The Portal: Three Supernatural Tales

By William C Barnes

Three Supernatural Tales.

Be Careful What You Wish For: Hunt the Ohio Bigfoot

Alien Advocate:  Space Aliens are real!

Right By Me: Why did Will kill his mother?

• Language: English
• Publisher: William C Barnes
• Release date: Mar 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393414582

Book preview

THE PORTAL

Be Careful What You Wish For

CHAPTER ONE

FRED CROWELL

Fred Crowell was a killer. He had served as a sniper in Afghanistan for three deployments.  He had 158 confirmed kills.  His friends referred to him as the Grim Reaper.

Like his hero, Viet Nam veteran Marine Carlos Hathcock, he was born into a poor rural Alabama family that depended on his shooting skills to put food on the table.  Like Hathcock, he tore up the firing range from his first day at Marine boot camp. And to mimic Hathcock, he put a white feather in his hat to mark every kill he made. 

He had so many white feathers in his hat that his fellow soldiers named it The Chief’s Headdress.

Snipers hunt and are hunted as well, so the good ones learn to use their skills as hunters to stay in the bush and live off the land.  This allows them to keep on the move and follow their prey rather than the prey following them.  Carlos Hathcock was an expert at this.

Nevertheless, Hancock was a humble man.  He never relished the thought of killing another human being.  He understood that pride came before the bullet that might take him out.  Even after killing a High Command Viet Cong General, he never boasted.  It was simply his duty.

Fred Crowell, on the other hand, was full of himself.  Oh, he practiced the same skill and care that any sniper would. He worked well and quietly with his tracker, usually got his target with the first shot.  But back on base he let the whole Division know about it.  Over and over. He the idea that that his finger pulling back a trigger a few millimeters gave him the power of life over death. Before going to the outback, he would proclaim: OK, boys, let’s get another one for the Grim Reaper.

His cavalier attitude and pride were his undoing.  The Brass sent him home, never to return to combat again. Instead, they made him a field instructor on Paris Island, where he taught others to shoot.  He was bored stiff.  After six months of his braggadocio and desire to play by his own rules, he was summarily honorably discharged, in light of his previous record in Afghanistan.  He then tried to join a mercenary militia, but they were not having his egotism either.

The tracking, the stalking, the moment of the killing shot—that was the aphrodisiac.  He tried to re-up in the army to fight in Iraq but was turned down for psychological reasons. This lack of fulfillment made him surly and hard to deal with. How he hungered to be back in the field—to be that man who had control over whether a person lived or died.

Crowell was also a talented mechanic in his own right.  Now back in the States, he opened up a small shop in New York State, just outside New York City, where he rebuilt engines and transmissions. If he had not been the best mechanic in his area, he would have had no business at all.  He was so rude and hard to deal with, that many of his customers were simply afraid of him. His six-foot-five height and military haircut intimidated all who met him.  He sported tattoos, large muscles.  He could lift an engine block by himself.  He had a long red beard that made him look like a biker. The black leather vest he wore only added more to that impression.

God forbid you should question him about something he did, for he would scream like a wildcat, I FIXED THE GODDAM THING AND IT’S GUARANTEED FOR FIVE YEARS NO MATTER THE MILEAGE! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT?  JUST KEEP IT TUNED, CHANGE THE FILTERS, CHANGE THE OIL ON THE GODDAM THING AND YOU’LL BE OK!

Another thing that scared his customers was the arsenal on his wall, which surrounded a blown-up photo of himself, crouched on the ground in cammo gear, taking aim. He also wore a side arm, and he let everyone know that the guns and rifles on the wall were locked and loaded, ready for action.

Crowell was not only angry, but perpetually bitter that he had lost his fiancé, his only love, Nancy to a car accident. She was the only person who could persuade his gentle side come out.  For that matter she was the only one who could call him Freddie or Fred.  To everyone else he was Crowell.

Crowell had convinced himself that one last big kill would satisfy his desire.  He would dream about it the same way that men would dream erotically about their girlfriends. He wanted to go out and bag the biggest and baddest thing on earth.  An elephant maybe, or a tiger.

Then one day, a letter came to his shop, an invitation that was to take him on the adventure of a lifetime and the opportunity to hunt the greatest prey that ever lived.

PERCY LaFleur

Percy was the complete antithesis to Crowell. It was a good thing that Percy’s father was rich beyond rich. He was in fact the wealthiest man in the world. LaFleur Industries had its hand  in everything from breakfast food to cargo ships.  He was a large man, in both body and spirit, with a presence that filled any room and outshone any other important person there, including Presidents.

Percy, however, was also  the complete antithesis to his father.  He was small and thin, barely five-foot tall and weighing just over 110 pounds.  He was almost completely bald and what little hair he had was a mousy Steele.  As a child Percy had been sickly, and more or less lost his childhood due to his various illnesses.

