Devolution: A Firsthand Account of the Rainier Sasquatch Massacre(38)



You know! I read your article about the five classic films, and, yeah, they scared the crap outta me too. That one where a yeti attacks a ski resort. I think you’re right about them not being able to afford a whole costume,*2 but the result, the whole Jaws POV, terrifying. That scene where it breaks through a window…comes down from the mountain, right into town…It wasn’t supposed to do that! It broke the prime directive of horror films! If you don’t go looking for trouble, trouble won’t come looking for you!

That’s why our generation’s scary movies were essentially cautionary tales. That’s why I never had any sympathy for the horny teenagers going to the summer camp, or the greedy town mayor keeping the beaches open, or the rule-following spaceship crew that just had to investigate an alien distress signal. I knew I’d never be like them. I’d do my part and stay home. But after watching the snowbeast attacking Aspen, I thought, What’s to stop the real Sasquatch from doing the same?

Because it did! The other movie you wrote about, with the host from Mission Impossible, and exhibits like footprints and photos and an interview with a “psychic detective” and, most important, oh my God, those “dramatic re-creations.” When the girl…Rita Graham, I remember the name…when she’s sitting at home that night, watching TV, minding her own business…just like me…and a shadow appears across the window shade behind her two seconds before this giant, hairy arm smashes through the glass. I might have actually pissed myself on that one. It scared me so badly that years later I actually tried looking it up. Turns out the incident did happen, but was seriously dramatized for the show.

What wasn’t dramatized was another incident, two of them, really, that were re-created for that other movie, the one that actually ran in theaters! The first account comes from the 1920s where some rogue miners are prospecting near, of all places, Mount St. Helens. One night their cabin is attacked with boulders and fists and the classic animal screams we now associate with the legend. That’s why, to this day, the canyon where it happened is nicknamed Ape Canyon. The second story is from Teddy Roosevelt.

She reaches into her desk and thumps the old, dog-eared copy of The Wilderness Hunter onto her desk.

Fair warning, the first part’s pretty cringy. It opens with Roosevelt talking about how lucky he’s been to shoot every kind of large animal in North America.

Douche.

Anyway, it goes on to “recount,” not tell firsthand, recount, the story of an Idaho fur trapper named Bauman, whose partner was torn apart by a “goblin.”

Is either story true? How the hell do I know? I thought they were at the time, when I kept asking my parents to move my bed away from the window. I’d be like, “These are real accounts! A president wrote about it!”

To their credit, my folks didn’t just blow me off. They tried to get me to verify it, to look beyond words and see if there was any physical evidence. I think that’s why I got interested in zoology, why, to this day, I get excited when any new species gets scientifically proven. And there’re thousands of them. Every year! I’ve seen a live Goliath spider and the corpse of a giant squid. I’ve seen all types of specimens recovered from hydrothermal vents that would have been considered science fiction when I was born. And as soon as the Congo gets safe enough for eco-tourism, I’ll be the first one in line to see that newly discovered Bili ape. I’m open to any discovery, as long as it’s based on hard, physical evidence. Facts are supposed to banish monsters…

She sighs.

…not invite them in.





JOURNAL ENTRY #9 [CONT.]


The animals are gone. I didn’t notice it this morning, but as the day’s progressed, I realize I haven’t seen a deer or squirrel. Anything. And if there are any birds, they haven’t made a peep. Why did they leave? It can’t be hunger. There’re still a few apples on the Perkins-Forsters’ trees. I bet if I check the others, I’ll also find some remaining fruit. Was it the fight? Are they scared of the animal that killed the cougar?

Listen to me. “The animal.”

I can’t even write the word down. I also haven’t talked about it since telling Mostar. Neither has Dan. To be fair, he’s really busy.

Dan got a new “gig,” that’s what he calls it. We were having breakfast at Mostar’s, the last of the rabbit stew, watered down, when Vincent Boothe came around. He said to Dan, “I, uh, noticed you were cleaning Reinhardt’s solar panels yesterday, and was wondering…”

“Sure.” Dan was already licking his bowl. “I’ll be over in a few minutes.”

“Great!” Vincent looked relieved but stiffened when he caught Mostar’s eye. “And, you know, of course, we’d feed you for your time.” Then he looked at me. “And you’re more than welcome to come over and, uh, go through our supplies.”

I smiled uncomfortably. Mostar gave an approving nod.

Dan couldn’t have been happier. As Vincent left, he flashed this goofy, almost childlike grin. “I’m in demand.”

Mostar playfully cuffed him on the arm and said, “Look at you, village handyman.”

“Handyman!” That should have destroyed him! Would have a few days ago. How many job offers, how many helpful, hopeful dinners with Frank? “I’m not a salary man.” That was Dan’s default defense. “I’m a builder, not a maintainer.” And, oh, the surly tailspins that I had to nurse him through.

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