Attack of the Bayport Beast Read online

  “Really?” Frank asked.

  Hector shrugged. “Just saying.”

  “It makes sense,” I added. “They could use satchshovels. Okay, not funny.”

  Frank smirked and rolled his eyes. I almost got a laugh out of him.

  Benny grinned and pointed at my brother. “You just wait, Frank Hardy. We’re not leaving until we spot the beast.”

  We hiked for a couple more hours, winding around the forest’s many trails. Benny consulted his map and told stories of how hikers and campers either caught a fleeting glimpse or came face-to-face with Bayport’s own Bigfoot. We spotted a few more hikers, and Frank even saw a red-tailed hawk perched on the branch of a large oak. However, we did not see anything resembling the Bayport Beast.

  When the trail crossed an open field, Benny pointed to the other side. “In 1972 a hunter named Joseph Carroll spotted the beast near the tree line over there. That was back when you could still hunt here.”

  Benny led us to the other side of the field. “Carroll claimed to have shot the beast before it ran away. But he couldn’t find the body or even a blood trail.”

  “Maybe he wasn’t such a good shot,” I said.

  When the trail reached a dry creek bed, Benny stopped again. “In the summer of 1987, a young couple named Barry and Heidi Smith came upon the beast near that bank over . . . there.” He pointed to a spot on the opposite side of the dry creek. “This time, the beast chased them up this trail for almost a mile before finally leaving them alone.”

  “Whoa!” said Hector. “That thing will chase you?”

  “Some people have claimed that,” Benny replied.

  I glanced at Frank, who merely shrugged. I was glad he’d finally quit coming up with logical explanations for every sighting. He seemed to have decided to let Benny enjoy playing tour guide.

  Benny finished by leading us to the summit of another hill.

  “And now we’ll camp at the very spot where it all began.” Benny slipped out of his oversize pack. “This is the site of an early reported beast sighting—one of the first sightings ever.”

  “No kidding?” asked Hector.

  “Wasn’t it a mountain man or something?” I asked.

  “Yeah, a fur trader named Ezra Winslow,” Benny explained. “Winslow saw what he thought was another mountain man moving through the woods.”

  “Since wearing fur was no big thing to those guys, huh?” I asked.

  “Right,” agreed Benny. “He called out to the figure, but it wouldn’t stop. When Winslow finally caught up, the beast turned around and scared the heck out of him.”

  “I bet it did,” said Hector. He glanced at the dark woods. “I’m getting a little freaked out myself.”

  “Winslow dropped his musket and ran all the way back to his camp,” Benny continued. “The next day he came back with others and searched this very spot. They didn’t find any sign of the beast. But they did find Winslow’s musket . . . snapped in half.”

  “Well, that’s a clue,” I said.

  “Not really,” said Benny. “Everyone thought Winslow broke it himself. No one believed his story.”

  “I wonder why?” asked Frank. He removed his pack and handed it to me. “You set up the tent. I’m going to grab some firewood.”

  “How come I have to set up the tent?” I asked.

  Frank began counting on his fingers. “One: I drove us here. Two: you dragged me to that convention yesterday. And three: you have me hunting something that doesn’t exist.”

  I shrugged. “Fair points.” Hector and Benny smiled as Frank trudged off into the woods. “Don’t worry,” I told them. “He’s really having a great time.”

  By nightfall, we had our tents set up, a campfire blazing, and stomachs full of roasted hot dogs and canned beans. Frank had even lightened up as the conversation turned away from the beast and toward our usual topics—sports, girls, and funny things that had happened at school last year.

  “Why are you so into the Bayport Beast, anyway?” Hector asked Benny, breaking the unofficial conversational Beast Ban.

  Benny grinned. “Frank’s not going to believe me, but I saw it once.”

  I sat up straight. “For real?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Benny’s eyes lit up. “I was camping with my family when I was eight. One night I took my flashlight and stepped away from camp to, you know, answer the call of nature . . .”

  Frank and Hector laughed.

