The Bigwoof Conspiracy Page 5

  He picked up one of the plaster casts Lucy had made while they had waited for his nosebleed to stop. “Huh.” He scratched some dried blood off his nostril.

  She grabbed the print out of his hands and examined it again. She had never seen a foot like this before. It was incredible – as big as her forearm and twice as wide, with long, clawless toes. It certainly didn’t resemble the human-looking “Bigfoot prints” they sold at Smiley’s Souvenirs down on Main Street.

  “Well, maybe if somebody hadn’t punched me in the face…” said Milo.

  “For the last time,” Lucy insisted, “it was my elbow and it was an accident.”

  “Then maybe I would’ve been able to see whatever it was you saw.”

  She scowled. “Well, maybe you deserved a bloody nose for spying on me anyway.”

  “Touché.” Milo held out his hands in a gesture of peace.

  His shirt was untucked and splattered with blood, his trousers were stained with mud and his hair was sticking up on one side. Lucy thought it was an improvement.

  Milo picked up the camera and flicked through the pictures Lucy had taken moments ago. “I still don’t know how you managed not to get a single decent picture of the bear fight.”

  “It was that stupid lens you put on it,” she moaned. “It made everything blurry.” She lay down on the ground and stared up at the yellowing leaves of the canopy above. “I give up,” she said. “I’m never moving from this spot.”

  “That sounds reasonable,” Milo deadpanned. “What’s this?” He squinted at one of the blurry pictures. “There’s a pink splotch on one of the brownish blobs.”

  “I dunno,” said Lucy. “It’s probably my finger.” She could feel muddy water soaking through the seat of her jeans. Perfect.

  “I don’t think so,” said Milo. “This is pink-pink, not pinky-pink.”

  “I’m starting to think you just like the way words sound,” Lucy whimpered.

  Milo squinted into the trees. “Which way did you say the bear went?”

  Lucy pointed.

  Milo gathered up most of the plaster prints and shoved them into Lucy’s dirt-caked backpack. “OK, grumpy,” he said. “Up ’n’ at ’em.”

  They trudged down the gully past a trickling waterfall until they reached a dense grove of wizened sticky pines.

  Lucy spotted an indented splotch of mud. “There’s another footprint!” She took out a print-making kit and mixed up the last of the plaster.

  Milo examined the distinctive trees that gave the town its name. Their long, sharp needles were an unusual deep blue. He reached out a finger and touched the glistening black ooze dripping lazily down a twisty grey trunk. When he pulled back, a thin strand of sap followed and then broke away, hovering in the air for a moment before folding back into the rest of the goo.

  “These trees are quite unique,” he said. “Did you know they’ve got the stickiest sap on the planet?”

  “Yeah, we did a project about that in kindergarten,” said Lucy. She shook the mixture and poured the milkshake-thick plaster into the footprint. “The sap’s fireproof and waterproof too.”

  “Hey, look.” Milo noticed something stuck to a stunted pine at the back of the grove. “It’s that pink thing I saw in the picture.”

  Lucy hopped to her good foot and wiped her plaster-covered fingers on her sweatshirt, leaving dove-like streaks of white. She hobbled towards him as Milo pulled a woollen object free from the tangled trees. It was covered in mud, sap and pine needles. He held it out. It looked like a small striped blanket.

  Lucy paled as she pointed to a dark-red stain on the edge of the grey and pink wool. “Is that blood?”

  “I hope not,” Milo swallowed.

  He offered one end to Lucy and the pair held it out at full length.

  Lucy gasped. “This is the shawl the Other Mrs Stricks was wearing.” She felt as though her stomach was slowly filling with iced water.

  “Maybe she came outside to look for her wife,” said Milo. “Do you think the bear got her?”

  “Or something worse. Come on,” urged Lucy.

  They clambered back up the gully, past the waterfall, and raced along the path all the way to the Strickses’ log cabin. Lucy thundered up the front steps, knocking one of the owl statues from its perch. She ran through the open door and into the house, red-faced and shaking.

