Page 18 of Squatch Out!
“Why are you here?” I grit through clenched teeth. I’ve barely eaten. I haven’t slept for more than a couple hours for the last two nights, and he thinks he can just order me around like a–
Owen turns and gives me a droll look. “You wanna stand there and tell me about why the campers saw your boner slapping between your thighs last night? Or maybe why her cave smelled like sex?”
My mouth snaps shut, and I drag my hand through my hair. Yeah, I definitely don’t want to talk aboutthat. He turns back to face the TV. “Then go see what they’re up to.”
And that’s when I realize he’s basically giving me an excuse to see Olivia again.
Well, I don’t have to be told twice—or was it three times?
I hurry back to my bedroom to dress. Considering I squatched out the last two times I saw her, I don’t bother picking anything nice. I simply throw on a t-shirt and shove my feet in a pair of slides I mostly wear around the house.
When I make my way back into the living room, my stomach lets out a mighty groan, so I make a quick lunch to eat on the way. Shifting usually makes me ravenous, and I’ve shifted twice now in the span of twelve hours.
Stomping past Owen, I pause long enough to shove my hand between the chair and into his pocket, grabbing his keys since mine were on the ring with my house key.
“Hey!” he shouts, but I just rattle them at him as I head out the door, not bothering to shut it behind me. I’ll need to make a trip to town sooner rather than later to fix it.
“Call if you need anything,” Owen shouts after me, and I flip him off before stepping down from my porch.
On my way upto the campsite, I decide to stop by the trailhead where I know Ben—the one who called Owen last night about the missing camper—is working.
Ben has been a park ranger since he got out of diapers, or at least that’s how he likes to tell it. The old coot should have retired decades ago, but he just keeps showing up. Someday I’m sure I’ll come check on him to find him finally taking the eternal nap, but that day is not today.
When I pull up, he pops his head out of the small ranger station—which is little more than a kiosk—with his signature smile and wave.
“Hey, Ben, how’s it been today?” I lean into the window he keeps open so the tourists can ask him questions without him having to get up from his stool.
“Not bad, not bad,” he says. “It’s been kind of quiet.” Reaching over me, he raps his knuckles against the wood sill. “Knock wood it stays that way.”
I rest my chin on my folded hands. “Why wouldn’t it stay that way?”
Ben’s rheumy eyes shift to look behind me before he leans in to whisper—loudly, “Because there was another sighting.”
I have to press my lips tightly closed to keep from smiling. “Oh? Another sighting of what?”
He looks around again, though there isn’t anyone near us who might overhear, even if we’re shouting. “You know, one ofthosesightings. A bigfoot sighting.”
I lean back with a dry laugh. “Really, Ben? You don’t believe that nonsense, do you?”
He gives me the most serious look I’ve ever seen from him, and my laugh quickly dies. “Look, son, I know you don’t really believe these sightings are nonsense. In fact, I think you probably know more about the strange things that live in these mountains than any of us.” He purses his dry, thin lips. “So don’t go pissing on me and calling it rain.”
This time, my laugh is genuine as I reach through the window and clap him on the shoulder. I should know better than to try to fool ol’ Ben. Hell, he probably knows more about the native legends around here than I do—and I grew up with them.
He leans back on his stool. “Whatcha doing up here anyway? I heard you and Owen had a long night.”
Yup. Good ol’ Ben doesn’t miss a thing. “I was just going to check on those campers. Is there anything I should know before I get there?”
Ben shakes his head. “They’re mostly staying to themselves.”
“Good.” I rap my knuckles on the sill one more time and then step back with a wave. “See you around, Ben.”
He waves after me, and I head back to Owen’s truck. With my hand on the door, I pause and then change my mind, deciding the walk up to the campsite will be good for me.
By the time I make it up to Windy Ridge, my legs are burning, probably because I’m wearing a pair of slides and not sensible boots, and I’m covered in a light sheen of sweat. The sun is getting low on the horizon, but my attention is on the quiet campsite.
The campers are nowhere to be seen. Although their vehicle is still parked beside the line of tents curved around a central fire that is cold, so wherever they’ve gone, they’ll be back. Likely they’re just taking advantage of the view and some day hiking.
My steps are light as I make my way around the tents, peeking inside each one to make sure I’m not going to accidentally startle someone who might have stayed behind. But all the tents are empty. Including the last one. The one that makes me pause. Rocking back on my heels, I breathe in the sweet scent seeping through the nylon, savoring the way it makes my sinuses tingle and my head spin.
