“Door’s open. Come on in,” a voice called from inside the house. It sounded mature in its tone—Carl must be old, or older than Vance, anyway. Sam leapt up and grabbed the knob, turning it in the process and pushing it open. He swung into the home, still clutching the giant doorknob. He let go and dropped to the ground. When he looked back toward the elevator, he saw that Dr. Vantana had already gone.
“You may wait in the study. I’ll be in, in a moment,” the voice added. Sam glanced around at his surroundings. It was a well-appointed home. The entryway led into a hallway with stairs leading to a second floor. The decor was antique in nature, bordering on ancient. There was a stone bench in the hall with etchings that appeared, to Sam’s unarchaeologically trained eye, to be Egyptian. The walls were adorned with paintings from several eras, all sharing a common theme: nature. There were forests and mountains, hills and valleys, desert landscapes and coastal views. Carl had managed to bring a little of the outside inside.
Sam noticed an open set of double doors leading to a living room, and another door that led to what Sam concluded was the study. The living room had couches that were, like the front door, twice the normal size. There was a coffee table made from an old tree, which appeared to have been involved in a fire, since it was covered in scorch marks. The far wall had two windows that were separated by a massive fireplace and offered breathtaking views of the park. Atop the fireplace was a mantel with photographs, and above the mantel was a giant painting of Phylassos. Sam quickly determined that it was the same image of Phylassos from Dr. Knox’s book. He strained to make out the photos on the mantel, but they were too small and far away. He was just about to step inside for a closer look when he heard a thump from a nearby room, followed by pounding footsteps. Sam quickly retreated to the study.
The study was more like a library with a desk and chairs. The room was lined with massive bookshelves that reached all the way to the top of the cathedral ceiling and were filled with tomes of varying sizes. The desk sat in front of a bay window that offered more extraordinary views. It was built from a dark mahogany wood and decorated with intricate carvings of mythological creatures. The backs of the two leather chairs in the room had similar carvings. Sam’s eyes wandered and focused on a framed picture displayed on a credenza behind the desk. The photograph was of Dr. Knox standing next to a very large creature. Before Sam could comprehend what he was looking at, the voice returned, and this time it was in the room and standing directly behind him.
“Mr. London. It is an honor to meet you,” the voice said humbly. Sam slowly turned to face his host. “If I’m not mistaken, your heart is pumping some of my blood around in that body.”
Sam could barely manage a nod.
“Call me old-fashioned, but I believe that makes us family. And mi casa es su casa. Welcome home, Sam.”
Carl was Sam London’s newest family member, and he was also a bigfoot.
“My name is Vance Vantana, fresh from the backwoods, half horse, half alligator, a little touched with the snapping turtle; can wade the Mississippi, leap the Ohio, ride upon a streak of lightning, and slip without a scratch down a honey locust; I can whip my weight in wildcats—and if any gentleman pleases, for a ten-dollar bill, he may throw in a panther. So now that I’ve introduced myself, how about you return the favor? Come on. I can smell ya from here.”
Thirteen-year-old Vance Vantana stood somewhere in the Great Smoky Mountains and called out to the seemingly empty forest that surrounded him. He clutched an aged hunting knife in his right hand. The blade was about ten inches long with a carved wood handle.
Vance had a habit of introducing himself using an old quote from Davy Crockett. He’d found the colorful description in a biography of Crockett borrowed from the school library. He enjoyed seeing a person’s reaction to his unique introduction, but this time he didn’t get the opportunity.
On Vance’s thirteenth birthday, his father gave him the one present money couldn’t buy: permission to hunt and camp by himself. Vance had been lobbying for approval since age seven, but his parents refused. When Vance read that Davy Crockett had gone out on his own at age thirteen, he immediately informed his father and the two made a deal: Vance would be allowed to explore the backwoods of Tennessee without a chaperone only when he turned thirteen and only if he stayed in school. Davy had dropped out of school at the same age to begin his adventures, and Vance’s father didn’t want his son to get any more ideas. On the day of his thirteenth birthday, Vance awoke just as the sun began to creep over the horizon and set out into the wilderness. What Vance didn’t know was that this excursion would prove to be more than just a rite of passage.
