The time had finally arrived; the big “Oh my God” feeling had hit me. “Oh God help us” kept crossing my lips silently as we sat on the floor of Wyman’s second floor bedroom near the second story porch. The same porch where a Bigfoot had crawled up to peep into the house, just two years prior. Tonight, the same creature was outside, just beyond the garden; knocking two limbs of Spruce together. Crack…crack…crack.
Wyman, had cut down all the Spruce trees once he deduced that the creature had been strategic, to haunt Wyman’s homestead primarily among the Spruce sixty yards in front of Wyman’s front door. Why? Wyman had three years to put together the pieces of many facts. In this case, taking a baseball sized rock in his hand, and striking a nearby oak tree; “Thud” went the sound waves. Then he took a piece of limb, a limb that now looked like a piece of firewood; however, had once been the creatures favorite wood-knocking tree. Striking the rock against the fallen Spruce, and…crack, crack, crack. The thinner bark made for a much better tree knocking sound, for inducing fear perhaps, or possibly to create a diversion. Could it be communicating to other Bigfoot creatures in the woods? Then why, over and over, crack, crack, crack?
These trees that Wyman had cut down, now making their home in the wood pile; were alive and well as the creature had picked up two pieces from the pile. Crack, crack, crack, called out the Spruce as the monster kept making the wood knocks, out in the open where the trees had once stood; in defiance of Wyman, in defiance of his many efforts to persuade the unwanted perpetrator away from his homestead. Again, why did Wyman cut down the Spruce trees? Why, would Wyman do that? To prompt the creature…to go away.
Taking away the tools of harassment, had not been working. Thus, here I was, Eliot Ness, now sitting on the bedroom floor, on the second floor, of a house, on property that had been harassed by Bigfoot creatures for over three years.
To make things much worse, sitting next to me was, Shaquoda, the husband, of my boss. I had failed to tell her how dangerous this potentially was going to be. Failed to use the words “Harassed-By-Something-Resembling-Bigfoot-For-Over-Three-Years.” Shaquoda had been wanting to become more involved in Bigfoot research; thus, I asked him to come along. Of course when I said, “Homestead with unwanted Bigfoot activity” there was less to fear in stating it this way. Did he assume the risks, or should I have been more detailed?
Most people don’t think, “Bigfoot, the giant bi-pedal hominoid creature, is a killer!” Instead, most discount it as even being real. Tell that now to all the missing hikers that never return from the forest.
The dog’s and rooster’s tone had changed in the last few minutes. From normal barking, to stressed and repressed efforts to make sound, as if under great duress or manipulation; struggling with less ability to fully breathe. The rooster’s crowing also hindered as if being strangled, only without anything physically touching them. The barking and crowing now a ghostly sound compared to previous glory; much lower struggling-tones.
What rooster crows for hours during the night, anyway? A rooster in great anxiety.
This change in the vocalizations for our farm animal friends prompted me to glance at Shaquoda. While turning to face him, I was shocked to see blood running down his face. Immediately, I began to feel paralyzed, mentally. Fighting the confusion, I whispered to myself, “If we survive this night, SHE IS GOING TO KILL ME!”
