Attack of the Bayport Beast Read online

  Frank shook his head. “It was too big.”

  “A deer or elk?” I tried.

  “Big, long, hairy arm, remember?” he said.

  I thought for a second longer and then snapped my fingers. “Guy in a gorilla suit.”

  Frank tilted his head to the side. “I considered that, but this thing moved fast. It took me forever to fight through all the undergrowth. Whatever this was zipped along as if it were nothing. No human could do that.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know, bro. Anything you’re leaving out?”

  “Just one.” Frank dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “I got a picture.”

  I snatched the phone from his hand. “Don’t you think you should’ve led with that?”

  “Well . . . ,” Frank began.

  When I pulled up the photo, I realized why he hadn’t. The image was one black blur surrounded by a green blur. The green part was so fuzzy that I could barely tell it was taken in the woods.

  “Send this to CNN,” I said sarcastically. “This is definitive proof.”

  “I know, right?” said Frank. “I’m packing a real camera next time.”

  I smiled. “Next time?”

  “Look, I’m not saying I saw the Bayport Beast,” said Frank. “But like you said, this is a mystery, and it’s one I intend to solve.”

  “Whether you have the beast bug or not,” I said, “count me in.”

  We went home to shower, wash our campfire-smoke-saturated clothes, and pack for a real expedition two days later. Frank made me promise not to tell our parents or our aunt Trudy about his sighting. As far as they were concerned, we were heading out on another backpacking trip, something we’ve done many times before.

  “I can pack some food for you,” Aunt Trudy offered.

  “Thanks, Aunt T,” I said. “But we’re traveling light. We’ll head over to Bayport Sports tomorrow and grab some packaged camp meals.”

  Aunt Trudy wrinkled her nose. “Dehydrated food. I don’t see how anyone can call that a meal.”

  The next morning we set out on our supply run. We had two stops to make—the sporting goods store and Triple B Comics. Hopefully, Benny would make a copy of his map for us.

  As we pulled up to the shop, Frank warned, “Not a word to Benny!”

  “Seriously?” I asked. “Benny is one of the few people who would actually believe you.”

  Frank shook his head. “He’ll want to come. We can cover more ground if we don’t have to hear about every sighting in Bayport history.”

  I nodded. “True.”

  Frank sighed. “Plus . . . he’ll never let me live it down.”

  I climbed out of the car. “Right on both counts, bro.”

  We entered the comic shop to find Benny at the front counter, hunched over a stack of paper. He looked up. “Hi, guys,” he said. His eyes landed on my brother. “Look, Frank . . .”

  My brother held up both hands. “Again, it’s fine. No big deal.”

  I saw an opportunity. “You know how you can make it up to us?” I asked. “You can get us a copy of that map.”

  Benny’s eyes lit up. “You’re going back out?”

  Frank shrugged. “Just for some hiking.” He jutted a thumb in my direction. “Joe thought it would be cool to have a copy of your map.”

  I shook my head. My own brother had thrown me under the bus.

  “Funny you should mention that.” Benny reached toward the stack of pages he’d been studying when we walked in. “Check out my new product. Bayport Beast maps. Just ten bucks each.”

  Frank took one. “Aren’t these the same trail maps they give out at the park’s visitor center?”

  “But I marked the location of every beast sighting,” Benny said proudly.

  Frank examined Benny’s work. “You know that these maps are free at the park, right?”

  Benny grinned. “Those don’t have my marks.”

  “You’re going to actually charge us after that stunt you pulled?” asked Frank in disbelief.

  “Okay, I’ll give you guys my friend rate—five bucks.”

  While my brother and Benny haggled over the price, I noticed that a man had entered the shop. He was tall and thin, and he wore a dark blue blazer and jeans. He had a bandage on his forehead, and his crazy brown hair looked as if it had been styled in the backseat of a convertible. The man scanned a few comic books on one of the big wall racks.

  “Okay, okay, you can have one,” Benny relented. “But if anyone asks, tell them where you got it. And that you paid full price.”

