by Adam Sidwell
“Calories! Calories!” cried Zeke, pounding his fork and knife against the table.
One look from Mom silenced Zeke, forcing him to set down his silverware. He folded his hands like an angel.
“I mean, such a pleasure to dine with you lords and ladies this evening,” Zeke said in the most sugary, polite voice he could muster.
Guster scrunched up his nose. The tomatoes in the sauce smelled fresh. Mom had clearly used the Felicity Casa special recipe, which meant that it would have plenty of spice and a robust, lingering flavor.
Dad blessed the food, and Guster served himself up a big helping of ravioli. The first bite was complex: meat and cheese, all wrapped in a pasta envelope. He sorted out the tastes in his mouth until he found familiar flavor that came with every dish Mom made.
He swallowed. He thought he saw Mom smile out of the corner of his eye. She still did that every time he ate her meals.
“Mom, do they have power outlets at Camp Cucamunga for my blow dryer?” asked Mariah.
“In the bathrooms, dear,” said Mom. “Which reminds me, you all need to get your backpacks packed by tomorrow night so that you’ll be ready to go.”
“Can’t wait,” said Guster.
Mom glanced at Dad.
“Mom, Guster said he tasted something funny in your tuna fish sandwich today,” said Mariah. “He thought it was going to eat him.”
Mom put her fork down.
Mariah had sold him out. Why would she do that? She seemed to be less and less on his side lately. Usually his older sister was someone he could talk to.
“It’s not like that,” said Guster. “It was like . . . like . . . something dangerous.” And then he wished he hadn’t said it that way.
It was frustrating. He couldn’t explain what he tasted in that sandwich any more than he could explain the color blue. However he described it, he was bound to sound crazy.
Mom sighed and glanced at Dad again. Her round moon face tightened. “Guster, you’re not going to Camp Cucamunga this year,” she said.
The words fell like a stone on Guster’s chest. “What!” Guster pushed himself back from the table. “Why?”
Mom spoke calmly, “We’ve been touch with Felicity Casa. She’s coming here to help you with some special training.”
He couldn’t believe this. Did she know what she was doing to him? He’d been looking forward to going to camp for years. It was finally his chance to go, and now they were taking that away? He ran out the back door, slamming it behind him.
He stood on the porch, watching the sky turn twilight gray as the sun set. The screen door swung open behind him. Dad stepped out onto the porch.
Henry Senior was tall and slender, with a large nose that stuck out from his face like the bow of a battleship. His brown khaki pants were hitched up past his belly button, just like they always were. He wore the collared shirt of an insurance salesman.
“Son, your mother and I talked about this for a long time.”
Guster stared at the barn. Its colors had faded in the dusk. He didn’t know why they were making such a big deal about what went on inside his mouth.
“We know how much you wanted to go to camp, son,” Dad said. He put a hand on Guster’s shoulder. Guster didn’t move. It had been almost a whole year since he’d seen Felicity Casa. Why did she have to come now? Guster didn’t know if he could trust her completely. He didn’t dislike her. That was far from the truth. In fact, Guster respected her skill. His taste buds tingled when he watched her cook on her weekly television show. But what special training did she have in mind for him?
“Why does she have to come here?” Guster asked.
“She suggested that she could help you, and we didn’t want to pass up on the opportunity.”
“Help me?” Guster asked. “With what?”
Dad sighed. “Guster, your mother and I are worried about the things you taste in your food.”
Guster wondered what there was to worry about. Dad hadn’t been there to see how Guster’s taste buds had saved the family time and again last summer. Dad didn’t know how useful Guster’s taste buds were.
Plus, Guster wasn’t a problem at home anymore. He ate everything Mom put in front of him. If his particular palette didn’t bother him, why should it bother his parents?
“I’m eating all of Mom’s dinners,” he said.
