Chapter 3

3

K aitlin

The early morning mist clings to the forest floor as I step out of my cabin, camera in hand. It's been three days since my encounter with... Well, I'm still not sure what to call it. Bigfoot seems too simplistic, too crude for the magnificent creature I saw. The memory of those intelligent eyes, that powerful yet gentle presence, still sends a shiver down my spine.

I've spent every waking moment since then exploring the woods, hoping for another glimpse. Part of me wonders if I imagined the whole thing, if the stress of moving to this isolated cabin has finally gotten to me. But then I remember the mountain lion, the roar that sent it fleeing, and I know what I saw was real.

As I make my way along a narrow deer trail, my boots sink into the soft earth. I pause, frowning at an odd impression in the mud. Kneeling down, I brush away some fallen leaves to reveal an enormous footprint, easily twice the size of my foot. My heart races as I fumble for my camera, snapping several photos from different angles.

"This is it," I whisper to myself, excitement bubbling up inside me. "Proof that I'm not going crazy."

I spend the next hour following the trail of footprints, documenting each one meticulously. They lead me deeper into the forest than I've ventured before, to a small clearing dominated by an ancient, gnarled oak tree. The footprints stop abruptly at the edge of the clearing as if their owner simply vanished into thin air.

Disappointment washes over me, but it's quickly replaced by a sense of wonder as I approach the old oak. Its massive trunk is scarred with strange symbols – spirals, triangles, and other geometric shapes that seem too precise to be natural. I run my fingers over the marks, marveling at their depth and complexity.

"Well, I'll be damned," a gruff voice behind me says, nearly causing me to jump out of my skin. "Didn't expect to find anyone else out here, especially not poking around the old spirit tree."

I whirl around to find an older man standing at the edge of the clearing. He's tall and lean, with a weather-beaten face and sharp blue eyes that peer out from under a battered Stetson. A scraggly white beard covers the lower half of his face, and he's dressed in well-worn hiking gear.

"I'm sorry," I stammer, suddenly feeling as if someone has caught me trespassing. "I was just exploring and came across these markings. Do you know what they mean?"

The old man's eyes crinkle at the corners as he grins. "Name's Jack Hawkins. I've been studying these woods and their secrets for longer than you've been alive, I'd wager. And those markings? Well, they're part of a mystery that goes back centuries."

I introduce myself, and Jack's eyebrows shoot up in recognition. "Ah, so you're the one who inherited Rose's place. Folks in town have been buzzing about you. Not many people choose to live out here these days."

There's something in his tone that makes me think he knows more than he's letting on. I decide to take a chance. "Mr. Hawkins, have you ever seen anything... unusual in these woods? Something that most people would say is impossible?"

Jack's expression turns serious. He glances around the clearing, as if checking for eavesdroppers, before fixing me with an intense stare. "You've seen him, haven't you? The guardian?"

My breath catches in my throat. "You mean... Bigfoot?"

Jack chuckles, but there's no humor in it. "Bigfoot. Sasquatch. Yeti. The names humans have given them are as varied as they are inadequate. What you saw, Miss Charles, was a member of an ancient race that has called these forests home since long before our ancestors crawled out of the primordial ooze."

For the next hour, Jack regales me with tales of the forest's hidden inhabitants. He speaks of a highly intelligent, deeply spiritual species that lives in harmony with nature, protecting the land from those who would exploit it. According to Jack, the symbols on the spirit tree are part of their complex language, a way of marking territories and leaving messages for each other.

"But why haven't they been discovered?" I ask, my mind reeling from all this new information. "Surely with all our technology, someone would have found concrete evidence by now."

Jack's expression turns grim. "They're masters of stealth and misdirection, Miss Charles. And they have good reason to stay hidden. Humanity's track record with those who are different isn't exactly stellar, is it?"

As the sun climbs higher in the sky, Jack checks his watch and sighs. "I've got to be heading back. But listen, if you're serious about learning more, come by my cabin sometime. It's about three miles east of here, just past the big waterfall. I've got books and research materials that might interest you."