At first, in an attempt to toughen up his son, his father sent his frail little boy to private schools and even a military academy, but Percy was constantly barraged by bullies because of his size and his name.  The bullies called him Percy the fag or "gay Per-say." Percy was driven to attempting suicide, so Joseph decided to hire private tutors to home school him instead.

Realizing that Percy had no head for business, and not wanting his fortune to be lost after death, Joseph hired trusted people to handle the enterprise.  He set up a trust fund and a board of directors to manage it, so his son would be secure and the LaFleur Enterprise would continue to be the juggernaut it always was.

During his home school education, it was discovered that Percy was a bright boy who caught on easily and retained everything he learned. To compensate for his size and effeminate demeanor, Percy hired a personal trainer.

He lifted weights, took martial arts, and Kungfu to defend against bullies, and received personal life skills training.

To celebrate his son’s attempts to improve himself, Joseph threw a coming of age party at age 16, for his son to meet luminaries and important people so he would be introduced into the world of high finance. Unfortunately, while Joseph was giving a speech praising his son, he suddenly dropped dead in mid-sentence of a massive heart attack.  Traumatized and having no siblings or mother to support him, Percy retreated into his own world, dreaming of being a real man like his father.

Years later, he came up with an idea to prove his manhood to himself and the rest of the world.

DEAR MR. CROWELL:

The certified letter came to Crowell in the middle of the day.  He was annoyed at being interrupted while trying to get a new starter on a diesel tractor.

Just put it on my desk, he shouted at the mail carrier. But sir, I need your signature.

Bring the card over here, Crowell growled. The mail carrier handed him the card and Crowell took a dirty thumb and pressed it on the card.  There’s my signature!  Now GET OUT!

The mail carrier was so intimidated, he jumped into his truck and squealed the tires getting out of the parking lot.

At the end of the day, while he was washing up, Crowell remembered the letter on his desk.  After drying off his hands and arms, he sat at his desk and opened the letter.

The letter head said LaFleur Enterprises. What the hell do these people want of me? he grumbled out loud, as he unfolded the rest of the letter and read:

Dear Mr. Crowell.  I am President and CEO of LaFleur Enterprises.  I learned about you and your shooting skills from contacts I have in the military.  I am planning an expedition to find and kill or capture one of the most famous cryptic creatures in modern history

Upon reading this sentence Crowell started to roll up the paper in a ball. Bullshit! he shouted at the ceiling.

But then something made him unroll the letter.  Famous cryptic creature? What on earth?  Could this really be that final big kill that he had dreamed about?

He smoothed out the letter and continued reading: I realize this may be far-fetched, but I have undeniable proof in witnesses—and even DNA—but the mainstream media will not give me the time of day.  Therefore, if I can present the beast in the flesh, I believe we can settle a question that has puzzled us for many years.  There will be five men total on this expedition, counting you, and I am asking you to head it up.

If you are interested call me at the number below and I will arrange my driver to come for you the next day.

Sincerely, Percy LaFleur, President, CEO, LaFleur Enterprises

Crowell wasn’t sure if this was a joke or not, but his curiosity got the better of him. He called the number.  He spoke with a male secretary and arranged an 8:00 pick-up for the next day.  He then contacted his clients to let them know he would be a day late.  He used the excuse of having to go to the funeral of a friend.  His clients were surprised at this excuse because they figured he  had no friends.

Crowell had no idea what to wear, so he put on his best pair of trousers and collared shirt with no tie.  He had his hair cut and beard trimmed that afternoon, so he would not look like a homeless person.  He wanted to make a good impression, just in case this mysterious hunt turned out to be legit.

The stretch limo came at precisely 8:00am.  Before he even could get close to the car, the driver whipped around the other side of the and graciously opened the door for him.

We shall be there in half an hour sir. Provided the traffic holds up. The driver bent forward courteously.

They drove through the streets of New York and the chauffeur seemed to know all the short cuts and ways around the morning traffic. Crowell took in the sights of the huge buildings which created a canyon with the streets serving as the river, reminding him of the Grand Canyon in Arizona. He passed all the glittering shops and the lights that were still bright even in daytime. Forty-five minutes later, they were parked in front of a huge skyscraper.

Trump Tower? Crowell got a crick in his neck looking up.

The chauffer corrected, "The LaFleur Building. Mr. LaFleur is on the 78th floor

Once out of the elevator Crowell found himself facing two thick walnut doors. Just as he was about to knock, they opened by themselves into a large room that could have housed 10 of his large shop.  At the far end of the room sat a little man in a large chair.  His feet barely touched the floor.  The man’s diminutive size and skinniness was in direct contrast to the largess of the room. With him was a camera crew of two men setting up lights. As he drew closer, Crowell saw them attaching a collar mike to Percy.

