Hayil had the advantage of
excellent night vision—super vision compared to other humans. Plus, she
possessed an almost uncanny ability to connect with most wild and domestic
animals. Hayil mentally grimaced. She could also thank her grandmother
for her long overdue ability to shift. What would it take to trigger her body
into the lupine version of herself? Was it like a growth spurt that hadn’t hit
her body yet? Or was Hayil destined to remain the one person in her pack who
wasn’t able to wolf out?
Once again, her mother’s
constant refrain came back to her: “You’re a late bloomer, like your
grandmother. She was older than you when she shifted. All in good time.
You’ll see.”
Sure, Mom.
Hayil knew her mother
wanted the best for her, but found her cheerfulness a bit forced. Beneath her
mother’s optimism, Hayil sensed an undercurrent of concern about her
thirty-year-old daughter’s ability to integrate into the red wolf clan. This
missing piece of Hayil’s identity called to her like a siren’s song, demanding
she complete herself. Would she ever be a true part of the pack? Or
would she forever be the unmated one? What then? She was an anomaly, something
the pack didn’t tolerate well. Tradition dictated that if a pack member didn’t
shift by the end of their third decade, they were banished.
A chilling thought struck
Hayil mid-stride.
If I don’t
shift this year, will they force me out of the pack?
They were the only family
she’d ever known. Her mother would fight for her to stay and would probably
win. But at what cost?
Hayil would be an outcast.
She’d never be invited to pack meetings, deliberations or celebrations. Those
were reserved for shifters. If she married a non-shifter, the pack would drive
her out, of that she was sure. What if her offspring were able to shift? Would
that make things better? Would the pack let her stay then? It wasn’t as if she
could go to a genetic counselor and ask for a DNA test for werewolves.
The thought of losing her
extended family through no fault of her own made her gulp back tears. Angry at
herself for allowing her thoughts to go down that dark rabbit hole, Hayil
reminded herself she was a scientist. Review the facts, not the fears.
Fact one: Grandma had been
in labor with Hayil’s mother when she’d shifted for the first time.
Fact two: The majority of
the pack members had shifted when they’d hit puberty.
Fact three: Hormones! It
had to be related to hormones! The rush of hormones at puberty and the flood of
pregnancy hormones had to be related somehow.
Hayil was long past puberty
and the associated mood swings and acne, thank you very much. She was not ready
to be pregnant. For starters, she would need a romantic partner in her life.
She’d had zero luck on that score so far.
“I still have time. It’s
not too late. I won’t give up hope.”
Shaking her head to clear
her mind, Hayil double-checked her wild animal deterrents. All in place.
Then she tugged her knit cap down over her ears and pulled her hands-free
headlamp into place. She zipped her fleece jacket against the breeze and
adjusted her twenty-five-pound backpack. With an altitude gain of almost
nineteen hundred feet, she planned to take her time, pacing herself for the
strenuous four-hour hike. She grasped her lightweight hiking poles and took a
last look up at the stars. Time to see that spectacular view at the top.
As promised by the trail
blog, the dirt path was well maintained. The morning air was cold and crisp,
layered with the woodsy scent of damp earth and pine needles. An owl hooted,
and Hayil spotted movement in the brush between the thick pines beside the trail.
Her headlamp reflected in the eyes of small critters, all of whom skittered
deeper into the woods.
For three hours, all she
heard was the crunch of her hiking boots on dirt and gravel, the rasp of her
own breaths, the glug of water when she drank and the jingle of her bear bells.
She looked at yet another incline on the trail and decided she needed a hiking
song for inspiration.
“Country roads, take me
home,” she sang, belting out “Mountain Mama”—and something crashed through the
bushes ahead on the trail. Something large.
She froze.
An enormous black bear
stood on its hind legs at the top of the hill.
Shit,
shit, shit. If only I could shift, shift, shift!
The animal had its back to
her, but if it got her scent, it could turn and charge at her in a flash.
Heart pounding like a
jackhammer, she placed her hand on the bear spray.