I thank him profusely, my head spinning with all I've learned. As Jack turns to leave, he pauses, fixing me with a serious look. "Be careful out here, Miss Charles. The forest has its own rules, its own guardians. Respect them, and you'll be fine. But never forget – we're guests in their world, not the other way around."

With that cryptic warning, he disappears into the trees, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the looming presence of the spirit tree.

I spend the rest of the morning exploring the clearing, taking photos of the tree and sketching the symbols in my notebook. It's past noon when I finally start making my way back to the cabin, my mind buzzing with questions and theories.

I'm so lost in thought that I almost miss the sound, a low, melodic humming that seems to resonate from the trees themselves. I freeze, straining my ears to catch the haunting tune. It's like nothing I've ever heard before, beautiful and alien all at once.

Slowly, carefully, I move towards the source of the sound. My heart pounds in my chest, a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through my veins. As I round a large boulder, I see him.

He's sitting on a fallen log, his massive frame dwarfing everything around him. His fur is a rich, dark brown, shot through with streaks of silver that gleam in the dappled sunlight. His hands are so human-like yet so different and busy weaving something out of vines and leaves.

I must make some small sound, a gasp or a shifted pebble, because his head snaps up, those intelligent eyes locking onto mine. For a moment, we both freeze, caught in a tableau of mutual surprise and wonder.

Then, to my utter astonishment, he speaks.

"You should not be here, Kaitlin," he says, his voice deep and resonant, with an accent I can't quite place. "These woods are not safe for you."

I stagger back, my mind struggling to process what I'm seeing and hearing. "You... you can talk? You know my name?"

He rises to his full height, easily towering over me. Despite his imposing size, there's a gentleness to his movements, a carefulness that puts me at ease despite the strangeness of the situation.

"I am Mazon," he says, inclining his head slightly. "And yes, I can speak. My kind has been observing humans for centuries. We've learned much, including your languages."

A thousand questions flood my mind, but before I can voice any of them, Mazon's head tilts as if listening to something I can't hear. His expression turns grave.

"We cannot stay here," he says urgently. "Others approach, and they are not as... accepting of human presence as I am."

The seriousness in his tone snaps me out of my daze. "What do you mean? Are they dangerous?"

Mazon's massive shoulders rise and fall in a very human-like sigh. "They are protective of our home, our way of life. Some believe that any human presence is a threat that must be... eliminated."

A chill runs down my spine at his words. "But I'm not a threat! I would never do anything to harm your people or this forest."

"I believe you," Mazon says, his eyes softening. "But convincing the others will not be easy. For now, we must focus on keeping you safe."

He holds out his hand, a gesture so surprisingly human that I reach out without hesitation. His palm is rough and warm against mine, and I'm struck by how small my hand looks in his massive grip. "Come," he says, gently pulling me along. "I know a place where we can talk safely. There is much you need to understand about the danger you're in."

As we move swiftly through the forest, Mazon's steps silent despite his size, I marvel at the surreal turn my life has taken. Just days ago, I was a freelance writer looking for a quiet place to work on my next project. Now, I'm being led through an ancient forest by a creature I'd always believed was nothing more than a myth.

We arrive at a small cave hidden behind a curtain of vines. Mazon ushers me inside, his enormous form blocking most of the entrance as he keeps watch.

"We should be safe here for now," he says, turning back to me. "The others rarely come to this part of the forest."

I settle onto a smooth rock, trying to gather my thoughts. "Mazon," I begin, "I have so many questions. How long have your people been here? Why do you stay hidden? And why are you helping me?"

Mazon's eyes, so human in their expressiveness, fill with a mixture of sadness and wisdom that speaks of centuries of experience. "My kind has dwelled in these forests since before your civilization began," he says. "We are the guardians of the natural world, keeping balance and protecting the land from those who would destroy it."

