him. “I want to tell you more than anything. And I don’t expect you to believe it all, but I want to tell you.”
“Okay.”
“I’ve seen Bigfoot, Uncle John. I know it exists. I can’t do anything about that.”
“Look, Adam, I’m
not one to judge anybody. I know what you think and—well, I suppose it would be miserable for a person to live their life believing in only what they’ve seen for themselves. I believe in God. He doesn’t have me flipping about on the floor, he doesn’t even have me going to church very often, but I know he’s there. And I guess maybe that’s even more of a stretch than an ape-man running around in the woods.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to talk about it anymore. Most people won’t believe it. I know that.”
“Well, I’m not going to go around talking about God to random people either. Folks have their own ideas about things, and sometimes they don’t want to think much outside of that.”
“I’m going to write it all down. And then I’ll let you read it. Meanwhile, I’m going to try and be normal again.”
“There’s no normal, Adam. There’s just you and me and what we decide to make of things.”
“Okay,” I said.
“So let’s get on with it. Me and you. Whatever happens.”
“I’m good with that,” I said. “Let’s go home.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Let’s go home.”
EPILOGUE
I go out to visit Stanley most weekends now. Uncle John comes, and he and I have helped Stanley clean up the place, including giving it a fresh coat of paint and hauling away a lot of junk. By now I’ve told Stanley everything that happened to me, and he even read this. When it came to my experiences with Bigfoot, he helped me make sense of some of it.
I know you’re wondering about the pictures. Stanley hasn’t developed them yet, and I’m not in any hurry either. He keeps them on the bookcase next to the photo album. I know it’s hard to understand, but I think he’s come to the same conclusion I did. We’ve been through enough pain already because of these creatures. If the pictures are as good as I think they are, we’d be asking for a lot more.
Maybe someday.
But no matter what happens with the pictures or anything else, I know I won’t ever be the same boy I was before my parents died and before I encountered the creatures. I just can’t think of the world the same way anymore. But I think I can be a good version of another boy. A boy who’s lonely sometimes. A boy who still has a hard time making friends at school. It’s hard to be close to anyone when you have to keep secrets from them. I’ve adjusted as best I can, and I have other friends now. A few, at least.