Small Acts
of
Supernatural
Kindness
Tina Thompson
Small Acts of Supernatural Kindness Copyright 2015 by Tina Thompson
Cover Photograph Copyright 2015 by Candice Wabeke
This work may not be reproduced or redistributed, in whole or in part, by any means, electronic or mechanical, without written permission from Tina Thompson.
For Makensie, who inspired me with her love of all creatures, both real and mythological.
Chapter 1 Does a Bear Poo in the Woods or in a Port-A-Potty?
Of all the things Makensie expected to see when she exited the port-a-potty in the woods, this was most certainly not one of them. She had heard some soft scuffling noises outside while she hurried to zip her jeans up and get back out into the fresh mountain air so she could take a breath, but figured it was her aunt or another hiker waiting their turn. What she saw instead nearly froze her in place. Slowly she exhaled, closed the door, and turned the latch.
“Think!” She whispered to herself. Why couldn’t she think? Her brain would not get into gear. All she could see in her mind’s eye was the image of that…thing. What was that? It obviously couldn’t be a Sasquatch, the first word her brain had attached to it when she had seen it. But it was just like playing Scrabble, once a word was in your head, even if it wasn’t the right word, it just stuck like a stupid broken record.
“Stick to the facts.” She thought to herself as she tried to steady her breath to take in fewer fumes. She had looked right in its large, liquid amber eyes, so the thing was about her height. It stood on two legs and had thick, blondish-brown hair. Not just on its head, but all over its body, rippling softly like a palomino’s mane. It was probably a…kid in a costume. No. Who would a wear a Halloween costume that was so hot on a hike in the middle of summer? Ah, of course, it was a bear cub; just a bear cub standing on its hind legs.
She had to laugh internally at both the “just a bear cub” thought and her own imagination running away with her. She was from Michigan where bears weren’t as common as they are in the forests of western Washington. Her aunt lectured her all the way up to the trailhead on proper bear-in-the-woods etiquette: calmly retreat but don’t run, make yourself look big and yell if it charges, or drop into a ball and protect your neck if it attacks, but if it attacks too much poke the bear in the eye or somewhere vulnerable. A bear next in line at the port-a-potty hadn’t been covered. At least she didn’t automatically drop into a ball and poke herself in the eye as her first instinct. She had thought all these rules would get jumbled up and she’d probably alternately run while protecting her neck like a ridiculous exercise regime gone wrong. Locking the door did seem like the appropriate response, but she should not feel relief at seeing a bear. It’s just that the thought of it being something other than a bear was even more unsettling.
Yet those eyes burned in her memory. Liquid soft and kind; kinder than any bear’s eyes she had ever seen. There was something more, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
Maybe it had something to do with the feeling she had felt earlier on the trail they had hiked as a warm up, that she was being watched, followed. Now, having looked into these strange eyes, it seemed too coincidental.
“No, not coincidental, just your imagination.” She told herself. She shouldn’t have been reading that dusty old volume from her aunt’s attic about myths and legends of the Pacific Northwest. Her Kindle battery had gone dead on the trip, and she had forgotten to pack her cord. Her aunt and uncle didn’t have any kids, so she’d had to scrounge around their old books in the attic to find something interesting to keep her boredom at bay the first couple of days on vacation.
The book was an antique, compiled by the Seattle public library over a century ago. Her aunt, who loved Greek and Roman mythology from her years of Latin classes in school, had picked it up at a local book sale on a whim. The faded green cover had an embossed totem pole and an inset black and white photo of Mount Rainier on it. The broken spine was a testament to how many hands it had passed through over the years and the pages had a decidedly mothy smell to them. When Makensie opened the book and started flipping through the pages, she could almost imagine the book taking its first airy breath in decades.
She had been immersed in the legend of Sasquatch when her aunt had snapped shut her computer screen and suggested they drive over to do some hiking in the North Cascades National Park. They had each grabbed a backpack, filled them with water bottles, snacks, raincoats, and emergency kits, and were on the road within half an hour. A little more than an hour later they stood in the parking lot, smiling at each other over this impromptu mid-week hooky adventure, and tying their shoes. They studied their map and decided to do a short interpretive trail first to warm up their legs.
“Makensie, did you fall in or something?” Aunt Tina called accompanied by actual footsteps, definitely not soft scuffling ones that didn’t seem real.
“Uh, no. I’m coming out.” Makensie said tentatively.
She slowly poked her head out and glanced furtively to the right then the left then right at her aunt, who was bent in half, digging for something in the bottom of her backpack. “Good. Now that we’re warmed up, I thought we’d head up to the Ladder Creek waterfall behind the powerhouse…what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Well, nothing now. I saw a bear the first time I opened the door so I closed it.”
Her aunt looked suspicious. “Yeah, right. I really don’t think you saw a bear. I’m sure you just heard some noises like me digging around in my backpack for some snacks and your imagination got the best of you.”
“No, really Aunt Tina, I opened the door and a bear cub was standing on its hind legs looking right at me.”
Her aunt studied her for a minute then said, “Well, I better take a look. Stay right where you are. Don’t move.”
She slung the backpack on her back, not bothering to buckle the hip belt. She tucked an errant strand of brown hair behind her ears and studied the ground. Her eyebrows moved on their own accord as her eyes darted back and forth, looking for clues. Makensie watched her slowly ease out of her studying position and walk out of sight around the plastic cubicle that had been Makensie’s refuge, unfastening the Velcro flap that held the can of bear pepper spray on her hip belt.
At first Makensie could hear gravel and then damp twigs shuffling under foot as her aunt retraced the trail back the way they had come, studying the prints or broken grass, or whatever clues she was searching for. Then Makensie could hear nothing but the leaves hanging in the trees, singing carefree tunes of summer in the wind. She felt less than carefree. She wanted to go after her aunt, or escape into the stinky port-a-potty. But she waited there; out in the open, in the place where she had seen the creature…the place she least wanted to be standing all alone.
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