Yeren

By Tony Monchinski

For decades the North Point Ranch in upstate New York has brought families together for good times and happy memories.

All that is about to change.

An evil force has awakened in the woods, an ancient race displaced by the spread of civilization.

Over the course of a three day period, the guests and employees of the resort will fnd themselves pitted against a terror none thought real. 

But the Bigfoot is real.

And they are angry.

It's no longer a matter of peaceful coexistence.

Now it all boils down to survival.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tony Monchinski
• Release date: Jun 18, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393497240

Book preview

Dedicated to the Fouke Monster of Boggy Creek, Yetrigar from the Godzilla comics, and all the other Bigfoot of my youth

Autumn

1995

Tuesday

H ow old is Mesa now , Grandpa?

She’s twenty-two this year.

That’s pretty old for a horse, isn’t it?

It is, Abby. John Michalik stood with his granddaughter watching Mesa and the other retired horses grazing in their paddock. It is.

Mesa was on the other side of the fence directly across from the old man and the little girl, head bowed, chewing grass. A crisp late afternoon, the sun shone bright in the sky above them, not a cloud in sight. They’d ridden the golf cart down from the house. Now ol’ Mesa there, John told his granddaughter, Mesa was your momma’s favorite horse when she was your age. Your Uncle Bobby went with me out to Ohio to get her.

You went all the way to Ohio to buy mom a horse?

"Well, Miss Mesa there is a very special girl. John Michalik wore his big .45 on his hip, under his shearling jacket. And she was for a very special girl. Your momma." This was his land, the Colt Model 1911 was his favorite pistol he owned, and it was his right to carry it. It wasn’t just a Second Amendment thing for the rancher either. It might not happen often, but having a bear wander too close to the house or the resort wasn’t unheard of. Each building over on the North Point Ranch grounds was equipped with a shotgun or rifle, just in case.

It’s funny... Abigail reached through the wooden slats to pet the crest of Shelby’s neck, the roan’s head down as she grazed next to Mesa. Imagining mom growing up out here, riding horses.

Your mom wasn’t a half bad wrangler when she was younger. You used to love to ride Mesa when you’d come and visit, when you were a little girl.

Not a lot of horses in the city.

I’d guess not. John had asked his housekeeper, Carmen, to pick up a gift for Abigail. Carmen had a young daughter herself, named Sofia, so John figured the woman would have a better idea of what a little girl would be into than he would. He’d been doubtful when she’d come back with a stuffed plush pillow that looked like a poop, but Abigail loved it. She had it under one arm now. How’s that going for you, growing up in the city?

It’s good. Something’s got Charlie excited.

The dog was over past the barn, barking his head off.

That dog is half crazy, John dismissed his mutt with the wave of a hand. Sometimes he yaps at his own shadow. He’s going to bark himself hoarse is what he’s going to do. Forgive the pun.

Funny, grandpa.

How’s your father making out these days?

He’s good. I see him a couple times a month, on weekends.

I know he’d like to see you more.

Yeah, well... Abigail’s voice trailed off like she was done talking, but John waited. Waiting was something he was good at. Time and life had taught him nothing if not patience. After a while, his granddaughter spoke again. It was mom’s decision to move further away. Not like dad could just get up and leave, not with his job and all.

It’s tough, I get it. I feel for your father, Abby. Feel for your mother too. The divorce wasn’t easy on either of them.

Then she shouldn’t have done what she did.

Yeah, well... John reached up and adjusted the brim of his Stetson. You might not approve of your momma’s actions. But she’s still your momma. And I know she’d do anything for you.

His granddaughter didn’t reply. Abigail stopped petting Shelby and her hands were nestled in the pockets of her jacket, the poop pillow tucked under her arm. John didn’t want to push it too far, but he asked, Have you tried talking to her about this?

His granddaughter hrmphed. She says I’ll understand when I’m older.

You might. The old man looked out to where the dog continued his incessant barking. I won’t lie to you, Abigail... What was that batty old mutt carrying on about? There’s a lot of things in this world never made sense to me. Still don’t.

You know...mom doesn’t talk about him much.

Who’s that? Your dad?

No, she talks about him. Abigail clutched her plush pillow to her chest. Uncle Bobby, I mean.