  The place was utterly destroyed. The shelves of oddities were smashed, snow globes lying in glittery puddles on the wood floor. The glass coffee table was shattered, along with the many empty mugs that had sat upon it. Lucy ran to the kitchen, where the bubbling brew lay splattered all over the linoleum. She turned off the gas burner and went back to the living room.

  Milo slid to a stop and dropped the heavy backpack at Lucy’s side. He put a hand on the back of the love seat and tried to catch his breath. “Ew!” He jerked his hand back. His fingers were covered in some kind of colourless ooze.

  “What is that stuff?” She noticed a globby puddle on the seat of the shredded floral armchair. “There’s slime all over the place.” Lucy took a plastic bag out of her backpack and scraped some of the gunk into it.

  “It’s like that stuff that was on your shoes when you got struck by lightning,” said Milo. Grimacing, he wiped his hand on his shirt. “This looks bad, Lucy,” said Milo. “Really bad.”

  Lucy packed the slime sample into her bag and searched the room for signs of what had happened. The curtains over the front window had been torn, the metal rod bent in the centre and dangling from one side.

  Lucy felt the tattered edges of the drapes. “These look like claw marks.”

  Milo’s face fell as he looked out the window. “Uh, Lucy?” he said.

  “Son of a scab licker,” she muttered. “Now what?”

  Together, they stared out the window at the scariest thing they had seen all day. Headed down the dirt path straight towards the cabin was the search party for Mrs Stricks. Leading the way were their parents.

  Grounded. Like, seriously grounded. Lucy’s parents had previously used the word when punishing her, but never before had she actually been completely and utterly cut off from the outside world. All because of a harmless and perfectly legal (probably) investigation into dangerous paranormal activity.

  Until further notice, Lucy was denied television, visitors, the Internet, her backpack, reading for fun, writing her memoirs, messaging in any fashion and talking on the phone. She was to spend her lunch period in the science room grading papers with her mother and not in the cafeteria with Tex and, more specifically, “that Fisher kid”.

  Adding to her troubles, Lucy may have appeared to overreact at the Strickses’ cabin when Mr Fisher had “innocently” reached for her evidence-filled backpack.

  “Get your hands off me, KGB!” she had screeched at the top of her lungs as she tried to twist the bag out of Mr Fisher’s hands.

  She kicked him hard in the shin. He doubled over but didn’t let go.

  “Lucita Alvera Galena Sladan!” yelled Miranda Sladan, furiously pushing her way through the What are those kids doing here?s and What happened here?s of the bewildered search party.

  Lucy was about to lose her grip on her precious pack when her mother brusquely yanked it away from her and an equally surprised Mr Fisher.

  “I’ll take this, thank you very much,” said Miranda. She looked Mr Fisher coolly in the eye, threw the backpack over her shoulders and marched out the front door.

  Mr Fisher said nothing, his face a stone mask.

  Without meeting Fisher’s gaze, Silas placed an arm around his daughter and gently guided her towards the front door of the crowded cabin.

  Lucy glanced back over her shoulder. Milo was on the other side of the living room being poked and prodded by someone with a stethoscope. His stepmother was on the phone, looking very displeased. Lucy figured it was probably all the dried blood on his face. She had the feeling it would be some time before they saw each other again.

  Early the following m
orning, when everyone had calmed down a bit, the Sladan family met in the kitchen for pancakes.

  “You think locking me up is going to stop people from disappearing?” Lucy argued. “I’m the only person who’s seen what’s out there. People are in danger, for cripes sake.”

  She reached across the island countertop for the coffee pot and poured herself a cup. Her father immediately snatched it from her hand.

  Silas drank the coffee and sat on the stool across from her. “I hate to break it to you, kid,” he said, “but you are twelve years old. The fate of the world does not rest on your shoulders.”

  “You told the sheriff what you thought you saw,” said Miranda. “What else can you do?” She pointed at Lucy with the spatula she was using to flip pancakes. “It’s time for you to come back down to earth. Deal with the microcosm you actually live in.”

  “What’s a microcosm?” asked Willow, looking up from the funny pages.

  “Nobody is taking me seriously,” Lucy whined.

