Chasing the Demon

by Paul Sating

  If he could just turn back time ... if he could have seen where he started straying off course.

  If ...

  He sighed. Enough of that. Bigfoot wasn't going to be found by moping like this. And Maria was determined to do whatever it was she was doing for herself. He could dwell on it or he could get back into the investigation and allow it to distract him from the mess he'd created for himself. He could lose himself in the journey to Forks and worry about all of this later.

  The decision was easy.

  Jared always found Forks to be an interesting town, nestled about as far west as you can go in Washington State without getting wet. The phone call that started this came while Jared was getting ready to meet Andrew. It couldn't have come at a better time, for him and his investigation. There'd been no rain for three days, a weird scenario in western Washington for any time of the year, giving him the chance to interview and explore without wearing layers on top of layers of protective clothing, a survival tactic for smart Washingtonians. He might even be able to go out without a rain jacket! Besides his personal comfort, though, the lack of rain may preserve what this tourist claimed to have. If what the couple found was legitimate, it should be in amazing condition. It was a positive start.

  And Jared needed anything positive he could get.

  He was meeting the tourists, Frank and Dorothy Hollenbeck, at the Forks' Visitor Center, located right off the 101, at the front edge of the town. There were two small buildings tucked in the corner of the gravel parking lot. The smallest contained every bit of memorabilia of a very popular movie series, Forks' only claim to fame, that could be crammed into 600 square feet. Ironic considering the movies were never filmed here. Jared wasn't sure if he would include that tidbit in his podcast, though, he was pretty sure the economy of the small town depended on the propagation of that bad information and the locals wouldn't appreciate him educating his future listeners on that inconvenient truth.

  He pulled through the wide parking lot and noticed an RV, a newer model Tiffin Allegro, parked along the ditch near the edge of the parking lot. It was long, over 25 feet, squared off, but with an aerodynamic curve to its edges. The side panels were retracted, for now, but Jared was sure that the couple he was here to see expanded them as soon as they camped. The red and grey paint shone, announcing the care and attention this monstrosity of a vehicle received from its owners.

  The RV belonged to Frank Hollenbeck and it dominated the parking lot. Jared wondered what type of person spent the small fortune necessary to own and fuel a vehicle that size.

  He soon found out.

  Frank Hollenbeck was a portly man. In his early seventies, Frank had thick arms that still showed signs of muscle men half his age had lost long ago. Only his belly, gray hair, and edged facial creases betrayed the fact that time had caught up and overcome his physical prowess. By all indications, though, Frank wasn't going down without a fight.

  He greeted Jared by the steps of the motorhome with a grandfatherly smile and crushing handshake. "Come on in," Frank bellowed, "knees are killing me and I need to sit if I'm gonna be able to talk to ya about this thing. Plus," his voice lowered, "I don't wanna be talking out here."

  Jared stepped up into the motorhome, amazed at the effort it required from Frank and wondering how much longer this man had to use the motorhome before his body stopped participating. Frank's wife, Dorothy, buzzed about the cabin making dinner. She paused long enough to greet him as if he was a grandchild they hadn't seen in years before she returned to the stove to 'rescue the meal'. Rescuing wasn't necessary; the smell of the chicken cacciatore she was preparing made Jared's mouth water, even though he'd already grabbed a lousy meal when he passed through Olympia. Few cooks could make him hungry again so shortly after eating so this was an encouraging sign that Dorothy was a master. There could no longer be any mystery behind why Frank appeared to be a healthy man with a comparably healthy stomach.

  "You get up here often?" Jared asked as they sat. It took a little bit of time and a lot of effort to squeeze into the booth chair.

  "This time of year we make it a point," Frank said. "We come up through Oregon, do the loop around the Olympics and then head 'cross the border."

  "Ah, Vancouver?" Jared guessed. Frank nodded. "A beautiful city."

