Nobody Loves a Bigfoot Like a Bigfoot Babe by Simon Okill Page B
Authors: Simon Okill
Tags: bigfoot
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birdsong and the awakening of its resident fauna.
One by one the teenagers started to stir. They were hungover and aching from sleeping on the damp grass. They stretched and breathed in the fresh morning smells of the pine forest surrounding them.
Debbie yawned widely, noticing that Beau had not returned.
She called out, "Beau, where are you?" She watched the deer skip away with a look of concern.
DEEP WITHIN THE FOREST, the shrill sounds of birds accompanied Olaaa on her trek back to her lair. She crashed effortlessly through damp and misty undergrowth with an unconscious Boo slung over her shoulder.
Olaaa merrily called out to her brethren, "Wooooo-eeeee-wooooooo-eeeee."
Several wooooo-weeeee-woooooos replied. Olaaa increased her speed through the thick undergrowth. She stopped suddenly. Something told her that her family would not approve of what she had done. They would say she had contaminated their secret hideaway deep in the forest where only one pale one had ever gone before.
10
BY MIDDAY, MOST BEAVERITES knew what had happened to Beau Flucker, thanks to Beau's friends who had spread the word quickly around town that he'd gone missing, yet again. His parents already knew the complete unabridged version before Sheriff Lou showed up on their doorstep.
Walt Flucker opened the door with a grimace and allowed the sheriff to enter the Flucker household. He was a huge bear of a man, in his early forties with salt and pepper, close-cropped hair. He had a ruddy complexion from spending a lot of time outdoors.
Sheriff Lou took a seat on the sofa with Beau's less-than-distraught mother, Rose, a petite woman in her mid-forties.
She was a sweet-natured woman, but it was well-known she wore the pants in the Flucker home. Her bullish husband, Walt, was putty in her hands.
Lou and Rose sipped coffee from delicate porcelain cups on saucers; all very gentile.
"He'll show up, and when he does, I'll give him a good telling off, Sheriff," Rose said. "He's a good boy at heart . . . just likes to get up to mischief, is all." Rose looked at Walt's dour face. "He takes after that one . . . monkey see, monkey do."
Lou wasn't surprised by Rose's reaction on hearing her son had gone missing. The poor woman must be fed up with his antics by now. Lou sipped her coffee.
"It's no laughing matter spending the town's taxes on a pointless search party."
Rose nodded her head in agreement and patted Lou's knee in consolation. "I know, my dear. I don't know what to say."
Walt stood by the fireplace with a permanent grimace on his ruddy face. Above the fireplace was a Sharps rifle, and above that monstrous gun was a stuffed head of a deer that had obviously been shot by Walt. The rest of the living room walls were dotted with Walt's hunting trophies strangely mixed with sweet paintings of flowers that Rose had painted herself.
Walt flexed his manly biceps protruding from his red-checked shirt with sleeves rolled up. His jeans had two inch turn ups, making him look like a perfect effigy of Paul Bunyan, except for the massive beer belly and the fact that Walt had never in his life chopped down a tree with an axe.
Like so many in town, Lou had often thought that Rose and Walt were ill-suited. Walt was a fervid hunter and a collector of antique guns, not to mention a fanatical Elvis Presley fan. Rose had a passion for the finer things in life, classical music, ballet, painting pretty flowers and landscape scenes. The Fluckers seemed to have very little in common except the conception of their son, but to those who knew them, Walt and Rose were as much in love as the day they were married.
"Wait till he gets home, I'll give him more than a good talking to this time," Walt said with real menace. "This is the millionth time he's pulled this prank."
Walt was also a fisherman, which explained his penchant for exaggeration, as proved by the smallest steelhead ever to be mounted and displayed for all to see next to the deer's head.
"It's all
One by one the teenagers started to stir. They were hungover and aching from sleeping on the damp grass. They stretched and breathed in the fresh morning smells of the pine forest surrounding them.
Debbie yawned widely, noticing that Beau had not returned.
She called out, "Beau, where are you?" She watched the deer skip away with a look of concern.
DEEP WITHIN THE FOREST, the shrill sounds of birds accompanied Olaaa on her trek back to her lair. She crashed effortlessly through damp and misty undergrowth with an unconscious Boo slung over her shoulder.
Olaaa merrily called out to her brethren, "Wooooo-eeeee-wooooooo-eeeee."
Several wooooo-weeeee-woooooos replied. Olaaa increased her speed through the thick undergrowth. She stopped suddenly. Something told her that her family would not approve of what she had done. They would say she had contaminated their secret hideaway deep in the forest where only one pale one had ever gone before.
10
BY MIDDAY, MOST BEAVERITES knew what had happened to Beau Flucker, thanks to Beau's friends who had spread the word quickly around town that he'd gone missing, yet again. His parents already knew the complete unabridged version before Sheriff Lou showed up on their doorstep.
Walt Flucker opened the door with a grimace and allowed the sheriff to enter the Flucker household. He was a huge bear of a man, in his early forties with salt and pepper, close-cropped hair. He had a ruddy complexion from spending a lot of time outdoors.
Sheriff Lou took a seat on the sofa with Beau's less-than-distraught mother, Rose, a petite woman in her mid-forties.
She was a sweet-natured woman, but it was well-known she wore the pants in the Flucker home. Her bullish husband, Walt, was putty in her hands.
Lou and Rose sipped coffee from delicate porcelain cups on saucers; all very gentile.
"He'll show up, and when he does, I'll give him a good telling off, Sheriff," Rose said. "He's a good boy at heart . . . just likes to get up to mischief, is all." Rose looked at Walt's dour face. "He takes after that one . . . monkey see, monkey do."
Lou wasn't surprised by Rose's reaction on hearing her son had gone missing. The poor woman must be fed up with his antics by now. Lou sipped her coffee.
"It's no laughing matter spending the town's taxes on a pointless search party."
Rose nodded her head in agreement and patted Lou's knee in consolation. "I know, my dear. I don't know what to say."
Walt stood by the fireplace with a permanent grimace on his ruddy face. Above the fireplace was a Sharps rifle, and above that monstrous gun was a stuffed head of a deer that had obviously been shot by Walt. The rest of the living room walls were dotted with Walt's hunting trophies strangely mixed with sweet paintings of flowers that Rose had painted herself.
Walt flexed his manly biceps protruding from his red-checked shirt with sleeves rolled up. His jeans had two inch turn ups, making him look like a perfect effigy of Paul Bunyan, except for the massive beer belly and the fact that Walt had never in his life chopped down a tree with an axe.
Like so many in town, Lou had often thought that Rose and Walt were ill-suited. Walt was a fervid hunter and a collector of antique guns, not to mention a fanatical Elvis Presley fan. Rose had a passion for the finer things in life, classical music, ballet, painting pretty flowers and landscape scenes. The Fluckers seemed to have very little in common except the conception of their son, but to those who knew them, Walt and Rose were as much in love as the day they were married.
"Wait till he gets home, I'll give him more than a good talking to this time," Walt said with real menace. "This is the millionth time he's pulled this prank."
Walt was also a fisherman, which explained his penchant for exaggeration, as proved by the smallest steelhead ever to be mounted and displayed for all to see next to the deer's head.
"It's all
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