  I leaned in to get a closer look at the unfolded map. “And this is up to date?”

  “That’s the best part,” Benny explained. “It’s color coded. All the blue Xs are sightings from this year!”

  Like Benny’s map from our trip earlier, this one had large black Xs scattered around it. Three or four blue Xs were mixed in with the black ones in the main trail area, while on the right side of the map, far away from the other marked spots, was a cluster of blue Xs.

  Frank eyed him suspiciously. “How do you know about all these sightings anyway? You never did tell us.”

  Benny glanced around the store, then leaned forward. “One of the park rangers gives me the inside scoop,” he whispered.

  “Isn’t that against some confidentiality rule or something?” I asked.

  Benny shook his head. “No, man. I just get the info a little before the public does.”

  I pointed to the blue Xs located away from the rest. “What about those?” I asked.

  “Those sightings happened on the expert trails, and all within the last week,” Benny replied. “I would’ve taken us there, but it’s almost a full day’s hike, and they’re steep.”

  I examined the trails leading to the cluster of marks. They were miles away from where Frank had had his sighting. I made a mental note to add my brother’s sighting to the map later.

  “So when are you guys heading out?” Benny asked.

  “Well,” Frank began, “we’re not sure—”

  “Excuse me,” came a voice behind us. “May I purchase one of those maps?”

  It was the guy with the wild hair.

  “You bet,” Benny replied.

  “I saw your booth at the convention,” the man told Benny. “And I thought I might have a moment of your time. You seem to be the resident expert on this Bayport Beast, setting up tours even.”

  Benny stood up a little straighter. “Well, I mean, I don’t know if I’m an expert. . . .”

  “Don’t listen to him,” I told the man. “He’s the real deal.”

  “You see, I’m scouting locations for a TV show,” the man continued. “You may have heard of it, Stalking Sasquatch?”

  Benny grinned. “One of my favorites!” He turned to us. “These guys travel all over the country to investigate reported sightings, set up hidden cameras in the woods, and try to find definite proof of Bigfoot’s existence.”

  It sounded exactly like every other Bigfoot reality show I had heard of, but if Benny the Beast liked it, then it must be one of the better ones.

  Our excited friend spun back to the man. “I especially like Duncan Lane’s Sasquatch call.” Benny cupped his hands around his mouth, tilted his head back, and let out a series of short barks.

  The man laughed. “I’ll tell Duncan you’re a fan.” He held out a hand. “I’m Rex Johansson.”

  “Ben Williams,” said Benny as he shook the man’s hand.

  I saw our perfect out. “Benny is your source for everything Bayport Beast.” I nudged Frank as I backed away. “We’ll leave you to it.”

  “Uh, yeah,” Frank agreed. We were almost to the door. “Thanks for the map, Benny.”

  “Okay, guys,” Benny said. “Text me when you go out to—” The door shut behind us, cutting off his sentence.

  Frank and I jogged to the car. “That was close,” I said.

  5

  THE BENEFACTOR

  FRANK

  GOTTA H
AVE SPAGHETTI AND MEATBALLS,” Joe said as he rattled a foil pouch. He dropped it into our cart with the others.

  I counted about ten bags of dehydrated meals. “How long do you plan on camping out?”

  Joe shrugged. “We have a mystery to solve, bro. No telling how long it’ll take.”

  “You watch too many survival shows,” I told him. “I’m not spending my entire summer chasing Bigfoot.”

  Shopping at Bayport Sports was always dangerous. They had the latest camping supplies, survival gear, and sporting equipment. If Joe wasn’t threatening to spend his life’s savings on a new catcher’s mitt, I was busy drooling over the latest climbing harness.

  “Hey, check these out!” Joe’s voice came from the next aisle.

  I pushed our cart over to the hunting section. This part of the store was chock-full of camouflage clothing, chemicals to mask human scent, and devices that imitated animal calls.