  "We thought of living up there about twenty years ago but changed our minds once we experienced a November day," he laughed. "Dorothy said 'if this is what November's like, I don't want any business being in the city during January.' Couldn't blame her, to be honest. I was sort of relieved. My bones don't take too kindly to the cold."

  "So spring and summer trips only?"

  "Once in a while we'll do a fall trip as well, depending on the weather," Frank motioned to Dorothy that he was thirsty by making a backward 'C' shape with his hands and tipping it towards his mouth. "Want something?"

  "No, thanks. I'm good."

  Dorothy set a diet soda in front of Frank and he patted her on the rear as she turned back toward the stove. Jared couldn't hide his smile but thankfully Frank didn't make a scene of it, instead pointing at the soda. "I'm not 'sposed to have these. Doc's orders. But, hey, there's only one life and I'll be damned if Dorothy’s gonna let me stay around forever. Back to our trips though; it's gorgeous here in the fall too, at least if you catch the weather off the ocean on a good day."

  "That can change in an instant," Jared laughed. "So, talk to me about this sighting you had. When my associate called, he said it was urgent, like you had to have this conversation before you left town."

  A youthful smile spread on Frank's face. "Is this really going to be on the radio? Never been on the radio."

  "Well, sort of. I'm going to publish it on a podcast ... sort of like radio, just over the internet. But, yes, it'll be available around the world."

  Frank slapped the table hard, making Jared jump. Dorothy, to her credit, didn't flinch. "Hear that, Dorothy? 'Round the world, he says. My grandkids are going to love this."

  "I'm glad to hear you say that," Jared admitted. "Not everyone is as excited about that prospect."

  "Bah," Frank gave the unnamed people a wave of dismissal. "Ain't no harm in it. Not quite sure how or where to start with this story, though."

  "Wherever you like. I'm interested in knowing what happened. Whatever you've got to tell me is going to be helpful, no matter what it is."

  "Alright then," Frank nodded. "We were out by Eaten Creek, just north of the Bogachiel River ... outside town, off the 101. We were doing some day hiking. We can't do as much as we used to anymore but we save up our bad joints for times when we get up here so we can enjoy it. Though we only hike mostly flat terrain. We'll pay for it for weeks afterward, but dammit, you only get one trip on this rock, isn't that right? You might as well enjoy it while you're here.

  "As it was, we were a mile or so up the creek and I had to stop to relieve myself," he smirked. "That happens a lot more as you age, trust me. So, Dorothy took the chance to rest her knees and stayed up the bank while I went down to the water to ... well, you get the idea. I was just about done with my business when I heard a splash off to my left. Scared the dickens out of me. Isn't nothing funny about a man in that position getting scared by some animal. Well, I looked up the bank toward where I heard the sound come from and ... I saw it."

  "Saw what?"

  Frank shook his head as if he was either trying to jar the memories loose or wipe them from his mind completely. "My kids'd say I'm going senile, but I know what I saw. I looked down that river, and I swear as I'm seeing you right now, I saw a large animal running 'cross to that riverbank. Thought it was a man at first. Looked like a man. But it was hairy, every inch of its body."

  "And you're positive it wasn't a man? Or a bear?"

  "Sir, I wouldn't have gone through the trouble of finding someone like you for a bear and definitely not for some man. I know what I saw."

  "Mr. Hollenbeck—"

  "Frank. Just Frank, please."

  "Okay Fr
ank, please understand, I don't doubt you," Jared said, aware that Dorothy's stirring had slowed. "I've seen things myself that I can't explain. I know what the experience is like. And I know that things aren't always what they appear to be, no matter how convinced we are by them. My goal is to eliminate possibilities so I can focus my investigation. I don't mean to imply more."

  "I understand that," Frank sipped his cola and nodded, looking over at his wife, who gave him the tiniest of curved lips, encouraging him to go on. "And let me tell you, it wasn't easy to go around asking for an expert. I'm a proud man. Too proud sometimes. But this ... this shook me. I was glad to have someone in town here point me toward your ... what'd you call him?"

