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Several hours later, the nurse met Rowan in the lobby with a frail old man in a wheelchair. He might have been 100. A toothless grin brightened his face as the nurse brought him in.
“Rowan, this is John Seawolf.” A little more loudly, she spoke to the old man. “Mr. Seawolf, Mr. Pierce has some questions for you.”
“I understand you can speak Inuit, Mr. Seawolf.” Rowan raised his voice too.
“Yes. Yes, of course.” His voice was deep and hoarse. His thin, white hair floated around his head like wisps of smoke. “I was a Code Talker once, when I was a younger man. I speak many languages.”
“If I played a tape for you, could you try to make it out? We’re not sure what language it is. Maybe you could point us in the right direction.”
“Yes, I will try. You must play it loud. I’m an old man and my ears are not as good as they used to be.”
Rowan did just that. The old man leaned closer, listening to the ranting of a delirious woman. Rowan played it a second time, and then a third. “Not Inuit,” he said. “Iroquoian, perhaps.” He nodded. “Play it again?” he asked, leaning even closer. He furrowed his brow as he folded his hands in his lap. Rowan set it to loop. He let him listen to it over and over.
Finally, the old man perked up. “Cherokee, maybe. Yes, Cherokee ... western dialect.”
“Lauren’s family is Cherokee,” Rowan said, more to himself. “Do you know what she is saying?”
“Some of it,” he nodded. “There are many words here that I cannot remember,” he said. “Ancient ... evil ... devil ... witch...” he said. “I am crazy.”
“You’re not crazy, Mr. Seawolf.” Rowan said, trying to make sense of it.
“No. That is what this woman says. I am gone crazy...” He tapped a gnarled finger on the recorder.
“Ancient evil?” Rowan scratched his head.
“Tall man. I think she says something about a tall man,” said the translator. “Her words are not clear, like a baby who doesn’t know syntax. She speaks as a child speaks. Frightened words, as if wakening from a nightmare.”
“Thank you, Mister Seawolf,” Rowan said. “This has been very helpful.”
* * *
Rowan paced, listening to the digital recorder over and over again. He had even more questions now than answers. “Ancient evil ... devil ... witch ...a tall man.” What was she trying to tell him? He struggled to put the pieces together. He read over the Iroquoian legends of the Bigfoot online, disappointed that none of them referred to the creature as ancient evil, devil or witch. Some of the Cherokee legends called him Ot-ne-yar-hed ... Stonish Giant. Yet in those legends, the creature was small, about 4-foot tall and more man-like than ape. The Algonquin called him Yeahoh ... the Aztec-Ianoan called him Tse’nahaha but Lauren wasn’t from an Algonquin tribe or Aztec-Ianoan. Some tribes called him a Mountain Protector, or Tree Man, Char Man ... others called him Hidden Spirit.
“It is said the creature moves silently and swiftly through the undergrowth, towering over everything it passes. It strides in the woods as little more than a shadow. It has exceptionally large shoulders and moves like a heavily muscled beast, leaving just its massive footprints.” Rowan read from a webpage on his iPhone, holding the recorder near his mouth, collecting his thoughts and documenting his research. “Over the last two centuries, there have been thousands of people who have claimed to see a giant hairy beast lurking in the forests of North America. The phantom creature has been known by many names, Hairy Ghost, Indian Devil.” He lingered on this one a moment. “Sasquatch .... Bigfoot.” He breathed heavily. “And now, our own investigator, Lauren Grayson, may be among those who have not only encountered the beast, but possibly been its prisoner. Was she held captive for ten days in the lair of the beast? At this point, it’s too soon to know exactly what Lauren experienced. We can only wait until she can tell us for herself.”