  “Nobody is taking your Bigfoot sighting seriously,” Miranda emphasised. She wiped her forehead, leaving a streak of flour, and slid two steaming pancakes on to Lucy’s plate. “Does this surprise you?”

  “Will you at least look at the slime I found at the Strickses’ place?”

  “That stuff could be anything, Luce,” said Miranda. “Just let it go.”

  “Please!” Lucy begged.

  “I’ll think about it!” Miranda took a plate of pancakes into the living room to eat in peace.

  “A microcosm is a tiny universe,” Silas said to Willow. He read the front page of the local newspaper, The Sticky Times, which reported that stores were now running out of bottled water, canned goods and ammunition. “Boy howdy,” he whistled. “Things are starting to feel freaky around here.”

  Tell me about it. Lucy begrudgingly took a bite of her delicious breakfast and chewed in silence. It always came down to proof. Until she had some, nobody was going to listen. Nobody.

  By the following weekend, time had begun to lose all meaning. Having been stuck indoors for nine whole days, Lucy learned that in prison it’s the little things that drive you mad.

  After spending three hours writing a report on the mimic octopus for her mother’s class (by hand, like some kind of Neanderthal), she paused to shake out a wrist cramp.

  Errol sat up drowsily from his spot by the desk and nudged her fingers until she scratched him under the chin. “What’s up, buddy? You bored?”

  Errol sneezed.

  “You and me both.”

  There was a heavy FLUMP outside the closed bedroom door.

  “Hello?” asked Lucy. No one answered.

  I thought I’m not allowed visitors…

  She slumped across the attic, hopping over a pile of books, and opened the door. There was a My Little Pony duffel bag sitting on the landing.

  Huh?

  “Whatcha doin’?” said a voice from above.

  Lucy looked up. Her little sister sat cross-legged in the rafters, grinning like a gap-toothed Cheshire cat.

  “What’s in the bag?” Lucy asked suspiciously. The last time Willow had given her a package it had contained a live garter snake.

  “Nothing venomous,” said Willow unhelpfully.

  Lucy picked up the heavier-than-expected sack and dragged it into her room. Willow swung down and trotted after her.

  Errol sniffed the duffel, snorted, then lay down on the beanbag looking disappointed.

  Well, it’s not food. It couldn’t be another care package from Tex. He had cycled over earlier in the week with a box containing pickled fish and stewed deer meat from his father’s deli, and some very welcome (and immediately confiscated) graphic novels.

  Lucy sat on the rumpled bed and unzipped the bag. No flippin’ way. “The footprint casts!”

  Willow crawled on the floor towards Errol. “They were hidden in Mom’s closet.”

  “You stole these for me? Thanks, Will.”

  “I owed you for collecting those owl pellets over the summer. Also, your friends said you needed them or you’d go crazy.”

  “Friends, plural?” asked Lucy.

  “My thoughts exactly,” Willow snickered. “That new kid you commit crimes with has been hanging out with Tex all week.”

  “Without me?” said Lucy. “That’s disturbing.”

  “Agreed.” Willow affectionately smooshed Errol’s face between her hands. “Why can’t you have normal friends?”

  “Why can’t you have human friends?” Lucy retorted.

  Willow let Errol lick her entire face.

  Lucy emptied the bag on the bed and picked up one of the casts. She ran her fingers along the surface of the mysterious creature’s footprint. Incredible.

  “Are you officially calling yourself a squatcher yet?” said Willow.

  Lucy flung the empty bag at her sister’s head.

  Willow ducked. “Gee, you’re grouchy when you’re grounded. Why don’t you talk to your new boyfriend about it?”

  “OK, I’m actually going to murder you.” Lucy balled up a fist.

  “I’m serious,” said Willow. “He’s downstairs.”

  “What?” The blood drained from Lucy’s face. She looked out the attic window. Sure enough, an unfamiliar silver sports car was parked in the driveway. She skidded across the floor, skipped across the landing and bounded down the stairs.

  Mr Fisher and his son sat on the worn leather couch in the living room. Lucy’s dad sat in the rocking chair, while her mom was perched on a stool she had brought in from the kitchen. Everyone stopped talking as soon as Lucy appeared.

