4. Chapter Four

Chapter four

I jolt awake, heart pounding. I sit up abruptly, my eyes darting around in the dim light. Where are the trees, the candles? Oh, right. It was just a dream.

I blink, scanning the corners of the campervan, half-expecting to see flickering light or the towering figure of Bigfoot lingering by the door. But there’s nothing. Just the usual clutter of my gear and the soft hum of the forest outside. No candles. No Bigfoot. Just me.

I rub my eyes, letting out a long breath. Get a grip, Emily.

Reaching between my legs, I find I'm dripping wet. My inner thighs are slick with arousal. Slowly, I lie back down, the bed creaking softly under my weight. I pull the blanket up to my chin, determined to find sleep again, but the sun is beginning to rise. I guess I’m getting up then.

I slide out of bed, still shaking off the remnants of the dream. I need coffee, badly. I unpack my little kitchen out the back of the campervan and get the stove going. The familiar hiss of the burner is comforting, and soon, the aroma of coffee fills the air. While the coffee brews, I rummage through my provisions for something to eat. Breakfast is simple — a granola bar and an apple. Nothing fancy, but it does the trick.

With my steaming mug in hand, I settle into a camping chair and pull out my phone.

Hmm, two messages from Mark. The first one is an apology, and the second one is asking if I arrived ok. I should probably reply. But I’m not going to. Not yet anyway. Let him worry.

I lock the phone and set it aside, focusing on my coffee instead. The warmth of the drink soothes me, the bitterness sharp and grounding. Grounding is good. I need grounding after that weird dream.

I finish my coffee and stare out into the vast, awakening forest. Time to get moving. There's a lot to do today.

The forest is crisp, the morning air sharp with the eye-opening scent of pine and earth. I pull on my backpack and adjust the straps, ensuring it’s snug against my shoulders. Stepping off the well-worn trail, I venture deeper into the less-trodden areas of the Payette National Forest. Here, the signs of human passage fade and the true wild begins to unfold.

Around me, the forest is alive with the subtle grandeur of nature untouched. Tall pines tower overhead, their canopies interlocking to create a mosaic of green and gold as the sunlight filters through. Each step I take is cushioned by the mix of soft loam and scattered pine needles beneath me. Every breath I take feels like a gulp of pure, cold water — refreshing and invigorating.

Small ferns and wildflowers peek through the underbrush, dotting the landscape with splashes of color. Whites, yellows, and the vibrant greens that only appear in the deep woods. Occasionally, a bird flits by in a flash of color, its song a fleeting melody quickly swallowed by the vastness of the forest. Every so often, I pause to listen. I let the forest's rhythm sync with my heartbeat. I am exactly where I belong. Here, I am just another creature in the forest, tracing the footsteps of legends and beasts.

After trudging around for what feels like forever, I finally find the Bigfoot print. And let me tell you, it’s a whopper. Deep, unmistakable. I can barely contain my excitement as I crouch down for a closer look. This is seriously fucking amazing.

This footprint is massive — my entire shoe could fit in it twice over. The toes are all splayed out, and you can really see the definition like it just stepped there moments ago. And the heel part? Even deeper. This Bigfoot must be huge. It’s been snacking well out here, that’s for sure.

I whip out my tape measure and start measuring like a detective at a crime scene. I’m talking length, width, and depth. I scribble everything into my notebook, feeling a bit like a kid logging her most epic find yet in her diary. Then, it’s photo time. I snap pictures from every angle imaginable. Including a few selfies. Mark is not going to believe this!

Shit. Mark. I didn’t text him back. I’m sure he’s worried but he’ll have to wait. This is too important to ignore and Mark will still be at the end of the phone in an hour from now.

Grinning ear to ear, I mix up the plaster. The mixture has to be just right. Too runny, and it won’t capture the fine details. Too thick, and it could distort them. This print is going to make an awesome cast if I can get the mixture right.

I pour in the plaster, watching it settle into all the nooks and crannies. Every time I do this, it’s like I’m unlocking a little piece of the mystery — getting one step closer to proving everyone who doubted me wrong. And let me tell you, that feels pretty darn good.