  My brother was holding a clear package containing a box the size of a thick book. There were lenses on its front, and the entire thing was covered in a woodland camouflage pattern.

  “Oh, a game camera! I’ve heard of those,” I said. “Hunters strap them to trees to determine what kind of animals are in the area.”

  “Totally cheating,” said Joe. “But check it out: it’s motion activated and it has an infrared sensor.” He pointed to a green-tinted photo of a deer on the back. “You leave it out overnight and then check the memory card in the morning to see what came by.” He turned to me. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “I doubt it,” I replied.

  “A few of these would make our beast hunt so much easier,” Joe explained. “Just like the guys in Benny’s favorite Sasquatch show.”

  “You didn’t check the price, as usual.” I pointed to the rack of cameras. “The cheapest one here is way out of our price range.”

  Joe’s shoulders sank. “I guess that’s that.”

  “Perhaps I can help,” said a voice behind us.

  We both spun to see Rex Johansson standing there with a grin on his face.

  “Hey, are you following us?” Joe asked half-jokingly.

  Johansson’s eyes widened. “No, no.” He scratched his head. “Well, yes. I mean . . . your friend Ben said I might find you here. He suspects you are about to embark on a search for the Bayport Beast.”

  “Uh, we’re just going camping,” I said.

  “Well, your friend also mentioned you’ve done some detective work in the past,” he continued. “Seems that last year you lent your services to another production company while they filmed a movie here.”

  “That was us,” Joe said proudly.

  It was true that my brother and I had solved a case on the set of a cool zombie movie that was filming in Bayport. Someone was trying to sabotage the production, and we helped unmask the culprits. As usual, Police Chief Olaf wasn’t so thrilled with our involvement. Of course, Olaf has never been happy with us working any case in Bayport. I think it has something to do with the fact that we make him look bad; we can usually solve cases a lot faster than he and his team can.

  “Well, maybe you can help with my production,” said Johansson. “We’re very interested in this Bayport Beast of yours. And your friend Ben has been a wealth of information. We’ll probably interview him for the show.”

  I smiled. “He’s going to love that.”

  “How can we help?” Joe asked.

  “I overheard you talking about these game cameras,” Johansson explained. “I’d like to purchase a few and have you place them during your expedition.” He gestured at the wall of cameras. “You can bring them back to me when you’re finished.”

  “Why us?” I asked. “If you’re here scouting locations, can’t you place them?”

  Johansson placed a hand on his chest. “I’m scouting locations in town, for interviews and whatnot.” He glanced around. “To be completely honest, I detest camping.”

  Joe laughed. “Isn’t that all the show is?” he asked. “A bunch of guys camping in the woods looking for Bigfoot?”

  The man smiled. “Yes, but I’m not actually on the show. While our trackers are trudging around in the woods along with the mosquitos and bears, I’m in my nice clean hotel room.”

  “But what if the cameras don’t photograph the beast?” I asked.

  Johansson laughed. “Oh, I’m sure they won’t. You watch the show, don’t you? We never actually find proof of Bigfoot. It would be a short season if we did.”

  “So what good are the cameras?” I said.

  “With this many sightings in one area, there’s something out there,” the man explained. “We always try to provide alternate theories during our show. Maybe it’s someone in a gorilla suit, a rabid bear, a mange-ridden coyote . . . who knows? Hopefully you’ll find out what it is.”

  Joe smiled at me. “Sounds like a mystery.”

  Johansson clapped his hands together. “Splendid!” He pulled five cameras off the rack and placed them in our cart.

  We followed Mr. Johansson to the front of the store to check out. He offered to pay for our camp meals too, but I wouldn’t let him. It didn’t seem right, since we were going to buy them anyway.

  Once outside, we loaded our borrowed gear into the car. Then Mr. Johansson spread out his copy of Benny’s map. He pointed to the cluster of sightings on the main trail. “I want you to place the cameras around these sightings, here.”

  Joe pointed to the more recent cluster on the secluded trails. “What about over here?” he asked. “These happened not so long ago—last week, in fact.”

