Somewhere deep in the trackless North Woods, amateur rock collectors — “rockhounds” — Frank Yontz and Bud Klassen made an unsought discovery, the biggest of their lives…
“Frank, we’ve got remains.” The lichen-encrusted rock Bud rolled away revealed a hairy skull, dried shreds of skin still clinging to its sunken cheeks and empty sockets.
Frank shuffled down beside him, into the limestone overhang shaded by towering pine trees.
He nodded his head and let out a low whistle.
Bud scrambled out and stood, dusting off his khakis. “Damn. Looks like we can’t go any further, Frank, until we get permission.”
“From who?” Frank still stared at the skull in the shadowed recesses of the rocks.
Bud shrugged. “What local tribe has jurisdiction here? Could be an ancestor of theirs.”
From the fold in the earth, Frank’s older, grizzled voice came back: “Tribes around here, they didn’t bury their dead. And Bud…”
“Yeah?”
“Conditions around here aren’t very good for mummification. This fellow’s not been here very long. Not more ‘n a couple, three years I’d guess.”
Bud grimaced. “Oh, hell. Then we’ve gotta contact authorities. Police, or FBI.”
“Or Canadian Mounties?” Frank chuckled. “I’m not sure which side of the border we’re on here. Hey, help me move a couple of these rocks.”
“Are you crazy?! This could be a crime scene. We shouldn’t touch anything else.”
The only sound that met Bud’s protest was the scraping of shifting rock.
Bud threw up his hands and dropped back into the crevice beside Frank. “Careful! You don’t want to damage it.”
It took both of them straining with all their might to remove a few more rocks, revealing more of the corpse.
“Must’ve taken more than one person to bury him,” Bud huffed. “These are some heavy frickin’ boulders.”
“Maybe,” Frank mumbled.
When they had gotten the torso exposed, Frank motioned for Bud to hand him the flashlight. He trained the beam on the ribcage, to which copious amounts of reddish-brown hair clung.
“Was he wearing a pelt?” Bud asked.
“That is its pelt,” Frank muttered. “Hairy son of a bitch.”
“Frank… What are we looking at? The skull’s not right. It looks… apelike.”
“Bud, slide on over there and remove a couple of those rocks down there, see if you can’t find the other end of it.”
Bud did so. “Got it, I’ve got foot bones down here.”
Frank pulled out his measuring tape and fed one end of it down to Bud. Then he read it off.
“96.4 inches.”
Bud let out a long breath. “Frank… Frank, this guy was eight feet tall.”
The men scrambled back out of the crevice and stood beneath the lengthening shadows of the pines, coming to grips with their discovery.
Finally, as if his mind had finally managed fully to digest it, Bud broke into a huge grin. Muffling his voice — as if there were any other living soul within miles of them — he whisper-shouted: “Frank, we’re the first men to find the remains of a Sasquatch.”
Frank’s eyes were slightly narrowed, thoughtful, as if he were still trying to piece something together. Then he raised his eyebrows and looked at his younger companion. “They bury their dead.”
Back at camp, Bud opened their bottle of bourbon and filled tin cups in celebration. Frank sat staring into the fire, staring at the middle distance, somewhere through and beyond the flames.
“A toast,” Bud said, “to, hmmm, well, our soon being famous, and rich, and our names in the history books. Who’da thunk a couple rock collectors would be the ones to happen upon proof of Bigfoot? Those guys, whaddathey call ‘em? Crypt — cryptozoologists, they’ve been turning up all the wrong stones. This must be the biggest zoological find of the past couple centuries.”
“Indeed it is.” Frank’s tone was neutral as he raised his cup to receive the clink of Bud’s.
Bud downed his bourbon. Frank took a swig of his own and squinted at the crackling logs.
“Frank? Something wrong — is it still sinking in?”
“Hmm?” Frank looked up. “No, no. I was just thinkin’.”
“Penny for your thought. Hell, a hundred dollars for your thought — we’ll be able to afford it.”
Frank looked up at the expanse of stars twinkling above the looming silhouettes of the pines, then fixed his gaze on Bud. “They’ve been elusive for centuries — avoided capture through sixty years now of dedicated Bigfoot hunters. They must know.”
“Know what?”
“What a collision of their race and ours will mean. For them. Maybe not the specifics — but they sense enough to suspect. Put in cages, in zoos. Put on display, taken from their habitat and families and tribes or whatever it is they got. Poked, prodded, tested, dissected. Hunted down for trophy sport.”
Bud leapt on this last point. “I heard there are laws now protecting ‘em — laws passed just in case they did turn out to exist.”
“Such laws never stop poachers.”
“Frank, if we don’t come forward with this, someone else will — it’s inevitable. They exist. Someone else will find the proof.”
“Well,” Frank conceded, “maybe so. We could take some pictures, maybe bag a hair sample. That way, if anyone ever does come out with conclusive proof, then we can show that we found hard evidence first.”
“We’ll be just an afterthought,” Bud protested. “A footnote. Whoever goes public first will get all the glory.”
“Sure. But as elusive as these creatures have been, that may not happen during our lifetimes. It’s not just a question of being remembered — it’s what do you want to be remembered for?”
Both men lapsed into silence.
Then, as if struck by his own epiphany, Bud repeated something Frank had said earlier in the day. “They bury their dead.” He spoke it to the fire, the stars, the universe.
“M-hm. They bury their dead.”