For at least two years prior, Vance had been tracking a scent through the woods that was unlike any other he had encountered. Unfortunately, the trail often went cold or led to nothing, or he was called back to camp by his father. But on this day, Vance Vantana’s birthday, the young tracker had managed to corner the smell and whatever was emitting it. So there he stood, waiting for it to reply to his introduction. The scent was at its strongest and was best described as musty and thick, like an old basement. But there was more to the odor than that. Vance could detect hints of lavender and chamomile. He wondered what kind of creature would attempt to mask its natural scent with flowers. The only animals Vance knew that tried to cover their smell in this manner were humans, yet there was no way this thing he had been tracking could be human. It moved too quickly. He couldn’t even get eyes on it. It was a virtual phantom.
“You and I been doin’ this dance since I was eleven. I think it’s high time I met my partner, don’t you?” Vance let that hang in the crisp mountain air for an extended moment. “I’m thirteen now. I’m an adult, and that means I can come into these woods whenever I like. I won’t get tired of this, but I reckon you will.” A brief pause, and then he added, “Don’t be afraid; I ain’t gonna hurt ya.” He slowly slid the knife back into the sheath that was slipped under his belt.
Whatever it was didn’t care for being considered “afraid” of anything. There was a sudden rush of air and a massive thump. Something was standing right in front of Vance, but he couldn’t see it. He could sense it just a few feet away, but the space was empty. And then he heard it moving toward him. Thump, thump, thump. Until it was just inches away. Vance took a quick breath and held it. He could feel the creature’s breath on his face and knew it was studying him. It exhaled and blew Vance’s coonskin cap right off his head.
“I ain’t scared of you,” Vance said haltingly. He tried to look tough, but his quivering bottom lip betrayed his fear. A low, growling laugh followed, and then a second of silence. Vance swallowed, trying to nudge those butterflies in his throat back down to his stomach. But his attempts to hide his dread didn’t matter. The “invisible” creature let loose with a roar so loud, it was as if the sound passed through Vance’s entire body. He could feel his organs shake and his spine shudder from the force of it. It was an animal call that was entirely alien: part bear, part gorilla, and all terrifying.
Now, Vance was a brave boy, probably the bravest boy his age in the world at that time, but he was also smart. “Right smart in the head,” his father used to say. Those smarts kicked in, and Vance did the only sensible thing: he turned and ran for his life, screaming the whole time. He didn’t get far, though, since he slammed face-first into a hickory tree. He was out cold before he hit the ground. The roar suddenly ceased.
Vance awoke to the gurgling sound of a running stream and could tell simply by the way the water rushed over the rocks exactly which stream it was. It was an offshoot of Chilhowee Lake, which was part of the Little Tennessee River. He slowly opened his eyes to find he was propped up against a tree a few feet from the stream. He had an awful headache that pulsed with his heartbeat and a stinging pain in his left shoulder. He clutched it and tried to rub the pain out. Things were still a little fuzzy.
“Hello, Mr. Vantana. It is good to finally meet you in person,” someone said in a plai
n and soft-spoken voice.
Vance looked to the source and his eyes slowly focused on an older man, perhaps in his late forties. He had a kind smile framed by a closely trimmed dark brown mustache and beard that sported streaks of gray. The hair on his head shared similar strands of gray and was hidden under a short-brimmed brown Stetson. His face, though youthful, was beginning to show the inevitable signs of age in the wrinkles on his forehead and around his green eyes.
Sitting to his right was the park ranger, a Norwegian fellow by the name of Orry Avskogen. Vance had encountered Orry several times during his trips into the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Orry was a tall, burly man. He had a pitch-black beard and long hair, which he kept pulled back into a ponytail. He was an intimidating presence with eyes as black as coal.
“Who are you?” Vance asked the man next to Orry. Then Vance redirected his question to the park ranger as he gestured toward the mystery man. “Who is he, Ranger?”
