Page 5 of Sweet Giant

“Have you heard their howls?” he asked.

“Howls?” I was starting to really panic now, but not because I was in proximity to a man whose deep voice reminded me of Mountain’s. I was losing my shit becauseyes,yesI heard howls frequently. Nearly every night. Sometimes during the day. But I’d assumed the noises had belonged to wolves or coyotes.

“Oh yes, howls,” the man said, scratching his chin. “That’s how they communicate with one another over long distances. Different howls mean different things. But they can also talk. They have their own language.”

Well, he sure was being eerily specific, and my sense of unease increased.

“Now, I know what you must be thinking, miss,” he said as he scanned several cans of soup. “You’re probably thinking I’m a crazy old man. You’re probably thinking that Bigfoot can’t be real. But I swear to you on my father’s grave—I’ve seen them. More than once. So has my brother—he runs the hardware store over on Maple Avenue. Anyway, they’re real and they sure are something. Great, big, amazing creatures.”

“What else do you know about Sasquatches?” I found myself asking. Even though I didn’t believe him. Nope, not even a little.

His eyes lit up and he drew in a deep breath before info-dumping some Bigfoot facts. “Well, miss, they live deep in the mountains and try to avoid humans, but hunters and fishermen meet them sometimes. The ’squatches have some kind of special ability where they can make humans forget the encounter. They’ve used it on me and my brother more than once, but our memories come back each time, usually after a couple weeks. Oh, and here’s a fun fact—some of them speak English! I swear to God I’m not lying!”

“English?” For the first time in a while, I felt a smile tugging at my lips. The clerk’s story was getting so outrageous that I couldn’t help but find it comical. Maybe he was crazy, or maybe he simply wanted to sell Bigfoot mugs and t-shirts, but his amusing tales were starting to help me relax in his presence.

“Oh yeah, English. But not all of them. I’ve met some who talk in a strange tongue. But the ’squatches near the Skagit River tend to speak our language. So, if you want to have a conversation with a real live Bigfoot, I suggest you go on a fishing trip there. You being a young woman, I bet they’d flock to you. Just kidding. I don’t actually recommend you seek an encounter with one of the beasts.”

“Why do they like women more than men?”

He suddenly appeared uncomfortable and shifted in place. “Well, Bernie from the post office, a good buddy of mine who goes on Bigfoot hunting expeditions, thinks they might be interested in… thesmellof a human female. Whenever his wife, Ally, is ovulating, he takes her with him and sure enough, they’ll hear howls nearby. Bernie says the beasts like it when a woman is ovulating because the scent is likely similar to when their own females ovulate. It’s nature. Their drive to procreate.”

“Um…” I didn’t know what to say. This was officially the weirdest conversation I’d ever had.

“Think about it,” the clerk said. “Aliens are real. During the last few decades, Earth has made contact with many different races of aliens. Why should the existence of Bigfoot be out of the realm of possibility? They’re just good at hiding.” He tapped a few buttons on the register. “That’ll be three hundred and eighty-seven galactic credits.”

Chapter3

LIV

Against my protests,the clerk helped carry my bags to my solar truck, all the while dropping more Bigfoot facts.

Apparently, most ’squatches, as he affectionately called them, lived in massive caverns in the mountains, though he claimed some liked to sleep in the open forest. Those who slept in the forest created giant nests. He went on to describe all the times he’d come across a Bigfoot nest during hunting and fishing trips.

He also claimed a huge, dark-haired Sasquatch once saved his brother from kidnappers who’d planned to kill him. This seemed like a very outlandish story, and I absolutely didn’t believe it, though I kept my opinion to myself.

“But the ’squatch who saved my brother didn’t look like most of the others we’ve seen. Most have lighter brown or grayish fur. And would you believe their faces look very human-like! If you just saw one’s face, you’d simply think him a wildman! Of course, there are female ’squatches, too, but I haven’t personally seen one. I suppose they stay closer to home. It’s the males that go wandering through the mountains.” He placed the last bag on the front passenger seat and closed the door.

“Well,” I said, feeling awkward, “thank you for your assistance…”

“Harold,” he supplied, then looked at me expectantly.

Right. He wanted to know my name. I guessed he hadn’t paid attention to the name on the credit card I’d used.

“Thanks again for your help, Harold. Uh, I’m Stacy, by the way.” Stacy. It was the fake name on the card General Remington had given me. He’d given me a fake Washington driver’s license and a passport as well. Just in case I ever needed them.

“It was my pleasure, Stacy.” He glanced over his shoulder as two women entered the general store. “Well, you take care!”

I nodded and smiled politely before climbing into the driver’s seat. Once I closed the door and locked it, I started shaking. I’d gotten myself so hyped up about going out in public, then I’d gotten nervous around the men in the store, but now that I was alone again, I could finally breathe.

So, I breathed. I breathed and I remained unmoving until the last of the tremors passed. I knew from experience it was the crash after a frightening event. It was the sheer relief at finally being alone, at finally being safe—for the moment—that was causing me to feel weak and shaky and drained of all energy.

“I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay…” I repeated aloud.

I reached for the thermos of tea I’d brought along and took a sip. I was parked on a main road that contained several businesses. The people moving up and down the street appeared to be in a hurry. I glanced at the darkening sky and started the vehicle.

As I departed the small town of Newhalem, my strength began to return. Maybe one day the simple act of buying groceries wouldn’t be so traumatic. I could only hope.

I sped down various backroads as I made my way into the area once known as North Cascades National Park—before the cash-strapped government had sold it to private citizens and investors. That happened a few decades ago when extra money was needed to fund the latest war. Most of the state and national parks in the US had suffered a similar fate during the past few decades, but fortunately, the North Cascades remained mostly unchanged.

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