by Peter Nelson
“Of course we were so happy to hear from him,” Mr. Grimsley continued. “The local police dropped all charges and released him to our care. We were going to bring him back to the city, where he would live the rest of his days with us.”
“So what happened?” Jordan said.
Mr. Grimsley stared sadly down at his pot roast. Mrs. Grimsley put her hand on his shoulder. “Your grandfather refused to leave. He said his ‘life’s work’ was here. He begged us to release him into the swamp, like some old reptile.”
“He sounds kinda cool,” Abbie said.
Mr. Grimsley looked up from his plate. “He begged me to come with him. He kept saying how he wanted to show me something. He said he had a secret to pass along to me. I’ll never forget the look in his eyes when I told him I couldn’t do that.”
“We were set to drive back up to the city the next morning,” Mrs. Grimsley said. “But that night, he ran away. In his pajamas.” Mrs. Grimsley patted her husband’s shoulder. “His mind had gone. There wasn’t anything anyone could’ve done.”
“It stormed cats and dogs that night,” Mr. Grimsley said. “Thunder, lightning. Heavy rain. The next day there was an all-out search for him. They found footprints and were able to track him. He must’ve walked all night. We weren’t surprised when we heard where they found him.”
Jordan looked at the ape foot-on-a-stick. “The Okeeyuckachokee Swamp.”
“The poor old fool wandered straight into an alligator’s nest,” Mrs. Grimsley said. “All that was left of him were torn bits of his pajamas. Just horrible.”
“Whoa,” Abbie said.
Jordan looked at his father. “I’m sorry, Dad.”
“Thanks, son,” he said, brightening. “But it was a long time ago. The real tragedy is how your grandfather searched the ends of the earth in vain for nonexistent cryptids, and in the end he missed out on meeting two of the most amazing creatures in the world—his grandchildren.”
Sniff! The family turned to Abbie. Her thick eyeliner was smudged and running down her face. Sniff! She wiped away a black, clumpy tear and got up quickly. “I’m having an allergic reaction. Must be the mold in this stupid place!” She ran out and stormed down the hall, leaving a quiet hush over the table.
Mrs. Grimsley broke the silence. “Well, your grandfather’s ‘life’s work’ may have been a sad waste, but he ended up leaving us something special—this great old house, which we’ll fix up and bring comfort to travelers from all over the world!”
“And breakfast!” Mr. Grimsley said. “Right, Jordan?”
Jordan sat in silence for a moment, staring down at the Skunk Ape mask. “What if Grampa Grimsley was right about cryptids? What if he wasn’t crazy? What if his life’s work wasn’t a waste?”
“That’s a very nice notion,” Mrs. Grimsley said. “And I know it’s fun to think about imaginative creatures, but that’s just what they are—in your imagination.”
“It’s not just my imagination.” Jordan grabbed the Skunk Ape costume and held it up. “Dad. Look at this. Remember that thing you hit on the highway?”
“That was a bear, Jordan. Or possibly a possum.”
“I thought that, too! But today I think I saw something. Something that definitely wasn’t a bear or a possum. In the swamp.”
“You were in the swamp?” Mrs. Grimsley was on her feet. “Roger! I told you to tell him to stay out of there!”
“I didn’t go in,” Jordan said. “I was just—looking in. But something was there. Or at least I think it was. I mean, I know it was. Because a second later, it wasn’t.”
Mrs. Grimsley shot her husband a look as she cleared a pile of dishes and carried them into the kitchen. Mr. Grimsley looked at Jordan thoughtfully. “Son, that swamp is not a place to play near. There are lots of dangerous things in there. Not imaginative creatures, real ones. Gators, snakes—”
“Skunk Apes?”
He smiled. “There’s no such thing as Skunk Apes. Or Bigfoots, Loch Ness Monsters, Yetis, or—I’m sorry to break it to your sister—hottie vampires. The world is small, and it’s crowded with people. Lots of people. Some are like your grandfather, obsessed with the idea of hidden, secret creatures. And y’know what? The world is a better place for having dreamers like him. But the things they seek aren’t real. They can’t be. If they were, how would they ever remain hidden?” He stood up and gathered some dishes. “You’ve had a long day. Go and get some sleep. Tomorrow I’d like you to chisel all those gravy stains off the ceiling.”
