A night of heavy rain brought the fresh aroma of thirst satiated plant life, earthy soil, and the murkiness of Cider Lake into the air. A soothing and refreshing fragrance that Philip Lance could enjoy from inside his personal library. The library was on the second floor of the Lance mansion and provided, through a six by eight foot, crystal clear window pane, the perfect view of the entire lake in his back yard. He sat at his laminated wood desk positioned directly in front of the large window where he usually studied reptiles and exotic plants in his spare time.

However, on this overcast morning, middle aged Mr. Lance worked on his memoir, typing away on an old fashioned typewriter, and detailing his life from his early childhood years up until now. The next pages were to be dedicated to a recollection of an unforgettable piece of his childhood history that involved a close family friend.

I remember, Philip wrote, Johnathan Kahlil fondly. He was a long time friend of my parents and I’d say he was partly the reason for my fervent interest in botany. Johnathan was a botanist who traveled the world carrying a zealous passion for understanding any and all plant life of which he says we as humans owe our lives to. Whenever he would visit our home, he would announce his next expedition and I remember one time I begged my mother to let me join him on his next week long trip to North Carolina to study its most well known plant carnivore, the venus fly trap. She wouldn’t let me because at the time it was the middle of march and I had to go to school. He assured me that once I got older and had finished school, that he would gladly take me along on one of his trips. This lightened me up a bit and before he left our home I asked if he could bring me back one real venus fly trap. He smiled and said, “of course. I’ll bring you a bunch of em.” I couldn’t wait for Johnathan to return to Florida from his trip, I wanted a venus fly trap of my own that bad.

He never returned to Florida, or home at all and neither did his team according to the news. He reportedly vanished and I still have yet to hear what became of him. As a kid I came up with the theory that perhaps he was caught and devoured by an unnaturally large carnivorous plant, dissolved and deduced into nutrients, which is why they never found his remains. This actually made me afraid of those plants for a while. I even remember having a nightmare about them at one point after hearing about Johnathan and his teams disappearance. But I still retained my fascination for them to this day and proudly care for a collection of my own.

Philip stopped typing and stretched his hands then scratched his eyebrow. He raises a glass to his mouth and lets a sip of wine seep through his lips and bitter his tongue as he gazed out the window in front of him. He spots movement on the island. One of the alligators was emerging from the lake. He decides to get up and go get a closer look. Using his mothers bird watching telescope, he adjusts the focal length, peers through, and spots Cassidy, one of the larger alligators that called the lake home; and whom was distinguished by a large, discolored scar over her snout. Cassidy wasn’t just crawling up onto the shore of the lake for her morning sunbath, she was dragging something up with her. Philip zoomed in a bit more and he could see that she was pulling a large, mangled piece of soggy flesh from out of the water. The human body was so water decayed that he could see colorless skin sliding off as it was pulled across the land. The left leg was missing and so was an arm of the same side. A huge chunk of the torso was also bitten out exposing the bones of the ribcage and part of the top corner of the pelvis. The head could not be seen as it was stuffed into Cassidy’s mouth, only the jumble of wet brown hair dangling through the rows of sharp teeth and out the side of her jaws could be made out. Philips stomach fluttered for a moment as he realized what Cassidy was dragging onto the island. For a very brief moment, Philip could feel warmth under his eyes. He could feel a watery sensation formulating under his eyelids but with a single blink, whatever emotion was accumulating in his face, instantly vanished. As he watched Cassidy disappear into the brush of the island with her morning meal, he forces a grin then walks back to his desk where he continued typing the rest of the chapters that would be the story of his life up until now.

