Fifteen

Bigfoot Impossible

Fin had never snuck out of the cottage.

She’d never snuck out of anywhere before.

She knew how to do it in theory, of course. She’d seen movies where people opened a window and stepped outside—or if they were on a second story, effortlessly climbed down a conveniently placed tree. The problem with escaping the cottage was that the floorboards had a tendency to squeak, Mom was a light sleeper, and there were no trees close enough to Fin’s window to descend. And even if there were, redwoods didn’t make for easy climbing.

“This is never going to work,” she muttered, peering through her window. It wasn’t that much of a drop, but the incline of the A-frame roof looked intimidating.

“It’s gonna work,” said Eddie.

“How do you know?”

“Because if it doesn’t work, then I’ve spent the last hour practicing this for nothing,” said Eddie, holding up his work.

It had been Eddie’s idea to raid the garage for a piece of old rope. It was plastic, left over from the days when Aunt Myrtle had hung a swing near the garage. Eddie had been tying knots in the rope for the last hour, claiming that handholds would make it easier to climb down.

“You do realize if this goes wrong, I’m probably going to end up grounded,” said Fin. “And you’re going to have to work with Cedar and her very unreliable shadow monster to get Brie back to her family.”

“As long as we have a plan.” Eddie flashed her a smile.

Mom had come home carrying boxes of pot roast and vegetables, and a coconut cake for dessert. The three of them ate at the table, talking about how their sleeping in the woods had gone. Fin left the details vague, but she did mention their midnight raven visitor—without mentioning her own excursion into the woods. When Mom inquired about the two tents, Fin had said, “I’ll take them down tomorrow.”

“Good,” said Mom, picking up a forkful of potato. “I don’t want Myrtle coming back to find her tents destroyed by the deer.”

“Deer don’t destroy tents,” Eddie had replied. “They will try to look for snacks around them, though. Which we didn’t leave behind,” he added hastily, sensing Mom’s disapproval in the silence. “That would be stupid! Because bears!”

After dinner, Fin and Eddie retreated to the loft. Eddie reluctantly worked on his book report while Fin fidgeted with her stolen locket. She wound the chain around her fingers again and again, her stomach as knotted as the rope. The minutes dragged. Fin kept thinking of Brie escaping from the tower, or someone finding her, and all the other things that could go awry. Her mind wouldn’t settle, no matter how many times she tried to do a breathing exercise or told herself that there was no point in worrying about things that might never come to pass.

Finally, around nine, the quiet drone of a fan came from Mom’s room. After years of sleeping in cities, Mom liked a little white noise while she slept. Fin waited another fifteen or so minutes before she deemed it safe. “All right,” she said. She wore her heavy army surplus coat, boots, and a backpack slung over her shoulders. “Ready?”

Eddie gave her a thumbs-up. “Ready for Bigfoot Impossible.”

“Of course you’re ready,” said Fin. “You get to watch.”

Eddie had tied the rope around one of the wooden banisters that cordoned off the loft’s steep edge. He gave it a hard tug, then nodded in satisfaction. “It’s good.”

Fin took a breath. She wasn’t scared of heights, not precisely. But when she opened the window and peered down, her stomach swooped.

“I’ve got this,” she whispered. “I’ve got this.”

She let the rope fall—it was thin, but the corded plastic had been strong enough to hold up a swing for many years. It would hold her. And the slope of the roof wasn’t so steep.

The hardest part was stepping off the windowsill. Her sweaty fingers slid along the rope, and she took a sharp, unsteady breath. Her whole body was wound tight as a rubber band about to snap. She turned so that her back was to the dark woods and tried to ease herself through the window. Eddie watched, his face serious but not overly concerned. He wasn’t scared, Fin told herself, so she wouldn’t be either.

And besides, Brie was worth this.

Fin stepped onto the slope of the roof, crouching at an angle. She was reminded of that video of Ana Bell in a mystery spot, having to lean to keep her balance in a crooked house. Her fingers snagged on one of the knots and she swallowed, grateful for Eddie’s handiwork. Each knot was a small handhold, making it easier for her to half shuffle, half walk her way down the roof. Her boots found purchase on the rough asphalt shingles as she descended.

It seemed to take an hour to creep down, but it was probably more like a minute. Her knuckles ached, her fingers were red with effort, and every inch felt like a small victory. One small shuffle, one knot downward.

Then her feet hit the edge of the roof and she finally allowed herself to look down. It was perhaps a four-foot drop, and she forced herself not to hesitate. If she hesitated, she wasn’t sure she could pry her fingers from the rope.

Fin dropped. She hit the ground on both feet, the impact jolting up through her knees.

But she was on the ground. And the rope was still dangling out the window, with Eddie beaming down at her.

“That was awesome,” he said gleefully.

Fin pressed a finger to her mouth. The last thing she needed was for Mom to wake up. Eddie covered his laugh with a hand, then gave her a wave.

“See you in the morning,” she whispered.