“And a fine job you’re doing, too. That’s not what we’re worried about. You still notice things. You talk about it all the time, and we don’t want it to be a burden on you. You shouldn’t have to worry about those kinds of things. We want you to be able to forget about it and go play baseball, or search for secret fishing holes with your brother.”
“Zeke doesn’t like fishing anymore,” Guster grumbled. That was Zeke’s fault, not Guster’s.
“Felicity can help you,” Dad said. “Think of her like a coach, or a tutor. She has some special training she’d like you to try. You should be flattered.”
He didn’t feel flattered. Instead, it sounded like being forced to take piano lessons—there were other things he’d rather do.
“Does it have to be this week?” asked Guster.
Dad shook his head. “Felicity is a very busy woman and we had to get her when we could,” he said. “Your mom tells me that Felicity is very skilled, and that if anyone can help you, Felicity can.” Dad knelt down to look Guster in the eye. “Guster, did you think about what you would eat while you were at camp?”
Guster had not thought about that. He had been so excited about archery and wood carving he had forgotten that he would have to go without Mom’s cooking for a whole week. He didn’t want to eat anything else.
“Mom could pack raviolis for me,” he said.
Dad smiled and the wrinkles radiating from the edges of his eyes deepened. “Every mother should have a son as loyal as you,” said Dad. He looked at Guster with a broad, gentle smile. Was that pride in his voice?
Guster had no idea how to respond. Dad was not making it easy to fight him, so Guster just leaned his elbows on the porch railing and stared at the night falling. He did not want to accept defeat, but there was nothing else he could say. Dad’s mind was made up.
“No matter what, you’re going to have to learn to do things without your mom hovering over you,” Dad said. “Felicity will be here at noon tomorrow.” He turned toward the door, his hand lingering on Guster’s shoulder for one second more. Then he went inside and the screen door closed shut with a light clang behind him.
Guster grunted. That was like just Dad, extra cautious about everything, concerned about things he did not entirely understand. It was Dad’s job to worry.
Guster should have kept his mouth shut and his opinions about food to himself. It would have kept him out of this mess. His parents were so confusing!
Guster pounded the porch railing with his fist. As he did so, he thought he saw a shadow move in the trees at the edge of the yard. It wasn’t just a squirrel or a coyote, it was something big. Something very big. He peered into the darkness.
The screen door opened like a catapult, clanging into the side of the house as Zeke charged through it.
“Oh, you’re out here,” Zeke said, a bowl in hand. “How am I supposed to eat this ice cream in peace?”
In an instant, the shadow shifted and was gone.
“Did you see that?” Guster asked, pointing to the edge of the property.
“What?” asked Zeke. “Those trees have been there a long time, genius child. It’s called nature.”
“No, it was something else, like an animal,” Guster said. He didn’t care if Zeke taunted him. He knew what he saw. “I need a flashlight.”
He ran into the house and grabbed a flashlight that was plugged into the kitchen wall for emergencies. He switched it on and leapt down the porch steps. Zeke set down his ice cream bowl and
followed behind.
His heart thumping in his chest, and his nostrils sniffing the air, Guster shined the beam into the woods. He approached the line of trees slowly. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to find—if there really was something out there, it might be better not to see it. His steps were slow and deliberate, with Zeke cautiously at his heels. When he came to the edge of the yard he stopped and shined his light down on the ground.
There, printed in the mud, was a footprint the size of a dinner plate.
Chapter 2—Felicity’s Experiments
Guster’s sleep was fitful that night. Shadows raced across his dreams so that at first light, he woke instinctively.
“Monster toes!” Zeke had said, his voice barely above a whisper, when Guster had shown him the footprint the night before. “We could probably see it better in the morning.”
Guster did not have to be persuaded. He had rushed inside, reaching the safety of the porch only a few steps behind Zeke’s football-trained legs.
And now it was morning. Guster roused Zeke from sleep easily. Zeke was as eager to inspect the footprint in the safety of daylight as Guster was. Apparently this was, like football and pickup trucks, interesting enough to capture Zeke’s attention.