Mr. Grimsley pointed up at the brown-splotched ceiling before carrying the dishes into the kitchen, leaving Jordan alone. Jordan stared down into the dark, empty eyeholes of the Skunk Ape mask. It stared back at him with a big rubber-toothed grin.
6
The next morning, Jordan rose early. The house was quiet, and he assumed everyone else was still asleep. This was not the case, of course, as his father had been up for hours, planning the day’s chores. Jordan found him standing in the front doorway, clipboard in hand, inspecting some rusted hinges.
“’Scuse me, Dad.”
“Jordan!” Mr. Grimsley said, a bit startled. “Getting a jump on your daily project?”
“Kind of. I met a kid yesterday and thought I’d go get to know him a little. If there’s a chance we might move here, I may as well try to make a friend.”
“That’s great, son! But it’s awful early. You sure this friend of yours is up?”
Suddenly, a single, sour-sounding bugle played off in the distance. It was hard to tell, but it sounded vaguely like a horribly off-key military wake-up song.
“Trust me,” Jordan said. “This kid’s up.”
“Well, don’t be too long. You’ve still got your to-do chore to do.”
“Scrubbed the dining-room ceiling last night. Cleaned the walls and floors, too. I couldn’t sleep. See you at dinner.”
Mr. Grimsley smiled as he watched Jordan make his way past the fence and down the street. “Up and out and done with his chores before breakfast,” he said to himself as he pulled out his list and crossed the items off. “Well, he is a Grimsley.”
Jordan found Eldon setting up his stand, carefully squeezing lemons into an enormous pitcher of water, preparing an oddly large batch of lemonade. He approached him slowly, unsure how to begin. “Hey,” he finally muttered.
Eldon looked up from his sugar-to-water ratio. “Oh. Hello.”
“How’s the nose?”
“Minor fracture,” Eldon said. “But I had my first-aid kit handy, as I always do.”
“Of course.” Jordan smiled. “Listen. I’m really sorry. I don’t normally go around punching Beaver Scouts in the face.”
“Badger Ranger.” Eldon pointed to a large patch on his shirt. “First Class.”
“Right.” Jordan studied Eldon’s sash, filled with Badger Badges. “Did it take you a long time to earn all those?”
“Yessirreebob. Anything worthy of the uniform is worth earning.”
Jordan peered closer. “You sure have a lot of ’em. I’ll bet you know a whole bunch of stuff.”
Eldon’s face suddenly lit up. “Holy smokies! Are you interested in becoming an official Badger Ranger?” Before Jordan could answer, Eldon was talking a million miles a second. “That’s terrific! You’d have to start out as a Runt, of course, but with a lot of grit and my expert guidance, you could be a Fifth-Class Ranger by the end of next year, easy peasy, lemon squeezy! Here, hold still for a moment.”
Eldon whipped a measuring tape off his utility belt and began measuring Jordan, presumably for his uniform size. Jordan took a step back and Eldon stopped. “Whoa. Listen, that all sounds super-duper and all. But . . . I’m not looking to join.”
Eldon’s measuring tape snapped shut, and his face drooped a bit. Jordan gestured to the dozens of colorful Badger Badges pinned to his sash. “I was asking because I wanted to know if any of your buttons there were for hunting or tracking.”
Eldon’s grin slowly returned. He puf
fed up his chest and stuck one of the badges close to Jordan’s face. It was green, with a small trail of little brown prints running across it. “Official Badger Badge, First-Class Spooring. They don’t just give out these humdingers willy-nilly.”
“Great!” Jordan said. “Uh . . . what’s spooring?”
“Spooring is the most ancient tracking method known to man, used by the earliest hunters to find animals by reading subtle clues from their natural environment.”
Jordan peered at the badge. “Oh, yeah. I see the little brown footprints there.”
Eldon chuckled. “Those aren’t footprints, Jordan. You see, in the hands of an experienced spoorer, an animal’s scatalogical leavings are like a road map.”
“You mean those are little—”
“Droppings. Dungbombs. Doo-doo.”
“Wow. That’s some patch.”
“It’s a scratch-and-sniff, too. Go on, try it.”