Private Detective Bill Krane let the tips of his fingers rest on the bottom of the steering wheel and his head fall back against the head rest. It had been a three hour drive from the airport and the hassle of the long trip and of the rental car booking was finally easing up. His rookie partner, detective Buddy Ogenhauer sat surprisingly quiet in the passenger seat. The younger man of thirty was indulged in a paperback on cryptozoology. Even though Buddy argued that such a book was in fact non fiction and contained informative knowledge of very real and potentially dangerous creatures that included first hand accounts and eye witnesses, Bill saw nothing more than fantasy fiction. A money grab for the gullible and overly open minded. These pseudoscience followers, that included Buddy, were adamant in the existence of these creatures and Bill never could be even slightly convinced of the possibility. But as long as it kept Buddy’s mouth shut, Bill didn’t care what he was reading. That is until Buddy starts letting out bursts of arrogant chuckles, laughter that Buddy would let out every time he came across a strong persuasive argument within his book that he contentedly agreed with. Even though he knew that his mentor was not in the slightest interested in the subject matter, it didn’t stop Buddy from reciting what he had just read with light hopes that Bill may finally come around.

“Get a load of this one”, Buddy says, “now this isn’t exactly proof or undeniable written authentication but this might open your head a bit.”

Bill cocks his head and prepares for the dispensable statement that he intended to let travel through one ear and out the other.

“Look around mother nature”, Buddy reads, “it would seem there is plenty of strange life that would border on science fiction all around us, yet no one ever stops and ever asks themselves, ‘well if this thing can exist, then why not bigfoot?’ Some of the most fascinating displays of nature are no more drastically outlandish, and in some cases even more outlandish and unbelievable than bigfoot or the chupacabra. Take the pitcher plant for example, known to devour insects and some small amphibians, the flying rats that suck blood, the chameleon and virtually every ocean dwelling creature that ever existed. At least bigfoot has some semblance to an ape, or hell, even us humans. Creatures such as bigfoot, and life on other planets that we assume are uninhabitable, shan’t be contested as at least a very likely possibility, especially when we look out in our own backyard. ”

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

Buddy looks over at Bill who was listening but couldn’t hide the expression of being amused at how ridiculous he thought that book and whoever wrote it was.

“Buddy”, Bill starts, “listen my friend. They have found thousands of dinosaur remains all over the world. Yet not a single piece of credible evidence of a bigfoot. Not a butt hair, not a tooth, not a bone. Nothing. Why not?”

“They have.” Buddy replies.

“When?”

“All the time.”

“You mean those hoaxers dressing up in well crafted costumes and fabricating footprint molds? The same hoaxers and scammers that wrote and sold you that book?” Bill smiles and looks over at Buddy.

“We may not have seen them or any physical evidence because, according to some sources, they may be inter-dimensional and we only catch glimpses of them when our reality collides with theirs.”

“Holy shit! Is that what happens?” Bill faked surprise with a laugh. “The reason those animals don’t exist is because there was no viable reason for them to exist. Had bigfoot been a branching species from the ape then clearly he would be the superior animal and the gorilla and chimp would have died out because they simply wouldn’t have been able to compete with the much larger, much stronger, and apparently much more intelligent Sasquatch. Basically, it comes down to this; humans would not be able to exist if it meant that bigfoot was able to exist. Does that make sense?”

“That’s why I’m saying-“

“Yeah, they’re inter-dimensional blah blah blah. I’m inter-dimensional as well, you see. The only reason you and I are crossing paths is because our separate realities are constantly colliding.” Bill says sarcastically. “Bigfoot and all your other mythical creatures are most likely nothing more than a mis-visual or some sort of representation of what an eyewitness thought he or she saw and exaggerated it to shit.”

“What’s a mis-visual?”

“It’s when you see a common object or unfamiliar person and believe that you saw something else familiar, usually something you wanted to or expected to see in the first place. For example, seeing a helicopter at a certain angle and insisting you saw a ufo. Or seeing an ape of some kind in an uncommonly seen position and thinking that it is a whole other species of animal, like what people saw back then that started the whole bigfoot thing. You ever been somewhere and seen somebody and swear that it was someone you knew, so you start calling their name and they don’t turn around or respond in any way? But you continue to try and get their attention because you swear its who you think they are? That’s what this is. Or at least similar.”

“I don’t think you get it, Bill.” Buddy says placing a book-marker in between the pages and closing the book.

“No, I think you need to keep your nose out of that bullshit and start thinking about how you’re going to go about this investigation. We are about half an hour away from the Lance house-and shit! I forgot to call Mr. Lance and let em know we were nearby when we were in town back there.”

