The Game is a Foot

It was a cold winter’s night, somewhere deep in the Canadian wilderness. The air was still, unmoving, and freezing cold. Bright stars burned in the clear skies above, their distant blue light almost adding to the low temperatures. It was the kind of night that one spent tucked under dozens of blankets in a warm home, dreaming of spring. It was definitely not a night when one would be out, camping in the woods...

A fire crackled in a circle of stones, throwing warm yellow light on the two men sitting on folding chairs next to it. Their figures were bulky, covered in thick padded clothing to fend off the cold. They each held a bottle of precious liquid and stared at the flames, contemplating.

“I can almost hear him,” said Atticus, a grizzly man with a beard that matched his personality. “Any sound he might make would get carried far in this cold.”

“Sure would,” nodded Beau, a tall and slender man, yet appearing just as beefy as Atticus, under all these clothes. “Got my ears perked like a hot-damned squirrel, I do.”

The men spoke in low voices, slowly sipping their liquor, staring in the flames. And listening. Tranquilizer rifles rested at the foot of their folding chairs, sedative darts locked and loaded. 

“But he won’t come,” said Atticus. “Not tonight.”

“Sure won’t,” agreed Beau. “He knows we’d know if he came.” He sipped, the liquid burning his throat with pleasant warmth. “Clever sumbitch.” 

“Might as well get some sleep,” said Atticus. “It’ll probably snow tomorrow.”

“You go ahead,” said Beau. “I’ll keep listening some more. Sharpen my senses.”

The folding chair creaked as Atticus stood, and it was the loudest sound they heard in hours. If anything was out there that night, it surely got spooked by that sound. Atticus went to sleep in the tent, and Beau stayed up some more. But the liquor and the mesmerizing dance of flames soon did their job and Beau was out, falling asleep in his folding chair.

***

Morning came with a shout.

“Aw you son of a bitch!” Beau cursed loud enough to cause his friend Atticus to come stumbling out of the tent with rifle in hand. The man’s mighty beard was all messy from sleep.

“What’s wrong?”

“The good for nothin’ robbed me in my sleep! He was here!”

Atticus followed the pointing arm of Beau and noticed that the other wasn’t wearing his hiking boots. Green wool socks with christmas bells adorned his exposed feet.

“Good thing I fell asleep close to the fire, or my fingers would be dead by now. Son of a bitch!”

“You think…”

Beau nodded. “Look. There’s footprints everywhere.”

There was a two days old snow blanket, covering the ground, and it was full of footprints. Most of them were from Atticus and Beau, but not all. There was a third set, an unknown set. 

“Son of a bitch…” whispered Atticus, gripping his rifle closer to his chest.

“That’s what I’m telling you,” nodded Beau. “He was here, while we slept. He could have killed us, but instead he took my goddamn shoes!”

“You can have my spare ones,” said Atticus, distracted. He knelt down and measured one of the new footprints. Nearly two feet long and a half foot wide…

“The snow is freshly packed,” he said to Beau. “Get your ass up and let’s break camp. The bastard can’t be far off!”

Beau cursed as he stepped into the snow with only his socks, skipping on one leg to the tent. They packed up their camp in record time and moved out. In their excitement, they almost forgot to spray themselves with elk mucus, to mask their human scent.

***

After a few hours of hiking, they found what they were looking for.

“Lord almighty, Beau… Are you seeing what I’m seein’?” 

“Unless the devil is messing with my eyes, I’m seeing it too, Atticus… But I have a hard time believing it.”

The two of them were hunched down low under an uprooted tree. Their heavy backpacks rested on the ground and their tranquilizer rifles were out, aiming over their cover at the target.

“It’s…” 

Words escaped Atticus’ mouth as he watched the creature waltz under the mighty spruce trees.

“It’s a Bigfoot,” Beau helped, barely believing what he just said. 

The creature stood some 60 feet out in front of them, walking up and down over a patch of snow, as if it was looking for something there. It reached up to seven or eight feet tall - it was hard to tell - with thick legs and long arms, all covered in white hair. The creature blended in with its surroundings perfectly!

“Christ, it’s big,” whispered Beau, not daring to speak louder than a sigh. “And it’s got its winter coat on. I told you they can change hair!”

“They’re far more complex than we ever imagined, Beau,” said Atticus and took a deep breath. A sign that he was preparing to shoot. 

His friend did the same. 

They steadied their arms, aiming for the creature’s torso, while watching it fumble around with some fallen branches.

Almost simultaneously, obviously training a lot prior, they pulled the trigger and the darts both found their target. The creature immediately stood up from its slouching pose and looked around, bewildered. Then it dropped down to the ground, first on its knees, then laid on its stomach, arms above its head. Like a perpetrator, being placed under arrest.

Beau and Atticus looked at each other, then ran towards the creature, new darts placed in the chamber. 

“Please, don’t shoot me!”

The two friends stood above the Bigfoot, dumbfounded to see it squabble on the ground like a scared child and hear it speak. In english!

“Please, I’m not what you think I am!”

“Atticus?” Beau looked confused, lowering his rifle. “What in tarnation is this now?”