Jordan looked at Eldon. He really didn’t want to, but seeing as he needed his help, he forced a grin, leaned closer, and scratched the tiny poop badge. Then he put his nose to it. Sniff-sniff . . .
“Ha!” Eldon burst out laughing. “Boy howdy, Jordan! Too bad they don’t give out Badger Badges for gullibility! You’d be First-Class in no time!”
Jordan nodded and smiled. “Ah, okay. You got me. Good one.”
“That was for the bloody nose, neighbor.” Eldon smiled. “We’re even.”
“So as an expert spoorer, do you think you might be able to help me?”
“You betcha! What’d you have in mind?”
“I want to go into the Okeeyuckachokee Swamp and track the Florida Skunk Ape.”
Plop. Eldon accidentally dropped a whole lemon into the pitcher. “Uh, Jordan, I’m always up for an opportunity to keep my spooring skills sharp. But that sounds kinda craz—” He stopped himself, remembering how much his nose hurt.
“It’s okay, you can say it—crazy. Just like my grandfather. I know all about him. I found his Skunk Ape hoax kit. I read the old newspaper articles. But what if there is something out there—he just couldn’t prove it? I might be crazy, too, but I have a feeling there’s proof in that swamp that will show everyone that my Grampa Grimsley’s life’s work wasn’t a waste.”
Eldon looked Jordan over carefully. “Jordan, the Okeeyuckachokee is dangerous. There are a lot of very real creatures in that swamp. Ones your grandfather did find. Ones that killed him.”
“Fine.” Jordan poked Eldon’s sash. “I get it. You don’t wanna dirty up your pretty little badges by actually using any of your skills.”
“Jordan—”
“Hey! While we’re young!” A grumpy old lady plopped down an apple pie on the counter. Behind her, other elderly residents were shuffling up to the stand. “Fresh baked, with lots of cinnamon, just the way you like it. Pain in my butt to make. So are you open, or what?”
“Uh, thank you, Mrs. Fritzler,” Eldon said. “You didn’t have to go to all that—”
“Zip it, pup tent.” Mrs. Fritzler was staring at Jordan. “Who’s this? The new help? ’Cause he looks about as helpful as a girdle on a hippo.”
Jordan held out his hand. “Jordan Grimsley, ma’am.”
“Grimsley?” The old woman gasped, followed by others behind her. She leaned in and studied his face. As whispers murmured down the line of old people, she leaned back again. “Yes, I see the resemblance. You have his nose.”
“You knew my grandfather?” Jordan asked.
“We all did,” shouted an old man in a tattered bathrobe from the back of the line. Jordan looked down the mob of elders waiting for lemonade. Every single one of them was staring at him.
“Great!” He shouted so they all could hear. “Then maybe one of you could tell me about George Grimsley’s life’s work!”
There was a moment of silence. “Hwaaah-hwaaah-hwaaaah!” They all burst out laughing. Some leaned on one another for support. A few fell to the ground, rolling around on the grass.
“What’s so funny?” Jordan yelled at them.
“Life’s work?” Mrs. Fritzler said through tears of laughter. “Ol’ Georgie boy may have been a generous man. But he was nuttier than an elephant turd!”
As they continued to laugh uncontrollably, Jordan shot Eldon a look. Then he spun around and stormed down the sidewalk, back toward his grandfather’s house.
7
Jordan burst into the hedge and stood fuming as he peered at the shadowy swamp on the other side of the hole in the wall. He looked down at his feet and tried to convince them to do their job. “C’mon, guys. I bet it’s not as scary in there as it looks from out here.” He took a deep breath. “We can do this. One . . . two . . . oof!”
Something shoved Jordan through the cracked opening in the wall, landing him face-first in a puddle of brown, gooey sludge on the squishy, swampy floor. He lifted his head out of the muck and looked back through the opening. Even with a face full of swamp crud, Jordan could make out the silhouette of Eldon’s stupid-looking ranger hat. The Badger Ranger stepped through the opening and stood over him, staring nobly out at the shadowy terrain.
“What’d ya do that for?” Jordan said.
“Payback. For the bloody nose.”
“You said we were even!”
“So I did.” Eldon offered his hand. “Then I suppose I should apologize.”
Jordan scooped a handful of muck from under his butt before slapping his hand into Eldon’s with a SPLAT! “You said it was too dangerous in here when I asked for your help,” Jordan said gruffly as he pulled himself up.
