A camp-out in Mr Harold’s back garden that evening is the closest thing to an expedition that Charlie and Debbie agree to let us do on our own in the dark. Which Tobin grumbles about the whole time they’re setting up the tent.
‘I’m sorry, Tobin,’ Debbie says, pounding in a stake. ‘It’s just not safe to be in the woods alone all night.’
‘I won’t be alone. I have Lemonade.’
‘Yes, you do!’ Charlie smiles, tying a cord to a stake already in the ground. ‘Yes, you do!’
‘Mr Harold, is it OK if we use your bathroom instead of the woods tonight?’ I ask.
‘Of course. The door will be open, so you just help yourself to whatever you need. There are extra blankets if you get cold, and of course if it rains, you two just come right on inside.’
‘Now, is there anything else I can do before I leave?’ Charlie asks, double-tying the final cord to the ground.
‘Nope,’ Tobin says.
‘OK, well, I packed granola bars and juice for you both, and some extra Twinkies for Lem.’ He hands me a brown paper bag.
‘Thank you, Charlie.’ Debbie smiles at him and puts a hand on his arm.
‘Who has time to eat when a cryptozoological discovery is about to be made? All we really need is this.’ Tobin holds up his movie camera. ‘I think tonight is the night. I can feel it! Lemonade, tonight we make history!’
‘Good luck, kids. I’ll be back to pick you up in the morning.’
We wave goodbye to Jake as Charlie and Debbie drive down the long dirt drive into the setting sun. The sky is a brilliant orange with a few grey clouds in the distance. But no matter how dark those few clouds are, they can’t block out the bright pinks and warm reds and fiery oranges that stretch across the sky as the sun finds its way behind the pines. A cooling breeze blows, moving my hair off my shoulders and making goosebumps sprout up on my arms.
I look at the clouds far off in the distance one more time, hoping they stay right where they are.
‘I’ll be in the house,’ Mr Harold says. ‘The windows are open, so if you need me, you just holler. And again, if it starts to rain, you just come on inside. It looks like something might be coming.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Tobin says.
‘Goodnight, then,’ Mr Harold says.
Tobin and I head to the tent and crawl inside. I find my jacket and jogging bottoms in my duffel bag and pull them on over my shorts and T-shirt.
‘I’m staying up all night,’ Tobin informs me, sitting cross-legged on top of his sleeping bag. ‘Here, you’re assigned to the still pictures on this mission.’
He hands me the Polaroid camera. I sit down cross-legged on my sleeping bag facing him and slip the strap around my neck. We sit there staring at each other.
No one says anything.
‘What do we do now?’ I ask him.
‘Wait,’ he says.
‘For what?’
He leans forward and whispers then. ‘You’ll know when you hear it.’
‘Oh,’ I say.
We wait.
There’s a low, far-off rumble in the sky, and I take a deep breath. I hope Mr Harold is wrong about something heading in this direction.
‘Want to play Twenty Questions?’ I ask.
‘What’s that?’
‘You think of something, and you tell me if it’s a person, place or thing, and I have to guess it in twenty questions, and all you can answer is yes or no.’
He shrugs. ‘OK.’
‘You go first,’ I say.
Tobin smiles. ‘Ummm, OK, got something.’
‘You’re thinking of something?’
‘Yep,’ he says.
‘You have to tell me if it’s a person, place or thing,’ I tell him.
‘What if it’s none of those?’
‘What do you mean? It has to be one of those.’
‘Well, it’s not.’
I look at him and cock my head to one side.
‘It’s Bigfoot, isn’t it?’
Tobin smiles even wider.
‘You’re so predictable,’ I tell him.
‘Lem!’
‘What? What is it?’ I pop my head up.
Tobin rubs his eyes. ‘You fell asleep.’
‘You fell asleep first,’ I say.
‘No . . . No . . . I wasn’t sleeping, I was . . . I was . . . wait, what time is it?’ He checks his Bigfoot watch. ‘Oh three hundred hours.’
That’s really three in the morning. Tiny taps of rain are hitting the top of the tent.
‘It’ll be light in a few hours,’ I say.
He nods.
I yawn. ‘I guess we’re not going to get anything this time either.’
‘Not stuck in this tent, we won’t,’ he says. ‘Unless . . .’
‘Unless what?’
‘Unless we make something happen.’
‘We aren’t supposed to do that,’ I say. ‘Charlie and Debbie said to stay in the garden.’
‘We will, but there’s no harm in exploring closer to the fence post out in the west end of the pasture.’
‘The pasture’s not the garden. They said to stay in the garden. Plus, it’s storming out,’ I say.
He holds one palm outside the tent flap. ‘It’s barely a drizzle,’ he says. ‘Anyway, pasture, garden . . . what’s the difference?’
‘There’s a big difference,’ I tell him. ‘That’s why they said to stay in the garden.’
‘If you’re too chicken, I can go by myself.’
‘I’m not chicken,’ I insist.
‘Sounds fowl to me.’
‘OK,’ I agree. ‘But if it starts storming, I’m going inside.’
‘Fine,’ Tobin says. ‘Let’s synchronize.’
‘You know I don’t have a watch.’
‘The cameras,’ he says.
‘Oh.’
‘Cameras ready?’ he asks.
‘Check,’ I say.
‘Check,’ he says.
‘This might be our night, Lemonade Liberty Witt.’
‘Is it coming down harder?’ I ask.
‘Stop being a chicken, it’s just a little—’
And it’s just then that we hear this horrible sound. A long, high-pitched howl from the woods.
‘Whoooooooooooo!’
I grab his arm. ‘What’s that?’
My heart pounds hard in my chest, and the jacket and jogging bottoms suddenly make me feel like I’m wearing a snowsuit in a sauna.
‘I knew it!’ Tobin exclaims. ‘It’s them! They’re here! They’re here! Let’s go!’