Case File 13 #3

by J. Scott Savage

  “No need,” Angelo said at once. He reached into his pack and pulled out what looked like a handheld video game system. “I brought a GPS. We couldn’t get lost if we tried. I also brought a compass, a map of the woods, whistles in case of emergency, and a seventy-two-hour kit.”

  Mom looked impressed. “Maybe we’ll have you pack for all of us from now on. And make the reservations.”

  Ignoring her jab, Dad waved toward the trees. “Have a good time, boys, but be back in two hours. Who knows, maybe you’ll discover a new species out there.”

  Eating the last of his eggs, Nick thought, As long as it doesn’t discover us first.

  “That was a close one,” Carter said as they hiked through the forest.

  “No kidding,” Angelo said. “As much as Nick’s dad talks, we’d have zero chance of sneaking up on anything.”

  Nick tried to act offended. But the truth was his dad did talk a lot. “At least if we found something dangerous, he could put it to sleep with one of his stories.” He looked at Angelo’s bulging pack. “Do you really have all the stuff you said in there?”

  Angelo pushed a few buttons on his GPS and nodded. “That and a lot more. I didn’t mention the remote-controlled video recorder, DNA-collection kit, or digital binoculars.”

  Nick snorted. “You know, most people bring things like fishing poles and Frisbees on camping trips.”

  “Which is why most people never bring back any actual evidence when they come across a Sasquatch.” Angelo knelt to the ground, examined the terrain, and pulled out his binoculars. “What we have to figure out is which direction to go.”

  “This way,” Carter said from about twenty feet to their left.

  “How could you possibly know that?” Angelo asked.

  Carter placed a finger against the side of his head and gave a thoughtful pose. “Follow the evidence, young Padawan,” he said around a mouthful of food.

  Angelo gave him a scornful look. “What kind of evidence?”

  “What’s that you’re eating?” Nick asked. “I thought all your snacks were back in the car.”

  “Oreos,” Carter said. He ran about twenty yards ahead and picked something up. “There’s a trail of them.” He brushed the dirt off a cookie and popped it into his mouth.

  Angelo raced to the spot and stared at Carter. “You’ve been following a trail of cookies since we left the camp?”

  “A couple of them looked a little chewed on.” Carter grinned—his teeth black with chewed-up Oreos. “But they taste just fine. Bigfoot don’t have germs, do they?”

  Angelo put his hands on his head. “You’re eating evidence! And you didn’t take pictures.”

  “It’s an Oreo,” Carter said, licking a crumb from his finger. “You want a picture of it, go into any grocery store.”

  “None of this makes sense,” Nick said. “First, a monster breaks into a locked car without leaving any marks. Then, instead of rummaging through everything, it picks out gummy worms and a package of Oreos, which it carefully leaves a trail of for us to follow. Does this sound like anything you’ve seen in your Bigfoot research?”

  Angelo wrote furiously in his notebook. “We’re obviously dealing with a very intelligent being.”

  Nick watched Carter searching for the next cookie. “Intelligent enough to set a trap?”

  Carter stopped. “Say what?”

  “Think about it,” Nick said. “We’ve invaded its territory. If it’s smart enough to break into a locked car, couldn’t it also be smart enough to lead us into a trap? One minute we’re following a trail of Oreos. The next minute we’re falling into a pit filled with sharp sticks or getting smashed by a boulder poised to roll down on us the minute we step on the wrong spot.”

  Angelo chewed his lower lip. “We don’t know very much about their species. But the fact that they’ve managed to stay undiscovered this long does suggest a rather high IQ.”

  Carter stood with one foot frozen in midair. “You couldn’t have thought about this before I started following the trail?”

  “That’s assuming it didn’t put anything on the cookies,” Angelo said. “If it really wanted to get rid of us, it could coat them with an odorless, tasteless poison.”

  Carter groaned. “My stomach feels kind of weird.”

  “It couldn’t have anything to do with the fact that you ate about thirty pancakes,” Nick said. “If Bigfoot wanted to poison us, it could have put something in our food when it broke into the car.”