Ok, now I have to wait for it to set. The plaster will be touch dry in about ten minutes. I’ll take a look around for any other evidence while I wait.

I wander away from the print, keeping my eyes peeled. Normally, the forest just feels like... well, forest. Trees, bushes, the usual suspects. But here, around where I found the footprint, the air feels charged. Almost buzzing. It’s like someone’s rubbed a balloon on my hair. Something about this particular spot feels off. It's not just the eerie stillness or the way sounds seem muffled here — it's as if the very air is heavy, holding its breath.

Shit. What if it’s the Elementals? The last time I was here, I stopped at a gas station just outside Payette and this indigenous elder told me a story about forest spirits. Elementals he called them. He said that the air feels electric and then they come for you, whisking you away, never to be seen again. I know it sounds crazy, but so does Bigfoot to most people.

I let out a sharp breath and shake my arms, trying to expel my nerves. Get it together Emily.

This is when I see them — broken branches. These aren’t your average twiggy branches; these are big, hefty ones. Snapped clean off about seven feet up the tree. No storm did this — storms don’t pick and choose that neatly. And it's not a bear either. They climb, sure, but snapping branches like these clean off? Unlikely.

I circle the tree, peering up into the canopy and then back down at the forest floor, looking for any signs of what could have done this. The breaks are fresh, the wood inside still pale and not yet darkened by exposure.

I pull out my camera to take a few photos. Every bit of evidence adds up, paints a bigger picture. And this picture? It's starting to get really interesting.

Leaning in closer to the broken branches, my eyes catch a glimpse of something tangled in the rough bark. Fur! Not just a few strands, but a good clump.

"Hello, what have we got here?" I whisper to myself.

I pull out my tweezers and a plastic bag from my backpack, the tools of the trade for a careful collection. I'm gentle as I tease the fur away from the bark. Bringing the fur close to my nose, I take a cautious sniff. It’s musky, wild, and distinctly animal — unlike anything I typically encounter. Not deer, definitely not bear. Something else. Could this be Bigfoot fur?

"I wish you could talk and tell me your story," I say to the fur, half-joking.

Securing the fur in the bag, I press out the air, seal it tight, and stash it in my backpack. This little bit of mystery fur could be the piece of evidence that ties everything together, or it might just raise more questions. Either way, I can't wait to find out!

With the fur safely tucked into my backpack, I pause to sweep my gaze across the surrounding area again. I don’t want to miss anything else.

Why does it feel like the forest is watching me? What’s out there?

Suddenly, a sharp crack behind me shatters the eerie calm. I spin around, my heart hammering in my ears. My eyes dart frantically, searching through the dim shadows cast by the towering trees. My hand shakes as I reach for the bear repellent strapped to my belt.

"Who's there?" I call out, as if that’s going to deter a bear from eating my face.

As the seconds stretch out and nothing attacks, my racing heart starts to slow. I keep the repellent close though — I’m not ready to let my guard down yet. Whatever made that sound could still be close, watching, calculating.

I glance at my watch. Three hours back to camp. With the sun already dipping toward the horizon and that unsettling crack in the trees, it’s best I don’t waste any time. I need to make it back before dark. No telling what's out here with me.

I crouch down next to the plaster cast of the footprint. It's hard to the touch now, set enough to travel. Carefully, I slide my hands underneath it, lifting it from the mud. It's heavier than it looks but I’ll be able to manage.

I pull out the roll of bubble wrap from my backpack and wrap the cast meticulously. It's precious cargo — the kind of evidence that makes or breaks careers. Once secure, I tuck it into my backpack.

"Alright, let's get moving," I mutter to myself, scanning the surrounding trees one last time. The forest seems to have returned to normal, the earlier tension has lifted. The static feeling has gone. Weird.

The walk back is brisk, my steps quick and purposeful. I keep my ears tuned to any sounds, my hand never straying far from the bear repellent. Every rustle in the underbrush, every snap of a twig sends a shot of adrenaline through me. But the path is clear, I’ll be back soon.

As I push through the last stretch of dense foliage, I see the outline of my campervan in the fading light. I’ve made it, thank fuck.