Monster of the Appalachian

Since I was a child, I have always been fascinated with creatures that are yet to be on any biologists list of known species. Nessy, Bigfoot, The Mothman, chupacabra, all of them. I would study for hours. Read encyclopedia entries, eyewitness accounts, and even fiction novels by avid monster fans such as myself. As big as my interest was, I never considered actually encountering one of the creatures. But, to understand why I was in the position I was in that caused me to come face to face with a legendary cryptid, I need to take you back a little ways.

“Andrew!” My mother’s booming voice from downstairs told me it was time for breakfast. I always woke up an hour before everyone else, got ready for school, and would spend the rest of the time listening to the next episode of the Weird Darkness podcast, or as much of it as I could before I was called down for breakfast. Today’s episode was especially exciting. It was a two hour segment on Bigfoot stories. So far, they had all been stories I had never heard, which made them even more intriguing. The rest of the episode would have to wait. I put my wireless headphones in their case and headed downstairs.

Mom was pretty good about making us breakfast. Today was a special day. It was the last day of school and the last day of finals for my senior year. Mom made french toast, bacon, breakfast ham, hash browns, and sunny-side up eggs, which were my favorite. None of which were on my normal diet, but today, I was willing to make an exception.

As captain of the wrestling team, I came out number one in the middleweight division state championships. I wasn’t terribly tall for my age, but I made up for it with regular weight training and coach guided physical conditioning. Despite all of this, I was ostracized by my own teammates and other jocks around school. They called me Sasquatch because of my not-so-secret obsession with cryptids. In essence, I didn’t mind that. Some of my best childhood friends were nerds, so I spent a lot of energy distracting the bullies from them so they didn’t get picked on. It worked, for the most part. At least one person picked a fight with me every week. They tired out really quickly when I would spend the entire fight dodging and avoiding their attempts to lad any blow they could, while simultaneously, egging them on. Before long, a teacher or an administrator would come around the corner and see me dodging attacks from the bullies, who would then be escorted to the principal’s office.

Over breaks from school and long weekends, my dad, my little brother, Jacob, and I would go camping at Summersville Lake. Jacob and I could never sleep well on camping trips. Mostly because we would get cold, but also because our dad snored like an angry gorilla. Often, we would stay up and watch the sunrise over the Appalachian Mountains. “One day,” Jacob began during one of our early mornings, “I’m going to hike the Appalachian Trail.”

“That’s a good dream to have,” I told him. Unfortunately, Jacob would not be able to see that dream. The final afternoon of my senior year came and Jacob and I were walking home. After a brief conversation about our day, we slipped into our individual podcasts. Jacob and I had similar interests, though Jacob’s fell more on the side of aliens and UFO conspiracy theories. I enjoyed that stuff too, but cryptids were always my go to.

As we reached the road to cross away from our large campus, The crossing guard held up her sign and we began to walk. I noticed my shoe was untied and knelt down to tie it, but Jacob walked ahead. At that moment, a large black truck approached the crosswalk. The truck did not slow down, but rather sped up as it got closer. I didn’t see this, but reports would say that the driver was trying to reach for something he dropped on the floor and did not see the crosswalk until it was too late. The truck slammed on it’s brakes. “Jacob!” I began to sprint to my brother but was stopped by the crossing guard as the truck breached the crosswalk. The last thing I remember at that moment was Jacob soaring through the air and making headfirst contact with the asphalt. Everything went black after that.

The next thing I remembered was the sheriff holding me up against his SUV and the driver of the truck on all fours, bleeding from the mouth. Violence was not my go to solution, but something took hold of me that day. After that, I wouldn’t be the same.

Three years and countless therapy sessions later, I made a decision. I was going to take some time off from the salt plant I had been working at since I was 16 and I was going to hike the Appalachian Trail. I had picked six points on the trail and, with the blessing of my parents, decided to scatter his ashes at each of those points. In the early spring, as the weather decided to get warmer, I planned my trek. Using my savings, I bought new gear: a new insulated sleeping bag, a compact tent, a collapsible fishing rod and tackle, a small hatchet/stake hammer, a poncho/multi-use tarp, a butterfly style trench knife, and a lightweight yet durable pack to hold it all. Everything else, I already had. I took a pair of insoles out of some old hiking boots and slipped on some old loafers I had.

At the entrance to the Appalachian Trail in north Georgia, I purchased a nice pair of hiking boots for a shop nearby. I stocked up on supplies and moved on my way. The first day was easy. I started a little later than I should have so I didn’t make it very far my first day. The minute the sun began to crest the trees, I found a nice clearing near Chester Creek and set up camp. I was still about 33 miles away from my first point at Sassafras Gap. I chose that point because it was the name of one of his favorite songs by the band The Devil Wears Prada.