A breeze sprang up, making
her eyes water with its intensity. The good news was that it meant she was
downwind of the bear. The bad news was that the air smelled like a wet dog had
rolled in a dead animal. The worst news was that the bear turned and looked
right at her.
Omigod.
It’s not a bear. What the heck is it?
,
.
Bigfoot and Me
By Sharon Buchbinder
I’m a Janie-Come-Lately to the Bigfoot Believer Tribe—which may surprise people who know my fascination with anything that refuses to fit neatly into science’s square boxes. Bigfoot Believers draw on evidence from researchers, scientists, and Bigfoot Experiencers—people who have actually had firsthand encounters. Some believe Sasquatch is an undiscovered bipedal hominid; many Native American cultures consider Bigfoot an ancient tribe that retreated when White settlers arrived on Turtle Island. Others see Bigfoot as a supernatural or paranormal entity, possibly connected to UFOs or UAPs.
Despite my scientific training—psychology (BA), neuroscience (MA), nursing (AAS), and public health (PhD)—I’ve never seen a UFO or a Bigfoot. But I am no stranger to the paranormal.
Paranormal events have threaded through my life since childhood. Merriam-Webster defines paranormal as “not scientifically explainable,” and I’ve always accepted that alternate reality. Whether or not others believe in these phenomena has never mattered to my own experiences: dreams that come true, thinking of someone moments before they call, knowing my sister was pregnant before she did, or hearing a ghost in my college duplex.
In the 1970s, while studying psychology at the University of Connecticut, I participated in telepathy experiments using the now-famous J.B. Rhine Zener cards. My “hit rate” as a receiver was, as the study noted, “statistically greater than chance occurrence.”
Only later did I learn about the CIA’s psychic spy programs, remote viewing research, and the MK ULTRA behavioral modification project. I now suspect those college experiments may have doubled as a quiet recruitment tool for psychic talent. A large scientific evaluation later found that remote viewing results were statistically positive—though “not detailed enough for practical uses in the field.” The military continued the work for a time before officially shutting down their psychic soldier units.
Fast-forward to today: the U.S. government has begun releasing decades of UFO/UAP documents. It makes you wonder—will Bigfoot be another revelation waiting in the wings? After all, in 1976, David Byrne sent a hair sample to the FBI and didn’t hear back for forty years, only to be told it was “deer hair.” Forty years? The mail isn’t that slow.
Scientists, trained observers, and everyday people have been searching for Bigfoot for decades. The holy grail, of course, is physical evidence. Researchers like Jeff Meldrum, PhD—an expert in primate foot morphology and locomotion—have dedicated their careers to the subject. The Bigfoot Field Researchers Organization (BFRO) maintains a massive database of “credible sightings and related reports,” searchable by state and county. Scott Tompkins’ Bigfoot Mapping Project uses crowdsourcing and GIS technology to visualize sightings. Even Dr. Jane Goodall, the Queen of Primatology, refused to rule out Bigfoot’s existence.
My new release, Secrets of the Cryptids, plays with this tension between skepticism and belief. Hayil, my werewolf protagonist who has never shifted, pushes back against her best friend Ashley’s Bigfoot enthusiasm:
“Isn’t this enthusiasm for cryptozoology a little…I don’t know”—Hayil wiggled her fingers—“woo-woo?”
Ashley, of course, disagrees. “This area isn’t just Big Sky Country, it’s Bigfoot territory. You saw and smelled a Sasquatch. That’s the kind of experience people would give their eyeteeth to have.”
Hayil’s dog chimes in with a nuzzle, as if to say, Are you hearing this?
Ashley continues her science-based defense: “Every year, new species of flora and fauna come to light… Last year, a sinkhole in China revealed a new underground ecosystem with an ancient underground forest. We may never know what lives at the bottom of the deepest trenches in the ocean. It’s science, not superstition.”
While I may be a latecomer to the Bigfoot Believer Community, I’m in good company. And who knows? Somewhere in the Montana wilderness, Bigfoot might be enjoying a bumper crop of huckleberries.
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