Atticus kept his rifle up, stopping a few feet away from the creature. “You… can speak?”

The creature suddenly sat up and raised its hands. “Damn right I can speak, you morons!” It’s voice sounded angry and… annoyed. 

“Don’t move!” shouted Atticus, ready to fire, but the Bigfoot only placed its hands on its head… and took it off! Beau nearly fainted at the sight.

Underneath, there was a small head of an old bald man, a human. “It’s an outfit, you idiots! I’m no Sasquatch!”

Atticus felt both a sudden relief and a sudden anger. He already thought they’d found one. “Why the hell are you wearing that, you crazy old coot?!”

“What do you think?” The man stumbled up on his feet. “It’s damn cold out here! Good thing this thing has such a thick skin, keeps me warm. And safe from hillbillies firing darts at me!” With giant stubby costume fingers, he pulled the two darts out from the outfit’s belly. They did not seem to have pierced through the tough skin.

After the initial shock, Beau stepped closer. “We’re terribly sorry, sir. We had no idea. You just looked so genuine that we thought…”

“You thought what?” the old man asked, his voice rough and raspy, as he wasn’t accustomed to talking to anybody. “That I was one of them?” the man bellowed in a laugh. “Well, I guess I can’t blame ya. I’m wearing one of their skins, after all.”

“What?” Atticus and Beau exchanged looks again.

“Yeah,” said the old man and brushed snow off his fur. “I skinned this sumbitch two winters ago. The thing is so comfy I haven't put it off since.”

As much as the image of this old man living inside this skin for two years disturbed Atticus, he had to admit that it did look genuine. Like real fur. Like real Bigfoot fur.

“You mean you got one?” said Beau, amazement and shock spreading over his face.

The old man nodded, his head appearing very small, popping out at the neck of the costume. “They all called me crazy, they did, when I set out to live in the wilds! To spend my life hunting the beast. And they were right, I began to think. But then I found one and I was crazy no more!”

Beau held his forehead. “This is big, man! Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“Oh, but I couldn’t,” said the old man. “Then they’d take the skin away from me, to study it or some nonsense, and I couldn’t use it to sneak into the Bigfoot tribe and have sex with their women.”

Beau and Atticus exchanged looks for a third time and agreed that the man was a whack. It was best to leave. Before they did, though, the man admitted he knew nothing about Beau’s missing hiking shoes, and he was kind enough to give them a few hints on where to look for them.

Where to look for the Bigfoot tribe.

Crazy or not, the skin that the old man wore seemed authentic enough that they decided to give it a try, hiking up to the plateau where the man allegedly hunted one down.

***

After spending the better part of the week hiking up the mountain and then spending another week setting traps, searching for footprints and listening to the silence of night, they finally caught something.

“Lord, you are testing me, I know it!” Beau exclaimed in frustration as he and Atticus went to inspect their traps, having heard a growling sound. Hanging there, a foot off the ground, in a wide net of thick ropes, was a polar bear. It must have walked straight into the trap and triggered the mechanism with its weight. 

“A friggin’ polar bear?” said Atticus, clearly disappointed. “I thought they were farther north from here.”

The beast was thrashing in the net, mouth open wide, biting and clawing at the ropes. The trap won’t hold it in for long.

“Best to put him down,” said Beau and aimed with his tranquilizer rifle. With a steady hand he shot straight at the bear’s neck, where the sedative would spread the fastest. After a few more violent thrashes, the bear began to tire and calm down.

“You think the old man was full of bull?” Beau asked while loading another dart into the gun. 

“I don’t know,” said Atticus. “He could have sewn that outfit from polar bear furs, the bastard.” The man let out a long and tired sigh. “I wanted it to be true so badly, Beau. I might believe anything somebody would say at this point.”

“Sure would,” nodded Beau. “I did too. I still do. We’re close, Atticus. I can feel it.”

A snowflake landed on Beau’s hat. Then another, and soon, the forest was wrapped in a silence that can only come from the peaceful falling of snow. 

“There will be no clear skies tonight,” whispered Atticus, mostly to himself. Bigfoots came out in the worst of blizzards, or so they said. 

“We can stay for two more nights,” said Atticus. “Then our supplies will be too low. We’ll have to go back. Wait till spring.”

“I ain’t waiting until spring,” said Beau and spat. “I’m telling you, Atticus. I’ve a feeling. Tonight he’ll come.”

“Well, he better,” said Atticus, suddenly having enough of everything. “Or else I’m dropping this whole thing and going UFO hunting. At least there you don’t have to freeze your ass off.”

The two men carefully approached the bear, checking if it’s asleep. Then they cut the ropes and got the hell out of there before the beast woke up.

***

As night descended upon the Canadian wilderness, a blizzard came with it. The winds were howling, carrying curtains of snow with them, building white mounds and dunes on sheltered sides of rocks and trees. At the base of one such rock, two men huddled together for warmth around a small fire. The flames were protected from the worst of the winds by stones, but they still hissed and swirled violently, threatening to go out at the next gust of wind. 

