Devolution: A Firsthand Account of the Rainier Sasquatch Massacre(35)



Before I could come up with a response, the sound of footsteps turned our heads. Palomino came running over, holding what looked like a pillowcase in her hands.

Mostar started to say, “Hello, Little Doll, what have you…”

But she ran past us, into our house, then a few seconds later, came right back out, and gave Mostar a big hug. Mostar returned it, kissed the top of her head, and sang, “Thank you, Lutko Moja.”*2

Then she turned and hugged me! I just stood there like an idiot, frozen for a second, before awkwardly rubbing her back. She didn’t seem to mind. She looked up at me with a big smile, gave me another squeeze, then ran back to her house.

After a moment of shared puzzlement, we traced her steps inside, and found the pillowcase resting next to the garage door.

It was full of beans, or rather, it was full of her little beanbag fidgeters that were spilling their beans out from cutoff corners. There’re over a hundred in total. I haven’t stopped counting since. Red, black, white, speckled brown. I don’t know all the types, and I can’t imagine that all of them will germinate. Again, do I soak them? Wet paper towel? No idea. I’ll probably just stick them straight into the mud. There’s enough here to fill the whole garden. How much food will that produce? Enough to feed the whole neighborhood?

Village. Need.

Thank you, Pal.





*1 “Adversity introduces us to ourselves” was originally attributed to Albert Einstein, but spoken in this particular version by President George W. Bush on September 14, 2001, at the National Day of Prayer and Remembrance Service at the National Cathedral in Washington, D.C.

*2 Lutko moja: Little doll.





    The unearthly cries swirled through the darkness into our open-walled hut and enveloped us….It was the sound of Satan.

—BIRUTE M. F. GALDIKAS, Reflections of Eden: My Years with the Orangutans of Borneo





JOURNAL ENTRY #8


October 7

Screams! They woke us up tonight. I felt the bed bounce as Dan jumped over to the window. I got up groggily and followed him out onto the back balcony. The first thing I noticed was the night’s chill, coldest yet. Then more screams, echoing clearly from the woods. Not human. The same hissing growls I’d heard from the mountain lion that afternoon.

Rrraaawww. Rraaaawwww.

But they weren’t alone. Another sound, underneath, like the bass in a song. Deeper, fuller. At first, I couldn’t make it out, but then it rose to the same howls I’d heard before. That first time when I’d been hiking, the second time when I’d been chased. But it was much louder now, as powerful as the heavy, spoiled smell. Again, familiar. This was real. Not a figment in my head, not a spot in my eye. There was definitely another animal out there with that cat.

Those screams, the sharp hisses. The puma sounded angry or scared. The howls boomed, then rose to high chatters. I’d never heard anything like it. No, that’s not entirely true. I’d never heard anything exactly like it.

I’ve heard monkeys before. From nature shows, and at the zoo. Monkeys or apes. But much louder, much more powerful. It was like I could feel the sound waves hitting me, like the windows might rattle if they’d been any closer. The cat’s screams suddenly changed, from growling rage to rapid, staccato yowls.

Rawrawraw!

Fighting.

Quick, sharp. Grunts of muscles working and muffled growls trying to escape a full mouth?

Then a roar, rising above the rest. Deep, bellowing, as the puma’s voice cracked into this horrible wail.

And then it was all over. Utter silence. I realized that Dan and I had been holding hands tightly, so tight that I could feel the blood rush back into my fingers when he let go. He said, “Wait,” and went downstairs. I started to say something after him. He paused at the bedroom door. “I’ll be right back.” It was so quiet I could hear him locking the front and back doors. I’m not sure why. Not like animals can open a door. Can a bear? Can they use their paws or claws or whatever they have to manipulate a knob? It has to be a bear. At least I know I’m not crazy. What else could fight a mountain lion?

And how did it end? Did one chase the other away? Or are they both out there now, circling our houses?

I’ve just gone to the bedroom’s front windows. Lights are on all over the village. Everyone except the Durants. No one is coming out though. Dan just came in and closed and locked the balcony door, then got back into bed. “Nothing more to do,” he said to me, just, I think, to reassure me. I asked if we should go knock on Mostar’s door, maybe ask her if she’s heard sounds like that before. Dan’s against it. What’s the point? Wait till morning light to see. Maybe he’s just scared. Nothing wrong with that. So am I. Also noticed he locked the bedroom door. No argument there.

And he just turned over like everything’s fine. Jealous. He’s exhausted from cleaning our roof and Reinhardt’s. All I did was catalog the man’s kitchen. A lot of frozen diet meals. Maybe I should copy them down here from my other list. Something to do to help me sleep? Boring enough.

No, screw it. Time for half an Ativan. No, Ambien.





JOURNAL ENTRY #9


October 8

Bad idea. I still couldn’t sleep. I tried. So easy for Dan. Zero to sixty. He just crashed out, snoring away. I was so pissed. At myself this time. It was my idea to get rid of all our DVDs when we moved. All uploaded to the cloud.

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