Excerpt: The True Story of Bigfoot

Everything you are about to read is absolutely true.

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The creature came out of the woods around four thirty. It was early October in the Poconos, a mild but rainy fall. There hadn't been a dry weekend in over a month, and the ground felt constantly damp. The leaves hadn't begun turning yet, and they formed a dark, lush canopy overhead. It was well before morning. The sun was still down, and the sky was as black as the surrounding woods. The fire smoldered in the crude pit the two men had dug, a black mass of charred wood, melted red plastic cups, and beer cans. The smoke rising had an unnaturally sweet smell, and the creature wrinkled its nose and turned away to draw a clean breath of air from the forest. Exhaling, it turned back, its eyes wide to allow better sight.

There was just enough light from the embers to see the fold-up chairs circling the fire pit, and the two tents just behind them - one sleeping two, one sleeping four - that were zipped shut for the night. The creature could smell the humans. The smell is what drew is here. The creature picked twigs and leaves from its face and moved forward toward the fire, reaching for a silver can of light beer cupped in the arm rest of the nearest chair. The creature deftly lifted the tab and emptied the beer into its open mouth, swallowing only twice. It crushed the can effortlessly and let it fall to the ground, already looking for another. Finding none in the other chairs, it moved to the cooler, knocking aside packages of hot dog buns that had been stacked there for the night. Kneeling beside it, the creature rummaged through the bottles and cans floating in the melted ice until it found another silver can, opening it just as simply as the last, draining its contents, and seeking out another. It found four more cans, drained and crushed them all, then rose slowly, hands on its knees, to full height and walked back toward the woods.

A bubble rose from its stomach. It belched, loudly, and the creature stopped walking when a rustling sounded from one of the tents. Instinct told it to freeze. It held its breath and waited. The rustling ceased. The creature took another step toward the woods, stepping on a branch. It snapped, and the rustling resumed, then the sharp buzzing sound of the tent being zipped open, and the creature knew one of the humans had emerged. The creature's vision shifted. The alcohol was already beginning to work. The creature began to run, stumbling into the trees, knocking branches aside as it ran while the human screamed behind it.