“No offense, but I don’t think I’d require too much thinking and pondering about investigating a slut case. How hard can it be to determine that wife is fucking some other guy? A high schooler can figure that out.” Buddy says. Bill chuckles.

“And this muthufuckin guy”, Buddy continues, “says that he didn’t report it to the police department because he didn’t want to waste their time. So he’s gonna waste our time instead?” Buddy looked at his partner with a complexed expression as if he were genuinely confused and appalled that such a case could even be thought of being slapped onto a detectives desk.

“You think that’s all it’s about?” Bill says with a grin. “Don’t worry, soon you’ll understand that some people are way more complex than you could ever imagine.”

Bill judged his rookie partner by his reading material and concluded that it was highly likely that movies and television heavily influenced his decision to become a private investigator like many other people who lacked a grasp with reality have done. Some of those particular investigators don’t last very long in the profession after they realize that most cases are nowhere near what they’ve seen in a movie. But, it was Bills’ job to teach Buddy the ropes of what he knew regardless.

“A lot of clients are too embarrassed,” Bill continued, “ or they don’t want their significant other to find out that they don’t trust them. Or they simply don’t think that a case of infidelity is important enough these days to be investigated and they’re right, at least to me. So they’re afraid the case would get rejected, which they fuckin’ would if I was the one in charge, unless they’re paying out the bank like this guy is. You like money don’t ya?”

“Of course I like fuckin’ money. But I like action too.” Buddy replies.

“Oh, we’ll get action”, Bill says with a teasing smile, “we’ll see plenty of action.”

“That’s not what I mean, I’m talking about-“

“I know what you’re talking about”, Bill cuts him off. “And I hate to spoil it for you, but these kinds of cases are anywhere from eighty to ninety-nine percent of the cases you’re gonna get. I don’t blame these clients too much because, more often than not, we end up turning in photos and videos of wife blowing some jerk real good, the husband bulldozing the wife’s cousin, friend or sister- hell I’ve caught women and men cheating on their spouses with their own marriage counselor. Apparently, when it comes to sexual urges, people don’t give a fuck, no pun intended. But anyway, it just gets old. So I’m willing to bet by the end of this investigation, we’ll have all the photos we need of this guy’s wife sucking off some guy somewhere, and some money in our wallets. You understand?”

“Are you freakin’ kidding me?” Buddy says with a slight of disappointment in his tone.

“Not kidding. What were you expecting?”

“Well, something a little bit more interesting and exciting than running around shining flashlights on cheating spouses. Not exactly what I had in mind when I got into this profession.” Buddy turns his head out the window, plants his elbow on the door and lets his chin rest on his knuckles. His attitude reminded Bill of his pouting grandkids.

“It’s easy money.” Bill says.

“No it isn’t. It’s boring money. I wanna see action, wear disguises, sneak up on motherfuckers, be in dangerous situations and use all kinds of high tech gadgets and shit.”

“You’re way in the wrong profession, my guy.” Bill says. “Head over to Hollywood, you’ll be able to do all that over there. The higher ups in this investigative firm look for consistency and competency no matter what the case is.”

“Well, how am I supposed to impress the higher ups with a slut case like this?” Buddy asks.

Bill laughs a genuine, chesty laugh.

“Impress the higher ups…” Bill laughs some more and shakes his head. “You couldn’t impress the higher ups if you were Jack Nicholson in Chinatown. They don’t give a fuck about action. They give a fuck about experience. They care about how many solved cases and satisfied clients you can rack up under your belt. Do good on these cases, these easy ones, rack up a good track record, and when that good, potentially action packed case you’re itching for comes along, maybe they’ll slap it on your desk.”

Buddy exhales out his nose and returns his attention out the window, where marshy land covered the countryside. He had to accept that being this is his second case, he had to start off light with something easy. Building up experience tested his patience, but in his head, he had to convince himself that it would be worth it in the long run.

“Finally, that should be the house”, Bill mutters as the car neared a mansion of history-esque features, shrouded with tall, swampy trees whose craggily, ivy covered branches draped over its old style architecture like a gown woven by mother nature herself.

“Seems like a cozy, luxurious place to spend the week with a client.” Buddy says with a hint of uncertainty in his tone.