  "My associate?" Jared clarified. "Will and I have belonged to the same enthusiast group for ... I don't know, ten, fifteen years. Good guy."

  "He was," Frank agreed. "Didn't feel so foolish once we was done talking. As far as what I saw ... I don't know what it was for sure, but I do know that it wasn't a man. Wasn't a bear. A dog. A coyote. A deer. I'm telling you, it was upright. Bigfoot. Funny name, isn't it? Probably doesn't help you much."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Far as lending any credibility to the beast," Frank replied. "How'd that name come about? Who in their right mind thought that was a good idea?"

  "Well, I don't want to bore you with the details of the history of Sasquatch."

  The older man adjusted in his seat, getting comfortable. "Consider it just entertaining an old man," Frank flashed that youthful smile again. "I'm interested in hearing about it. You already know I'm not as skeptical as I was a few days ago."

  "In that case, I'm happy to answer your questions if I can," Jared said. "The name? Sasquatch goes all the way back to the 1920s. A Canadian journalist, JW Burns, decided there should be a common term of reference for the species. At that time, it had various names across the Native American tribes and he thought one name to reference would facilitate examining its history."

  "Seriously? That far?"

  "Yeah, but the Bigfoot name is more recent, for what that's worth. Like, around the late 1950s," Jared attempted to suppress his desire to share the lore with the interested tourist. No need to torture such a kind man. "A construction crew in northern California kept coming across tracks all over a site where they were clearing forest land for new roads. They'd work throughout the day without incident and then come back in the mornings to find fresh, unrecognizable prints all around their equipment. The tracks were huge, too. Sixteen inches."

  Frank let out a piercing whistle. From the corner of his eye, Jared saw Dorothy plug her ears and mark her face with the type of scowl only long-time partners can make at one another. "So ... Bigfoot because of the size of those footprints? Makes sense. Sixteen inches, though? I tell ya'; I think I found you something close to that."

  "Really?" Jared sat up a little straighter, his excitement now loosed. "You measured?"

  With a vigorous shake of his head, Frank replied, "Nope. Got out of there as quickly as we could. Crossed ‘em when we were scurrying back down the trail. Looked like he came from where we was going. But, I'm telling you, those prints we're going to see? They're huge. I've still got half a mind to avoid that place, to be honest."

  His breath caught in his throat. Please, please don't back out now. It happened. It happened a lot. The emotion of the moment, the unsettling nature of realizing you don't know what the hell you witnessed? It's what motivated people to pick up the phone or send an email. But once that wore off, once the endorphins were flushed from the system, people tended to change their minds and become reserved. Conservative. "But you're still willing to take me?"

  "I can. Dorothy? She's not going back."

  "Not by a long shot," Dorothy mumbled over her food.

  "I don't really want to ... but it just doesn't feel right pulling out of town and leaving what I found where I found it. Someone smart, someone like you, needs to see it."

  "Why's that?"

  Frank paused before answering, with such a slight shrug that Jared wasn't sure if he was meant to see it or not. "It'll be the only way I can convince myself that I'm not going senile."

  "Mr. ... Frank," Jared corrected himself, "I can assure you, whatever you saw, you saw. Whatever you're going to show me is going to be evidence of that sighting. I take this very seriously so I won't be serving up any platitudes to you. But, regardless of what you saw, it was very real to you and that's what matters. If we don't find enough evidence to make you comfortable, then you can ask me to scrap this whole visit and pretend it didn't happen."

  "And what if we do?"

  "Then I'm going to help you tell your story to the world," Jared's smile was warm, genuine, as excitement washed over him. He hoped Frank Hollenbeck felt it too.