“My name is Dr. Henry Knox. I have been following your exploits for some time, by way of Orry and Rupert, of course.” Knox motioned to his right and left. Vance’s eyes drifted over and he was suddenly staring at a massive human-like creature. He immediately knew this was what he had been chasing. It was at least eight feet tall and covered in brown hair that grew from every inch of its body except its face. It had large eyes shadowed by a pronounced brow. The nose reminded Vance of a gorilla’s, only slightly narrower. Its head was oval in shape, and its facial hair was trimmed like muttonchops. The skin that was hairless was a light brown and faintly wrinkled. As for its mouth, it was wide and smiling to reveal perfectly white teeth.
Vance moved his body swiftly, leaping like a gazelle to position himself behind a tree for protection. He peeked around the trunk to get another look at the beast. It continued to stand there with its big hairy arms folded, but now it was laughing. That irked Vance to no end.
“I don’t believe you two have been formally introduced. Rupert was the object of your obsession,” Knox said. But Vance wasn’t listening; he was glaring at the creature.
“What’s so funny you grinning like a mule eatin’ saw briars? You laughing at me?” Vance stomped toward Rupert, growing angrier with each step. “I wasn’t scared, ya know,” he declared, which only caused Rupert to laugh more, and now Orry joined him. “I’ll show ya who’s scared.” Vance put up his fists, ready to fight the creature, but Rupert unfolded his arms and offered his giant hand to the boy.
“My laughter is not meant as an insult, I assure you. My apologies if that is the way you interpreted it. I simply take great mirth in the utter absurdity of this situation. I stand here in front of a boy who has managed to succeed where so many of his elders have failed. The wisdom of age or experience mattered not. It was a thirteen-year-old boy who cornered the elusive, legendary bigfoot.” Rupert spoke with a gentleness and elocution that hardly matched his exterior.
“A bigfoot?” Vance reacted to the mention of the name with disbelief. Rupert nodded.
“I am honored to make your acquaintance, and I hope to be your friend.” Rupert’s hand remained open, waiting for Vance to make his move. The boy eyed Rupert and then his hand. He glanced at Knox, who smiled and nodded ever so slightly. Orry just watched with a smirk and a twinkle in his black eyes.
Vance reached toward Rupert’s hand, and the bigfoot took the boy’s hand into his own. They shook, tentatively at first and then with strength.
“Now that you and me are pals, mind tellin’ me why I couldn’t see you before?” Vance asked. “You were invisible. Like some kind of ghost.”
“Ah, yes. I can explain that, Vance. And once you understand, I will offer you a rather unique opportunity,” Dr. Knox responded.
“Opportunity to what?”
“To help us,” Knox answered. “But I must warn you, this information will change your life forever. Think you can handle that?”
“I think Mr. Vantana will be just fine,” Rupert interjected. “Isn’t that correct, Vance?”
“Bigfoot here is about as smart as he is hairy,” Vance quipped. “C’mon, Doc, let’s have it.”
—
More than two decades later, Dr. Vance Vantana stood at the base of the Sequoiadendron collasaeus after just having left Sam London with Carl. He was the oldest and wisest of all bigfoots, and Vance hoped he would be able to wrest some information out of the kid. Once Sam went inside, Vance returned to ground level to wait for him. As he watched several bigfoot creatures return to their homes in the trees, he reminisced about his first encounter with Rupert, who was Carl’s uncle. But with that memory came memories of Henry Knox, and those only made Vance frustrated. He was worried about his missing mentor, and he was more determined than ever to find him.
The trip down memory lane was cut short by the appearance of Penelope. Ranger Naughton flew in on Gus and landed a few feet from Vance. She leapt off the winged horse and hurried toward the doctor.
“I just got a disturbing call from the Agency for the Welfare of Mythical Beasts, a man by the name of Chriscanis,” Penelope announced anxiously. “He didn’t give me his last name.”
“He’s cynocephali. They don’t have last names,” Vantana replied. “What was so disturbing?”