  Benny continued. “Well, after I was done, I heard these footsteps in the woods. Not animal footsteps, human footsteps. Something on two legs creeping through the brush. And the footsteps sounded like they were coming closer and closer to me.”

  Frank sighed. “Deer can sound like a person walking through the woods.”

  “Dude, really?” I asked.

  Frank held up both hands. “So can an armadillo. Just saying.”

  “He’s right,” said Benny. “But it wasn’t either of those. Because when I finally got the courage to point my flashlight in that direction, I saw it.”

  “The beast?” prompted Hector.

  Benny winced. “Well, kinda.”

  “What do you mean, ‘kinda’?” asked Frank.

  “Well, I was just a kid,” said Benny. “I wasn’t as tall as I am now. I spun my flashlight around and only caught the beast’s legs.”

  “That’s it?” asked Hector. “Why didn’t you shine your flashlight up?”

  “Because I was just a kid!” repeated Benny. “As soon as I saw those hairy beast legs, I ran back to camp and told my parents. My mom and dad returned with me, but we didn’t see anything.” A serious expression came over Benny’s face. “I don’t know if they really believed me, but I know it was real.”

  “Wow,” said Hector.

  I glanced at Frank, using all my sibling telepathy to get him to keep his mouth shut.

  “Cool,” was all he said. “I can see why that encounter would spark an interest.” It was a diplomatic answer—sympathetic yet noncommittal.

  “Aren’t you going to tell me it was a bear or something?” Benny asked.

  Frank raised his hands. “Hey, man. I wasn’t there. I have no idea what you saw.”

  Benny’s eyes narrowed. “I know what I saw.”

  I pointed to the map in Benny’s lap. “Where did it happen?” I asked, trying to quash any skirmish before it started.

  Benny happily unfolded the map and showed us a large X marked over a cluster of campsites near the trailhead.

  An hour later, the fire had died down to glowing coals and we climbed into our tents: Benny and Hector into one and Frank and me into the other. As Frank unzipped his sleeping bag, he gave me a knowing glance.

  “You know Benny only saw a bear, right?” he whispered.

  “Probably,” I agreed. “Benny is lucky he wasn’t bear chow.”

  We didn’t say anything else about it. Not only were the tent’s walls paper thin (I could hear Benny and Hector’s muffled conversation a few feet away), but I was also beat. From the sound of Frank’s immediate snoring, it seemed to be the same for him. He sounded like he fell asleep as soon as he was zipped inside his bag. I drifted off too, in spite of my brother’s droning snore in my left ear.

  The next morning Frank and I split up from the others. We hiked the trails until we came upon a pair of abandoned dirt bikes. It was time to take our beast hunt to the next level! We each hopped on one and soon trees raced by as we tore through the forest. We flung fantails of dirt as we skidded around hairpin turns. We soared high into the air as we jumped over rises.

  As we emerged into a large clearing. I caught movement in the distance. A tall, dark figure stood just outside the tree line—the Bayport Beast!

  The creature raised two long arms, bared rows of sharp teeth, and charged toward us. Both of us hit the brakes and jerked our bikes around. The beast hurtled closer. I twisted the throttle and my bike bolted forward as I poured on the speed. Up ahead, Frank had the same idea.

  Unfortuna
tely, my front tire hit an obstacle. I didn’t see what it was because I was too busy flying through the air—this time, without the dirt bike. I heard my bike crash behind me as I tumbled across the hard ground. The throttle must’ve been jammed, because the engine revved louder. When I rolled over, I saw the beast looming over me. It bared its jagged teeth again as it reached a bony hand toward my face.

  I started awake, breathing heavily. I stared up at the dark tent ceiling and marveled at my realistic dream. I could still hear the deep warble of my dirt bike.

  Only it wasn’t a dirt bike. Was Frank snoring again?

  “What’s that noise?” Frank whispered.

  As the sound grew louder, I realized that a human wasn’t making it; it was wet and guttural, as if an elephant seal was getting ready to break into song.

  “A bear?” I hissed.

  “No way,” Frank replied, though he didn’t sound confident.