“Hold on a second,” said Zeke, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He reached under his pillow and pulled out a thick paperback book with a glossy white cover, then tucked it into the back of his sweatpants.
They made their way quietly through the hall, down the stairs, out the back door, and across the yard.
“Do you think it’s safe?” Zeke whispered as they approached the footprint.
With a clenched face, Guster shrugged. He felt much better about being outside in the morning light, but there was still a chance that whatever had made that footprint was lurking nearby in the woods.
He moved toward the impression in the ground slowly, his back to the house so that he could keep one eye on the woods. He knelt in the dirt. He had to see the footprint up close. If there was some kind of clue that hinted at what kind of creature had left it, he wanted to know.
The footprint had eroded around the edges but was clear enough that Guster could make out the shape. He traced his fingertips over it. He could make out at least one padded toe with a single claw, like a dog’s paw, only this toe was as big as the palm of his hand. The rest of the footprint was another two palm lengths across, and nearly as long as it was wide. Instinctively, Guster plucked up a bit of the mud to taste, but stopped himself. He didn’t want Zeke to see him put it in his mouth.
“Aha!” Zeke started flipping frantically through the pages of his book. “I knew it!” He pointed to page 243, where there was a pencil drawing of a large footprint with five toes and huge claws. “It’s Bigfoot, right here in our very own yard! Wait until I tell the team about this one!”
“Let me see that,” Guster said, snatching the book away from Zeke. He held the drawing close to the dirt. Besides having too many toes, the claws and the heel in the drawing were much too long to be the same footprint. “What is this book?” Guster asked, flipping it over so he could read the cover: Barrister’s Certified Real Field Guide to Lesser Known Creatures.
“Oh, that’s a little something that Reggie on the team let me borrow,” Zeke said. “There are chapters in there on the Loch Ness Monster, the Abominable Snowman, and these bloodsucking goat-eaters that live in the jungle. It’s got the most scientific information I know of.” He looked proud of himself. “Look, turn the page,” he said, grabbing the book away from Guster and turning it for him. “This is what made that footprint.” He pointed to a drawing of a hairy, gorilla-like man with heavy eyebrows and fists that dragged in the dirt.
“Impossible,” Guster said. He tried to remember if the shadow he glimpsed the night before matched the drawing. The dark mass had disappeared too quickly to say for sure, but something had taken a bite out of that tree. And Guster had tasted danger in that stream.
“We don’t have to worry about it right now,” said Zeke. “Bigfoot is nocturnal, and he is rarely seen by humans.” Zeke sounded like he was quoting the book. “But when we do meet up with him—grizzle me timbers!—he could tear our arms off at the elbows!” Zeke hung his head. “If only humankind had not built so many roads across the Bigfoot’s territory and forced him into battle.”
Guster coughed. There was no way Zeke was right, but for the moment it was the only theory they had. Whatever made that footprint, three things were certain: it was huge, it had claws, and it could take a bite the size of baby cow out of anything it wanted.
No matter how crazy Zeke sounded, Guster knew what he saw. It was dangerous. They were going to have to be careful at night. Maybe they would even have to tell Mom.
“Boys! Come in for breakfast,” Mom called into the yard from the kitchen.
Guster‘s shoulders tensed at the sound of her voice. He hadn’t realized how frustrated he still was after Dad had told him he couldn’t go to camp last night. When Zeke and Mariah left tomorrow, he wouldn’t be going with them. It wasn’t fair.
“I’ve got some chores for you to do this morning,” said Mom as the boys came into the kitchen. She served them each a plate of bacon and eggs. She tried to ruffle Guster’s dirty brown hair, but he moved his head just in time. He didn’t want that right now. He was still mad at her.
Zeke wolfed down half his eggs and bacon in two gulps; Guster pushed his plate away. The eggs smelled perfect. He just didn’t feel like eating.
