by Simon Okill
Nobody Loves a Bigfoot Like a Bigfoot Babe
Copyright © 2013 by Christopher Matthews Publishing
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this electronic publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Editor: Jeremy Soldevilla
Cover design: Armen Kojoyian
ISBN 978-1-938985-04-1
Published by
CHRISTOPHER MATTHEWS PUBLISHING
www.christophermatthewspub.com
Bozeman, Montana
Printed in the United States of America
Dedication
Without my lovely wife, Shirlee Anne, this novel would not have been written. She has been the driving force that has pushed me to new limits.
Acknowledgements
I would like to add a big thank you to my editor and publisher, Jeremy Soldevilla, for believing in our novel. I would also like to thank Stephen King's Salem's Lot and The Shining for inspiring me to write.
1
THE SMALL NORTHERN CALIFORNIA town of Big Beaver in the Shasta Cascade Region has for a long time been a thriving tourist trap for those searching for Bigfoot. And for some Beaverites there seemed to be endless opportunities to create havoc during the tourist season with imaginative practical jokes.
On the northern edge of the township nestled the Whittleberry's small ranch-style house made of rough cut timber and river stones. The house was silent and as dark as the night. Two furry figures emerged from the forest, edging the property. They paused and listened for danger signs. The moon emerged from a dark cloud briefly illuminating both Bigfoot as they skipped across the lawn and entered the house by the unlocked back door.
The smaller of the Bigfoot opened a fridge with large, hairy hands and rifled through it, tossing food all over the kitchen floor. The Bigfoot grinned as it removed a doughnut like a ring on its finger.
The larger Bigfoot grinned back, licking its mouth.
In the time it took for both Bigfoot to find the downstairs bathroom, the Whittleberrys had staggered, somewhat worse the wear from the locally brewed beer up at Abe's Bar and Grill, to the front door and entered their home.
Barbie Whittleberry heard a splashing sound as if someone was using the shower. She rushed across the living area to the rear of the house and out of sight of Lance, without any thought to her safety.
An overly-excited Barbie returned and grabbed Lance's hand. She placed a finger to his lips to be quiet.
Lance Whittleberry frowned as he was dragged across the living area to the bathroom.
Lance and Barbie stood in the open doorway of their bathroom staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the weird scene before them. They were so amazed neither Whittleberry had the foresight to switch on the light. Enough moonlight cascaded through the window to show one Bigfoot scrubbing the lower regions of another in the double shower cubicle. Clumps of fur clung to the shower cubicle side and the floor was a disgusting, gooey dark mess.
Barbie also noticed the toilet seat was left up. She was about to berate her husband for this foul deed when she saw an uneaten doughnut on the rim. She wrinkled her nose at the thought of eating while using the facilities. She then gagged on the awful stink that invaded her nostrils. The smell reminded her of skunk spray and the gut-churning farts her father's dog would always leave hanging in the air during dinner.
One of the Bigfoot reached for something. An intense flash of light blinded both Whittleberrys. When their eyes became accustomed to the semi-darkness once more the bathroom was empty of Bigfoot and the stink was now contaminated with bleach. In the Whittleberrys' drunken state it was decided aliens had abducted both Bigfoot. Cool!
* * *
SHERIFF LOUISE JESSOP'S office was neat and tidy. Nothing looked out of place, not even the fine old oak desk amongst the shining metal filing cabinets. A gun rack displayed various pump-action shotguns and massive revolvers. A board displayed lurid crime scene photos courtesy of the Bigfoot Bather. A flat screen monitor lay squarely in the middle of the desk, concealing the woman scrutinizing it.
There was not a single item of clutter on the highly polished desk. Lou's personal life was also clutter-free-free from a man who would appreciate her womanly charms. She had a fling or two, but none could rekindle the love she felt for him, nor the hurt.
Lou knew she was one hot cop. She had just turned thirty and still maintained her firm body and smooth skin from her teen years. Her blond hair was cut boyishly short. She wore very little make-up-didn't have to as she was a natural beauty. Her athletically slim, long legs accentuated her firm rear end and her ample breasts would often cause her shirt to pull a little too snugly across her chest, testing the buttons to the extreme.