Eldon calmly pulled out a fresh Badger Ranger official handkerchief, wiped his hand, and offered it to Jordan. “But I never said no, did I?” He seemed more serious as he peered through the swamp into the darkness beyond. “Hmm . . . which way do you think we should go?”
Jordan wiped his face and looked around. He was wrong about what he’d told his feet. The swamp looked much scarier on this side of the wall. Every direction offered a tangle of trees hanging heavy with long, stringy vines. Overhead some daylight broke through, but rather than extinguish the shadows, the light splintering through the mist only made the place feel more like another planet. “You’re the expert,” he finally said.
Eldon looked down at his Badger Badge–filled sash. “So I am,” he said. “C’mon.” He stepped past Jordan and began walking deeper into the swamp. Jordan rushed to catch up.
“What made you change your mind, anyway?”
Eldon stopped and yet again pointed out another badge on his sash. “Community of Caring Badge,” he said. “‘A Badger Ranger shall not knowingly allow a civilian to wander into his or her own grisly death.’ I looked it up in the manual. Rule sixteen point four dash C.” He smiled at Jordan, then turned and continued slogging into the Okeeyuckachokee.
Following closely behind, Jordan was distracted by the croaks, chirps, gurgles, and groans all around him. Some sounded distant, others disturbingly nearby, and potentially hungry. It was making him nervous. “Well, are you gonna start spooring, or what?”
“Righty-o!” Eldon stopped and looked around. He put a finger in the air, then crouched down and sniffed a clump of moss. He stood up again, shut his eyes, and took a deep breath. His eyes popped open. “This way.”
As they trekked deeper into the swamp, every so often Eldon would stop and inspect something only he could’ve thought suspicious. A scratch in the bark of a tree trunk, a strange indentation in the mud, a foul-smelling clump lying in their path. In each instance, Jordan would grow excited about finding a clue to locating the Skunk Ape. But in each instance, Eldon would consult his well-worn Official Badger Ranger Spooring Guide, study the clue in question, then shake his head. “Markings of a swamp possum,” he’d say. “Classic sleeping pattern of a Key Largo wood rat.” Or, “Just as I suspected. Gopher tortoise turd.”
After what felt like hours, Jordan had had enough. “What are you doing?” Eldon looked up from the field-guide index, where h
e was reading about something called “migratory toad mucus.”
“I’m spooring. What does it look like?”
“It looks like you don’t know what you’re doing. What’s with the book?”
“The Official Badger Ranger Spooring Guide is the last word on tracking and identifying animals in the wild.”
Jordan snatched the weathered old book out of Eldon’s hands. “Look at this antique! If it’s the last word, no one’s written anything about spooring since 1967!”
Eldon took it back. “Let me remind you that if not for my Community of Caring instincts, you would be out here alone—totally unprepared and very likely lost—wandering in circles trying to find some silly, nonexistent mythical creature.”
“Cryptids aren’t silly. And they’re not mythical, either. They’re creatures whose existence has yet to be proven. Or isn’t that in your ancient guidebook?”
Eldon stepped forward—and jammed yet another badge in Jordan’s face. “See this one? Species Classification Badger Badge. I had to research, study, and memorize all the animals of the world to get this badge. Trust me. There’s no such thing as a Skunk Ape.”
Jordan looked at Eldon, then out at the shadows. He shut his eyes and took a deep whiff of the dank, muggy swamp air. He opened his eyes and pushed Eldon’s book back at him. “Keep it,” he said. “And keep your stinking badges. I’m gonna find proof, my way.” He headed off in a different direction, deeper into the swamp. “Follow me and you’ll see there’s more to this world than what you read in field guides or manuals. Or the Leisureville Daily News, for that matter.”
Jordan ducked under vines, hopped over puddles, and sidestepped mucky pools. When the swamp became too overgrown with trees for him to keep walking, he stopped to let Eldon catch up. Looking back, however, he saw that Eldon wasn’t behind him.
Jordan backtracked to the place where he’d last seen him. Eldon wasn’t there, either. But something else was. Wide and flat, with five massive toes, was a footprint in the muck. It was three times the size of Jordan’s own foot. And it stank.