Harold frantically lumbers as quickly as possible to exit Garvin Park and bury himself into the thick over brush along the top of the Pigeon Creek banks. He slows his pace and cowers along the creek’s course.
As he nears his cave, he detects voices. Cautiously and quietly, yet as quickly as possible, Harold closes in on the cave. He realizes the voices are coming from the cave.
Harold reaches the entrance to the cave. Two other men are lounging on the cave floor, laughing and talking. At first, neither of them notice Harold.
“What are you doing in my shelter?” Harold stands tall, stretches his arm above his head grasping the top of the cave entrance.
Both men are taken aback. One of the men unconsciously crab walks backwards. While the other shakes off his initial shock.
“Did you hear him, Gavin? His shelter,” Owen rises from off his elbow to a sitting position.
Harold points to the pile of papers and wood that is his journal as he steps toward the two intruders. Gavin, wide-eyed and mouth agape glances up at Harold and then at Owen.
Owen doesn’t move. Gavin jumps to his feet. Harold rests one foot on the stone that guards his journal. He rests one elbow on his knee.
“How long do you squatters plan to stay?” Harold leans forward in the guests direction.
“As long as we like,” Owen remains calm. Gavin continues to fidget. His eyes dart from Harold to Owen to the entrance of the cave.
“I could go now,” Gavin takes a step toward the entrance.
“Do as you please, Gavin. I’m not ready to leave. As a matter of fact, I kind of feel like I might settle here awhile.”
Gavin starts toward the entrance, stops, looks back at Owen and then watches Harold carefully as he slides past him.
“It’s your turn. Follow your friend.”
Owen sits still. Harold plants both feet on the cave floor and stands to full height.
“Do you need help getting up?” Harold moves toward Owen.
Owen rises to his feet and takes a defensive stance. On Harold’s next step, Owen pulls a knife. Harold grasps the wrist of Owen’s hand holding the knife.
With a swing of Harold’s arm, Owen flies two feet and slams with a smack against the wall. The knife sails landing near the entrance.
Owen lands on his hands and knees. He shakes his head to gain focus. Before he can fully gather himself, Harold lifts him off the ground with both hands and carries Owen a few feet outside the cave.
Harold holds Owen up over his head and shakes him hard snapping Owen’s head back and forth rapidly. Harold plans to toss his stunned opponent but is suddenly struck with a piercing pain in the small of his back.
Another excruciating jab just above the last one causes Harold to drop Owen and turn around. A hot piercing pain greets his side as he is pivoting. His side and his stomach just above his belt line feels quick, sudden jabs.
Harold senses the blood and strength leaving his body. His knees buckle. Harold watches as Gavin’s arm thrusts the life- taking weapon into his body one, two, three, four more times before Harold crashes toward the ground.
Lying face down into the weeds Harold slowly loses consciousness. The darkness of the night grows eerily darker. Owen’s and Gavin’s voices are muffled and soon fade as Harold’s life force drains quickly away.
“Is he … dead?” Gavin stands unconsciously still holding the handle of the dark red blood coated knife.
Owen cautiously crawls to the large mound of hair, flesh and bone that is sprawled stone silent and still on this remote portion of the Pigeon Creek banks. Owen slowly touches Harold’s lifeless back. There is no rise and fall of breath. Owen pushes against the once powerful body. It does not react.
“Kick it,” Owen still on hands and knees looks up at Gavin and points to the shell that once contained Harold’s spirit.
Gavin’s face distorts with furrowed brow and wide eyed stare initiated by Owen’s command. Owen repeats his command. Gavin pokes the body with his foot.
“Kick! It!” Owen jabs the air forcefully to emphasize each word. Gavin kicks the body matching the intensity of Owen’s punches.
Seeing no response from Harold’s body, Owen concludes, “You’ve killed him.”
Gavin’s voice crackles and his body trembles, “It was self-defense. Right? That’s how it was. Right?”
“Sure. Sure,” Owen remains seated on the ground next to the body. He stares at the corpse blankly as he assesses the interaction with Harold.
Gavin realizes he stands holding the weapon in his hand still. He examines it and his person. Harold’s blood stains Gavin’s right arm heavily up to his elbow and blots several spots on Gavin’s shirt, jeans and shoes.
Gavin’s body shakes uncontrollably when a drop of blood trickles down his cheek and he concludes that he is not wounded so the blood must be Harold’s.
“What are we going to do?” Gavin waves his arms wildly causing his whole body to agitate.
Owen struggles to rise to his feet. At one point, Owen nearly loses his balance wincing with pain.
Gavin stiffens and sucks in the moist night air with a gasp. He offers his left hand to assist while still loosely gripping the knife in his right.
“I think I cracked a rib or something,” Owen grimaces and rubs the left side of his stomach just below his chest.
Gavin watches Owen try and recover, “What do we do now?”
Owen looks down at the huge furry mound sprawling dead on the ground at his feet. He then turns his attention to Gavin. Gavin stares back anxiety written all over his face along with a few splatters of blood.
Suddenly, Gavin’s eyes widen lighting up his unchanging facial distortion, “You know what we’ve done here?”
“What WE’VE done here? You’ve killed a man.”
“No, not exactly correct.”
“I’m not standing here with blood on my arm and face and clothes holding a weapon in my hand.”
“That part is accurate. OK, I killed IT,” Gavin’s blood guilty face grows smug.
Owen mingles confusion and suspicion at the sounds akin to pride tumbling from his normally anxious partners lips.
“I saved your life. I did something no one else can claim,” Gavin’s chest puffs up as he holds up the weapon covered in coagulating blood.
Owen fears that Gavin loses his sense of reality and debates rather to fight or take flight.
“Go find a cop and tell them what happened. We were attacked and cornered in this cave by that giant monster. I was able to escape but you were cornered so you drew your weapon but he overpowered you with his beastly inhuman strength.”
“You’re claiming self defense. Yes, good thinking and you’re right. It was,” Owen grabs Gavin’s shoulders .
“Oh, my dear friend, we’ll be heroes don’t you know,” Gavin smiles as his face lights up.
“Heroes? You’re stretching this a bit too far.”
Gavin points the knife blade towards the body on the ground forcing Owen to take another look.
“Look closely, Owen like you’re seeing that thing for the first time. What do you see?”
Owen shakes his head, shrugs his shoulders and remains silent.
Gavin throws his head back and belches out a horrible diabolical laugh. Owen has never seen this side of his little partner and it begins to terrify him.
“I just killed Big Foot.”
I write about what I'm thinking or what I've imagined in an effort to regain that childhood imagination and marry with my many years of real experiences. I'm getting better at it the more I write.I am a published author of two romantic intrigue novels.My books can be found at Amazon.com or if you want a personalized copy, by emailing me at firstname.lastname@example.org.