And her uniform sure suited Lou-it really did. She was, however, a paradox, for there were occasions when she'd slip on a sexy, low-cut, black dress and actually put on some minimal make-up, the kind that glosses her lips. This she would do to raise the temperatures of the men at the local bar in town.
But getting all slutty didn't mean she was ready to "put out." It was in her nature to do a little cock-teasing now and again.
Sheriff Lou sat at her desk reading the local newspaper. The Busy Beaverite's report on the Phantom Bigfoot Bather Case-aptly named by ace reporter, Mocking Bird-was causing her hangover to go into overdrive.
"The Phantom Bigfoot Bather Strikes Again.
This is the third such incident to embarrass the sheriff's department. Local Beaverites, including Lance and Barbie Whittleberry, the Bigfoot's latest victims, are coming to the conclusion that real Bigfoot are responsible for the home invasions. The Whittleberrys were also witness to both Bigfoot being abducted by aliens. Many Beaverites have also seen strange lights above Little Beaver Picnic Area and are convinced Big Beaver is becoming the new Roswell. After thorough investigations into this heinous crime by Herb Herbert, our local medical examiner and yours truly, MB, local crypto-zoologist and expert on Bigfoot, Sheriff Louise Jessop is no nearer to discovering the identity of the perps."
Lou blew out her cheeks, sighed irritably and dropped the newspaper in a trash bin. She saw her worst nightmare on the computer screen. It was the DNA result for the Phantom Bigfoot Bather Case, a somewhat lengthy document by the irritated sounds coming from her lips-the irritation was more due to the annoying fact of the Bigfoot prank itself causing the entire department to become laughing stocks. Lou clicked the mouse with impatience. A printer sitting on a filing cabinet whirred into action, spewing forth the report.
As Lou sipped her black, extra sweet coffee to lift the pervading tequila fog, she thought of her best friend and number one suspect. Damn you, Duane Dexter, why did you have to be such a lame brain, she mused. She also pondered the fact that Duane knew full well she loved him like a brother and wouldn't arrest him. She blew out her cheeks in exasperation. She rubbed her throbbing right temple. The fog was gradually lifting. She moaned as last night's casual fling filtered through her brain mist. Why did she do it, she wondered? Because of him—that's why.
Yet again, it had been Brad who had plucked up enough courage to shower her with the usual compliments and had poured enough tequila down her throat to drown a million worms. He had done the gentlemanly thing and walked her home. Did he kiss her goodnight? Lou vaguely remembered with regret Brad giving her tonsils a taste of his tongue. To her shame she had reciprocated quite eagerly. But she had stopped Brad as his fumbling hand slid under her satin blouse and managed to fondle her breasts. That was as far as Brad got . . .
she hoped. Yes, she was certain Brad had not gone to third base.
The phone rang on Lou's desk, breaking the monotony. She looked away from the screen and picked up the receiver.
Lou listened for a moment, sighing irritably and muttering, "Damn it . . . what is it now? Yeah . . . okay, thanks for telling me. Bye."
Lou replaced the receiver and blew out her cheeks with exasperation. A shadow suddenly engulfed the sheriff and her desk. She glanced towards the open door to see an overweight deputy briefly pausing.
The deputy gave her a sweet smile before flitting past her office carrying a tray crammed with doughnuts and a steaming hot mug of coffee.
Lou called out, "Dwight, get in here. We've got another one!"
The instant the words were out of her mouth her head began to throb. Shouldn't have raised her voice like that, not while that helluva mother of a hangover had shrunk her brains to the size of a peanut.
The outer office of the sheriff's department was almost empty of employees, except for Deputy Dwight, the most dietetically—challenged deputy in town. He was in his mid-twenties, not too tall which made him all the more fat, clean-shaven with a rosy-cheeked, round face that told everyone he was stupid.
