Cryptid
“There are no monsters lurking in the woods or under the sea. There are only beasts and the gnawing pulse of life, the eternal cycle of eating and being eaten in the sharp teeth of the hungry and the gentle hearts of the weak.”-Dr. Jim Dunham The summer sun beat down on the blacktop of a single-lane road winding into the Arkansas hills, radiating in waves of shiny vapor and washing everything in white heat that made Jim Dunham squint. There were no street signs, no landmarks, and no service. The land dipped and climbed in indistinguishable rolling hills of brown brush and thick trees. He unfolded a map onto the hood of his rental car and traced his finger along the highlighted route. He was used to being lost. A career of researching strange sightings had taken him to far-flung places all over the world. Patience was key. He took a deep breath and swiped away the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He’d been in the Ozarks for six weeks, chasing down interviews with Sasquatch witnesses for a new book he was writing on the phenomenon of monster myths in American rural communities. This would be his last interview before returning home to Connecticut. He’d set up an interview with a bow hunter who had fallen from his tree stand and allegedly met Bigfoot face to face. Jim could’ve done the interview over the phone, but he liked to form in-person connections with the people he talked to. To truly understand the formation of mythology was to understand the setting of its origin. There was invaluable context to be gathered by stepping into the subject’s world, to breathe their air, eat their food, and sit in their living room. And so he agreed to make the 45-minute drive to the hunter’s home, which was on a dirt road somewhere branching off the main interstate. “It ain’t on Google Maps ‘er ‘nything like that, but if you got a road map I can show you how to mark it,” the bow hunter had said in a molasses-thick twang. Lost scratching his head in the heat, Jim chuckled a bit as it occurred to him that the whole call might have been a hoax. Maybe there was no bow hunter, no dirt road. He’d prepared himself for that eventuality. Hoaxes were a part of the business — people in modified gorilla costumes, badly sewn taxidermy, trumped-up hair samples. He looked at the map and again at the dry hills. One stray spark and this entire place would go up, he thought to himself. He entertained this fantasy as he folded up his map and mentally prepared himself for the drive back to his hotel. The sound of an oncoming car caught his attention. A truck turned the corner and pulled up next to him. It was an old Tacoma, lifted and stripped of its bumpers. A sun-worn face poked out of the driver-side window and released a stream of chew spit onto the road shoulder. “Jim Dunham?” His face was friendly with a good-natured grin that put Jim at ease. “That’s me.” Jim met the man’s smile. “We spoke over the phone. I’m Frank. Figured you might get turned ‘round out here and decided to come looking.” “Well you’re just in time.” “It’s a good thing, too. Road gets pretty bumpy up ahead. I got my doubts your little silicon sipper is up to it.” He said pointing at Jim’s Prius and shooting off a friendly wink. “Why don’t you follow me up the road a-ways. There’s a wider shoulder to park on then I’ll take you the rest of the way.” “Why not?” Jim said with a casual shrug. He’d come this far. * The turnoff was a half mile more down the road. He was pretty sure his silicon sipper wouldn’t have made it either. Calling it a dirt road would have been generous by any standard. What it actually was was a narrow, steeply-graded climb into the hillside. He counted several half-exposed boulders in the first feet. “Jump in.” Frank said with another quaint, hill-country smile. Jim braced himself as the cab tossed violently up the path. Empty cans of beer and chew rattled like dice on the bare metal floor. After a mile or so, the road smoothed into a dirt clearing surrounded by treeline. A small trailer sat near the edge. “How in the hell did you get that thing up here in one piece?” Jim asked. “It took some doin’.” Frank disappeared through the trailer’s small doorway and returned with a cooler and two camping chairs. “You don’t mind talking outside in the shade do ya’? ACs busted and it stays hotter than hell in ‘er till bout midnight. Cold one?” Frank extended a can of sweating Busch Light. Jim popped it open and took a long sip. He wasn’t a beer drinker, but in those hills and that heat, it tasted like the most refreshing thing in the world. They settled in, and Jim started up his digital recorder. Frank fidgeted, his happy-go-lucky demeanor slipping slightly. “Don’t worry about the recording. It’s just for notes so I don’t have to stay busy writing during our conversation,” Jim said, recognizing the familiar angst he’d seen in countless interviewees. There was always a chance they’d change their mind at the last minute. This was the moment of truth. “I’m just curious to hear your story. I’ve been researching this stuff for most of my life. Just tell me the way you’d tell me if we were sitting around a campfire.” “All this is going in your book?” “Yup.” “And your book is on Bigfoot?” “Not exactly, but—” “But you believe in Bigfoot?” “I’m open to believing in Bigfoot.” Frank’s face grew tense. Jim swirled the beer around in his hand, thinking of different approaches to salvage the interview. “Naw, we both know that’s bullshit. You think we’re all a