Come forward. a high-pitched voice rang out. Sit by me and let’s have some coffee and cake together. Coffee and cake?  Crowell shook his head in disbelief. Then he walked briskly towards the man in the chair, who motioned him to sit down to his right side.  Behind La Fleur was a large presentation board with maps and pictures of firearms and camping equipment pasted on it.

Good morning. Mr. Crowell, Percy welcomed him.

How do you know me? he demanded. Suddenly the camera men were upon him, fixing a microphone on his collar and dusting his face with a light powder. Fred was too surprised to even react.

These young gentlemen are Chip and Buzz.  I hired a camera crew to document our adventure so I will have further proof of what we encounter...

Chip and Buzz were identical twins.  They dressed the same and combed their long, wavy black hair the same way.  One could say jokingly that if one of them needed a shave they need only look at their twin instead of a mirror. The only way to tell them apart was that Buzz handled the cameras and Chip handled the sound equipment.

Encounter WHAT? Crowell grew impatient and vexed by the two men buzzing about him like flies.

Percy ignored his question.

Chip works sound and Buzz works the camera.  He also acts as director. He said instead.

Are you ready? Chip asked.

Roll tape, Buzz said. Then he counted down, Three two, one, and pointed at Percy.

With that signal, Percy looked at the camera. I am speaking to Mr. Fred Crowell who, I hope, will lead my expedition.  Then he turned his head towards Crowell.  I know all about you, Percy chuckled. "You’re a sniper with many kills to your name.  You are a survivalist.  You have leadership qualities that were overlooked by your superiors before your discharge from service.  A paid psychologist — a profiler — says that men such as you relish the opportunity to hunt and kill.

All I want, Crowell interrupted, is a chance to bag the biggest and baddest thing on earth.

And that would satisfy you? Percy asked.

Yes.

Then you’ve come to the right place. Percy went to reach for Crowell’s shoulder to pat it, but Crowell pulled away.

Percy’s feminine voice and mannerisms were beginning to wear on Crowell.  Can I ask you a question? he began gingerly, Not that it really matters...

Oh, for heaven’s sake! Percy put his hands on his hip and practically lisped. No!  I’m not gay.

Just wondered. Crowell looked down, stifling a chuckle.

Don’t worry, Buzz  piped  in. We’ll edit out that part.

Everyone asks me that, Percy complained, And it gets on my nerves.  I’m every bit of a man as you.  But I’m small. I have a weak voice and an effeminate manner. I fit the stereotype, and I know this.  But this expedition I’m planning will remove all the others’ doubts about me.

Others? Crowell looked at him straight on.

My competitors who seem to think me a pushover.  WELL, I’M NOT!" Percy pounded the arm of his chair.

You have nothing to worry about with me, Crowell lied.  As far as he was concerned, Percy was a poof.  Now tell me about the expedition.

Please, Percy began, if you will direct your attention to the maps on the board....

Cut! Buzz said. We have to refocus the camera.

Percy got up and walked to the board.

Alright, roll tape. Buzz counted down again

This map shows Wayne National Forest in Ohio... 

What’s there beside big bears? Crowell interrupted.

Bigfoot. Percy said nonchalantly

BIGFOOT!? The camera quickly panned to Crowell.  This gave Percy a chance to sit down.  He responded softly. No need to yell, Fred.

Don’t call me Fred! Nobody calls me Fred. I’m Crowell! Understood?!

And we’ll edit out that part too, Buzz thought to himself. The camera focused on a two shot.

Yes, Bigfoot—Sasquatch as the Native Americans call him. I’ve done my research on Sasquatch. Out west he’s nine feet tall, 500-800 pounds. Swift, cunning, dangerous.  Outside of California, I don't know of another state that has as many Bigfoot sightings as Ohio.

Percy got up from his seat unexpectedly, went back to the board, and pointed.  The camera followed him.

Percy pointed at the map. The Wayne National Forest is located near Athens, Ohio.  In August and September1978, the sightings of what they call the ‘Grassman’ began. According to the sightings, it has a two-toned, multicolored hair pattern. They are called ‘marked hominids,’ a term used to refer to Eastern Bigfoot. They are more human-looking than Western Bigfoot, and somewhat shorter, in the area of about seven to eight feet and over 300 pounds.

I wish to capture or kill one of them.

"This would be your greatest kill. You would be famous and with my money I could promote you.  You could have your own TV show on hunting..."

I don’t want that! Crowell snipped at him.  The camera swiveled to him. I’m a mechanic.

Then I could create a large business for you to run...

Wait! Crowell threw tore off the mike

Keep it rolling" Buzz thought. We will still pick up the sound. He made a rolling it signal to Chip with his hand.

"I want to be left alone