The only other occupant was Noreen, the department secretary and general gopher. She sat at her dispatcher's desk casually reading a magazine while chewing gum. She was young, quite attractive, a little on the plump side with a profusion of blond hair. Her desk was not neat and tidy-clutter was the order of every day for Noreen, who loved cute, cuddly things. These cute, cuddly things were scattered all over her desk. There wasn't much space to actually do any work, which was perfectly fine with Noreen.
Hearing the sheriff's voice caused Deputy Dwight to halt in mid-stride. He looked wide-eyed across the office at Noreen, who looked up from her magazine. There was a look of horror on their faces; a look that said-we might have to do some work.
Dwight glanced down at the tray of doughnuts and coffee. He blew out his cheeks and gave a loud moan. He placed the beautifully laden tray down on his desk, picked up a doughnut and stuffed the whole thing in his mouth, washing it down with a mouthful of hot coffee. He dropped the mug, fanning his scalded mouth as bits of doughnut dropped all over the office floor.
Noreen shook her head with dismay and resumed reading her magazine.
"You better not be doing what I think you're doing, Deputy Dwight," Sheriff Lou called out.
Dwight gulped down the confection as he walked slowly into the sheriff's office.
Lou gave her deputy an annoyed look with raised eyebrows as he frantically wiped sugar dusting from his tunic, all the while swallowing down the doughnut in her presence. "How you can eat at a time like this beats the hell out of me, Dwight."
Dwight paused in mid-gulp and looked at the sugary coating on his chubby fingers. He quickly wiped them on his trousers.
"I'd rather eat before I visit the crime scene, if you don't mind," he grimaced. "'Cause afterwards I never seem to have any appetite at all."
And was it her imagination, or had he gained some weight? Lou noticed an extra wobble to the underneath of Dwight's chin and perhaps the smallest of rubber tires developing amongst the others. Yeah, it sure looked like Dwight had been feasting instead of fasting.
Lou's hangover kicked into another gear. She wanted to haul his ass over the coals, but decided not to as Dwight was apt to burst into tears if she berated him. But still, the sugar dumpling of a deputy had his uses. What they were, she could not remember at that exact moment.
And Dwight wasn't the only one of her deputies who could do with losing a few pounds. There was just one problem-Annie's Diner, which happened to be next door. Annie gave the sheriff's department staff-including the sheriff, an ample supply of all-they-could-eat-breakfasts. But unlike her chubby deputies, Lou worked off the ample intake of food with regular exercise.
"No throwing up . . . got that, chubby?"
Dwight didn't reply as he was busy using his tongue to fish out the last of the doughnut that had become wedged in his teeth before swallowing it down.
"Come on, Lou, you know I can take it. Haven't puked yet . . . just get a bit queasy, is all." He rubbed his rounded stomach and looked ill. Loud gurgling could be heard from Dwight's ever-hungry gut. He belched. "Sorry, Lou." He belched again. "Are you coming to the crime scene? I mean . . . you ought to, don't you think?"
Lou blew out her cheeks and sighed. "Yeah, I guess so."
Dwight turned to leave the office. As he reached the door, he hovered a moment with sagging shoulders. He turned around and looked at his boss. He had a hurt look on his face.
"That's the 16th time you've called me chubby this week and its only Wednesday morning."
Lou stared at Dwight's cherubic face and smiled apologetically.
"Sorry about that . . . chubby," she said, feigning remorse at Dwight's discomfort. "Come on, lighten up . . . don't be so sensitive." With those words, she got up from her chair and gave a chuckle. "Only kidding, Dwight . . . there hasn't been another bather."
Dwight looked immensely relieved. He blew out his wobbly cheeks as he saw Lou's mischievous smile. "You really got me going there." The deputy paused as if in thought.
"Then who was that on the phone just now, if you don't mind me asking?"
Lou shrugged, "Just some concerned Beaverite informing me that our town welcome sign has been defiled, yet again." And yet again she thought of Duane, as this juvenile prank was right up his alley. "Thought I'd check it out, unless you want to go and take a look?" She smirked. "You don't look that busy."
Dwight looked positively crestfallen. He stood fidgeting and shuffling his feet like a naughty little boy.