Mmm, John nodded, understanding. Sometimes it hurts. To talk about the ones who aren’t around anymore.

I guess.

You know, sometimes the guests, their kids used to ask what we did when the horses got too old for riding. Your Uncle Bobby would tell ‘em—you know what he would tell them? That we sold them to the glue factory. The little girl laughed. Should have seen the looks on their faces. Had a wicked sense of humor on him, your Uncle Bobby.

Mom has told me stories.

Has she now? John Michalik smiled at his granddaughter. I’m glad you and your mom came to visit. I know Carmen is happy to see you too. Sofia’s ecstatic.

Sofia is getting big.

That’s what I say looking at you. Last time I saw you, you were maybe a little bigger than Sofia is now.

They stood together for a few moments in comfortable silence, looking over Mesa and Shelby and the other old horses in the paddock; the red, Dutch barn where the horses were stabled; the expanse of grass stretching out around the barn and the house up the hill behind them; at Charlie barking into the tree line, the forested slopes of the mountains rising and falling around them.  

Does he do this often? Abigail meant Charlie.

Here. Feed her some of this. John handed his granddaughter a paper bag he’d filled with celery from the kitchen fridge. Shelby likes this. Mesa too. Let me go over and see what’s gotten his goat.

He left his granddaughter to feed Shelby the celery, making his way around the fence over towards Charlie. John was seventy-one years old but his gait remained steady and solid. He prided himself that he’d kept his hair, which had gone almost all white now, that he still stood tall and straight, and that he didn’t falter when he walked or need a cane like so many others his age or younger. Some of it, he knew, was his own doing, a life of hard work and discipline. Some of it he knew he had to chalk up to luck and genetics, like the hair.

What’s the matter, boy?

Charlie had his front paws lowered to the ground, hindquarters raised, growling at the trees no more than forty yards from them.

Go on! John Michalik raised his voice at the dog. "Get!" He lifted his hand and Charlie ran off back towards the barn and the paddock, towards Abigail and the horses, barking once or twice over his shoulder. The rancher stood and considered the trees. A solid mass of evergreens, their strong, straight trunks steepled towards the sky, shadows enveloping the spaces beneath and between them. He looked but there was nothing to see, and yet, John Michalik felt there was something...

Looking down, he spied the impression in the ground.

It had rained a couple of days earlier, pretty heavily, and the earth, dried and crusted over today, had been muddy. The rancher found himself staring at a paw print of some sort he didn’t recognize. It was only a partial imprint, but John could clearly make out the flattened arch, the elongated sole. The five broad, wide toes, each similar in size, each ending in a claw indentation. He planted his own size eleven Tony Lama boot beside the imprint and noted how much larger the print was than his own foot. Considerably so.

Glancing over to his right, John didn’t see another print. He took a few steps back, looking for others, but there were none to be seen. He walked past the imprint, towards the trees, searching for more, not finding any. John Michalik returned to the lone print and stood over it, thinking.

He’d been an outdoorsman all his life, even before he and Margaret opened the resort for business. He’d seen all manner of tracks up here: wild cats, wolf and deer, the occasional bear. Over in the war he’d learned to spot other tracks: the enemy’s rubber soled shoes; the Chinese man’s foot typically smaller than a western man’s. John was good at discerning tracks, but this one...   

What he stood looking at here, this was a track he didn’t recognize.

The shadows gathered under the trees, masking trunks and branches. John looked into the gloom. Nothing moved there. And yet...

Whatever it was, John thought, again focused on the imprint, it was big. And then it struck him, that feeling he’d had, looking off into the trees. That disquieting, not-quite-right intuition. It was the feeling that something out there was watching him. He hadn’t experienced it, not in this way, not since the war. The rancher studied the tree line, squinting into the shadows. His right hand brushed against the grip of his pistol, reassuring himself of its presence.

The sun had moved overhead, and the shadows among the trees began to spread out across the field. It would be dark in another hour.

John Michalik glanced down at the track a final time before backing up, turning around, and walking over to rejoin his granddaughter. In the distance he could see his old dog, Charlie, up by the house, sitting on his haunches.

Abigail was finishing feeding the celery to the horses. Mesa, Butch and Wildfire had wandered over to join in Shelby’s treat. The girl looked up at him and smiled. What is it, grandpa?

