Billy and the Bigfoot

My grandsons Richard and John were at Sweetwater with my son Bobby (Richard’s dad) and, of course, me.  As far out in the woods as our camp is the sky grew darker and darker as the sun slid behind the trees.  Despite the hot weather, the dancing fire in the stone ring kept us all company. 

One of the boys asked that time-honored question of boys sitting beside a campfire, “Tell us a spooky story?”

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I wracked my brain to come up with a tale that was scary enough without being too frightening for a pair of six-year-old boys.

Bobby suggested, “Dad, could you tell them the story “Billy and the Bigfoot?”

Maybe it was my age catching up with me, or perhaps it could have been that I haven’t thought of the story very often in the thirty years since I wrote it, but I just couldn’t come up with enough of the details to relate the yarn.  “Bob, do you remember it very well?  Could you tell it?”

Bobby’s memory may be a lot better than my aging mind allows, or it could be that the story made a deeper impression on his early grade school brain when he first heard it, but he remembered it well enough to keep the boys enthralled and refresh my memory at the same time.

I have to admit, I was kind of impressed with my writing ability from so long ago.  I know my grandsons asked to hear the story several more times that week.

With Bobby’s retelling fresh in my mind, and my own memory sharpened by the listening, I thought some of my readers might like to hear the story…the story of Billy and the Bigfoot.

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Our eldest son, Scotty, was best friends with Billy.  They were around ten at the time.  Everything they did, they did together.  They took turns spending the night at each other’s house, and played in the house or around the farmyard, or roamed the woods with our white German shepherd mix, Rowdy.

Rowdy was one of our rescue dogs, and had earned his name before we ever saw him.  We certainly couldn’t have come up with a better name for the frisky dog with an electric personality.  Anything the boys did, Rowdy wanted to be part of it.  He chased boys, and baseballs, and squirrels at every opportunity.  As I said, he wanted to take part in anything the boys did.

So it makes sense that he was there when Scotty and Billy were discussing their next exploit. 

It was one of those brisk, clear fall days.  You know, the kind that makes boys feel even more full of the joy of being boys and alive in the country. 

“What are we going to do?” Billy asked.

They mulled a few ideas before Scotty suggested, “Wanna go camping in the woods?  We can set up a tent next to the alfalfa field and watch the deer when they come out in the evening.”

They agreed and ran it by Annie and me before packing up a tent, a couple sleeping bags, bug spray, the makings of s’mores, and enough pork-n-beans and bologna sandwiches to make it through the night.

They decided to tie Rowdy up to keep him from going with them and running off all the wildlife they wanted to watch.  They set him up with food and water and loved on him before steeling their hearts against his whining to go with them, and headed the few hundred yards through the crunchy fall leaves to their chosen campsite.

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The tent was set up quickly and their gear stowed away.  The boys were too young to build a fire so they ate their s’mores cold, which tasted surprisingly well, and wrapped up in their sleeping bags to watch the wildlife.

The sun slipped over the horizon and the two talked about football, hunting, and their awakening awareness of girls.

After a while, Billy asked, “Know any scary stories?”

Scotty mulled over the request and said, “Dad told me one of the neighbors hit a bigfoot with his pickup the other night.”

“Yeah, right,” Billy scoffed.

“No, really,” Scotty assured him.  “He said the bigfoot got up and limped off, kind of dragging one foot.  Said it was headed this way.”

Still not convinced, Billy asked, “Did it die?”

Scotty shook his head, “Nobody has found the body, but some people have said they heard something walking through the woods, dragging its foot..  It sounded like, ‘Crunch, sh-h-h-h.  Crunch, sh-h-h-h.  Crunch, sh-h-h-h.’”

Billy shook his head in disbelief, but couldn’t control a shudder as his ten-year-old mind told him that it could be possible.

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By this time the sun had set completely and the boys were drifting in that blurry world between wakefulness and sleep.

Scotty’s eyes closed.  Billy’s were about halfway there when he heard something, way off in the woods.

Crunch, sh-h-h-h.  Crunch, sh-h-h-h.

Billy was instantly awake.  “What was that?” he implored in a whisper.

Scotty’s eyes opened a bit and he mumbled, “Wha…?” before closing again.

Billy’s voice quavered as he loud-whispered, “Bigfoot!  I heard Bigfoot!”

Scotty was a little more awake, and aggravated at being awakened, “Shut up.  Let me sleep.”

Out in the woods, there was the noised again. 

Crunch, sh-h-h-h.  Crunch, sh-h-h-h.  Crunch, sh-h-h-h. 

Scotty was fully awake now.  “Wha, wha, what was that?”

“Bi-i-i-igfoot?” Billy asked.

“It c-c-c-can’t be,” Scotty responded shakily.

Crunch, sh-h-h-h.  Crunch, sh-h-h-h.  Crunch, sh-h-h-h. 

It was getting closer.

Crunch, sh-h-h-h. 

And closer.

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“Where’s the flashlight?” Scotty pleaded.  He fumbled through his backpack.

Nothing. 

“I don’t know,” Billy moaned, then remembered.  He had used the flashlight to read after Scotty fell asleep…but where was it NOW?

Crunch, sh-h-h-h.  Crunch, sh-h-h-h.  Closer…and closer.

The boys searched their packs frantically.

Nothing.

Crunch, sh-h-h-h.  Crunch, sh-h-h-h.  Louder.

Billy sat back, only to feel a lump under his sleeping bag.

Crunch, sh-h-h-h.  Crunch, sh-h-h-h. 

Billy threw the sleeping bag back at the same time his hand darted out to grab the flashlight.

Crunch, sh-h-h-h.  Crunch, sh-h-h-h.  Closer.  It couldn’t be more than a few yards from the camp.

Billy frantically flipped the switch, but the flashlight refused to shine.  The batteries had died.

Crunch, sh-h-h-h.  Crunch, sh-h-h-h. 

Scotty’s mind was racing.  Suddenly it occurred to him that he had something in his survival kit.  Dad had told him not to use it unless he got lost or had an emergency.

Crunch, sh-h-h-h.  Crunch, sh-h-h-h. 

If anything was an emergency, being eaten by Bigfoot certainly was!  He pulled the kit out of his backpack, tearing the Ziploc bag apart and sending compass, signal mirror, and fishing kit flying.

“There it is!” He almost shouted, as he snatched up the slender tube.

Crunch, sh-h-h-h.  Crunch, sh-h-h-h. 

Scotty snatched it up and snapped the chemical light to activate it.  A glow filled the tent and the noise in the woods increased.

Crunch, sh-h-h-h.  Crunch, sh-h-h-h.  Crunch, sh-h-h-h. 

Faster and faster it approached and Scotty threw the light toward it.

The sound stopped as the light landed at the creature’s feet.

“It’s!  It’s!  It’s,” Billy stuttered.  “It’s Rowdy!”

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Rowdy bounded toward them.  Crunch, sh-h-h-h.  Crunch, sh-h-h-h.  He leaped forward, dragging the rope he had been tied with.  The lonely dog had chewed through the rope, and gone off in search of the boys.

Rowdy had defied their orders but the boys couldn’t be too upset.  They hugged his furry neck and told him how glad they were to see him.

After all, it could have been Bigfoot.

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John and Richard laughed in relief but asked to go inside…you know…just in case.  Bobby told more stories as my grandsons sunk gently off to sleep. 

It was a great night at Sweetwater.

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