Page 66 of Silent Bones
“Come on,” she said, brushing past him. “Let’s go hear some bad howling.”
They walked toward the main clearing, following the swell of voices and the occasional shriek of feedback from a portable PA system. Rows of people had gathered around a makeshift stage set against the treeline, where a banner fluttered: SASQUATCH CALL COMPETITION – FINALS STARTING SOON.
A man in overalls stood onstage adjusting a mic, while two judges, one in a Bigfoot hoodie, the other with a clipboard, took notes and laughed.
A kid in a camo jacket stepped up, cupped his hands to his mouth, and let out a long, warbling howl that ended with a squeak. The crowd whooped and clapped.
A woman followed with a guttural scream that rattled the speakers. A baby nearby started crying. Noah winced.
“I want this on record,” McKenzie said, returning with a Sasquatch-shaped cookie. “If one of these people turns out to be the killer, I’m quitting and opening a bait shop.”
Callie arched a brow. “You don’t even fish.”
“I will if it means I never hear that noise again.”
The crowd parted slightly as a new name was announced. A familiar voice called out from backstage: “Let’s make somenoisefor Gone Squatchin’ himself, Mr. Ed Baxter!”
Noah turned toward the voice, eyes narrowing.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Callie muttered.
“Oh no, you should hear him,” Noah said.
Ed stepped onstage wearing a faux-fur vest and approached the mic like it was a sacred artifact. He raised it, gave a dramatic nod to the judges, and unleashed a guttural, raspy howl that echoed across the clearing. It was low and drawn-out, almost rhythmic. It then cut sharp, followed by a deep, gravelly throat growl.
The audience erupted. Some laughed. Some clapped. One man with binoculars actually looked toward the woods.
Noah didn’t clap. He was still staring, brow furrowed.
Callie leaned in. “You recognize it?”
Noah didn’t answer.
But something in the back of his mind had clicked, a memory of one of the audio files recovered from the phone of one of the teens. A distorted, background noise they hadn’t been able to clean up completely.
Something that sounded… almost likethat.
It wasn’t a match, not exactly.
But it wasclose enough.
Before he could say anything, it happened.
A sound drifted in from beyond the treeline, faint, stretched across the wind like an echo… but not an echo.
It was higher-pitched than Ed’s call. Longer. Less guttural, more drawn out, like someone imitating the call but from far away… or something else entirely.
The crowd froze.
A few people laughed nervously. One of the judges squinted toward the woods.
“Is that part of the act?” someone asked.
Another voice, a woman this time, said, “That didn’t sound like the other ones.”
Langley, a few paces behind Noah, turned his head slowly toward the trees. Even he wasn’t smiling now.
Noah scanned the crowd. Faces had turned. A few kids clung tighter to their parents. Somewhere, a vendor’s speaker continued to play low banjo music that now felt absurdly misplaced.
