Has Anybody Seen Sasquatch?

Daryl D. Daryl

Description

A tourist goes missing in the wilderness, and Deputy Jackson is sent to find him, running into some strange people and maybe even the mythical Sasquatch.
Who believes in Sasquatch, Bigfoot, or Yeti? Everyone has heard the stories, but most people don’t think them to be true. Earnest is a city slicker from the East. He flies to the wilderness, rents a car, and manages to find his way to a place so remote that almost nobody ever goes there. He is soon reported missing when his rental car is not returned.
Deputy Jackson has two interests in life: his ranch and his job with Search and Rescue. His peaceful existence is upset when he’s tasked with finding Earnest. Jackson does locate the car, and it appears the missing man left in a hurry, perhaps spooked or scared. While searching, Jackson crosses paths with Ginny, a girl raised in a shack beside the bayou.
With the help of friends—and Ginny—Jackson continues his search, leading him to a ghost town filled with some strange folk. He’s still not sure what happened to Earnest, but Jackson is beginning to suspect his disappearance might indeed have something to do with a big, brown, hairy beast.

Sujets

• Pie Grande
• Bigfoot
• Sasquatch
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Archway Publishing
• Date de parution: 30 septembre 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781665724319
• Langue: English

Extrait

Has Anybody Seen SASQUATCH?
 
 
 
 
DARYL D. HANSEN
 
 
 
 

 
Copyright © 2022 Daryl D. Hansen.
 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
 
Archway Publishing
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.archwaypublishing.com
844-669-3957
 
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
ISBN: 978-1-6657-2432-6 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-6657-2430-2 (hc)
ISBN: 978-1-6657-2431-9 (e)
 
Library of Congress Control Number: 2022909501
 
Archway Publishing rev. date: 09/16/2022
Contents
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34