  The noise grew louder, as if whatever was making it was moving closer.

  “Come on,” I said, unzipping my sleeping bag. I fumbled for my flashlight but couldn’t find it.

  “Aw, man,” Frank hissed. “My bag’s zipper! It’s stuck.”

  My hand finally found my flashlight and switched it on. That’s when the tent shook around us; something seemed to be pushing on the roof and at the sides.

  Something—or someone—was trying to get in!

  3

  WATCHER IN THE WOODS

  FRANK

  COME ON, COME ON,” I mumbled. The zipper on my sleeping bag wouldn’t budge. Something was pushing in on the thin fabric of our tent, trying to get through, but we couldn’t tell what.

  At first I thought it was a bear. It made the most sense, even though we had taken precautions by keeping our food strung up high in a tree. But this didn’t sound like any bear I’d ever heard. Plus, bears roar when they’re trying to fend off an attack, not when they’re scavenging for food.

  The zipper finally came free and I exploded out of my sleeping bag. We had to get out of there. Joe had the tent flap unzipped by the time I grabbed my own flashlight.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “On three,” I replied.

  “Three!” Joe shouted as he dove out of the tent.

  I was right behind him, rolling to a stop and jumping to my feet. Sticks and pinecones jabbed my socks, but I didn’t care. We had to get some distance between ourselves and the bear.

  When we were about twenty feet away, we stopped and aimed our flashlights back at the tent. Before our beams landed, though, I heard laughter.

  “Hey!” Joe shouted.

  Benny and Hector hovered over our tent. Hector had his hands on the ridgepole while Benny had his arms full with what looked like a coffee can.

  Joe doubled over, catching his breath. “What the heck . . .”

  “That was awesome!” Hector shouted. “You guys should be on the track team!”

  “Thought the beast had you, huh?” asked Benny.

  I marched back to the tent. “I thought it was a bear.” I pointed to the stuff in Benny’s arms. “What’s that?”

  Benny shifted to reveal a coil of thick rope on the ground beside him. One end jutted through a hole in the bottom of an extra-large coffee can. “I learned this in summer camp. All you need is a wet rope and a coffee can.” He pulled the rope through the hole, and a wet growl reverberated out of the metal can.

  “Cool,” Joe said as he joined us.

  I rounded on him. “Really?”

  Joe waved me off. “Hey, they got us.” He laughed. “I’m just sorry I didn’t think of it first.”

  My lips tightened. “Is this part of the tour?”

  Benny shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably not.”

  Hector pointed at me. “That was just for you, man.”

  I shook my head and sighed. “Fine. You got us.” I moved past them and crawled into our tent. “I’m going back to sleep.”

  “What’s with him?” I heard Hector ask from outside.

  “Frank’s serious about his sleep,” Joe replied.

  I climbed back into my sleeping bag as they continued to chat it up outside. I was so irritated by the prank that I didn’t expect to fall asleep for a good hour. But I was fast asleep before Joe finally made it back to the tent.

  The next morning, it was cold Pop-Tarts and juice for a quick breakfast before we set out. The conversation on the hike back went pretty much the way it had the day before, except this time I kept quiet. Everyone seemed to understand that I wasn’t thrilled about the prank, and I was content to follow along behind the rest of the group.

  The only one who didn’t understand why I was so irritated was . . . me. I’ve been on the receiving end of plenty of practical jokes (it’s hard to avoid that kind of thing with a brother like mine); I’ve even pulled a few myself. So I couldn’t figure out why this one bothered me so much.

  After more hiking, it dawned on me. Last night, for a moment, I’d actually entertained the idea that the Bayport Beast might exist. For that fraction of a second, all logic went out the window and I was a believer.

  I sighed. I guess I wasn’t annoyed with Benny and Hector; I was annoyed with myself. That’s one of the bad things about self-reflection; sometimes it makes you realize just how big of a jerk you’re being.

