log-strewn riverbed was blurry and grainy, but it was looking his way. A shiver coursed through Reed’s limbs. He saw no silvery-green retinas glowing in the dark, but something about that image brought back the same nerve-jangling, hand-trembling terror.
His eyes went to a glass case below the poster and focused on a plaster cast of a huge footprint. As he leaned close to the glass, the sound a foot like that could make in the soft earth of the forest came back to him. Suddenly the speed and mobility of the shadow he’d seen did not seem impossible.
His heartbeat quickened. His hands trembled. He looked around the lobby, through the windows at the people gearing up for the search after Jimmy’s lecture on how to handle dismembered bodies and fear-crazed, delusional family members. Hadn’t any of these people seen this stuff in the glass case or that picture on the wall? Had it never occurred to them that it might not be a bear, that it might be—
Caution took hold, and Reed didn’t run anywhere to yell anything.
Of course they’d seen it. They’d heard his story too. He tried to understand why their minds would only go one direction, locked on only one explanation, and he could settle on only one answer: they weren’t there last night.
He looked at the poster again, trying to imagine that thing in the dark—
“I don’t know if you ought to be looking at that.”
Arlen Peak, the owner of the place, had come into the lobby from the souvenir shop. Worry in his eyes, he stood beneath the huge, clawed bearskin, watching Reed.
Reed looked toward the glass case. “I never saw one before.”
“It’s hard to find anybody who has, and anybody who has usually won’t talk about it.”
“Have you ever seen one?”
The old man shook his head, almost sadly. “No.”
Reed knew it would be safe to tell this man. “I think I have.”
Peak approached and spoke gently. “Son, you need to be sure about that. I don’t want anybody thinking I’ve put ideas in your head.”
Reed gazed at the big footprint. “Do they . . . make a crying sound like a woman? Not screaming, but, you know, wailing and crying?”
The innkeeper half-smiled and shook his head.
“How do you know?”
“Let’s just say nobody’s ever heard one do that.”
“Do they smell bad, like the worst armpit in the world?”
Peak hesitated just a moment, then answered, “Only when they’re frightened or upset. It’s what a lot of apes do. It’s a defense mechanism.”
“Do they howl and scream like, well, like apes?”
The old man’s silver fillings twinkled in the windows’ light. “Now, that I’ve heard.”
“Do they whistle?” Reed tried to mimic what he’d heard, the long, soaring whistle with the little warbles in it.
Now Peak actually straightened, staring at him.
Outside, the teams were ready to trek into the woods. Jimmy Clark and Sheriff Mills, rifles slung on their backs, exchanged a look with Pete Henderson, then glanced toward the front door.
“You saw him, didn’t you?” Jimmy asked. “He was so wiped out he looked like he was on something.”
Sheriff Mills waited only a moment, looked at the folks gathered for the search, then sighed through his mustache. “Let’s do it.” He shouted, “Okay, everybody, let’s go!”
The front door opened. Everyone froze on the same cue.
Reed stepped out, a little pale, just a little wobbly, but standing tall, his pack on his back, his deputy sheriff’s cap on his head. He was ready with an answer and spoke in strained tones to Sheriff Mills, “Ready when you are, sir.”
Beck heard a long, soaring whistle with little warbles in it. Then a deep-throated, disgusting grunt, like a gigantic old sow in the mud. Another low grunt. Another soaring whistle.
And then Beck was aware of gook in her mouth—clumpy like gooey raisins and tart like wild berries—and someone wearing big leathery gloves shoving more gook into her mouth.
She gagged, then coughed, then spit
His eyes went to a glass case below the poster and focused on a plaster cast of a huge footprint. As he leaned close to the glass, the sound a foot like that could make in the soft earth of the forest came back to him. Suddenly the speed and mobility of the shadow he’d seen did not seem impossible.
His heartbeat quickened. His hands trembled. He looked around the lobby, through the windows at the people gearing up for the search after Jimmy’s lecture on how to handle dismembered bodies and fear-crazed, delusional family members. Hadn’t any of these people seen this stuff in the glass case or that picture on the wall? Had it never occurred to them that it might not be a bear, that it might be—
Caution took hold, and Reed didn’t run anywhere to yell anything.
Of course they’d seen it. They’d heard his story too. He tried to understand why their minds would only go one direction, locked on only one explanation, and he could settle on only one answer: they weren’t there last night.
He looked at the poster again, trying to imagine that thing in the dark—
“I don’t know if you ought to be looking at that.”
Arlen Peak, the owner of the place, had come into the lobby from the souvenir shop. Worry in his eyes, he stood beneath the huge, clawed bearskin, watching Reed.
Reed looked toward the glass case. “I never saw one before.”
“It’s hard to find anybody who has, and anybody who has usually won’t talk about it.”
“Have you ever seen one?”
The old man shook his head, almost sadly. “No.”
Reed knew it would be safe to tell this man. “I think I have.”
Peak approached and spoke gently. “Son, you need to be sure about that. I don’t want anybody thinking I’ve put ideas in your head.”
Reed gazed at the big footprint. “Do they . . . make a crying sound like a woman? Not screaming, but, you know, wailing and crying?”
The innkeeper half-smiled and shook his head.
“How do you know?”
“Let’s just say nobody’s ever heard one do that.”
“Do they smell bad, like the worst armpit in the world?”
Peak hesitated just a moment, then answered, “Only when they’re frightened or upset. It’s what a lot of apes do. It’s a defense mechanism.”
“Do they howl and scream like, well, like apes?”
The old man’s silver fillings twinkled in the windows’ light. “Now, that I’ve heard.”
“Do they whistle?” Reed tried to mimic what he’d heard, the long, soaring whistle with the little warbles in it.
Now Peak actually straightened, staring at him.
Outside, the teams were ready to trek into the woods. Jimmy Clark and Sheriff Mills, rifles slung on their backs, exchanged a look with Pete Henderson, then glanced toward the front door.
“You saw him, didn’t you?” Jimmy asked. “He was so wiped out he looked like he was on something.”
Sheriff Mills waited only a moment, looked at the folks gathered for the search, then sighed through his mustache. “Let’s do it.” He shouted, “Okay, everybody, let’s go!”
The front door opened. Everyone froze on the same cue.
Reed stepped out, a little pale, just a little wobbly, but standing tall, his pack on his back, his deputy sheriff’s cap on his head. He was ready with an answer and spoke in strained tones to Sheriff Mills, “Ready when you are, sir.”
Beck heard a long, soaring whistle with little warbles in it. Then a deep-throated, disgusting grunt, like a gigantic old sow in the mud. Another low grunt. Another soaring whistle.
And then Beck was aware of gook in her mouth—clumpy like gooey raisins and tart like wild berries—and someone wearing big leathery gloves shoving more gook into her mouth.
She gagged, then coughed, then spit
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