This time, Beau and Atticus didn’t sit in their folding chairs, instead using them to provide cover for the fire. They sat in the snow, wrapped in every last blanket they had. The bottles in their hands were looking depressingly empty, all the fiery liquid already entered their brain. And despite the cold and the drunkenness, they stared at the swirling flames. And listened.

Beau’s head was beginning to bob as he was fighting off sleep. Atticus listened to the howling winds and was so drunk that he began hearing music. It was clear to them both that they had failed. In all their time here in the wilds they did not even see a single Bigfoot, let alone catch one.

Perhaps they weren’t real after all…

“Hey guys, excuse me, but can I join your fire?”

Atticus frowned, thinking he’s hearing voices now. But when Beau beggan gasping for breath, he looked up from the flames and noticed a figure standing at the edge of their fire’s light. It was too tall and too bulky to be a human.

“Well I be damned…” whispered Atticus, frozen in place.

Beau kept making gasping sounds, pointing at the figure.

The creature waited for a few moments, out of politeness, then it came into the light and sat opposite to the two men. 

There was no doubt about it. A Bigfoot had come. He was real. And he spoke.

“So, yeah,” the Bigfoot began, seemingly feeling a bit awkward. “Sorry about the whole stealing your shoes thing. I realized how stupid it was of me to steal them, so I decided to give them back. You see, I don’t really exist, so it would make no sense for me to steal them in the first place. I mean, who’d want to deal with a mindfuck like that, huh?”

“Atticus!”

“I’m seeing him, Beau.”

“Atticus, he’s real! And he speaks!”

“And goddamn english too.”

“Yeah,” said the creature. It looked just like the costume the old man was wearing. “Sorry about that. I shouldn’t even speak - since I’m not real and all - but I figured I at least owe you an explanation. Sheesh, isn’t this awkward, huh?”

Beau searched the snow for his rifle. Atticus was faster and already held his.

“Please,” the Bigfoot said, raising his hands. “There’s really no need. Since I don’t-”

“If you say that you don’t exist one more time, I’ll make it happen,” said Atticus, feeling the liquor giving him courage. “Now tell me, Bigfoot. Why did you steal Beau’s shoes?” 

Beau gave Atticus a look, in effect saying that’s the best question you came up with? 

Bigfoot sighed. “I wanted to give them to my children. You know, so they wouldn’t leave Bigfoot footprints behind and your kind wouldn’t hunt them down. But, since I’m only a figment of your imagination, there’s no need for that anymore. Good heavens!”

Atticus frowned. “What do you mean? I’m looking at you right now! You’re real!”

The Bigfoot shook his head, looking almost sad. “Nope. I’m not. Wish I was. But I’m not.”

“But,” Atticus’ forehead wrinkled. “You stole Beau’s boots. And you’re sitting right there!”

“I knew it was a mistake,” Bigfoot said, shaking his head. “I can already hear dad speaking; ‘If you don’t exist, you don’t need things, son. Why did you steal?’ Man, how stupid of me!”

“Atticus, I’m confused,” said Beau. “If he says he doesn't exist then who is sitting here by our fire?”

“Oh, what have I done?” exclaimed Bigfoot up at the heavens.

“Enough of this nonsense!” yelled Atticus. “You can come with us willingly, since you’re obviously an intelligent species, or we can put you to sleep.”

“I wish it were that simple,” said Bigfoot. “But it’s not. I don’t exis-”

“Yes. You. Do.”

“Atticus, I think I’m starting to see why he doesn’t…”

“Shut up! Don’t let him fool you!”

“Listen, friends,” said Bigfoot and raised his arms. “There’s no need to argue. Here’s how we will solve this. If I can prove to you that I don’t exist, you two will leave and never come back here, never tell anyone that you saw me so I can not-exist in peace. Okay?”

“And what if you can’t?” asked Atticus.

“Then the world is weirder than I thought… and you can shoot me if you want to.”

“Fine,” said Atticus. “Make your proof.”

The Bigfoot cleared his throat. “It’s simple. Tell me which one of the following two statements sounds truer: 

I am a walking, talking, breathing folklore legend, that speaks english and steals hiking boots for his children. 

You two are grown men, beating about the bushes, chasing after something that just isn’t there, trying to fill some empty void in yourselves with cheap thrill.”

“Oh my god, Atticus, he’s right,” said Beau. “What are we doing here? My wife surely misses me…”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” said Atticus.

“Exactly!” said Bigfoot, nodding his head eagerly. “Because I’m not real and you’re talking to yourselves right now. The empty bottles in your hands are proof enough.”

Then, the creature suddenly stood up and turned to leave. “Sorry again about the boots. I’ll be more careful next time.”

“Don’t you dare move or I shoot!” said Atticus. 

Bigfoot smiled, then walked into the blizzard, out of the fire’s light. Atticus did not shoot for some reason. The two men were once again alone, with only the wind for company.

***

The next morning Beau and Atticus woke up with a hangover of a lifetime. They had survived the night somehow, not freezing to death in their snow covered tent, having drunk all their liquor. With the events from the night fuzzy in their minds, they each experienced a profound revelation about life. 

One discovered that he was wasting it on something meaningless, while avoiding responsibility and decided to make some changes.

The other discovered that Bigfoots also had mind powers.