  Up ahead, the guys were almost out of sight. They rounded a bend and then disappeared over a rise. I quickened my pace down the trail. Lucky for me, my backpack wasn’t as full of food anymore, plus, we were hiking downhill, which made it easier. I figured I’d be able to catch up to them in no time.

  Just then I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Gazing into the woods, I stopped moving and slowed my breathing. I always enjoyed catching glimpses of wildlife and was quite good at spotting even the tiniest creature through dense foliage. But I didn’t see anything among the trees.

  I’d started walking again when this strange sensation crept over me; the feeling of being watched. I stopped and stared into the forest once more. Nothing.

  A twig cracked.

  I snapped my head to the side, following the direction of the sound, and peered through the greenery. There was nothing there.

  As I began to turn back around, I caught the slightest motion out of the corner of my eye.

  Peeking out between clumps of dense vegetation, about twenty feet away, were two eyes. My skin prickled when I realized that they were staring back at me.

  “Has to be a bear,” I whispered. The animal was hidden behind so much vegetation, all I could see were its eyes and a hint of dark fur.

  I’d seen a few bears before in these very woods. There are a lot of them around. They pretty much leave you alone if you leave them alone, slowly back away, and let them go about their bear business.

  But a bear has a face that looks like that of a big dog. These eyes didn’t look like that at all. A thick brow ran across them, making them look like those of a primate. Honestly, they resembled what Bigfoot’s eyes might look like.

  “No, it’s a bear,” I whispered again. “Gotta be.”

  Whatever the creature was, it was far away, and the shadows from the morning sun made it look more simian. That had to be it.

  Not wanting to scare it away, I slowly reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. Maybe if I got a photo, I could zoom in and prove to myself that it was only a bear.

  Then I saw something that let me know it wasn’t a bear at all. The creature had been so still that I hadn’t noticed its arm before. But its long arm (much longer than a bear’s) moved up as it released a small branch it had been holding down. The pair of eyes disappeared behind a clump of leaves.

  I had been so mesmerized that I hadn’t taken a picture. I finally pressed the button as an explosion of sound and movement happened twenty feet away. Whatever I saw had just disappeared over the slope of a small ravine.

  I left the trail and gave chase. Running with a backpack is difficult, but running through dense vegetation with a
backpack is nearly impossible. By the time I’d fought my way to the edge of the ravine, the creature was nowhere in sight. I remained perfectly still and scanned the woods. There was no movement, no sound, nothing. It was gone.

  But what was gone?

  4

  THE EXPEDITION

  JOE

  I SCANNED THROUGH RADIO STATIONS as Frank and I drove home, desperate to fill the silence. My brother must have really been upset. Not only had he barely said two words all day, but it usually drives him crazy when I mess with his car stereo.

  Finally I turned off the music. “Dude, it was just a prank.”

  “I know,” Frank said. “Look, Benny apologized. Hector apologized. You apologized, and you were pranked along with me.” He shook his head. “Just like I told Benny a hundred times, I’m over it. No big deal.”

  “Then why the silent treatment?” I asked.

  “I just . . . ,” Frank began. “I’m trying to figure something out.”

  “What?” I asked.

  Frank tightened his lips. “On the way back down the trail, when I was alone, I saw . . . at least I think I saw—”

  I slapped the dashboard so hard it made Frank jump. “Holy guacamole! You saw it, didn’t you?!!”

  “Hey!” Frank shouted. “Easy on the car.”

  “I can’t believe it,” I said. “The guy who doesn’t believe in Bigfoot in the first place. The guy who thinks cryptozoology is bogus. The guy who—”

  “Yeah, I get it,” Frank cut me off.

  “Dude, I’m so jealous.” I settled into my seat. “What was it like?”

  “First of all, I don’t know exactly what I saw,” he said. “Whatever it was, there has to be a logical explanation. That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

  I took in a deep breath. “Then let’s work it out together. Tell me everything.”

  Frank related the story in detail. When he was done, I sat quietly, running through the facts in my mind.

  Frank glanced over at me. “Thoughts?”

  “You were quick to say it wasn’t a bear,” I said. “But what about another animal? A raccoon? A badger?”