bunch of country bumpkins making up stories, right?” Frank’s posture shifted forward. “I don’t think that, no, but I’m also not going to lie to you. I’ve seen a lot and heard a lot, and I’m still not convinced” “I have something that might convince you.” “Can I see it?” “In just a bit.” Frank pulled his shirt down past his left shoulder. A large scar covered most of the skin. “See this? This is where she got me. Little love bite.” “She? You mean a female Bigfoot?” Frank nodded, staring off into his beer. “How did you figure out it was female?” Jim followed up. “Just a feeling I suppose.” Here we go, Jim thought. Time to push into it. “Tell me more.” Frank shook his head. He was smirking. “You know I’ve read your books, right? Dr. Jim Dunham. ‘Fear the dark long enough, and it becomes a vampire, a werewolf, or a Sasquatch — a reason to stay out of the woods and next to the campfire.’ Sound familiar? You’re an eloquent guy. I’ll give you that. Much more eloquent than the people you interview. People like me.” Jim took another sip of his beer. He’d told his rep at the publishing company where he was going, but that fact was doing little to ease a building sense of threat. Would anyone be able to find him out here if something bad happened? “‘It takes very little to sustain a legend in the minds of the simple and the lonely,’” Frank parroted. “Were you lonely when you wrote that, Jim?” Okay, Jim thought to himself, time to get myself out of this one. “What is this, Frank? You think you’re the first backwoods nut to try and rattle me?” He stood up and chucked his half-empty beer into the woods. “Thanks for the beer. I’ll see myself back to the road.” Jim held up a middle finger as he walked away. An airy feeling swam through his head, a dizziness that worked its way down to his legs. His vision started to spin. “Hey, how’s that beer, Jim?” Frank said laughing. He jumped up and embraced Jim on the shoulder. Jim pushed him hard. “Stay away from me you fucking nut. I told people I’m out here. They know I came to see you. Anything happens to me, and your backwoods life is over. Understand?” “Oh, that’s alright. Just take it easy. We’re going to make history together, you and me.” The haze grew worse. Frank kept talking, but the words jumbled together. Just noise. Senseless noise. Jim choked back nausea and an urgent need to lay down. His heart raced into his ears as he worked harder and harder to fight gravity. “You fucking… You’re a fucking. Fuh—” His tongue struggled against thickening saliva, and then everything went black. * It was the summer heat that came through first, a blur of sunlight that broke into a sensation of head pounding against skull. He opened his eyes to a thick wood. A sharp burst of pain fired through Jim’s leg and up his nervous system. Something rough dug into his back as he squirmed against rope. He was tied sitting against a broad oak. His right leg cocked to the right, broken at the knee. He screamed in agony. “I’m real sorry about that, Jim.” Jim searched for the voice that projected from somewhere above. A camo-clad Frank squatted from a tree stand high to Jim’s right, a large bow in his hand. “I guess you could say you’re walking a mile in my shoes. You see, it was here where I first saw her. She stalked me just past that group of trees over there. I’d fallen just about where you are now, shattered my pelvis. At first, I thought she was just checking me out. She came sniffing, like a bear, ya know? Only much bigger. Much bigger. I went out cold after that. I woke up to her taking a chunk out of my shoulder. I had an arrow in my hand, so I dug it into her eye.” Jim struggled against his binds. “Frank! Listen, Frank. I’m hurt real bad down here. Untie me, please. Please, Frank.” “I can’t do that. I didn’t want to hurt you, Jim, but I think it’s the only way to get her to come.” Try not to panic, Jim thought. Appeal to the humanity. Set middle ground. “I believe you, Frank. I fucking believe you,” he said between heaving breaths of pain. “Untie me now, and it all ends here. I won’t tell anyone. You can still take this back.” “Can’t. Smart person like you should know better than that. ‘Sides, you should try and appreciate this. You’re about to see the very thing you’ve spent your life not believing in. Imagine what a hot shot you’ll be around your professor buddies then. No one’s got a story like this one.” Anger, he couldn’t hold it in any longer. “There’s no such thing as Bigfoot you dumb, backwoods, inbred idiot! You were in shock! Probably hallucinating.” “Aw, Jim. You’re really settin’ to hurt my feelings. Tell you what, you sit down there squirming till midnight. If she doesn’t come, I’ll untie you and drive you to the nearest police station. I’ll go quiet and nice, and you can write your best book yet. Hillbilly kidnaps a professor to use as bait in a Sasquatch hunt — sounds better than the other shit you’ve peddled out. Probably earn you a place on the bestseller list for eternity.” “I’m going to kill you for this. You hear me, bastard? I’m going to watch you die. I’m going to watch—” He was dizzy again, lightheaded. “Big talk from the guy tied to a tree.” Jim heard as he again lost consciousness. * Jim awoke to the darkness and the buzzing of cicadas. The sharp pain in his leg had subsided into an intense, pulsating ache. His eyes adjusted slowly, the outlines of tree stocks taking shape in the dim moonlight that trickled from the canopy above. “Frank?” He yelled out. No answer. “Frank, goddammit, answer