Page 3 of Bigfoot Threw Rocks at Me

"At least I'm real, Emily! Unlike Bigfoot!"

Oh no. He did not just say that.

"How dare you!" I say through a clenched jaw.

But Mark isn't listening anymore. He's already moving away, his movements sharp and quick as he grabs his coat from the hook in the hall. He pauses at the front door, his hand on the knob. Tension lines his shoulders.

"I'm going to a bar, and I'll see you when you get back."

His words are clipped, final. Without waiting for a response, he pulls open the door and steps out. The cool night air sweeps in briefly as the door slams shut behind him.

Well, that could have gone better…

I sink into a chair, my thoughts swirling chaotically. I feel bad for Mark. It's hard being in love with a wild thing. You try to hold on, to find stability, but you’re always chasing something elusive, something just out of reach. I should know — I’ve built my career on chasing wild things.

As I sit alone, the reality of the evening's disaster settles in. Mark is gone. The room is silent. Methodically, I turn off the stove, the soft clicks echoing louder than usual in the empty kitchen. The sizzle of the dinner simmers into silence.

I head upstairs. In my room, I grab my duffel bag from the closet and toss in clothes and necessities. Once packed, I haul the bag down the stairs and out the front door. My campervan sits in the driveway. My steadfast companion, always ready for the next adventure. It's stocked with gear, maps, and enough provisions to last several days in the isolation of the forest.

Climbing into the driver's seat, I start the engine. The familiar rumble is a soothing balm to my frazzled nerves. As I pull away from the house, the street lights flicker overhead, casting shadows that dance across the dashboard.

A weekend apart will be good for both Mark and me. Maybe some space will clear our heads, mend the rifts. After all, they say absence makes the heart grow fonder, right? And if it doesn’t? Well, maybe I’ll meet a nice, rugged mountain man in a checkered shirt. Someone who understands the call of the wild. Someone as untamed as the myths I chase.

Chapter two

The road twists deeper into the Payette National Forest, each turn drawing me further away from my life's chaos. Away from Mark. The forest grows denser, a lush canopy knitting tightly above. The evening light filters through leaves in dappled patterns. It’s beautiful and alien, like stepping into a parallel world where my problems can't quite reach me.

I’ve driven this path before, many times, chasing shadows and footprints. But tonight, there's a flutter in my stomach, a whisper in the back of my mind: This time will be different. I can feel it. I’m going to find Bigfoot.

Pulling into my usual camping area, I kill the engine and step out into the twilight. The air is crisp, filled with the sharp scent of pine and earth. The immediate drop in temperature makes me shiver. The familiar sounds of the forest at night greet me — crickets chirping, the occasional rustle of small creatures in the underbrush, the distant call of an owl. This place is more home to me than my house with Mark ever is.

I get to work, my movements automatic. First, I secure the area, checking for signs of recent animal activity. I don't need a bear wandering through tonight. Next, I pop open the back of the campervan, pulling out my portable kitchen. It's nothing fancy — just a small stove and a cooler packed with provisions — but it's enough. I set up a foldable table and chair. My little enclave where I can jot down notes and refuel with a hot meal. Once that’s done, I prepare my research equipment. Night vision goggles, audio recorders, and plaster for footprint casts. I line them up neatly on another table, my outdoor lab under the stars. I’ve learned the hard way that being organized out here makes all the difference.

As the shadows stretch and the sky deepens to a dark blue, the whole forest comes alive with noise. Crickets get their groove on, squirrels scamper home, and possums make a late-night booty call. At least someone is getting laid tonight…

It’s getting cold. The chill of the evening sneaks through my jacket, so I zip it up all the way, watching my breath fog up in front of me. I sweep the beam of my flashlight around, making the shadows jump. It’s too dark to do any investigating tonight. I should probably head to bed.

I shuffle into the campervan, feeling the cool night air nipping at my heels as I close the door behind me. The routine is simple — brush my teeth, change into some comfy pajamas, and pull down the small bed. It’s surprisingly cozy in here, even with the drop in temperature. I’m usually knocked out the minute my head hits the pillow. But not tonight. Tonight, my mind races.

I roll over, adjusting my position, trying to find that sweet spot on the cool side of the pillow. But it’s not working.

Come on Emily. Just sleep. It must be my argument with Mark still playing in my subconscious. Twat. Even out here, he’s ruining my calm.

Eventually, after what feels like hours of battling with my thoughts, my body succumbs to sleep. My eyes finally close, my mind slowly quiets, and then the dreams come…

Chapter three

I am standing in a clearing in the forest. The night air is still and quiet, with only the soft chirping of crickets in the distance. Looking down, I realize I'm wearing a sheer, white dress. The material is soft and light, fluttering lightly in the breeze. I am naked underneath. My nipples stand to attention in the night air.

All around me in the clearing, candles flicker in glass jars. Their flames dance and send shadows across the grass and trees. The candles form a large circle around where I stand, their warm glow the only light in this serene place. It’s peaceful here. Where am I?

I close my eyes and breathe deeply, taking in the earthy scents of pine and moss. I can feel the soft grass beneath my bare feet, the caress of the dress against my skin, the gentle wind through my hair.

I hear a sound and open my eyes. Someone is here.

A man emerges from the darkness. He is tall and broad. His rugged, handsome features come into the flickering candlelight as he steps into the clearing. He wears jeans slung low on his hips. I can see a peek of hair just above his belt, disappearing under his shirt. He wears a checkered shirt, unbuttoned halfway to reveal his muscular chest underneath.

I inhale sharply at the sight of this masculine stranger. He moves with a relaxed confidence and seems completely at ease. As he approaches me, his eyes lock intensely on mine. I am powerless under his piercing gaze. My heart is beginning to race.

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