Page 6 of Ten Mountain Men

Holy moly shitballs! I move out from behind my scrawny tree and inch forward, watching with more care now. I duck down behind a bush, so what I’m seeing doesn’t see me.

That damn spiderwasin my hair, and it bit me and injected me with some sort of hallucinogenic venom, obviously. Otherwise, I would not be seeing what I am seeing. Not two, not three, but…a whole heck of a lot of them. Bigfoot! Bigfoots? Bigfeet?

I don’t know, whatever, it’s a whole lot of Sasquatches. A whole crew of them splashing in the water like children.

Ginormous, joyful children.

“You guys,” I whisper, hoping the microphone will pick up my voice. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing? I cannot believe my luck!”

I squint at the screen, counting. Seven, eight of them?

I want to whoop and holler, like they’re doing. I want to do a celebratory dance. I want to march right down there and introduce myself because—

Suddenly, the opening notes of the old Hall & Oates song, “Maneater,” begins blasting. Mom’s ringtone. Shit! Apparently thereisservice up here. That fact should make me happy, but as I frantically wrench my phone out of my pocket and scrabble at the buttons to shut it up with one hand while keeping the camera steady with the other, I glance in the direction of my newfound discovery and see that the Sasquatches, too, have made a discovery.

They’re all looking in my direction. And, despite the majority of their faces being covered by hair—fur?—it’s apparent that they are not happy with my presence.

And they do not look like a crowd you’d want to march right down and introduce yourself to, so I’m glad I didn’t go that route. Especially not when “Maneater” won’t stop blaring from my phone. The song choice seemed funny when my mom was marrying her eighth husband—her love life is one of those you either laugh or cry situations—but it’s not at all humorous when one burly Sasquatch points in my direction and starts making snarly noises.

Surely I stopped the ringing already. Is she calling me back? Yes, there’s her smiling face, popping back up on my phone.

Oh God, and they’re all swimming toward the land. They’re fast swimmers. They’re clambering out of the water, lumbering toward the tree line. Toward me.

My brain is shrieking RUN!!! But my legs are not listening.

“ROSE-GOLD, ARE YOU THERE?” my mother’s voice is squawking from my hand.

Oops. Did I accept the call?

“Mom, I’ll call you back!” I hiss, my eyes glued on the approaching figures.

I’m going to die. ThePiney Grove Trading Post and General Storelady totally predicted it. The breath of death or whatever is on my neck.

They’re coming toward me and they look pissed. Maybe I don’t remember things so clearly, because my Bigfoot did not look pissed. He had the kindest eyes ever!

And these guys are ginormous, did I mention that?

“Rose-Gold, it’s over! Clive and I—”

“MOTHER! Holy shit, I’ve got to run.”

Like, literally run.

“Rose-Gold Amber Locke, do not sayholy shitto your mother!” Mother chastises. I can see her mauve-lined lips, which match the current dye job in her short-cropped hair, twisting with disappointment. “I need you right now. My marriage is ending. I cannot handle another divorce. I simply cannot—”

“MOTHER!” I shriek.

They’re shouting. There are seven or eight or nine of them. What’s a group of Sasquatches called? A gang? A murder? I don’t know. But a flock of birds erupt with squawks of terror, flying off as the thundering mass of shouting, pissed-off Sasquatches chase me. Arms are pumping, their hair is flying behind them like streamers, and they are coming for me.

I’m going to die.

“Rose-Gold, are you listening to me? You better not hang up on me in my time of need. You’re my only child. I can’t go through another…”

Mother’s words, words I’ve heard before—words I could recite like quotes, I’ve heard them so many times—blur together as my legs finally obey my brain and I take off running, questioning all of my life decisions.

The gift shop lady said the spirit of death was hovering around me!

Why didn’t I listen?

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