  The man shook his head. “Honestly, if our crew does come here, they won’t be interested in those areas. Too remote and hard to reach.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card with a metallic silver logo that sparkled in the light. It looked like a tiny flagpole with a silver flag jutting out on each side. A spring circled the bottom of the pole, and the entire thing was enclosed within an upside-down silver triangle.

  “Sorry, this is an old card.” Johansson produced a pen and scratched out some information on the front of the card. When he was finished, all that was left were the logo and a phone number. He had written in his name. “Call me when you get back with the cameras.”

  6

  MINOR ADJUSTMENT

  JOE

  YOU’RE TOO SUSPICIOUS,” I TOLD my brother.

  Frank typed Johansson’s name into another search engine. “First that guy popped up at the convention, then the comic book shop, then the sporting goods store. He seems to turn up wherever we are. Of course I’m suspicious.”

  Ever since we’d returned home from the store, I’d been packing while Frank had been glued to his laptop. He’d searched Stalking Sasquatch’s official website as well as some other databases that listed cast and crew members, but so far he’d come up with nothing on Mr. Johansson.

  “You know, if I have to pack your clothes for you too, you’re not going to like it.”

  “I’m done, I’m done.” Frank closed the laptop and hopped off the bed. He ran into his room to pack.

  Luckily, most of our camping gear was still in our packs from the last trip; we just needed to stow food, plenty of water, and a couple of real cameras. Frank was finished minutes later.

  “I couldn’t find evidence of him anywhere,” he admitted when he was back in my room. “I know not everyone has an obvious presence on the Internet, but I thought with him being in television there would be something.”

  “Think he works under a different name?” I asked. “It’s been known to happen.”

  “Maybe,” replied Frank. “But there’s not a different name printed on the business card.”

  Frank had searched for the logo on the business card too. Unfortunately, my brother couldn’t find anything on that, either. We’d assumed it was the logo for the show’s production company, but it wasn’t.

  “And why did he scratch out that other info?” Frank asked, holding the business card up
to the light. “I wonder if we could wash the ink off somehow.”

  “Dude, you’re spending way too much time on this,” I said.

  I don’t know why my brother was so interested in this guy. We had a real mystery on our hands (kinda), and someone asking us to solve it (also kinda). I know it wasn’t the kind of mystery we usually solved, but I was thrilled that my brother was finally interested in cryptozoology.

  But Frank’s a Hardy, after all. Once you set us on a mystery, no matter how small, we’re like bloodhounds; we don’t stop until we find out where it ends. And hidden information, no matter how insignificant it may seem, is still a mystery.

  I spread the map across my bed. Earlier that day, Frank had added his sighting to the map. I put a finger on the new mark. “I say we put a camera around here for sure.”

  Frank glanced at the map. “For sure.”

  I scanned the cluster of marks among the advanced trails. “I wonder why he doesn’t want at least one camera up here. These sightings are way more current. It seems too good an opportunity to pass up.”

  “Maybe it’s just like he said,” Frank suggested. “Too hard to get to.”

  “Now who’s taking him at face value?” I asked.

  Frank smiled. “It was a good reason. Remember all the equipment the movie people used when they were here?”

  I thought back to all the semitrailers parked along Cheshire Avenue. The production company had used big rigs to haul in the camera trailer, the makeup trailer, the special effects trailer, and more. The usually quiet residential street had resembled a crowded truck stop.

  “I’m sure they don’t use that much equipment for a reality show,” Frank continued. “But even if they used a sixteenth of the gear, that’s a lot to lug up those trails.”

  I scanned the map and traced my finger along a winding mountain road. “Yeah, they’d have to drive up Route 19.” A bend in the road came close to a bend in one of the trails. “There’s no way to safely park a big semi on that narrow road.”

  “Right,” Frank agreed.

  I leaned closer. “But you know what? We can.”

  Frank moved closer to the map. “What do you mean?”