Call of the Sasquatch: A Guardians Novel

By Rebecca Rock

All Dr. Phoebe Yates ever wanted to do was learn the truth about Sasquatches. After spending thousands of days in the field finding and studying them, the mystery of where they had come from was still illuding her. She had never been afraid of them until one fateful night on Mt. Rainier. Months later, while being interviewed on a radio show about her book of Native American Sasquatch lore, a man calls and claims to have had interactions with her during one of her research trips. Unsettling her even more, her SUV is vandalized during the show.

Beri Elsayed is the Captain of Guardians assigned to the Pacific Northwest. Their mandate is to keep humans safe from dangerous Sasquatches while also keeping the truth about them secret. In order to learn about possible Sasquatch activity in the area, Beri works undercover as a police officer. She's shocked when she's sent to a radio station where a woman being interviewed claimed she's being stalked by a man who claims he's a Sasquatch.

How will Beri and her team find the Sasquatch before he proves Sasquatches really exist, while protecting Phoebe from a monster?

Find out now in the exciting novel Call of the Sasquatch! Pick up your copy today for an immersive, thrilling journey unlike any other!

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9781667886039

Book preview

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Other books by Rebecca Rock

The Guardians

The Guardians: Inheritance

Call of the Sasquatch

Daywalker

Daywalker

Nightstalker

Red Rain

Middle School

Aquarius

CALL OF THE SASQUATCH: A Guardians Novella

Copyright © 2023 by Rebecca Rock

ISBN 978-1-66788-602-2 (Print)

ISBN 978-1-66788-603-9 (eBook)

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,

distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying,

recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written

permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical

reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

For permission requests, contact Rebecca Rock at [e-mail]

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of

the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons,

living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

FIRST EDITION - 2023

Cover by RDesigns in SelfPubBookCovers.com

Acknowledgements

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Acknowledgements

I’d like to thank my husband Greg for his continued support on the long road that writing is, our son Alex for telling me to keep writing, and my mother-in-law, Sheila, for telling her friends about my books. I’d also like to thank Trish for letting me bend her ear about my books and to discuss life itself. I would also like to thank my fans. This book, which is a prequel to my book The Guardians: Inheritance, was a long time coming.

1

The unease she had felt the previous night was now invading her day, giving her stomach unhappy butterflies.

Dr. Phoebe Yates unzipped the flap on her tent, immediately feeling the chilly air invading the nice and cozy air that had been inside. Even though it was the middle of July, it was only forty-six degrees, per her thermometer. She was camping on Mount Rainier, southeast of Panhandle Gap on one of the runoffs that fed into Boulder Creek. At sixty-eight hundred feet in altitude, the nights could get cool, even in the middle of summer. At least it hadn’t snowed yet, although she had come prepared just in case.

She crawled out of the tent and stood, stretching to alleviate the stiffness she always got from using a sleeping bag on a mat on the ground instead of a cot. She visually examined the area around her, unable to shake the feeling she wasn’t alone.

With a clear, cerulean sky, the sunshine gave some warmth while she got the fire going to make coffee. After filling her cup, she looked around again. Whatever was watching her was being serendipitous so far.

Phoebe was independently wealthy, so she didn’t have to work in academia. She was unencumbered by the restrictions such financing created. She didn’t have to worry about writing papers, attending fund raisers, or kissing the asses of wealthy donors she couldn’t stand, in order to keep her tenure. She didn’t have to teach. She could do what she wanted, when she wanted, and how she wanted.

As she sipped the coffee that heated her body, Phoebe looked towards the copse of trees about one hundred fifty feet away. She’d chosen the location because it was on the turn of a runoff that had a level sandy beach, which provided plenty of visibility around her tent. The dark green foot tall grass that started at the sand’s edge didn’t stop until it reached the trees. The distance also allowed her a warning; when the breeze came from that direction in the form of an awful smell, she knew a Sasquatch was nearby.

This was the seventeenth of her twenty-one planned days camping to observe any Sasquatches that were in the area.

Sasquatch activity had started during her fifth night and had occurred every night since. There had been whoops, whistles, hooting, chatter, snapping tree branches, tree knocks and the distinct sound of heavy bipedal footsteps smashing through the underbrush. Except for last night. It had been eerily silent. She hadn’t even heard crickets.

On some of the nights, small rocks hit her tent. On three of those occasions, she’d come out, shining her high-powered flashlight in the direction she thought the rocks had come from. She hadn’t seen any sign of who, or what, had thrown them.

Some mornings she’d found large footprints along the sandy bank and in the grass closest to the runoff. Most Sasquatch researchers brought casting materials with them. She believed the smell of the powder drove the Sasquatches away, as if they knew what it was. Instead, she took pictures on her cell as she measured any footprint she found and noted in her notebook anything unusual about the print.

On two nights she’d heard bipedal footsteps circling the tent and some snorts and grunts. At one point, a large hand had pressed against the side of the tent across from where she was lying on her sleeping bag. It stayed there for a few seconds before pulling back. She’d been tempted to press her hand outward in the exact same spot to see what would happen, but decided not to. The footprints left around her tent had been proof enough it had been a Sasquatch.

She also believed Sasquatches knew what professional cameras and recorders were. When she’d used them, she’d rarely saw nor heard sign of them. She’d read most of the other researchers experienced the same problem. Once she’d stopped bringing them with her, she’d started getting glimpses of them. Some of the Sasquatches had even played whistling games with her.

On this trip, Phoebe had concluded there was only one Sas­quatch nearby. The footprints were all the same length and width and had the same identifying marks.

After a week, a fish had been left on the firepit rocks during the night, presumably for her. She knew she was the only human in the area, so it had to have been left by the Sasquatch. After twenty-one years of researching, it been a first.

On that morning, she’d decided it was safe to go into the trees. Two hundred feet in, she’d found a damaged tree stump. The upper part of the tree was on the ground, slowly decaying. She’d placed one of the apples she’d brought with her on the stump to thank the Sasquatch for the fish.

The apple was gone the next day and in its place was a very long pinecone. Phoebe hadn’t found any footprints around the stump. She’d taken the pinecone back with her and placed it on the flat rock she’d moved next to her folding chair to hold her coffee cup. She’d wanted the Sasquatch to see she accepted it.

Every day after she’d placed something on the stump: colored beads, a very small teddy bear key chain, a handful of grapes, more apples. She started finding fish or something else at her on her fire pit the following morning.

One day she’d put two apples, one red and one yellow, on the stump to see if the Sasquatch had a preference. The following morning, once she finished her coffee and some of the fish leftover from the previous day, she’d walked into the trees to the stump. Both apples were gone and in their place was a rock. It was the size of her palm and had layered colored stripes. Some of the stripes looked like a gray granite and some were white, with one thick stripe in the center that was a jade green.

How pretty. She’d picked it up and rubbed her thumb over it. Some of the white came off, indicating it was a less dense stone than the rest. Maybe limestone. I wonder where he found this. She’d held it up closer to examine better while also examine her surroundings. The underbrush near some of the trees was thick in patches, covered in large green leaves, leaving plenty of places for a Sasquatch to crouch down to hide while observing her. On some past hikes she’d seen a tiny amount of a dark conical head poke out above nearby underbrush, without the Sasquatch realizing it. Sometimes they were behind trees trunks and she’d only see a little of an arm or shoulder.

Since she’d learned what to look for, she’d been disappointed when she couldn’t spot him, even though her other senses were telling her he was nearby. He was very good at hiding.

She’d turned her back to the trees and slowly walked out of them, heading through the grass to the sand. She’d kept her breathing even, not wanting to give into her excitement. The rock was beautiful and frankly, an unusual gift for a Sasquatch to give, from what she knew.

Phoebe had continued to voice her appreciation of the rock, listening for any sign of his presence. She didn’t hear any brush move, or tree limbs being pushed out of the way, or the sound of bipedal footsteps breaking small twigs on the ground. There were no grunts, snorts, mumbles, hoots, or whoops. She’d really wanted to turn around and look again, but she had to keep the level of trust with him she felt she had developed.

Once she’d reached the runoff, she crouched down to wash the rock before taking it to her chair to get a better look at it. Without the limestone dust, the green was more vivid. Once she’d sat down she’d heard the telltale sounds of brush moving and twigs breaking.

She’d slowly turned to look towards the tree line and froze. She thought her heart had stopped beating for a few seconds, and then started beating hard against her ribs.

The Sasquatch had moved out from the cover of the trees to take several steps into the grass before stopping. He was, by her estimate, over nine foot tall and possible five foot wide at the shoulders; he had the widest shoulders she’d ever seen on one. His hair was several inches long and was a mix of black and brown, which, in her experience, was a common coloration. His eyes were a solid black, which again was common. She’d always referred to Sasquatches as male, as she’d never personally seen one that appeared female, like the one from the famous 1967 Patterson-Gimlin video.

She’d slowly raised the rock to show him she was still holding it.

Thank you. She hoped he would understand and feel her sincerity. It’s beautiful. She smiled and brought it to her breast, holding it against her.

He’d stared at her, his dark, hairless face showing no emotion, even as he tilted his head to the right. She wanted to try to draw him out closer, so she kept talking.

I’ve really enjoyed the fish you left for me. I hope you liked the apples and other things I’ve left for you.

He’d continued to stare and for a moment and she could swear his eyes roved over her. There weren’t that many female Sasquatch researchers that she knew of. Maybe he wasn’t sure what she was.

I hope we can learn from each other. Some researchers claimed Sasquatches had a language of their own. She’d heard it on recordings before. She’d love to hear it for real.

He glanced at the tent and then looked at her again. She could swear his lips had risen slightly in the corners, almost forming a smile. She was smiling; was he imitating her? Then his smile suddenly gave her the creeps. Was it too human of a gesture?

He’d slowly turned and walked back into the trees at a leisurely pace, the muscles under his hair rippling with each movement. Once he was out of sight, she’d risen and rushed to her tent to get