Their eyes met, and the two men slowly nodded, as if silently communicating their thoughts. Frank broke the silence first.
“I’m thinkin’, at first light. Let’s rebury him.”
Nicholas Ozment teaches English at Winona State University. His stories and poems continue to appear in numerous magazines, book anthologies, and online zines. He is a co-editor of Every Day Fiction’s sister publication, Every Day Poets.
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19 Responses to “TWO ROADS DIVERGED IN A WOOD • by Nicholas Ozment”
Comments
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July 17th, 2009 at 1:06 am
This is a very good story.
Enjoyed the build up and slow realisation, after their initial triumph, that the elusive creature they’d discovered needed to be protected by their silence and re-burial.
I’m giving this 5.
July 17th, 2009 at 1:50 am
I enjoyed this tale.
My only reservation was the dialogue. It seemed too structured and a little unrealistic.
I gave a four, which as things stand means an anonymous voter gave the story a one. Go figure!
July 17th, 2009 at 2:59 am
I enjoyed the story idea. I’d have given it a 4, but the dialogue didn’t quite work for me, so I settled on 3. If I could I’d have given it a 3.5.
July 17th, 2009 at 6:09 am
I was following this with great interest, but I thought the ending fell flat. **Why** did he think that this elusive species, of which so little was known, buried their dead? Was it really buried? Sounded more like it was just under some sort of rock cairn. And why rebury it? Sorry, the ending just didn’t seem to hang together.
July 17th, 2009 at 6:26 am
On the other hand, another group might find the corpse or another bit of evidence and not be so considerate of big foot. They ought to report it to the most responsible, protective authorities right away to make the effort of protecting big foot. We know very well that instead of telling it to the authorities they’ll blabber it the inn, big foot won’t be protected, and these nice guys’ aureole will be buried along with bigfoot.
Could it be that our nice guys are trying to avoid bigfoot while bigfoot is trying to latch on?
July 17th, 2009 at 7:05 am
I think the dialogue is a bit stilted because the writer wanted the background of the story and the point of view of the rock hounds to be made clear, which is all to the good in my evaluation. It could have been made clear with dialogue which is more “felt” and convincing of reality, creating a slightly longer story (but which is still within “flash” restrictions). This would probably be longer and harder to write but worth the exercise.
July 17th, 2009 at 7:39 am
I loved this. I thought it was a great story. It hooked me right away and gave me that flash all the way through to complete.
There have been just wonderful stories here lately.
July 17th, 2009 at 8:10 am
I just didn’t care for this, and I don’t see any nobility here either. Bigfoot? Come on. Yes, I do know it’s fiction and all, but I’d like to have seen something new and clever here.
July 17th, 2009 at 8:33 am
yea i agree with joyce, i dont know why the men were so intent on protecting the sanctity of bigfoot. Additionally their epiphanies need further explanation.
July 17th, 2009 at 8:38 am
. . .it’s what do you want to be remembered for? I loved that line. “5-stars” from me!
July 17th, 2009 at 8:55 am
The epiphany came off flat to me. My bet is Frank gets it from Bud who then goes on to be the discoverer of Sasquatch.
July 17th, 2009 at 10:15 am
Sharon, you’re such a cynic!
July 17th, 2009 at 5:15 pm
yeah, wow, we need a serious round of hugs here.
July 17th, 2009 at 5:58 pm
Good one Nicolas. I think the dialogue problems would be solved in half (sorry, bad pun) if you simply took out the persistant name references. It isn’t how people talk and it feels awkward when read.
I’ll tell you that you had me totally fooled. I thought the “buried their dead” line was a set up for the two explorers getting stomped at the end: since the Bigfeet bury their dead, that means there’s a tribe of them around somewhere and that line of reasoning they were following at the end–why hasn’t anyone discovered the creatures–was going to lead to a bloody end for Frank and Bud.
Best,
–John
July 17th, 2009 at 10:11 pm
Thanks everybody.
End-of-the-day thoughts (especially re: comments #8 & 9): “Bigfoot? Come on.” When it comes to sasquatch (and other infamous cryptids), I suppose I would describe myself as an open-minded skeptic. Part of me thinks that if a heretofore unknown primate were still living in North America, that would be pretty cool. On the other hand, the scientific and rational side of my mind thinks it is highly, highly unlikely.
That said, as an imaginative figure, Bigfoot has crept into my stories a number of times (he was the subject of one of the first stories I can remember writing back in the fourth grade, and he features in three of my published flash pieces). The seedgerm of this one was an idle thought on a morning drive, as I mulled over one of the most persuasive arguments against bigfoot’s existence: if such large hominids really exist (and in sufficient numbers to maintain a breeding population), why have remains never been found? One fanciful theory (and it really was just a fancy) presented itself: what if they conceal or bury their dead? Hence Frank’s and Bud’s “epiphany”: the mere fact of their burying their dead immediately makes them more human than ape.
July 19th, 2009 at 6:08 am
I liked the story. Nice to read a story about people who put humanity above fame and fortune. Always love a feel good story to start my day.
July 22nd, 2009 at 12:25 pm
Thanks for the kind words, Kathleen! Reading a comment like that is a feel good start to my day.
July 24th, 2009 at 8:56 pm
If “bury” does indeed equal “human,” then the final image of “re-bury” has something to do with rediscovering their lost humanity, something they were able to do through Bigfoot. That’s cool, I think, the way that all works out.
July 25th, 2009 at 11:49 pm
Thank you Randall.