  “You think it poisoned the pancakes too?” Carter asked, his eyes wide. “The cookies and the pancakes? I’m a goner for sure.”

  “It didn’t poison anything,” Nick said. “The question is, why did it leave a trail for us and what do we do about it?”

  Angelo rubbed his chin. “I say we follow the trail. But take precautions.”

  “What kind of precautions?” Nick asked.

  “Here,” Angelo said, taking a rope from his backpack. “We’ll tie this to each other. If one of us steps on some kind of trap, the other two can save him.”

  “Or get pulled into the trap with him,” Carter said. “No offense, but if I see some big, hairy ape-man, the last thing I want is a rope tied to me.”

  “Carter’s right,” Nick said. “It would be easy to get tangled on a tree or a bush if you have to move fast. Let’s forget the rope and spread out—one of us in the middle and one to each side. That way, if one of us sets off a trap all three of us won’t be caught in it.”

  “I’m not walking in the middle,” Carter said. “I already tested the food for poison.”

  “I’d walk in the middle. But I have the GPS,” Angelo said. “Someone has to lead us back in case of an emergency.”

  “Some monster hunters you guys are,” Nick said. “Fine. I’ll walk in the middle. But give me the video camera. If I’m going to track the Bigfoot, I want to be the one recording anything we see.”

  Angelo unzipped a pocket of his pack and took out a thin black rectangle attached to a Velcro strap. “You wear it on your head, so it sees whatever you see. This is the remote. Anytime you want to record, just push the red button. You have a total of ninety minutes of recording time, but only push the button if you see something.”

  Nick’s hair felt damp with sweat as he secured the camera to his head. He couldn’t help thinking about all the movies where a kid is walking through the woods with a video camera and something jumps out of the trees. Suddenly the camera angle goes crazy and all you can hear is pounding footsteps and screams. He really didn’t want his last words to be “What is that? No. No!”

  “Here,” Angelo said, handing them each a whistle. “If you see anything dangerous, blow this.”

  Nick hung the whistle around his neck. Taking a deep breath, he started farther into the woods. With the thick canopy of tree branches overhead it was almost like night. He looked left and right, searching for any sign of movement. But would he see something before it attacked? For all he knew, Bigfoot were masters of camouflage. He might not even know something was there until—

  A branch cracked to his left, and Nick nearly screamed. His sweaty finger pressed at the record button as he spun around. It was only Carter. “Geez, you scared me to death,” he whispered. “I thought we were going to spread out.”

  “I want to cover you if something attacks,” Carter whispered back. “Besides, I was getting kind of freaked out all by myself.”

  “I know what you mean,” Angelo said, joining them. “It feels like something’s out there watching us.”

  “Yeah,” Nick said. Every time he turned his head he had the strongest feeling that some creature had slipped back into the shadows just before he could see it. It might be safer to spread out, but he had to admit he felt more comfortable with his friends beside him. “What’s the difference between a Bigfoot and a Sasquatch anyway?” he asked.

  “Just different names,” Angelo said, appearing relieved to be explaining something. “Sasquatch comes from the Native Americ
an language known as Salish. It means ‘hairy giant.’ Another tribe, the Lummi, called the creatures Ts’emekwes. ‘Bigfoot’ wasn’t used until the late 1950s, when a bulldozer operator in Northern California discovered huge footprints. The first Bigfoot hunters appeared shortly after that.”

  “So the Bigfoot have been around for a long time?”

  “Some people believe the original Bigfoot was a giant ape called Gigantopithecus that lived as much as nine million years ago.”

  Nick felt his mouth go dry. “That would explain why they view us as intruders.”

  “Look.” Carter pointed to the ground a few feet ahead.

  As they got closer Nick saw another Oreo. A second later he realized it wasn’t just one cookie, but several of them spread out on the ground. “What is it?” Nick asked.

  “It’s a bunch of cookies,” Carter said, “and I’m starving.” He reached for the Oreos but Angelo stopped him.