“I need you and Zeke to weed the tomato patch before Felicity Casa gets here,” Mom said. “You don’t have much time.”
“Why can’t Mariah do it?” Zeke asked.
“She’s cleaning the barn,” Mom said. “Do you want to trade her?”
Guster and Zeke both shook their heads. Cleaning out the barn was a far worse chore.
Zeke swallowed his last morsel, licked his plate, and sped from the room without clearing his dishes. He took one glance backward, like he was expecting a scolding from Mom. All he got was a sad look on Mom’s face as she cleared his plate for him. The screen door banged, leaving Guster alone with Mom.
She put the frying pan in the sink. “Guster, Felicity is coming here to help,” Mom said. “You should be grateful she’s making such a long trip.”
Guster grimaced. It still didn’t make sense to him. She was coming all the way here to see him? What did she want from him anyway?
“But why is she coming here?”
Mom sighed. Guster had a feeling she was about to give him some pearl of wisdom that she’d claim would only make sense when he was older. “Because someday Guster, you’ll have to learn to be independent, to live on your own without me there every step of the way.”
Sure, of course he would. Wasn’t that exactly the reason he should go to camp for a week? “I am independent right now,” he said. Didn’t Mom remember Felicity’s Castle in France? Guster had saved them, all on his own.
Mom looked at him with sad, probing eyes, like she was thinking something, but didn’t say it.
He finished his eggs, cleared his plate, and went out the back door to the barn. Mom was still standing there, looking after him the whole time.
He found Zeke in the barn. “Just imagine, seeing a Bigfoot up close and face to face!” said Zeke as he and Guster grabbed a pair of hoes.
Guster tried to forget his conversation with Mom. Instead, it was much more fun to entertain Zeke’s idea. “How will you defend yourself?” he asked.
“It is true. The power of the mighty Bigfoot is not matched in all the animal kingdom. However, by truly understanding this creature, we can gain its favor,” Zeke said mechanically. Guster was almost sure Zeke was quoting the book again.
The tomato patch looked worse than Guster remembered. There were weeds as tall as Guster’s waist, and clumps of weeds as thick as his arm.
He dug his
hoe into the dirt. “What does Bigfoot eat?” asked Guster.
“Deer, grizzly bears, humans,” said Zeke.
They hadn’t even cleared a square foot of dirt before a dust cloud billowed out from behind a huge RV in the distance. Guster dropped his hoe and he and Zeke ran out front.
The massive RV pulled into the farmhouse’s gravel driveway. The RV was twice as long as a school bus, tan with pink stripes, and had a huge satellite dish on top. There was a large ‘FC’ painted on the side in dark pink.
Felicity Casa. Guster almost expected her to fly in on a double-rotor helicopter, or land a rocket in the backyard. She was a billionaire, so she could afford fancy equipment.
The driver of the RV honked the horn and stuck his head out the window. It was an old man with gray hair, kind eyes, and a smart black cap. He winked at Guster.
“Braxton!” Guster said. He ran to greet the old man. Braxton killed the engine and hopped out of the driver’s side door to the ground, spry as ever. He was wearing a slim black suit, with the same black cap he always wore. Guster hadn’t seen him since last summer when he’d brought them a few very rare and special ingredients from their journey. It was good to see that some things never changed.
Braxton shook Guster’s hand. “Well, howdy there young fella,” said Braxton. “Looks like you’ve decided to get yourself knee-high to a skyscraper. What a pleasure to see your tongue’s still tastin’.”
Braxton always talked like that—in strange sayings that must’ve been from olden days. He was a brave and kind old man. Guster would never forget how he’d dared to fly them around the world last summer. Braxton even saved Guster’s life once. Braxton started working for Felicity shortly after that.
Zeke stood, his mouth open and his knuckles dangling, almost drooling at the sight of the RV. “Is that a tank?” he asked.
“No,” winked Braxton, “Just a duplex on wheels.”
“You drove all the way here?” asked Guster.