He pauses, seeming to choose his next words carefully. "As for why we remain hidden... History has shown us the danger of revealing ourselves to humans. Your kind fears what it does not understand, and that fear often leads to violence."

I nod, understanding all too well the truth of his words. "But you're different," I say. "You saved me from that mountain lion. You're talking to me now. Why?"

Mazon is silent for a long moment, his gaze distant. When he speaks, there's a vulnerability in his voice that tugs at my heart. "I have watched humans for many years," he says. "I have seen the destruction some of you cause, but I have also seen the capacity for wonder, for compassion, for a deep connection with nature. When I saw you in the forest, your reverence for the land around you... It awakened something in me. A hope that perhaps, there could be understanding between our kinds."

His words fill me with a warmth I can't quite explain. But before I can respond, a howl echoes through the forest, closer than I'm comfortable with. Mazon tenses, moving to the cave entrance.

"They're getting closer," he growls. "We need to move. Now."

As we slip out of the cave, the forest seems to have come alive with menacing sounds—branches snapping, leaves rustling, and what I swear are low, guttural voices calling to each other in a language I don't understand.

Mazon leads me through the woods with incredible speed and agility, his large hand still holding mine, guiding me over fallen logs and around thorny bushes. Despite the danger, I can't help but feel a thrill of excitement. This is more adventure than I've had in my entire life. "Will I see you again?" I ask, afraid, but wanting to see him more.

"Yes, tomorrow, I will be back. There is more to see, more to discuss."

"That sounds great," I say, blushing slightly and wondering what is coming over me.

Did I just make a date with a monster?

We're nearing the edge of my property, my cabin just visible through the trees.

It feels good to be back, my cabin feeling much safer.

Even though it may be an illusion of safety.

With one last look, he melts into the shadows of the forest, leaving me alone at the edge of the clearing. I take a deep breath, the familiar sight of my cabin calming my racing heart. It feels good to be back, my little home feeling much safer than the deep woods. I can't help but feel relieved as I step onto the porch and unlock the door.

Inside, I go through my usual routine, trying to find some normalcy after the surreal events of the day. I put on some music, the soft melody of a piano concerto filling the cabin and helping to ease my nerves. As I move around the small space, I can't help but glance out the windows, half-expecting to see a large, furry figure watching from the treeline.

Shaking off the paranoia, I focus on making dinner. I decide on a comforting meal of pasta with homemade tomato sauce, something my grandmother used to make for me when I was upset. The familiar motions of chopping onions and garlic, the sizzle of olive oil in the pan, help ground me in the present and as the sauce simmers, filling the cabin with a savory aroma, I sit at my small dining table and open my notebook and sketch, trying to capture every detail I can remember.

By the time my pasta is ready, I've filled several pages with drawings and notes. I eat slowly, savoring each bite as I continue to ponder the day's revelations. The existence of Bigfoot–or whatever Mazon's people call themselves–is mind-boggling enough. But the hints of a complex culture, a language, a long history of protecting the forest... It's almost too much to take in.

After dinner, I clean up and then settle on the couch with my laptop. I research, looking for any credible information on Bigfoot sightings in the area. Most of what I find is the usual mix of blurry photos and secondhand accounts, but a few details catch my eye with mentions of strange symbols carved into trees, stories of Bigfoot's incredible strength and speed that match what I've seen of Mazon.

As the night deepens, I find my eyelids growing heavy. The events of the day, the physical and emotional stress, are finally catching up with me. I close my laptop and head to bed, ensuring I securely lock all the doors and windows before I go to sleep.

Sleep comes quickly, but it's fitful. My dreams are a confused jumble of massive, fur-covered forms, ancient trees with glowing symbols, and Jack Hawkins' weathered face warning me of unseen dangers.

I'm not sure how long I've been asleep when a sound jolts me awake. For a moment, I lie perfectly still, straining my ears.

There it is again. A rustling outside my cabin, too deliberate to be the wind or a small animal.

I'm too scared to move or do anything at all, silently willing it to go away.