  7

  Jared stood on the soggy bank looking down the length of the narrow river. It was a typical river you'd find all over this part of Washington—narrow, shallow, winding, and choked by emerald-green trees. Washington State is a beautiful place, a glorious place. But the beauty on the western side of the state usually appeals to those with darker dispositions—people who liked things mysterious and who didn’t shudder at the world. Those were the types of people who enjoyed this majesty. Those with sunnier dispositions who kept the lights on when they watched horror films, they stuck to the east side of the Cascade mountain range or stayed indoors and pretended this natural beauty didn't surround them. Jared didn't know who he felt sorrier for; those who, like him, couldn’t get enough of this natural beauty, or those who refused to experience it. It satisfied his senses. The smell of the moist ground and mossy undergrowth in the trees. The winding of the river and the sharp ripple of the water as it ran over the rocky bed. The way the trees crowded out the sky, only leaving a narrow slit through which to view the gray expanse above. Cities, the east coast, the entire middle of the country? They couldn't provide so much in such a small space.

  "So this is where you were standing when you saw it?"

  "Right here," Frank answered before turning downstream and pointing. "And it crossed over there."

  A hundred yards up the bed, the river took a sharp turn to the right and disappeared behind the narrow peninsula of trees. Jared assessed the situation before heading along the bank. The river was shallow and narrow, but the water moved swiftly downstream. There were two spots where it was no more than ten feet across, traversable by man and beast. If he could get to the other side, he might be able to get better evidence. It made sense. If the creature was ignorant of a human presence when it stepped out of the trees but then got spooked by Frank getting spooked, it would have hurried across the bank, consistent with Frank's report. It probably would have been careless too, more interested in getting away from the human than preserving its habitat ... or cloaking evidence of its own presence.

  Across the river from the downstream point, Frank indicated a tree leaning out over the water at a sharp angle, looking ready to tip over. This was where Frank said he saw the creature disappear. "Are you able to cross with me?"

  "I'm old, not an invalid."

  "Not what I meant, sorry," Jared grabbed his pack and slung it over his shoulder for easy access and retrieval. Every time he was on an investigation he was careful to be responsive. You could never tell what might happen; it wouldn't be the first time something scurried away from his prying eyes when he was collecting evidence or investigating a site. "I'd like to check the bank over there. See if we can see anything."

  Frank let loose a booming laugh that still managed to sound nervous. "Oh, we will."

  They began to cross together, careful to not twist an ankle or slip. There was nothing worse than sensing you were onto something only to lose the opportunity because of an injury. Jared wasn't worried about himself, but he couldn't say the same about Frank. The problem was, he wasn't going to tell Frank he had those concerns. Frank started the idle chatter as they took their time crossing, even though Jared would have preferred the man concent
rate on his footing. "What is it you do? Do you get paid to do this?"

  "Not well. This is it. This is my job."

  "Really?" The disbelief in Frank's voice was like a shove from behind.

  Jared chuckled. "Yep."

  "And you can make a living at this?" Frank asked. Jared had a feeling that if Dorothy was there Frank wouldn't have been able to get away with such invasive questions. He didn't mind though. People seemed more curious about how chasing this creature paid the bills than about the creature itself. Maybe he was the grander mystery in this?

  "Not a good one but there are ways for you to make money off investigating Sasquatch. Or any cryptids." The bitter taste in his mouth came along with the thoughts over how some Bigfoot investigators and hunters behaved. "Some people make a lot of money doing it, but they tend to be less scrupulous. I prefer to do honest, serious work."

  "Why am I not surprised that less-than-scrupulous people would even get involved in this?" Frank questioned. "They'll take advantage of anything, won't they?"

  "You bet," Jared said, trying not to be too short but not wanting to travel down that road. Not now. Not in the middle of an investigation.

  Suddenly Frank grabbed his arm from behind, almost pulling Jared off-balance. "Over there is where I saw him. See?"

  "Jesus!"

  "Sir," came the sharp response, "there's nothing holy about those footprints."

  Jared couldn't believe what he was seeing. The prints were well-preserved, as he’d hoped when he got the call and had checked the weather, as was his protocol when deciding to visit a site. It didn't appear anyone had traipsed through the area since Frank was here last. Some of the prints were useless because they were too close to the waterline. The pristine ones were further up on the bank. Jared did a quick count. At least six could be cast.