1
He was becoming a little tired. He had been driving since early morning. This was only the third day of his vacation, and he was in no hurry to get anyplace special. He saw signs of a town coming up, so he decided to stop at the very first place he came to that had any sort of a sign pertaining to food.
As it happened, that was a drive-in, but no luck there. He pulled in just close enough to see the closed sign. One of those lunch and dinner places, he guessed, and it was still early in the day. As he turned around, he saw, just a block down the street, a small sign that said ‘Koffee Klatch’.
There was sort of a hitching rail out front, but only three cars, and still an empty spot, so he parked and went inside. It was a very small establishment, with only a half dozen small tables, and most of them were full. An aroma enveloped him, one that carried a promise of something wonderful, perhaps even freshly cooked.
He found a seat at the one empty table, which was covered with an old fashioned red and white checkered tablecloth. Soon, a waitress appeared, with a cheerful smile and a coffeepot. He turned over the cup that was sitting in the saucer on his table, and she poured him a cupful of black liquid. “Howdy, stranger. What’ll it be?”
“I don’t know. Do you have a menu?”
“Nope. Used to, but they’re more trouble than they’re worth. You have your choice of pancakes, or donuts, or cinnamon rolls.”
“Freshly made, I suppose?”
“Yep, right out of the oven.”
“Guess I will go for the cinnamon roll, then.”
He sipped his coffee, which was surprisingly good, although quite a bit stronger than he was used to. In a few minutes, the waitress returned with a cinnamon roll. It was the same size as the plate it was on, and when he took his first bite, he was ready to award the prize for best baked goods anywhere. The waitress appeared again to refill his coffee.
A couple of the other tables emptied out, and some more people came in, all talking and laughing. It looked like this was the morning hangout for the locals, and a lot of them were wearing western clothes . Might be ranchers , he thought.
He expected a check, but none appeared, so he walked over to the counter, with his wallet in his hand. Soon, the same waitress appeared, standing in front of the little cash register. He expected her to give him a price, but she was looking at him expectantly. He happened to glance at the display case next to the counter. It had one of those warming lights in it, and a whole pile of foil wrapped somethings. “What is that?” he asked.
“Breakfast burritos. Like a meal to go” she said. “Better give me a couple of those.”
He left clutching a paper bag . Not bad, he thought, breakfast and lunch, all for less than ten bucks. Better than anything he had ever seen in the city.
Nice little town , he mused, as he drove down the highway, which seemed to be the only through street in town, although he saw some side streets, on the right, it looked like they ended shortly against the bluffs that edged the town on one side.
Nothing much to look at, kind of dry dirt sort of thing, and not very high.
On the other side, the streets ended at the river, which he had been following, more or less, most of the morning. He passed a little park that seemed to be the city center, with a grocery store and a bar on the other side of the street. Then, close to the end of town, he spotted a gas station, on the left, so he pulled in.
While an old-fashioned gas pump filled up his tank, he looked across the street, where a whole bunch of cars were parked in front of a building. The sign said, “The Hungry Moose” and a smaller sign, lower down said “Eats and drinks.”
“Must be where people go for serious breakfast. Might have to stop there if I come back this way.”
The pumps had no credit card readers, so he had to go inside to pay for the gas. He also bought a candy bar and a package of ‘Old Red’ gum.
There was a sort of parking area, just before he left town, so he stopped there a minute, to get his bearings, and look at the map his friend had given him. “Great place to fish for brook trout, if you get over that way, while you’re on vacation.”
From his vantage point, he could see the river, as it passed the town on the left, and ahead there were a range of mountains that were like a stone wall at the end of the valley. He had to look twice to see what appeared to be a vertical crack in the rock, where the river seemed to vanish into a wall of gray granite. The highway seemed to go in a different direction now, turning north to head out of town. According to his map, he had to go six miles on the highway, and then turn left on a smaller road that would take him to the point where his friend had put an X with a red marker.
Nice little village , he was thinking, as he started up the road, but this country, once you left the river, seemed to be somewhat dry and desolate, everything just dirt, and little hills where even weeds did not seem to grow. He only passed two signs, the first a little board on a stick affair, that pointed right, saying, ‘Muddy Creek Road’, and the other one that read ‘Speed limit, 50 mph’.
He was beginning to wonder if his friend had given him a bum steer, when he saw the little sign to the left. ‘Hinman Ranch Road’ this one said. Well, he had come this far. Might as well try it. He had only gone about a mile when the scene began to change. First there was a pasture, with green grass, and some black cows grazing, and then a hay field, and then he came to what he supposed was the ranch. There were tractors and what he guessed to be hay equipment, parked on the left side of the road, and barns and cattle pens on the right.
He saw no people and no house, but he assumed that it was about lunch time. Maybe they all went home for lunch, or maybe they were done with haying for a day. He was a city slicker. What did he know about such things?
About another mile further along, the scene began to change. It was like he had come to tree line. Not big trees, but very dense, on both sides of the road. There was a small clearing on the left just before he entered the trees, with a big old two-story log house, which appeared to be abandoned, and sadly in need o repair.
Then he drove for miles, with only one little side road, that went off to the left, but he could not see if there were any dwellings there. Nothing he could see but trees, and then the road began to climb, only slightly at first, but becoming steeper and steeper. Finally, he broke out of the trees, where he could look back for only a moment before coming to a switchback to the left, and a steep one to the right, followed by another one to the left. It was all on the side of a very steep hill, and he had the car shifted down to low gear by the time he got through the last switchback.
He had another moment when he could look around for a second. Just the tops of trees in every direction, then the road straightened out, but now there were trees on one side of the road, and some sort of mountain on the other. He strained his neck, trying to look up but could not really tell if there were steep mountains there or only small cliffs. The only thing he was sure of was that the road had climbed rapidly, and he could almost feel the change in elevation, the air being much thinner here.
So, after about another mile, he was greatly relieved to see a little clearing with a small parking area, maybe only room for a couple cars. End of the road, and this was what his friend had told him to watch for. “ Don’t go any further ” he had said, “There is a little dirt road that goes on past that point, but it goes to a ghost town, and you have to have a jeep to get there.”
With a sigh of relief, he parked and shut off the ignition.
This was what he came on vacation for, to get away from the traffic and the noise and the stress of the big city.
He walked around the little parking area, stretching his legs, and relieved himself behind a tree, before returning to his car. “This is the life” he told himself, as he took out the sack with the breakfast burritos in it. He spread them out on the hood of his car and got a soda out of his cooler.
“So good” he said,