Oh, probably a bear or something, maybe.

She looked at him then, the way her mother could look at him, and he knew the girl was seeing right through his malarky. Grandpa, Abigail said, sounding more adult than an eleven-year-old should. Before I thought you said you weren’t going to lie to me.

Come on, John gestured towards the golf cart. We’d better get inside. Sofia is going to be wondering where you went.

They climbed into the golf cart, the rancher casting a wary eye back towards the track and the trees beyond.

THAT REAL? AL SHAKURSKY kept one eye on the road, the other on the velvet box in Connor’s hand.

Course it’s real.

What are you carrying that around for, kid? Al shook his head, returning his full attention to the road.

I’m seeing Janice tonight.

Oh, shit. The Chevy Silverado bounced on the uneven dirt track. To call it a road would be generous. But that wasn’t why Al cursed. You’re going to pop the question. Is that it?

That’s it, Connor snapped the plush jewelry box closed. Why?

Why what?

I couldn’t help but notice a distinct lack of enthusiasm there, Al.

Yeah, you did, didn’t ya? Hold on. The truck jolted as a tire dipped into and out of an unavoidable rut. The red Craftsman portable toolbox between them rattled and Connor laid a forearm down across it to keep it from catapulting around the cab.

Come on, Al. You and Nancy have been married, what? Thirty years? 

Twenty-five. Don’t keep adding time to my sentence.

On either side of the trail, Northern Red Oaks and Sugar Maples loomed, their limbs brushing the Chevy as it forged ahead. The road was more of a slash through nature others had ripped through time, and it was easy to imagine Mother Nature had taken her toll on many of the vehicles that passed this way. Al Shakursky marveled that the company trucks ever made it through here to begin with. Every time they drove this route, he half expected to lose a tire or bust an axle and be stranded in the middle of nowhere.

Least if it happened today, Connor was with him. And Al was having a good time busting the younger man’s balls.

Hey, kid. You know what the Spanish word for handcuffs is?

No.

"Esposa." 

Yeah. So?

"You know what the Spanish word for wife is? Esposa. You think that’s a coincidence?"

Connor laughed because he knew Al was joking with him. He placed the jewelry box with the engagement ring in the deep pockets of his company-issued work pants. When Al called him earlier and asked him to come out, Connor hadn’t wanted to. It was getting to be later in the day, and he’d expected to relax until his date with Jan. Still, he’d agreed. Al Shakursky was more than his foreman at work. He was Connor’s friend. Connor knew the older man looked out for him. Got him overtime, the same overtime that had helped him pay for the ring. So of course he’d said yes, he’d take a ride out to the job site with Al, and he’d committed fully, wearing his Pearson Gas & Electric company-issued tan-colored work pants and a work shirt over steel-toed work boots. Al, on the other hand, wore jeans and a flannel shirt under his Carhartt sandstone jacket with its Corduroy-trimmed collar.

I tell what you, Al, keep it up and I won’t invite you to the bachelor party.

There going to be a stripper?

Probably. 

Oh, well, excuse me then, kid. Congratulations. Ah, look, I’m just messing with you. You spend enough time with anyone, they’re going to drive you crazy.

Yeah, I’m seeing that.

Oh, you’re funny, kid. Al chuckled. Hold on. The big 18-inch tires spun in the mud before they found traction.

Well, said Connor as the Silverado’s rear straightened out, bumping and lurching ahead. He gripped the assist handle mounted above the passenger side door to brace himself. At least it isn’t raining.

Raining? It’ll be snowing soon enough. Al downshifted, steering the truck around a particularly egregious pit in the road. I mean it though. You and Janice. Congrats. Me and Nance? We been driving each other crazy for twenty-five years.  

Well, God bless Nancy, then. I’ve only been in this truck with you a half hour and you’ve got me ready to be institutionalized.

Al Shakursky chuckled.

The truck continued to buck and pitch on the rutted path, rattling the tools inside the toolbox and the men inside the cab.

Thanks for taking the ride up with me, kid.

Not a problem.

Reception up here sucks. This whole job site sucks.

You think Rory really isn’t getting your calls?

Or what? He’s ignoring them?

I’ve tied a few on with Rory before.

