The Thing I Didn't Know I Didn't Know (Russel Middlebrook: The Futon Years Book 1) by Brent Hartinger
Authors: Brent Hartinger
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started to think they were right—that I really had dreamt it all. It wasn't until about an hour later that I realized that it might've left tracks. And so I went to where I'd seen it, and sure enough, there were tracks."
"Did you show them to your family?" I said.
"I thought about it. But I knew they'd think I made them myself. So I didn't say anything. And ever since then..."
"You've spent your life looking for Bigfoot, trying to get another look."
"Pretty much."
At that, we all fell silent again, staring at the fire.
I have no idea what Ben actually saw all those years ago, but I knew in my bones that he wasn't lying to me, that he absolutely believed what he was telling me was the truth.
* * *
That night, outside Gunnar's and my tent, things fluttered and skittered and hooted and scratched. At one point, something even huffed like a horse. It was like a joke how much stuff was going on. And yet, when I stuck my head out the flap of our tent, all I saw was a few insects swirling in the light of my flashlight. It was no wonder that human beings have always been so quick to trap and prune and zap and kill nature. It was unnerving.
And then there was the matter of Bigfoot itself. It occurred to me that even the most hardened Bigfoot skeptic, even Min, might at least reconsider her beliefs while lying in a flimsy tent in an area where the creature had recently been spotted. And then there was the question of bears, which I knew for a fact lived in the area—or maybe extinct polar bears that didn't turn out to be extinct after all.
"Gunnar?" I said.
"Yeah?" he said, lying next to me in the tent.
"You said that Bigfoot are nocturnal, right?"
"Probably."
"What does that mean exactly?"
"Are you worried about one of them attacking us?"
"Would you think I'm an idiot if I said yes?"
Even in the dark, I could tell he was smiling.
"Well, if that happened," he said, "we would be the first recorded case of a Bigfoot attacking a human in the history of the world."
That was definitely reassuring. On the other hand, I couldn't help but note the little tone of glee in Gunnar's voice, almost like, on some level, he'd actually be happy about it.
* * *
Gunnar was up early the next morning, raring to go even before the sun had come up. It took the others a little bit longer to get ready. Okay, a lot longer. Ben cooked a rousing breakfast, Clive and Katie did some fishing in the creek, and Leon checked the images on his motion-activated wildlife camera from the night before (he didn't find anything interesting, which was surprising given that I'd personally heard a whole herd of mastodons pass by).
One bad thing about this impetuously-decided Bigfoot expedition into the woods? There was no outhouse in the vicinity. Which meant shitting in the woods like a bear.
Finally, around nine-thirty, we were all ready to go, which was a good thing, because Gunnar's head was on the verge of exploding.
We set off on a trail along the stream. Twigs and sticks crunched under our feet, and I realized I was the only one wearing tennis shoes. My feet slid on the slick carpet of pine needles.
"Is it far?" Gunnar asked Ben.
"Not too bad," Ben said.
"Who was it?" I asked. "What'd they see?"
"Three men out fishing," he said. "They'd been working their way upstream. One said he'd had the feeling all afternoon they were being watched. Then two of them rounded a bend, and there was the creature standing on the shore, watching them. That was three days ago. I'm just glad they had the foresight to mark it on their map."
We walked on for a second, then I said, "So do you guys investigate everything that gets reported to you?"
"No. We do if they're accessible. But sometimes the best sightings are in the most remote areas. Loggers sometimes see incredible stuff. But we're just not equipped to do those kinds of backcountry expeditions. Not until we get the blimp built."
"How is that going?"
"Did you show them to your family?" I said.
"I thought about it. But I knew they'd think I made them myself. So I didn't say anything. And ever since then..."
"You've spent your life looking for Bigfoot, trying to get another look."
"Pretty much."
At that, we all fell silent again, staring at the fire.
I have no idea what Ben actually saw all those years ago, but I knew in my bones that he wasn't lying to me, that he absolutely believed what he was telling me was the truth.
* * *
That night, outside Gunnar's and my tent, things fluttered and skittered and hooted and scratched. At one point, something even huffed like a horse. It was like a joke how much stuff was going on. And yet, when I stuck my head out the flap of our tent, all I saw was a few insects swirling in the light of my flashlight. It was no wonder that human beings have always been so quick to trap and prune and zap and kill nature. It was unnerving.
And then there was the matter of Bigfoot itself. It occurred to me that even the most hardened Bigfoot skeptic, even Min, might at least reconsider her beliefs while lying in a flimsy tent in an area where the creature had recently been spotted. And then there was the question of bears, which I knew for a fact lived in the area—or maybe extinct polar bears that didn't turn out to be extinct after all.
"Gunnar?" I said.
"Yeah?" he said, lying next to me in the tent.
"You said that Bigfoot are nocturnal, right?"
"Probably."
"What does that mean exactly?"
"Are you worried about one of them attacking us?"
"Would you think I'm an idiot if I said yes?"
Even in the dark, I could tell he was smiling.
"Well, if that happened," he said, "we would be the first recorded case of a Bigfoot attacking a human in the history of the world."
That was definitely reassuring. On the other hand, I couldn't help but note the little tone of glee in Gunnar's voice, almost like, on some level, he'd actually be happy about it.
* * *
Gunnar was up early the next morning, raring to go even before the sun had come up. It took the others a little bit longer to get ready. Okay, a lot longer. Ben cooked a rousing breakfast, Clive and Katie did some fishing in the creek, and Leon checked the images on his motion-activated wildlife camera from the night before (he didn't find anything interesting, which was surprising given that I'd personally heard a whole herd of mastodons pass by).
One bad thing about this impetuously-decided Bigfoot expedition into the woods? There was no outhouse in the vicinity. Which meant shitting in the woods like a bear.
Finally, around nine-thirty, we were all ready to go, which was a good thing, because Gunnar's head was on the verge of exploding.
We set off on a trail along the stream. Twigs and sticks crunched under our feet, and I realized I was the only one wearing tennis shoes. My feet slid on the slick carpet of pine needles.
"Is it far?" Gunnar asked Ben.
"Not too bad," Ben said.
"Who was it?" I asked. "What'd they see?"
"Three men out fishing," he said. "They'd been working their way upstream. One said he'd had the feeling all afternoon they were being watched. Then two of them rounded a bend, and there was the creature standing on the shore, watching them. That was three days ago. I'm just glad they had the foresight to mark it on their map."
We walked on for a second, then I said, "So do you guys investigate everything that gets reported to you?"
"No. We do if they're accessible. But sometimes the best sightings are in the most remote areas. Loggers sometimes see incredible stuff. But we're just not equipped to do those kinds of backcountry expeditions. Not until we get the blimp built."
"How is that going?"
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