My first night out, I was still trying to get used to the sounds of the forest. The bugs, the rustling trees, the scurrying sound of nocturnal critters across the forest floor. My citronella oil lamp burned softly through the night, keeping me safe from any wandering insects who might be hungry for my blood. I ate an MRE that I had purchased before falling asleep.

The next morning, I filled my canteen in the river nearby. I boiled the water in a small saucepan I had brought with me to remove any impurities. Normally, I wouldn’t mind, but the last thing I wanted was to get sick and cut my 2,000 mile trek short before I finished my task. With fresh water in hand, I headed out for the day just as the sun came up, eating a small energy bar on the way.

Three days later, I reached my first point. I took my brother’s cylindrical urn from the side pouch of my bag. “Well, Jacob. This is your first stop, baby brother. I only wish you could be here with me.” I pulled off the top and sprinkled a fraction of the ashes onto a flat rock I had found. I took out a small cross I had crafted the night before and stuck it firmly in the ground. I took out the small MP3 player I had brought with me and listened to Sassafras as I watched the sun begin to go down. I quickly set up camp nearby.

Three months and two stops later, things began to get a bit desperate. I had underprepared for the leg of the journey I was on at that point. I had picked up a guide and so I didn’t move from the position I was for around three days as I gathered berries, roots, and fish for my journey. I had picked up a small cooler and would line the bottom with cool rocks from nearby streams regularly to maintain the temperature. By the third night, I was stocked up and ready to go. I still had close to 60 miles before my next restock point and at the pace I had been going, it was looking like just under four days.

That night, I was stirred by a noise. I was used to the sounds of the trail by now, so for something to wake me, it had to be out of the ordinary. A deep, almost guttural whooping sound was coming from the forest. I grabbed my flashlight and hatchet and stepped out of my tent. The embers of my fire were still red so I stirred the fire to reignite the flames with what little was left on it. The noise had stopped but snapping branches and heavy rustling on the forest floor told me there was something a little bit more concerning than just small critters scrambling around out there. I shouted really loudly in hopes to scare it off. Pretty soon, I heard rustling fade into the depths of the woods. Whatever it was, it was done with me for the night. After a couple of hours by the fire and nothing else going on, I was able to fall back to sleep.

Two more months went by without incident. The trail was normal. My fourth stop was the ridge we often saw the sun rising from behind. This time, I set my watch to wake up at sunrise to spread the ashes, in honor of those childhood memories. Keep in mind that I tried to find spots as far away from the trail as I could, while still being able to find my way back. Oftentimes, this took me about a mile off the trail.

That night, I was once again woken in the night. This time by something heavy striking my tent and caving part of it in momentarily. This time, inhuman roars and grunts could be heard coming from the forest. They weren’t human. And they certainly didn’t belong to a bear. It almost sounded like a scene out of Tarzan. They sounded upset. I grabbed my flashlight and this time, I grabbed my trench knife. The six inch blade was strong and sharp enough to provide me with a sense of security. I heard a loud, “URUMPH” come from the tree line. It sounded close. Too close for comfort. I once again screamed as loud and as threatening as I could, hoping to scare off my attackers, but this time, I was only met with a roar back.

The rest of the night I could hear pacing back and forth coming from just beyond the tree line. I relit the fire, which seemed to calm it. Whatever it was, it didn’t roar again, but this time, kept grunting as it paced. Occasionally, I would catch a glimpse of something large with thick brown fur. It stood upright like a man. I had heard these stories entirely too often. I knew I was up against the sasquatch. I had also heard what could happen, should I let my guard down.

Luckily, the night was almost over. The creature retreated into the woods just before dawn. I could hear him get further and further from my camp. That morning, I set up the same shrines I had been leaving anywhere that I left my brother’s ashes, gave a small eulogy and quickly packed up my camp. I wanted to put as much distance between myself and that critter as I could.

Normally, I was able to find the trail. Due to my lack of sleep, however, I was rather lost on where I was. By noon, I still had not found the trail. I was lost. I decided to keep heading north as best I could in hopes that I would eventually run into the trail again. Night came quickly and I set up camp.

I avoided making a fire so as to not draw any unwanted attention. My pedometer showed that I had only traveled about five miles, due to the harsher conditions of the nonexistent path I was travelling. I attempted to sleep, but was again jarred awake by the godless roars coming from just beyond the tree line. This time, I stayed in my tent, knife and light at the ready.

I heard the heavy, bipedal footsteps slowly invade my camp. Like a fool, I had left my pack outside. Keeping it in the tent made it almost too cramped inside to be comfortable. I heard my belongings being tossed to the ground like cheap trash needing to be discarded. The grunts and growls of disapproval continued to be present. I stayed as quiet as I could.