Lou knew the answer to her question even before the words had left her mouth-he was looking forward to having a late breakfast with her other deputies, courtesy of Annie's Diner. Lou didn't want to spoil his fun. After all, it was Dwight's birthday and besides, nothing serious ever happened in Big Beaver.
But most of all, Lou felt like some fresh air as it might clear her head of the tequila overdose.
"Go on, chubby, gain a few pounds."
Dwight nodded to the sheriff and left in a rush.
2
MAJESTIC DOUGLAS FIR TREES lined both sides of the narrow two-lane highway that led into Big Beaver. On the incoming side of the road was the town welcome sign.
Sheriff Lou stood by the side of her patrol car with the two-way radio in her hand gazing up at the sign-"You're Welcome To My Big Furry Beaver." She smiled despite her hangover, thinking it just never gets old, although "Furry" was a little lame. Even she had come up with better stuff than that in her teen years. More fool the idiot who named the town in the first place. She decided not to dwell on that. Which led her thoughts straight back to Duane. Damn it to bloody hell.
It was late morning and the air felt brisk and invigorating with the strong scent of pine. She breathed in the rejuvenating freshness in the hope that it would help clear her head of tequila fog.
"Nope, that's not gonna cut it," she mumbled to herself, thinking, more coffee, that's what she needed. Lou fished around in the car and removed a silver thermos flask.
It was at that moment she remembered the busload of Japanese tourists arriving in town later that day. The silly suckers were hoping to get a glimpse of Bigfoot . . . perhaps be famous with a snapshot of Bigfoot taking a crap or whatever Bigfoot might do to get its picture taken—not thinking that if Bigfoot really wanted its picture taken there would be thousands of snapshots all over the place by now.
But Bigfoot was the last thing on Lou's fuzzy mind right then, for the last thing she needed was to explain what the graffiti meant to a busload of snap-happy Japanese.
"Fuck it," she muttered. Lou clicked the two-way radio, "Dwight, come in." She clicked again. "Will, come in." Lou clicked again. "Bill, come in." And finally, "Heidi, come in, damn it."
Not one deputy replied, and why should they? Nothing ever happened in Big
Beaver.
"Damn it!" Lou clicked on to speak to Noreen.
"I can't get any of my deputies on their two-ways. Get one of the boys out here and clean up the sign." She paused then added, "Like now."
Noreen's faint voice came over the radio, "They're at Annie's having birthday breakfast."
Lou knew damned well where her deputies were. And it didn't take any guesswork on her part to figure out that her deputies had switched off their two-ways to have a quiet breakfast. It wouldn't be the first time nor would it be the last. "Yeah, I kinda know that, Noreen," she said in an irritated voice. "Tell me something new."
Lou listened to the thump-thump of her throbbing headache and longed to be back in bed sleeping it off. She gave the town welcome sign another glance and thought if Duane was responsible she'd kick his no brain ass so hard he'd come back with snow on his boots.
"Well, you know what to do, Noreen. Go next door and tell them to switch their two-ways on, or I'll be real pissed with them and put them all on report."
"But Annie's baked a special cake for Dwight with lots of frosting and whipped cream and stuff."
"Isn't that so nice for Dwight," Lou replied sarcastically. She warned herself not to raise her voice realizing it would only give her headache further reasons to get more pissed than it already was.
"Well . . . seeing as it's Dwight's special birthday with his special birthday cake, I won't ask the sweet thing to come out here and clean the sign. So tell Will or Bill to move their good- for-nothing butts, right the hell now!"
Shit . . . that did it. Now Lou's hangover had jumped into overdrive. The hammers were pounding the back of her head.
"Okay, Sheriff," Noreen answered timidly.
Lou hooked the radio back into the patrol car and stared at the sign.
"Shit," she muttered, opening her flask and pouring black coffee into a silver plastic cup. She sipped her lifesaver and sighed as the caffeine rush kicked in. Out of the corner of her eye, the sheriff noticed a bush quivering across the road. She smiled as she drank her coffee.