  “Speak of the devil,” said Mr Fisher. He smiled and gestured for Lucy to have a seat.

  She sat on the floor next to the coffee table. Milo greeted her with a nod.

  “We were just having a chat with Mr Fisher,” said Silas.

  “Long overdue, I’m afraid,” Milo’s father chimed in, “considering you’re one of our top men on the factory floor, as I understand it.”

  “That’s kind of you to say, sir.” Silas looked quite pleased.

  Mr Fisher cleared his throat. “I came here to talk about Milo. You see, I just can’t abide seeing him upset.”

  Lucy glanced at Milo, who was sipping a glass of milk.

  “My son means everything to me,” Fisher continued, “and as I’m sure you’ve gathered, he’s quite fond of your daughter. I must admit, after meeting this bright, spirited young lady the other day, I can certainly understand why.”

  Silas smiled while Miranda pursed her lips.

  “Milo’s a good kid,” Fisher placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, “but like his mother, he tends to get a little carried away sometimes. I’m sure you folks have no experience with that.” He raised an eyebrow in Lucy’s direction.

  Silas burst into laughter.

  Lucy’s eye twitched.

  Mr Fisher smoothed his lustrous red tie. “Now, I know things got a little hairy last week, but I think we can all agree that these kids had good intentions. They wanted to help find their teacher. A noble venture, if ever there was one.”

  “Oh, I’m not sure about that,” said Miranda. She narrowed her eyes at Lucy. “Skipping school and running around the woods like maniacs in the middle of a rash of unexplained disappearances shows an astounding lack of judgement.”

  Mr Fisher nodded. “Miranda,” he said, his fingers forming a tepee, “I can certainly appreciate your concern. Sticky Pines is a quaint little town and I’m sure you’re used to things running smoothly around here. And while we should certainly take the recent disappearances seriously –” he put a hand on his heart – “from what I understand, all signs point to a series of unfortunate, but unconnected, misadventures. In this case, our children have stumbled upon the latest culprit: an overprotective mother bear. Simple as that.”

  Lucy dug her nails into her palms so hard she nearly drew blood. Milo smirked as if he could sense how hard she was fighting the urge to scream “BIGW
OOF ISN’T A BEAR!”

  “Hmm,” said Miranda. “Is it really as simple as that?” She tapped her knees thoughtfully. “You know, Lucy collected a sample of some sort of slime at the Strickses’ cabin on the day of the latest disappearance.”

  “Slime?” Mr Fisher chortled. “Is that a scientific term?”

  “It’s an accurate description,” said Miranda. “Clear, gelatinous slime. The police didn’t know what to make of it. I brought it to the school lab and took a closer look.”

  Lucy perked up. She actually did it. She had never been prouder of her mother.

  “What a creative use of educational resources.” Mr Fisher’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

  “It’s an organic substance,” Miranda continued. “A secretion from an animal, I would guess. But I discovered something rather unusual about it.”

  Lucy was listening intently. Now, this is getting interesting.

  “Nucralose,” said Miranda.

  Nucralose?

  Mr Fisher narrowed his eyes. “Pardon me?”

  “The substance contained a significant amount of the new sweetener made by your company.” Miranda cocked her head. “Can you think of any reason for this?”

  Lucy sensed a crackle of tension as Mr Fisher shifted in his seat, pondering her mother’s words.

  “That’s a fair question,” he said at last, “and one that I’ll be more than happy to have the team at my facility look into. I can’t thank you enough for bringing this to my attention. Would you mind talking me through your findings?”

  “Of course,” said Miranda.

  Silas put a hand on Lucy’s head. “Why don’t you squirts head up to the attic?”

  “No thanks. I wanna hear more about the slime,” said Lucy.

  “Are you saying you don’t want to spend time with a non-blood relative for the first time in a week?” said Miranda.

  “Ugh, fine.” Lucy stood up. Just when it was getting good.

  She led Milo through the kitchen and into the back hallway.

  “Hey,” Milo smiled, his hands in his peacoat pockets. “For a minute, I was worried I’d never see you again.”