I’D SEEN SOME messed up people in my time, but nothing like the woman curled up in the corner of the interview room.
She was covered with dirt and her hair looked like a bird’s nest… no, wait, that was a bird’s nest in her hair… her arms were wrapped around her knees as she rocked and hummed, her eyes squeezed shut. Rocking and humming were self-comforting gestures I’d seen in other trauma victims.
“We gave her a track suit, because she was… you know… naked.” The deputy scratched his head. “We called you because… well, we think it’s another BFG.”
I gave him side eye. No duh. Clearly, it was another BFG. Only BFGs come back looking like that.
BFG was law enforcement shorthand for Bigfoot Girlfriend.
We would get one tonight, on the same day I got my wine of the month delivery. At home there was a nice Argentine Malbec on my porch that would go perfectly with the filet mignon I picked up the night before.
So much for that.
For the millionth time, I wondered why did I come here? Out of all the towns I could have chosen to relocate my therapy practice to, why did I have to choose the one place with a real live Bigfoot problem? Jeez.
Bigfoots. Who knew? I mean, I’d seen the T.V. shows, you know, the ones where a bunch of yahoos run around in the woods looking to catch one or two. Well, it doesn’t work that way. You don’t catch a Bigfoot. When a Bigfoot wants to be found, it will find you.
I’ll tell you, I have no love for ’em, either. Bigfoots. Sure, they’re an endangered species. Sure, they’re probably the missing linking. Sure, they’re kind of magical on top of it.
At the same time, they’re annoying as H-E-double hockey sticks.
Here’s the thing. Once I found out that (1) Bigfoots were real, and (2)they had a sex drive and a half, I packed my car up and tried to skedaddle, but… I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave. The moment you see a Bigfoot, you get stuck in this town for the rest of your life.
I got in my car, drove for two hours, and wound back up in front of my house.
That didn’t mean I gave up on it. I’ve tried. Oh, how I’ve tried. I’ve packed up my car nigh upon seventy times now, and each time I drive and drive, only to find myself pulling back into my house’s driveway each and every time.
“It’s the curse,” the sheriff explained to me one night after I tried to file a complaint against somebody slipping hallucinogens in the water. I figured I had to be high on something, and I knew I hadn’t taken anything… yet, anyway. “The natives here, they’ve sworn to protect the Yeti people, and one way is through the curse.” He patted my arm sympathetically. “Sorry, buddy.”
I glared at him. “You didn’t think about telling me about that before I got here?”
“You wouldn’t have believed me.” He pushed his hat back and scratched his head. “Also, it’s in the contract, but the curse makes it so you don’t see it.”
“So, you’re saying I’m stuck here.”
“Yep. Just like the rest of us.” He patted my back. “Look at it this way. At least, Amazon delivers now. And now we’ve got reasonably good WiFi. Could be worse.”
“Yeah. It could be. Worse.” I rubbed the back of my head and unlocked my trunk. “Can you at least do something about them taking a dump on my car?”
The moment I said that, there was this loud buzzing, like a broken chain saw. I looked in the woods behind me; sure enough, there were a couple of Bigfoots trying to hide behind a tree and laughing with their furry hands covering their mouth.
The sheriff saw them, too, but instead of drawing his firearm and shooting them for the abominations they were, he gave them a wave and a smile. They grunted at him. He grunted back. The sheriff pointed at me, grunted, and started laughing. The Bigfoots guffawed. One started peeing on himself, making the other laugh even harder.
I opened my trunk and pulled out my luggage.
“Don’t take it personally, son,” the sheriff said, sensing my lack of good humor. “They’re teasing you. They do it to all the newbies. Think of it as them marking their territory.”
Hey, you know that joke, where does a Bigfoot take a dump? Anywhere he damn well pleases, and if it’s on the hood of your brand new three series BMW, it’s on the hood of your brand new three series BMW.
Funny joke, right? Ha ha. Ha ha. Ha.
Considering Bigfoot scat weighs nearly twenty pounds and stinks worse than anything I can describe, I had a hard time not taking it personally. Plus, it was making my car paint peel.
Anyway. After a few more escape attempts and a couple of botched calls to Finding Bigfoot (the curse stopped that, too, God knows how), I gave up. Got on Amazon Prime. Learned macrame. It’s a thing here, for some reason.
It’d be almost boring, if it weren’t for the women. Turns out some human women have a gene in them that makes them hot for Hairy… nudge, nudge, wink, wink. Some can handle it. These women end up marrying hirsute men, which is perfectly okay, whatever. Nothing wrong with that, is all I’m saying.
But the ones that can’t handle it, they come here like in that Close Encounters movie where everybody had to go to that mountain. They drive, they hike, they do whatever, they come here and hang out in the woods until they get a rose, if you catch my drift.
“Have you IDed her?” I ask the Sheriff.
“We’re running her prints.” The Sheriff yawned. “Do you mind taking over? I’ve got a date, and I need to go clean up.”
I thought of the Malbec. “Knock yourself out,” I growled and went into the room. “Hi, there. I’m Dr. Madsen. Do you know where you are?”
She stopped rocking and humming. “Ku,” she said, her eyes unnaturally large. “Ku ku ku ku!”
“Cuckoo? Yes, I agree – “
“KU KU!” she shrieked and launched herself at me. “KU KU!”
The Sheriff cursed and pulled her off me. “Ku Ku,” he said. “Ku. Ku Ku.”
“Ku Ku?” the woman asked him. “Ku Ku. Kuuuu… ku.”
“Ku Ku. Ku. Ku Ku. Ku,” the Sheriff replied.
He shook his head. “Ku.”
Her chin quivered. “Ku?”
She burst into tears.
“Okay. What just happened?” I asked him.
“I told her he was married and wasn’t going to leave his wife for her.” He patted the wall. “She’ll come out of it soon. Broken heart always wakes him up.” He detached the stun gun from his belt. “If not, shoot her with this a few times.”
I stared at the stun gun like it was a poisonous snake.
He squeezed my shoulder. “You got yourself a live wire, son. Call me if you need me.” He headed on out.
I turned back to the woman. “Ku… ku?”
“Huh?” The woman rubbed her face. “Cuckoo? Did you just call me cuckoo?” She blinked. “Where am I?”
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