Do You Feel Hairy, Punk?

The fog rolled low through the mountains, thick as cigarette smoke in a back alley poker den. Somewhere between Dahlonega and the deeper stretches of the Chattahoochee National Forest, something was stomping around in the dark, and incoming were the reports of locals saying they had seen something large and beastly. 

Tourists blamed black bears. 
Locals blamed drunken tourists on moonshine. 
The hunters knew better. 

Sheriff Colton adjusted his hat nervously as he hung up the phone. “I’m tellin’ you Shin, it’s Bigfoot.” 

The accusation seemed insane, but given the most recent reports, it was indeed the legendary beast, or Andre the Giant dressed in an ape costume. 

Sheriff Colton remembered Bigfoot from his youth. As a boy, he claimed he’d seen the creature near Amicalola Falls. No one believed him. Not his teachers. Not his mama. And, not even his best friend, Deputy Shindigg. 

“Come on, Colt!” He spouted through a mouthful of apple fritter. Powdered sugar dusted his mustache like fresh mountain snow. “You’re not going on about that again, are you?” Shin leaned back in his chair, boots on the desk, one hand gripping the fritter, the other holding a steaming cup of black coffee labeled ‘WORLD’S OKAYEST DEPUTY’. 

Meanwhile, three local trophy hunters had just set up camp on Blood Mountain. They weren’t there for deer. It wasn’t even hunting season, but they had drones, thermal scopes, beef jerky, and a cooler full of bad decisions. 

They had heard the local reports and were ready to score themselves a large prize. A very large prize. 

That’s when the woods went quiet. 
No crickets. 
No bullfrogs. 
No wind.

Just the creak of pine limbs bending under something heavy. 

Even the mosquitoes collectively decided, Nope. 

Out he stepped. 

Nine feet tall with shoulders as wide as the dirt path, he was covered head to toe in brown matted fur that reeked of aged sweat and pine sap. 

In his massive, hairy fist? A gleaming, stainless steel .44 Magnum—custom grip, carved from old-growth cedar. He chewed on what appeared to be sunflower seeds. 

Bigfoot squinted beneath a heavy brow ridge. His voice rumbled like distant thunder rolling over the mountains. 

“Do you feel hairy? Well, do ya, punk?” As the seeds fell from his mouth. 

The hunters on the ground, setting up camp, not yet prepared, whimpered in fright. 

“I know what you’re thinkin’. Is that a .44 Magnum in the paw of a mythical woodland creature? Or is this the moonshine talkin’?” 

Bigfoot stepped forward, each footfall cracking twigs like firecrackers. 

He sniffed the air. 

“Smells like illegal bear traps, cheap cologne, and entitlement.” 

The hunter fumbled for his rifle. That was his first mistake. 

“Go ahead, make my day!” bellowed Bigfoot. “I already canceled my gold panning appointment for this.”

PEW! PEW! 

A tranquilizer dart flew from the .44 Magnum, hitting one of the hunters square in the shoulder. 

He swayed, blinked twice, and collapsed into the ferns. Two more hunters fell to the same fate. 

Bigfoot lowered the Magnum calmly. “Nobody messes with my forest.” 

Sheriff Colton and Deputy Shindigg stared in shock and awe. They arrived shortly before the fiasco, having heard from the locals about what the hunters were planning. 

“Hey you! You carry a badge?” said Colt. 

Bigfoot reached into his fur and pulled out a tarnished metal star pinned to a strip of red and black flannel. 

“Special Investigator,” he muttered. “Department of Unexplained Wildlife.” 

He turned toward the trees, and melted back into the brush and mist. 

Sheriff Colton called after him, “Hey! What do we tell the papers?”

Bigfoot paused without turning. “Tell ’em, you feel lucky.” He growled.

Then he disappeared, leaving behind only enormous footprints pressed into red clay, and a large tree branch with the words “NO LITTERING. NO POACHING. NO FOOLISHNESS.” carved into it’s length. 

Shin stared at the massive footprint in the red clay. “I’m gonna need a bigger fritter.” 

All The Best, 

Margeaux Wex ❤️ 

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