  “Don’t touch them,” Angelo said. The cookies were arranged in three straight lines. He turned to Nick. “This can’t be accidental. And look, there are more of the giant footprints. Are you recording this?”

  Nick nodded, before remembering the camera was attached to his head. He stared straight down at the footprints and then moved his head toward the cookies to get a clear shot. “It’s some kind of symbol. Any idea what it means?”

  Angelo’s jaw was set in concentration. “The Roman numeral three? Three people? Three is a special number for many groups. But in this case, I’m not sure.”

  “Maybe it’s a warning.” Nick glanced around, remembering the possibility of a trap. “Do you think we should spread out again? I don’t see tripwires or anything, but . . .” He paused, staring at an especially large redwood tree a few yards beyond the cookies. “Look at that,” he said.

  Angelo and Nick walked up to the tree, which was so big the three of them couldn’t have reached around the trunk even if they all linked hands. The same three-line symbol was carved into the trunk, one on the left, one on the right, and one sideways about ten feet above the ground.

  Angelo ran his fingers across the symbols.

  “What is it?” Nick asked.

  “It’s a bunch of cookies,” Carter said.

  “Very funny,” Nick said, gritting his teeth. Sometimes Carter could be so focused on food he forgot about everything else. “Do we keep going or search around here?”

  Angelo scratched his head. “There has to be a reason for the symbol. It could be trying to tell us something.”

  “I’m hungry,” Carter said.

  Nick spun around to glare at him. “Can’t you ever think about anything but your stomach?”

  Carter’s face was nearly as white as his hair. “I didn’t say that.”

  “What are you talking about?” Angelo snapped, clearly as annoyed as Nick.

  Carter raised a shaking hand to his face. “I didn’t say I was hungry. I mean, it was my voice. But I didn’t say it.”

  Nick folded his arms across his chest, as if he could somehow hold back his anger. “If you didn’t say you were hungry, who did?”

  His hand still shaking, Carter pointed behind the redwood tree. “H-he did.”

  Nick leaned far enough left to look behind the tree and froze. Standing in the shadows looking back at him was an exact duplicate of Carter. The duplicate was a perfect copy, all the way down to the black hair with the white stripe. It could have been Carter’s twin except for the fact that it was only six inches tall.

  The tiny Carter look-alike grinned up at the three boys and rubbed its stomach. “I’m hungry.”

  Carter blew his whistle.

  Tweet. Twee-ee-eet. Tweeeeeeeeet!

  The ear-piercing sound of Carter’s repeated whistles drilled into Nick’s head like a sharp spike. “Would you cut that out?” he yelled, covering his ears.

  “What is it?” Carter cried around the whistle still jammed between his lips. “It l-looks j-just like me.”

  If the whistles and shouting bothered the tiny Carter, it didn’t show it. “It l-looks j-just like me,” it repeated in such a perfect copy of Carter’s voice that it could have been a recording.

  For one of the few times Nick had ever seen, Angelo appeared to be at a complete loss for words. He knelt in front of the tiny figure, twisted his monster notebook in his hands, and muttered, “Huh.”

  “That’s it?” Carter said. “‘Huh’? That’s all you have to say? What is that thing and why does it look like me?”

  “It doesn’t just look like you,” Nick said. “It looks exactly like you. It sounds exactly like you. It has the same clothes as you. It even has a tiny little syrup stain on its shirt like you.”

  “I can see that.” Carter stumbled backward a couple of steps, and his miniature double followed him.

  Angelo shook his head, like a boxer recovering from an especially hard punch. “I . . . I think it could be a homunculus.”

  “A hom-what-what?” Nick asked. Around them, the birds that had gone silent at the sound of Carter’s whistle started up their singing again.

  Angelo flipped through his notebook, shaking his head. “I didn’t think they were real until this minute.” He finally found the page he was looking for, reading his notes out loud. “Homunculus. Latin for ‘little man.’ First spoken of in alchemical writings of the sixteenth century. Said to be a perfect replica of a human being in miniature form.”

  “That’s what it looks like all right,” Nick said.

  Carter backed away again and picked up a stick. “Is it dangerous?”