Yeah, so have I. Al knew what Connor was getting at. If Rory had gone off on a bender, it’d be like he’d fallen off the face of the earth. But, nah, I don’t think we’re going to get up there and find them laying around wasted.

Would be some sight if we did.

Would piss me off if we did. Son of a bitch would owe me to keep quiet on that one, that’s for sure.

Couple more weeks and we’re done, right?

Oh, we’re done now, kid. Just cleaning up. Make these nature lovers happy...

In all the miles they’d driven since leaving town they hadn’t encountered another human being. Now, as the road widened out up ahead, there were pitch tents and a fire pit set up. Half a dozen young men and women stood around, eyeing the truck. Al noted that some of the men had hair longer than the women. He saw more than one tie dyed t-shirt under a flannel. For his money, the most incongruous site was the tall guy with the hipster hat. Well, Al figured, there was no helping a hipster.

Al? Has that one gone and chained himself to that tree?

What it looks like. Al waved to the protestors. Some turned their heads away in disdain at the sight of the Pearson Gas & Electric logo emblazoned on the side of the cab.

I don’t know, Connor turned in his seat to get a better look as they passed through the camp. That blonde is kind of cute.

Kid. Weren’t you just showing me that rock you bought for Janice?

Just because I’ve got a Picasso on the wall at home doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a Rembrandt from time to time. Very wise man told me that once.

Yeah, Al smiled. I did.

Yes, you did.

They rounded a bend and lost sight of the camp and the protestors.

REDNECKS.

That’s not nice, Adley. 

"That’s not nice, Adley. James, what are we, five? We gotta be nice?"

Come on, quit your bickering you two. Jackson removed his hat and scratched his head. A few days without a shower and he was missing his modern conveniences. "We’re out here what? Almost three days and you guys are going all Lord of the Flies on us."

It was true. After less than seventy-two hours with no internet and no cell phone connections, various levels of boredom and irritation had settled into the group of protestors.

What can I say? asked James. Calling those guys ‘rednecks’ just isn’t nice. They’re working stiffs, like the rest of us. He took a look around at who was there with him again. Well, maybe not like all of us...

Do you want to know, Adley, chained to a tree, said to the group. What my issue with James, is?

What’s that? James himself asked, genuinely curious.

He’s simple, Adley answered, as though James himself had not invited the answer. "Yeah, I know. He’s got the big degree from Oberlin. Oohh! Impressive. But when it comes to so much in this life, the man is just, for lack of a better word, simple."

I don’t know, James kept his cool, reminding himself Adley was just talking smack, that Adley was the one locked to a tree. Those guys? Up here? James had come along on this trip to get closer to Sadie. This is their job. But, as it turned out, Sadie had gotten closer to Hudson. This is what puts food on the table. Same-tent-at-night kind-of-closer. Shoes on their kids’ feet.

These are trees, James. Greer was short and played down her femininity, her hair cut short. Nature.

Yeah, Greer. I get that too. I’m just saying. We’re from the city. We’ve got a pretty rarified lifestyle maybe compared to most of the men and women who depend on these woods for their living.

They’re cutting the trees down, James. Of them all, Hudson looked the most like he belonged out here. He was as tall as Jackson but burly in blue jeans and a flannel jacket. With his bushy beard, he looked like a lumberjack and fit in out here as easily as he fit into a second hand record store or bike shop in the city. They do that, there goes their living.

Like I said, Adley scoffed against his Red Oak. Simple.

I don’t know, said Chrissy. I wouldn’t describe James as simple. I’d say he’s uncomplicated.

Thanks. James liked Chrissy too. She was blonde and she was pretty. But she was Jackson’s girl.

"Simple sounds... Chrissy stood looking at the trees around them. Simple sounds stupid."

Exactly what I was going for.

Not helping, Adley. Jackson removed his hat to scratch his head. Yeah, what he wouldn’t give for a shower.

You see the way they were looking at us? Hudson’s voice was a low rumble from under his beard. They’re not so happy with us being up here.

I saw the way they were checking out Chrissy, Greer said. That I saw.

You see that, Jackson? Adley called from the tree. The way they were scoping your girl?

Yeah, I saw that. Jackson smiled, confident. Makes me feel like king stud.

Hah! Chrissy laughed.