Despite my best efforts, the one thing happened that you do not want to happen when you are trying to remain silent. I had to sneeze. I tried tricks to stop it and was successful the first time. The second time, there was no stopping it. I stifled my sneeze, but it didn’t matter. After an inquisitive grunt, I could hear the slow and heavy footsteps clashing with the debris on the floor heading towards my tent. I was in trouble.

The creature let out a mighty roar and grabbed my tent with both hands. With multiple roars it ripped and tore at my tent until finally a hole began to form in one of the corners. Before he could tear through it, I quickly unzipped the tent and bailed out of the front, knife and light still in hand. I stood there in a defensive stance like I was ready to wrestle the yeti, too. And there it was. Towering at close to seven feet tall, with shoulders about as wide as me stood the legendary sasquatch of the United States. The face was more human that I had anticipated, but also bore many resemblances to apes.

The creature yelled again as it lunged forward and grabbed me in both arms. I was able to maneuver myself to have my knife hand free. I didn’t hesitate. I plunged the knife into the jugular of the creature. It released its hold slightly. Enough for me to free my other hand. Using two hands now, I jerked and twisted the knife, my face being soaked in the blood of this unknown creature. It roared in pain for what felt like a lifetime before crashing onto the hard ground, completely releasing it’s grip.

The creature took three shallow breaths and exhaled for the last time. The forest fell dead silent. Not even a single cricket. Once I had caught my breath, I immediately rolled over and began to puke profusely from the gore, the smell, and the fact that I was covered in blood. Each retch brought pain to my ribcage, telling me that the creature had most certainly broken a few ribs. Once I felt like I couldn’t possibly expel any more bile, I shined the flashlight around the tree line. And that was where my heart broke.

Standing behind a large spruce, barely peeking out was a juvenile sasquatch. I could hear a faint whimpering coming from the creature. I felt horrible. I turned back to the mutilated corpse at my feet and upon further examination could tell it was female. I had been so caught up in defending myself that I failed to see the signs. I had wandered off the trail and into her domain. She was simply defending her child.

I closed my knife and threw it into my tent. I knelt back down and raised a hand to show I was unarmed. I reached over into the small cooler and sure enough, I was able to find a filet of fresh fish. I set the fish on a flat rock that sat a good distance away from the mother and backed away slowly. “I’m sorry,” I whispered and I continued my retreat. Tears were forming in my eyes. “I didn’t know. I’m so very, truly sorry.” My voice was breaking from the tears.

The small creature slowly approached and took the fish off of the rock and ate it. As it ate, I fell onto my backside and began gently sobbing. The small creature walked over and grabbed my hand. I could tell this one was female as well. She turned my hand over and back looking at it with great interest. She looked at her own hand and then back at mine. She looked at me with a sense of wonder filling her eyes.

Just then I heard another roar as another creature, this one a bit larger than the previous leapt from the tree line. He looked at the fallen corpse of what I can only assume to be his mate and let out a somber moan. He looked at me, and after seeing me covered in blood and in close proximity to the child, he began to charge. The little one stepped in between us and began grunting and making noises I had never heard before. The larger male grunted back.

The larger male looked up at my face. He approached me and wiped a tear from my eye. He studied the moisture on his finger for a second and then shook his head. With a loud grunt, he picked up the body of his fallen mate. He and the child headed to the shadowed forest. The young one gave me one final glance as she faded out of view.

After the incident, I ditched my gear. I put clothes and my shoes on and armed with only a hatchet, my knife, and my flashlight, I ran. I ran and ran until I felt like I was going to puke again. My ribs ached with every pounding step I took. The compass in my watch told me we were heading north east, so I continued. As luck would have it, I bounded right into a campsite.

The man and the woman of the campsite were immediately startled. Even more so when they saw my face covered in blood. In relief, I collapsed on all fours and began to sob uncontrollably. The couple soon realized I was in trouble and proceeded to help me towards the campfire. They attempted to warm me up and even fed me. I tried to explain what happened, but they didn’t believe me. I told them to travel about a mile southwest and they would find the ruins of my camp. They chose to call the rangers.

The rangers did find the ruins of the camp. The only evidence of the altercation was the blood soaked ground. The rangers were suspicious, so they ran some tests on the blood covering my face and torso. The only thing the results told them was that the blood was not human and, at least for the rangers, that was enough to not charge me with murder, though, at that moment, I felt like I should have been.

I walked the rest of the trail with no incident. At each of my last three stops along that trail, I didn’t just leave one cross. I left two. One for my brother and one for the life I took. I’ve hiked the trail twice since then. Each time, I was certain that something watched me. Something silently observing me either with caution or hatred. I would never know which.