Page 1 of Bigfoot Threw Rocks at Me

Chapter one

My keys jingle as I unlock my front door. It’s been a long day — a long week even — but there’s no time to rest. I have to pack my bags and head out again almost immediately if I want to reach the Payette National Forest before nightfall. Can’t hunt for Bigfoot in the dark!

The footprints that were found are astonishing. I’ll need to make casts of the prints first, and then I'll need to cross-reference the stride length with the data I have from the— Rose petals? Flickering candlelight? The smell of gourmet cooking?

My boots crunch on the trail of red petals leading from the entrance toward the kitchen. What in the world? Did Mark do this? Either that or I have a very romantic home intruder.

Dropping my backpack, I follow the petal path curiously.

"Mark? You home?" I call out, pushing open the door to the kitchen.

He whips around from the stove, brow furrowing when he sees me.

"Emily! You're back already?"

"Yeah, I just got in…."

My voice trails off as I take in the whole domestic scene — the candlelit table, the sizzling pans, the bouquet of roses as the centerpiece on the table.

"What's all this?"

Mark's shoulders slump.

"You forgot, didn't you?"

"Forgot wha—"

The realization smacks me. It’s our fucking anniversary. I rake a hand through my hair as Mark nods sadly. Of course — tonight's the 22nd. Three years ago today I marched into his microbiology lab, ranting about potential sasquatch specimens, and somehow he asked me out instead of calling security.

Mark's frustration is palpable as he leans back against the counter, his voice tight.

"You forgot, didn't you? God damn it, Emily. What's your excuse this time?"

I wince, feeling the sting of his words.

"Mark, someone found new prints at the Payette National Forest. It's a big deal — bigger than we thought. I just got caught up in the excitement, you know?"

His gaze hardens, and he crosses his arms, shaking his head.

"You're always caught up in it. Sometimes I think you love that damn Bigfoot more than you love me."

He’s being melodramatic again. Jesus Christ, here we go.

"That's ridiculous, Mark," I reply, trying my hardest not to roll my eyes.

"Is it?" His voice rises slightly. "Think about it, Emily. How many dinners have you missed? How many nights have you come home late or not at all because you were out chasing some lead? How many trips have we had to cancel because new evidence has come in?”

Each question hits like a dart. In some ways, he’s not wrong. I do put my research first, but can you blame me? Mark isn’t leaving mysterious footprints and then disappearing off into the woods never to be seen again. I have to prioritize Bigfoot or we’ll never catch him.

I reach for his hand, trying to bridge the gap between us.

"Mark, hunting Bigfoot isn't like other jobs. I can't just put it on pause. When evidence comes in, I have to act immediately. You know that my job is important to me."

He pulls his hand away gently. He looks tired.

"I get that it's important to you, Emily. I do. But I need to feel like I'm important too."

I sigh. This old argument again.

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