I’m not so happy being up here, Sadie, cross-legged and drawing patterns in the forest floor with a stick, spoke up for the first time. It’s starting to get cold. Brrr.

Sun is going down, Hudson looked up through the tree limbs.

Stop whining, Sadie, said Adley. Think of all the good we’re doing here. 

I’m just saying, Sadie flicked a small rock with her stick. It’s getting cold.

Getting? James hunched up his shoulders.

Come on, people! Jackson slapped his thigh. Another day or two, we’ll be back home, warm in our beds.

Not me, Adley remained adamant, chained to the trunk. I’ll stay here until they try to cut this beauty out from under me.

Hey, Jackson. Hudson’s low rumble. It’s getting late. We should go and collect more wood for the fire.

Yeah, good idea. James, you mind getting dinner going?

That I can do. James liked the idea of being near the fire.

We’re not having tofu burgers again, are we? asked Greer. Those didn’t taste so good last night.

Chrissy nodded in agreement. They don’t grill right on an open flame.

It’s all we’ve got, James pronounced. Unless Hudson can catch something out there while you’re out gathering wood.

What do you think is out there? Sadie cast a nervous eye into the woods.

Badger, Beaver, Bear, Hudson ventured. "And that’s just the b’s."  

I’m vegan, Hudson.

Yeah, Greer, congratulations on that. Adley didn’t look or sound very comfortable secured to the Red Oak. I didn’t fight my way to the top of the food chain to be vegetarian.

Let’s get going. Hudson brandished a hand-held axe. We’ll see what we can do.

What do you think you’re going to catch out there with that? Chrissy asked him.

I don’t know. A woodchuck or something maybe.

James? Jackson called back as they walked off. You know how to cook one of those?

I’ll figure it out.

They filed off into the trees and the shadows to retrieve fallen limbs and other brush. James squatted down at the circle of rocks where they made their fires and began arranging what they had left so he could light it. Sadie continued to sit on the ground and draw in the dirt with her stick. James would have said something to her, struck up conversation, but figured why bother.

Sadie was with Hudson, Chrissy with Jackson, and Greer wasn’t interested in men.

Fuck. It’s getting cold out here. Hey, James. Would you hand me a blanket or something?

You know what, Adley? James didn’t look up as he began striking matches. Go fuck yourself.

IDIOT. 

Michael Fisher didn’t need to hear her say it to know what Jamie was thinking. They’d been together long enough that he knew what was on his wife’s mind, whether that something was good or bad. And, even if he hadn’t been so attuned to her thought process, the look on Jamie’s face made it clear. Idiot.

He’d taken a wrong turn. Trees closed in around them and the road, what there was of it, seemed to narrow. Their SUV’s shocks were getting a workout, bouncing in and out of ruts and furrows. All Michael would need now is a blow-out. Which is why he drove extra slow and more cautiously than he normally would, which only seemed to fuel Jamie’s mood.

Daddy?

Yes, Loo?

It’s like a safari.

God bless you, little Lucy, Michael thought. Daddy’s eternal little optimist.

No, Lucy, Maise said in the backseat next to her twin sister. "On a safari you see animals. Like lions and hippos. We haven’t seen any lions or hippos. We haven’t seen any animals."

The dashboard GPS didn’t work up here. Neither did Michael or Jamie’s phones. The ranch had warned them that cellular service was nonexistent up in the mountains. At the time he’d heard it, Michael found the news an added attraction. Without the conveniences of modern electronics, Jamie would have no choice but to pay attention to her family. To him.

What he wouldn’t give for a little GPS now, though.

Yeah, well, Michael called back to his daughters. If either of you see any big game, give a yell.

What’s big game? Lucy asked.

If I remember right, there’s seven big game animals. Michael listed the ones he knew. There’s the elephant. The leopard. I think the buffalo is considered one.

The hippo, volunteered Maise.

Sorry, Mays, Jamie gave up on the papers in her lap and turned her attention away from the brief. This didn’t go unnoticed in Michael’s peripheral vision. He smiled to himself. Hippo doesn’t count, Jamie said. The rhinoceros does though.

The lion? Lucy guessed.

"If you only had a brain."

Mays. Be nice to your sister. Jamie stared out the passenger window into a sea of limbs and pine needles.

Yes, Michael confirmed.  The lion is another one.

"Does the antelope