There was a flashlight in her backpack, but she didn’t dare turn it on. Not yet. She jogged past the big house, down the street, and toward the woods. She navigated the darkness by the light that spilled through neighbors’ windows. Aldermere did not have street lamps, and the one time Mayor Downer proposed them, she had been outvoted. Finally, Fin stepped from the pavement onto the dirt path and twisted her flashlight to life.

Her heart throbbed in her chest; she was keenly aware of how she did not belong in the forest. Not at night. Not alone. Nighttime was for monsters. Everyone knew that. It was why kids shut their closets at night, why they invoked the power of blankets and walls to protect them.

Fin forced herself to breathe more slowly. Perhaps if she could trick her lungs into thinking she was unafraid, the rest of her body would follow. She kept her pace steady, not quite a jog because one did not jog through a forest at night. The flashlight’s beam bounced along the path, cheerful and bright.

And then Fin saw something from the corner of her eye.

A flicker of movement.

She whirled, the flashlight’s beam falling into the undergrowth.

Fin couldn’t have picked out many details; the creature vanished as the light fell upon it. But it couldn’t have been human. The shape was all wrong.

Fin’s heart began to race. Her first thought was that it was a bear, but the creature had moved too quickly. A cougar, then? But—

Then something stepped from the woods and onto the path.

She sucked in a breath so quickly that it hurt, the air scraping her throat. She wanted to cry out, to run, to turn around and retreat back toward Aldermere and safety and home. Her shaking hands clutched at the flashlight, the illumination trembling as it was aimed at the path.

But when the light fell on the ground, nothing was there.

Fin stood there, adrenaline making her feel both too hot and too cold.

Something was circling her. But every time she looked directly at it, it flickered away. Like a creature that could only be looked at through the corner of her eye.

She could not retreat. The water tower was closer than town. If she could get there, she’d be safe. She could lock the door behind her, wait with Brie until morning came.

But she was frozen in place. Her feet would not move, no matter how many times Fin told them to.

She heard the crack of a twig behind her.

Fin’s breathing stopped altogether. She was frozen with fear, ice in her veins, her skin clammy. Part of her whispered that she shouldn’t turn around. In all the old myths and fairy tales, a person should never turn around. Nothing ever good lurked behind—and glancing over one’s shoulder led to lovers being ripped back to the underworld, to monsters standing a hair’s breadth behind them, to unseen things becoming all too real.

But the need to know was too great.

Fin turned as slowly as she could and looked over her shoulder. The flashlight stayed pointing ahead, the light wavering in her unsteady hands.

And she saw the hulking form of a monstrous horse standing behind her.

Fin let out a startled cry, stumbling to one side. The flashlight rolled from her hands, light falling uselessly on tree roots and wildflowers. Fin was on the ground, legs tangled and breath heaving. There was just enough light to see Penny standing beside her.

“You,” said Fin, torn between relief and anger. “What are you doing here?”

Penny shook her head. She stepped forward and nudged the flashlight so that the light was angled away from her. And then Fin understood.

No wonder Fin hadn’t seen the shadow horse. She’d been turning the flashlight on her—which couldn’t be healthy for a shadow. Fin wondered if the concentrated light hurt her. “Sorry,” said Fin. “I—I didn’t realize it was you. Is Cedar here?”

Penny gave her an eyeless stare. It was rather unnerving. But Fin remembered what Cedar had said—that Penny roamed the woods when Cedar was dreaming.

“You want to come along?” said Fin.

Penny bobbed her head.

“All right,” said Fin. She picked up the flashlight, taking care to angle it away from Penny as she walked toward the water tower. The horse fell into step beside Fin’s shadow rather than Fin herself. Perhaps that was how a shadow navigated the world, Fin thought. Maybe Penny saw the dark places, the little echoes people made without noticing.

Fin turned a corner and saw the water tower. A relieved sigh escaped her. Nothing was out of place. Fin clicked off the flashlight, shoving it in her coat pocket before climbing the ladder. She realized her mistake when she was halfway up.

Fin looked down. Penny stood on the ground, her tail flicking.

“Sorry, you can’t climb, can you?” asked Fin. “You can stay down there, maybe? Watch out for bears and cougars? And anyone with a camera?”

Penny shifted her weight from one hoof to the other. It looked like a restless gesture, but before Fin could say anything more, the shadow blurred. She melted into the ground, and then a dark smudge trailed up the ladder. Fin watched as darkness darted through the wooden rungs, slipping through her fingers and gliding upward. It felt like stepping into a strangely warm river, and she shuddered hard. A few heartbeats later, the shadow eased through the crack beneath the front door.

“Well,” said Fin. “I guess you can.” She hastily climbed the rest of the way into the tower.

Brie was awake, holding the teddy bear in her paws. Fin carefully clicked on the flashlight, setting it so the beam was angled toward the ceiling. The old furniture cast eerie shadows along the walls, but nothing was quite as eerie as the horse taking form a few feet from Brie. As Penny coalesced in a blur of darkness, Fin was reminded of a nature documentary she’d seen about squids vanishing into ink.

Brie meeped a greeting.

Penny leaned down and nudged the bigfoot. Brie squeaked and stroked the shadow horse’s nose.