“There was a break-in at the British Museum.”
Vance reacted swiftly to the news, instantly alarmed. “What did they take?”
“He wouldn’t say,” Penelope replied. “He said he needed to speak with you directly. He sounded…concerned.”
Vantana considered this, the stress becoming more and more noticeable on his face and in his body language.
“What’s this about, Doctor?”
“It’s about us all bein’ in a heap of trouble.”
—
Sam London clutched the picture that had been sitting behind Carl’s desk. It was a photo of Dr. Henry Knox and a bigfoot creature. Knox was much younger than in the photo Sam had seen of him in one of his books. The creature looked similar to the one sitting across from Sam sipping tea. But the picture wasn’t of Carl. Carl didn’t have as much gray in his coat, his skin was a darker shade of brown, and his eyes were midnight blue. He also had a scar on his right cheek in the shape of a small semicircle.
“That’s Uncle Rupert,” Carl noted as he took another sip from his cup. The tea was naturally sweet and had an unusual reddish hue, which made it appear vaguely like blood. Sam found it to be a touch disconcerting at first. But it was a favorite of Carl’s, a variety from Africa known as rooibos. The bigfoot took the photo from Sam’s hand and placed it back on the table. He leaned forward.
“I was very pleased to hear that you had an encounter with Phylassos. As I’m sure Dr. Vantana has explained, this sighting is of great significance to our world,” Carl continued. “I’m assuming he spoke to you. Have you told anyone what he said?” The refined nature of Carl’s speaking voice was disarming and in contrast to his outward appearance. Sam shook his head in response to the bigfoot’s question. “Good. You’re being cautious, as well you should be. But at some point, Sam, you’re going to have to learn to trust someone enough to share the gryphon’s message.”
“I know,” Sam responded quietly. Carl smiled and set his cup on the table. He eyed Sam for a moment, causing him to shift in his chair and take another gulp of the tea.
“Did Dr. Vantana tell you about the curse?” Carl asked. Sam nodded. “Did he explain how it came to be?”
“Yeah,” Sam answered. “He and Chase told me about Alexander the Great. How Phylassos appeared to him as an old man. And then he cursed humans because of what they did to the gryphons.”
“But did he describe how the magic works? How the curse has persisted for all these centuries?”
“No,” Sam replied.
“Magic is a very particular thing, Sam. And magic that powerful is a tall order, even for a creature as extraordinary as Phylassos.” Carl grew more animated as he continued. “You see, it’s not as simple as casting a spell. Spells are
not strong enough to curse an entire race, making them blind to a huge part of their world. No. It required something unique. It demanded that humanity be an unwitting participant in the curse.”
“Unwitting? What do you mean?”
“There is an old saying: ‘Never give a gift to your enemy, for it can be used to hold power over you.’ ”
“Alexander gave Phylassos a gift?” Sam asked. Carl nodded.
“On behalf of all humanity. It was a gift that further infuriated Phylassos, and convinced him that the punishment had to be severe.” Carl leaned forward now, and softly said, “Alexander had a claw ripped from the body of one of the dead gryphons.” Sam’s eyes widened at the mention of the claw. “He had it dipped in gold. And when he presented it to the person he believed was his god—”
“But was really Phylassos in disguise,” Sam interjected.
“That’s right. When Alexander gave it to him, he declared that it was a symbol of man’s power on earth and his dominion over lesser creatures.”
“I imagine Phylassos didn’t like that very much,” Sam said.
“No. He most certainly did not,” replied Carl. “But he accepted this horrible gift so he could enchant it with a curse.”
Sam bit his lip and looked down. Carl was right; he had to learn to trust someone with what he knew. He took a deep breath and said, “Phylassos asked me about the gryphon’s claw.”
“What did he say specifically?” Carl asked with urgency.
“He wanted to know what I knew about it. He seemed…concerned. But then we were interrupted. And he told me I shouldn’t trust anyone because no one is what they seem,” Sam confessed. Carl nodded. “Why would he be asking about it?”
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