  The homunculus followed, picking up a twig of its own.

  “Nothing I’ve read says they are,” Angelo said. “In fact some writings refer to them as symbols of purity and innocence.”

  Slowly, Carter put down his stick. The homunculus put down its twig and in a perfect Carter voice said, “I’m hungry.”

  “It even acts like you,” Nick said with a laugh.

  Carter reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of Skittles. He tossed one to the miniature him. It picked up the candy in its tiny hands, sniffed it, and took a big bite. “Yum!”

  Carter grinned. “It likes it!”

  “How could anything that looks this much like you not like candy?” Nick asked.

  The homunculus finished its Skittle and looked up at Carter. “Want another Skittle?” Carter asked, holding out his hand.

  The creature tilted its head and for a moment, Nick didn’t think it would come any closer. Then it rubbed its stomach, hopped up into Carter’s hand, and took the candy. “Skittle,” it repeated before chowing down.

  Carter was delighted. “Look at this.”

  Nick stepped back and motioned Angelo to join him. “Are you sure it’s safe?” he whispered.

  “I don’t know anything about it,” Angelo admitted with a shrug. “But it doesn’t seem dangerous.”

  That wasn’t exactly the most comforting thing Nick could have heard. Bears looked cuddly too—until they ripped your face off. For all the boys knew, it could have rabies or something. “Maybe you should put it down,” he said.

  But Carter wasn’t paying any attention. He slipped the homunculus into his jacket pocket and it popped out a moment later with a sunflower seed gripped in its hands. “I didn’t know I had that in there,” Carter laughed.

  Angelo watched, fascinated.

  “Do you know where it came from?” Nick asked.

  Angelo waved his notebook excitedly in the air. “I don’t have enough data. As far as I’m aware, no one’s ever reported an actual sighting.”

  “Watch this,” Carter said. He tapped the first two fingers of his left hand against his right palm. The homunculus did a little jig in his hand. “I taught it to dance.” He patted his pockets. “Do you want some more candy?”

  The little Carter frowned and said, “If it was a raccoon, I’m turning it into a coonskin cap.”

  Carter burst into laughter. But Nick got an uneasy feeling in his stomach.
“Did you hear that?” he asked. “It just repeated what Carter said last night outside the tent. It must have been spying on us.”

  “He wouldn’t spy,” Carter said, feeding the homunculus a crumb of potato chip. “Would you, little guy?”

  “It’s probably the one who broke into our car too,” Nick mused. He didn’t care if Angelo said the homunculus was dangerous or not. He had a bad feeling about it.

  Carter held out his hand. “Let’s see you dance again, little me.”

  The homunculus’s dancing was interrupted by a car’s horn honking from the direction of the camp. Nick checked his watch. They’d been gone for only a little over thirty minutes. “I wonder what’s up.”

  “You think we’re in trouble?” Angelo asked.

  “I don’t see how we could be,” Nick said. “Dad told us we could stay out for two hours, and it hasn’t been half that yet.”

  The car honked again.

  “Whatever it is, we better get back,” Nick told his friends.

  Carter tucked the homunculus into the crook of his arm, where it curled up like a baby, before joining Nick and Angelo.

  “What are you doing?” Nick asked. “You can’t bring that with you.”

  “Why not? It likes me. Besides, do you have any idea how much people will pay to see a tiny human dancing and talking? I’m gonna be rich.” Carter lightly rubbed the top of the homunculus’s head and it sighed contentedly.

  Nick turned to Angelo. “Tell him he can’t take that thing with him. We have no idea what kinds of diseases it might have.”

  Carter scowled at him. “Carter Junior does not have any diseases.”

  “It might be better if you left it here,” Angelo said. “We don’t know its environmental needs. There could be something special about this habitat. It might be the only place it can survive. Even though it looks like a human, it’s actually a wild animal.”

  Carter narrowed his eyes. “Who are you calling an animal?”

  “It could get sick,” Angelo said. “And besides, if you start showing that thing around, people are going to want to do tests on it. Or put it in a zoo. How would you feel about that?”