me.” Still nothing. He took a deep breath, a skunk-ish smell filled his lungs and almost made him dry heave. It wasn’t quite skunk-like. It had a filth to it, putrid like rotting meat. He squirmed and felt a bit of slack in the ropes. They must have loosened throughout the day. He worked at it with his shoulders until the rope burned against his skin. Stay calm, he thought to himself. Breathe. Try to slow your heartbeat. His vision began acclimating. The shapes of the trees became sharper. He stared into the night and slowed his breath, trying to ignore the smell. A flash of movement caught his attention. A distant silhouette passed from one tree to another, or so he thought. The more he looked, the more movement there seemed to be. Maybe it was nothing. A thick-sounding branch cracked from somewhere ahead. His heartbeat quickened. Adrenaline replaced his aches with rising fear. “Frank?” He yelled. No answer. He scanned what he could, taking a second glance at a thicker tree about a hundred feet away. It looked unnatural compared to the others. A shadowy bulk protruded from its left. Had it been there before? He tried not to blink. It moved, the silhouette rising about six feet and stepping out from behind the tree. Jim recalled stories of bear attacks, brown bears that mauled their victims to near death, buried them, and came back to eat again while the victim was still alive. No, it was much taller than a bear. The shadow disappeared into a group of trees to his left. The foul smell grew in intensity. Jim waited in complete stillness. Another branch snapped to his left. The ominous shadow stood distant. He could make it out better than before. It stood at least a dozen feet tall, maybe taller. All shapes of monsters flooded his imagination until there was only one. Frank said the thing he saw had “stalked him.” Is that what it was doing now? Was this really happening? He watched it carefully, looking for any signs of motion. Were his eyes playing tricks on him? He adjusted his back slightly to get a better view. The sudden movement caused the thing to jump back and crouch. It was fast, graceful even. He’d always imagined Bigfoot moving in slow, hulking strides, like a clumsy gorilla in a badly shot video. This was not that. He thought back to bear encounter stories. “Yell, try to make yourself look big,” someone had told him once. He yelled. The thing kept still in its crouched position. He yelled again, louder and longer until his head ached. Whatever it was, it wasn’t bothered. He leaned forward against the ropes and rocked his shoulders — a little more slack, a little more burn, not a lot of hope. The thing stood and stepped two strides closer. He kept rocking. The ropes gave slightly with every movement. He focused all his energy. Little by little, the enormous figure approached. Its movements grew less cautious and slow. Jim tried not to look away. It seemed to move more when he looked away. The pain in his leg grew sharper. Each shift against the ropes made it worse, and he had to grit his teeth to keep from yelling. Then the thing charged towards him. The force of anticipation caused Jim to brace back hard against the tree. It came within feet before jumping back into a crouch. A false charge, Jim thought. It was testing him. From where he was sitting, his head was now mid-shin level with it. Its features were ape-like and giant, a stocky torso with a mane-like neck. Escape seemed less possible. He had nothing left to give. He collapsed back, tired and surrendered. The thing’s false charge had sapped his adrenaline. All he wanted was for the pain in his leg to stop. He slumped. As he did, the thing rose. Its steps grew bolder, less like an afraid animal. Fifteen feet. Ten. Its size grew until it stood over him. He shut his eyes. His body trembled under the terror. He didn’t want to see it. He just wanted it to be over. He tried not to whimper as his breathing quickened into panicked bursts. He felt its hot breath against his skin as it stooped down and sniffed Jim’s head. He opened his eyes and met the cruel stare of a terrible, stinking face. The eyes were sunken beneath a protruding brow, a scar marked a gaping right socket where Frank had stuck his arrow. Its lips bared back and revealed large K9s. Everything in him wanted to sprint, run, move. His trembling was now uncontrollable. He hoped it would be quick. Jim heard Frank’s bowstring snap followed by a meaty slap. The thing jumped back with a loud howl. It turned and rushed Frank’s tree stand, moving with incredible speed. Jim twisted his aching body and could just make out Frank struggling to load another arrow. He didn’t stand a chance. It had him in seconds. Gripping Frank like a stick, it threw him straight into the ground. Frank smacked the forest floor with an impact that turned his body into a motionless pile of broken flesh and bone. The thing stood over the pulp, pounding with its fists for good measure. Jim struggled for his life against the ropes. He was free! He crawled, digging his elbows and one good leg against the dirt. He’d made it a few feet when a crushing weight landed between his shoulder blades. The thing pinned him under its foot and pressed harder. Jim’s ribs cracked under the awesome pressure. In his last moments of life, Jim felt the creature grab the back of his hands and pull. The sound of his tearing tendons snapped in his ear. Credit: Austin Wright Official Site Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance.