Micki & The Beast: An Ice-Mine Tale

By PJ Tremblay

An Injured Bigfoot is Helped by 12 year-old Micki Mosso, while a Bigfoot Hunter Seeks a Trophy. There's Action and Adventure at the Ice-Mine.

The backdrop for this fantasy adventure is the very real Ice-Mine of Sweden Valley, Pa. in Potter County. In the Summer, ice forms in the cavern of this strange phenomenon of nature, only to disappear in the Fall. Some have speculated that an enormous cavern exists below the Ice-Mine. In our story, we imagine a series of caverns exists that are home to a tribe of bigfoot creatures and one has emerged from the Ice-Mine. When the wounded creature is helped and befriended by twelve-year-old Micki Mosso, and endangered by an evil sasquatch hunter, action and adventure are the result.

• Language: English
• Publisher: PJ Tremblay
• Release date: Oct 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223150732

PJ Tremblay

Writer and author of Fantasies and Mysteries. A retired Pastor and Veteran with a MA, a BS, and an AAS in various subjects, I have always loved learning and dreaming. My wife Pam and I have been married since 1979 and we have 5 grandchildren. We live out in the country in what we like to think of as a tiny home where we enjoy nature and critters.

Book preview

Prologue

THE ICE-MINE

Potter County, Pennsylvania , and the physical area mentioned in this book are real. The Ice-Mine likewise is an oddity of nature, where ice forms in the Summer months and disappears in the Winter.

It is claimed Native Americans living in Potter County, in its early days, were discovered with pure silver ore. They refused to disclose where they had gotten the ore, which led settlers to believe they had a silver mine somewhere in the county.

In about 1894, a member of the Cattaraugus tribe came to Coudersport and was seen near what is today, the town of Sweden Valley. He had in his possession some fine specimens of silver ore. However, he informed no one where he had gotten the ore. This started a search for the origin of the silver.

One man tried to locate the silver by using a dowsing rod - a metal or wooden stick that its users claim moves when in the presence of water or minerals. It is claimed the man’s rod bent downward at today’s location of the Ice-Mine. The man and his companions tore loose a five inch layer of moss to reveal a thin layer of solid ice. They dug until they opened a ten by twelve shaft, some twenty-five feet in depth. As they dug, they found large pieces of ice, a petrified fish, fossils of ferns, and petrified bones that looked like they came from a human body. No silver was found, and the shaft was abandoned.

The following Spring the land owner found a large amount of ice in the shaft and was surprised when it increased in quantity as the weather warmed during the Summer. When the cold weather returned in the Fall, the ice melted away. Scientists believe the unique rock formations of the area hold cold air in during the Winter, releasing it during the warm weather. There is speculation that large open caverns exist underground near the Ice-Mine.

The Coudersport Ice-Mine became a tourist attraction, but closed in 1987. New owners purchased the property, refurbished it, and the Ice-Mine reopened in 2014.

The Ice-Mine and its peculiar lore and history are the backdrop for this fantasy adventure.

CHAPTER ONE

1. THE NEWS

It’s so dark and everything’s ghost green. I’m crawling. It’s so tight. Ouch! Jagged rocks, and am I wearing a fur coat? Finally reached the end. Climbing, now. I’m Trapped. I feel straight wooden walls... I’m afraid... heart drumming... shoulder down... nostril flare... muscles tense... I leap... a loud crash and I’m free.

Micki shot up in bed, wide eyed, as her mind drew together like a taut rubber band released and relaxed. Was it a dream or something coming? Maybe it was a premonition? A shiver spiraled down her spine until dispersed by the shrill alarm. Micki spun her feet around, slipping from bed into fuzzy slippers, and shuffled to the kitchen. After twenty minutes, her voice broke the silence.

Dad! Breakfast!

Micki’s voice echoed through the thin mobile home walls.

Don’t be late for work again this mornin’.

Bacon crackled and eggs popped, while the intense ticking clock beat out a tempo. The soft smell of greasy, grilled heaven wafted through every room and mixed with the eye-opening, warm, low breeze of coffee.

Can you help Dad get goin’? He’s gotta keep his job.

Who’re you talking to, Micki?

George’s feet slid across the speckled linoleum, with an intermittent hissing.

My friend, said Micki.

George rubbed the sleep from his eyes, pulled back a chair from the fifties teal colored Formica table, and dropped himself into it. He propped his heavy head in his hands.

Oh.. Okay, said George through a cotton-filled fog.

Eat, said Micki sliding a plate of fried eggs, bacon, and buttered toast before her father. The silverware clanked falling from her hand.

Coffee’s comin’.

Micki’s fluffy slippers slipped across the floor. She opened one of the dark mahogany cabinets above the well worn yellow veneered counter top and wondered if the white cabinets would brighten the kitchen. The silence was broken by the gurgle of pouring coffee.

Here ya go. Hot caffeine to get ya goin’.

Thanks Micki, said George without moving.

Dad, you need to eat before yah leave for work, so I don’t worry.

You’re only twelve. You shouldn’t have to worry.

Sweeping back her disheveled brown hair, Micki leaned over and smooched the bare spot on his head.

It’s time I get ready fer school. Eat yer breakfast and get to work. Clean clothes are washed and hangin’ in your closet. Don’t forget to take your lunch from the frig.

Yes, Mom, said George.

Oh no, he thought. George watched tears glaze Micki's eyes as her arms fell limp.

George stood and drew his daughter close for a long hug. Their matching blue fluffy housecoats blended together like one great shaggy creature with two heads. George’s eyes blurred.

I’m sorry Mick. It just came out. I miss her too... not sure how to stop.

Drawing apart, George kissed Micki’s forehead. I promise. I’ll eat breakfast and be to work on time. Have a better day at school.

Raising her eyebrows, Micki glared at her father.

Well, try.

As Micki turned to slip away, George retrieved the remote to find the local news channel for the weather report. He gulped down his breakfast in a few large bites. An early November storm had deposited four inches of snow over the last three hours. Drawing the mug to his lips, George glanced at the clock.

Uh-Oh.

Taking a quick slurp, he jumped up spilling the cup on the table.

Oh well,

George turned and rushed to get ready for work.

Twenty minutes later, Micki and George met in the hallway just as the TV announcer said, Breaking News from Potter County, Pennsylvania.

They froze. It was rare for their Northern Pennsylvania county to make the Buffalo news.

The Sheriff’s office reports break-ins. Someone or something broke into the Ice Mine, a local attraction. The strange cavern fills with ice in summer and melts in winter. Neighbors reported hearing strange animal sounds and discovered large footprints, said the announcer.

Bigfoot strikes again, he laughed. We’ll keep you informed as the story develops.

George’s cell phone rang. The name Sheriff Randy Hopkins appeared on the screen.

Hi Randy, what’s new?

Micki listened in.

Did you hear the news, George?

If you mean the break-ins, yeah.

I need the finest tracker in the county, George.

Are you sure you want me Randy, I’m not in good standing with the department.

After the death of his wife, George struggled with alcohol... often going to work drunk. An intervention by Micki, his boss, and Sheriff Hopkins persuaded George to take time off for help, and he even joined AA. Now back to work, he felt everyone waited for him to relapse.

I’m sure, replied the Sheriff. I need you on this one, George. There are strange tracks at the crime scenes.

I hope it’s not bigfoot, laughed George.

Great joke. Meet me at the Ice Mine.

Okay, I’ll be there in twenty.

George hung up the phone.

It’s only a five-minute drive, said Micki.

Yeah, but you’ve missed the bus. Now I need to take you to school.

On the way, Micki talked without stopping knowing her dad’s depression returned after periods of silence.

So dad, what ya think about the weird tracks? Maybe someone’s playin’ a practical joke? Lots of people think they’ve seen bigfoot. I watched a show the other day and legends come from everywhere. Native Americans believe in them. But I don’t. Never seen a body or DNA evidence.

George couldn’t get a word in even if he wanted to with Micki’s rapid fire monologue, but he was off in another world. Twice he swerved back on the highway after drifting to the shoulder. Once he screeched to a stop for a car waiting to turn into a driveway.

Their truck pulled into the school parking lot. Before she opened the door, Micki turned on the radio.

You okay?

Huh?

Are you okay?

Forcing a smile George peered into Micki’s deep brown eyes and began counting her freckles, mesmerized by her voice. Everything about her reminded him of her mother.

Dad?

Shaking himself George stuttered.

Love you Mick. I’ll be okay. Promise.

See yah at supper. Love yah.

Closing the truck door, Micki turned towards the school entrance with a sigh.

Now friend, please help me through another day in the prison house. After a pause she continued, Okay, Okay, I know it’s not a prison. But thanks for goin’ with me.

Mom? You listenin’? I love yah, but why can’t I hear you? My friend won’t tell me.

Ignoring the giggles from the girls that passed her as she talked, Micki entered the building.

Weird. That’s what they call me for talkin’ to you, she said, but they don’t understand.

CHAPTER TWO

2. MISSING

George drove up the Ice Mine’s steep driveway. The pine and hardwood forest rose towards the left, while on the right, massive boulders blocked a deep drop to a rushing stream. Sheriff Hopkins waited with arms crossed and a sour expression. Pretending not to notice, George parked his truck and greeted his friend Randy with a smile.

How’s it going? Seen any hairy monsters?

Funny, George. You’re the only monster I’ve been looking for. I called over an hour ago.

Sorry. I had to run Micki to school.

That took an hour?

I - I know. Time gets away from me.

Are you drinking again, George?

No way. Sure, it’s hard to resist, but I haven’t had a drink in months. All I have left is Micki, and she deserves a better father. Hopefully, I'm headed in that direction now, and thanks for calling me in on this, Randy. Sorry I took so long to get here.

This bigfoot nonsense is gonna reach social media soon and then we'll be crawling with wackos. We need to stop that before it starts.

Dunno, Randy. A good monster story might be just what our poor county needs to get on the tourist maps, George laughed. The alien thing worked for Roswell.

You’re full of laughs today, George. Let me show you something.

Police tape cordoned off a ten foot rectangular area of the parking lot. The mine door lay scattered in jagged pieces. Hinges bent with twisted screws still attached proved the door exploded out from inside, but there were no burn marks.

What do you see George?

I’d say the door exploded out from inside the mine. Could the perp have gotten in through the gift shop and then done the damage?

The doors and windows are locked.

Maybe they rearranged the parts as a prank?

Not possible. Look at the molding, hinges, and screws. What could do this to a solid oak door?

George stroked his brown beard, revealing gray streaks. Randy just stood with arms folded and brows scrunched together. The sheriff slid off his dark blue stocking cap and brushed off the snow, revealing his bald head bordered by black hair sprinkled with white and trimmed close in military style.

Where are the tracks? asked George.

The snow’s covered most of the tracks, but on the hillside, we found interesting footprints.

Randy led George to the prints. Near the mine the tracks were almost filled with snow, but deeper in the woods under some Pines, the prints became clear. George stooped for an inspection.

If I wanted to fool people into believing these were made by bigfoot, I couldn't do a better job. The distance between steps and their depth suggests they were made by a creature from seven to eight feet tall and over four hundred pounds. I'm not a profiler, but I'd say your criminal is an expert in anthropology. He created a realistic footprint that’s not quite an ape or a human. These are so real.

What the..? Randy’s brows creased and lips pursed while reaching up to rub his head. "I’ll let you figure that out while I talk to the cabin owners