“Well,” said Fin, plopping onto the floor. She settled her backpack between her legs and unzipped it. “I’m glad everyone’s getting along.”

Brie hurried toward Fin, nuzzling against her leg. For a moment, it was very cute. And then Fin realized that Brie was trying to get at one of her pockets, looking for snacks. “You’re worse than the cat at the Ack,” said Fin, grinning. She pulled an apple from her backpack and tossed it to Brie. The bigfoot caught it and began devouring the snack with obvious delight.

“Makes sense,” said Fin. “If you guys are herbivores, it must take a lot of food to keep a bigfoot going. And you’re still growing. No wonder you’re like a bottomless pit.” She glanced at Penny. The horse was investigating the inside of the water tower: sniffing at the old chair, at the table, nudging at the walls.

Exhaustion settled into Fin’s arms and legs, weighing her down. Between River’s catching a glimpse of Brie, the revelations about the toll bridge and Penny, and the constant vigilance of looking out for the SNACC Pack, all Fin wanted was a few hours of rest and peace. She closed her eyes, listening to the crunching sounds of a bigfoot devouring an apple. It was strangely soothing.

And then someone knocked at the front door.

Fin fumbled her way upright, hurtling to the door. She grabbed the flashlight, heart pounding with fresh adrenaline. She opened it, expecting to see Cedar or Eddie. Or maybe even River.

A raven sat atop the ladder, looking expectant.

Morri.

Relief crashed through Fin. It was the raven. Once again, visiting her at night.

“You have got to stop doing that,” she said.

Morri tried to croak, but it came out as a low grinding sound. There was something in her beak, Fin realized. Morri hopped into the tower, bouncing closer to Fin before setting something on the floor.

Fin picked it up. It was glass, rimmed with dark plastic. A camera lens. It looked new and expensive.

“Did you take this from the SNACC Pack?” said Fin, amused.

Morri tilted her head back and forth. Then she opened her beak and said, “Prank.”

Fin fell over backward. The flashlight tumbled from her hand, its beam bouncing off one of the walls. Penny leaped to one side to avoid the falling illumination, then gave Fin what she could only call a reproachful eyeless look. Brie hurried forward to pick up the camera lens. She sniffed it, then began nibbling at the edge. “Oh no,” said Fin, taking it from her. “That’s not for eating.” She turned toward Morri. The raven seemed confused by all the commotion.

“Did you talk?” said Fin.

Morri ruffled her feathers. “Footprints,” she said, in that same voice. Feminine, but a little husky, and oddly familiar.

Ravens could imitate sounds; Fin had heard one raven perfectly croak out a car alarm. But it was one thing for the ravens to mimic car noises and clicks, and it was completely another to hear a very human-sounding voice emerging from Morri’s beak. Like a deer suddenly opening its mouth and saying, “Hello.”

It was unnerving, to say the least.

“Prank?” said Fin. “Did you say ‘prank’?”

Morri puffed herself up. As if she thought Fin was very slow for not catching on immediately. “Prank,” she said. “Footprints. Prank.”

And then Fin realized where she’d heard that voice before. Ana Bell. That was Ana Bell’s voice.

Prank. Footprints.

Fin’s mind raced. “Did they find Brie’s footprints?” she said.

Morri looked at her. It was a very flat, disappointed look.

Fin hadn’t even realized that ravens could look disappointed until now. “Prank.” Then she fluttered to Fin’s arm and began nibbling at the camera lens.

Prank. A memory came back to her: Ana Bell speaking of the supposed prank up north in Bluff Creek. Of footprints even larger than the ones Brie had left scattered through town. Of logging equipment too heavy for a human to move, and unsolved mysteries.

And then she realized that Morri’s imitation of Ana’s voice had held a note that Fin had never heard before: fear.

Fin went very still. She wasn’t sure what could make a person like Ana afraid, but she was pretty sure it would take more than a few shovel-sized footprints left in the dirt.

“The herd,” breathed Fin. “Did the film crew find the herd?”

Morri blinked. “Footprints,” she repeated.

Okay, Fin couldn’t blame Morri for being irritated with her this time. “So SNACC didn’t find the bigfoot herd,” she said. “They found tracks. Can you take me there, tomorrow?”

Morri bobbed her head.

“Good,” said Fin, relieved.

Morri looked expectant, so Fin dug into her backpack and came up with a slice of bread. She tore off a piece and tossed it to Morri, who accepted the reward as if it was her due.

Brie meeped loudly. This time it sounded indignant.

Fin tossed her a piece of bread. Then she looked at Penny. “I don’t suppose you eat?”

Penny’s head turned away.

“Good, because I’m running out of snacks.” Fin crumpled the empty bag of bread into her pocket. Her mind was racing. Morri had been watching the SNACC Pack—and they had found more footprints. They wouldn’t necessarily lead to Brie’s family, but it was a start. Fin sat down on the floor again, tucking the lens away. She would tell the others tomorrow.

Fin looked at the bigfoot, the shadow monster, and the raven.

“And here I thought I might be lonely tonight,” she said, pulling a blanket from her backpack.