2007: Sherwood Beast gets his mojo back

Chapter Eight in the Sherwood Beast Tales by Elizabeth Laden - Stories from other years are in the FYI section of this Web site.

Sherwood Beast sat in a tall pine tree and watched a long parade of cars turn into Harriman State Park for the Haunts of Harriman Halloween party the park has every year.

It was October 27, five days before Halloween and the start of a new year for the many beasts like himself who roam the earth unnoticed by most humans.

When the traffic subsided a bit, S. B. shimmied down to the ground and walked over to the trees behind the cookhouse, where he could smell fresh donuts frying. They were treats for the children who would soon be hopping off the hay wagon after their trip through Ghoul’s Alley. After donuts and cider, they would go trick or treating at all the old buildings in the Railroad Ranch Historic District.

S. B. had often strutted up and down Ghoul’s Alley, making beastly noises to scare the children, and last year had been especially delightful because he had shared the fun with his relatives from Planet Calderamus.

As he waited for the first hay wagon full of children to pass before him, S. B. remembered how deeply grateful he was to those Calderami for explaining his true origins to him, and even for offering to take him back to their planet so he could live with his own people.

But at the last moment, when his first clawed foot was on the space craft’s lowest step, S. B. decided his place is on Earth now. He turned away from the ship, howled at the top of his lungs, and told his relatives he could not leave the planet, despite how lonely it often is here.

His grandparents and great aunt could tell he meant it. S. B. watched them rattle their teeth and growl back and forth to one another, but a Guyastickutes calderamus, as his species is called, knows when another Guyastickutes calderamus has made up its mind. The species tends to be  more pigheaded than any real pig when it wants to be.

With tears rolling down her furry green cheeks, S. B.’s grandmother said she needed a minute alone with her grandson. The others nodded, rubbed their snotty, slimy snouts against S. B.’s cheeks in the Calderamus custom of saying good-bye and good luck, and boarded the space ship.

“I must say this to you quickly,” Grammy told S. B. as she sat on her haunches and wiped the tears from her fur. “You are NOT alone. There are other Guyastickutes calderami in a place called Maine, from a ship sent the same time ours was, for the same reasons.’

“Why didn’t you tell me” S. B. hissed.

“Because we thought if you knew there are others, you would never come back with us. Although Calderamus is a wonderful place, Earth has is charm. I can see that, grandson,” Grammy growled softly.
‘
“Where are these others?” S. B asked.

“They live in the forests near a place called Turner, Maine,” Grammy replied. “In Androscoggin County. S. B., you can read now, thanks to your experiences in England. Here is a story about one of the Maine Guyastickutes calderamus. It will give you some clues, if you decide to look for more of us.”

She reached into the thick fur under her right foreleg, where she stored many small treasures, picked out a small wad of paper with her sharp teeth, and tossed it to S. B..

S. B. caught it with his teeth, which as you know if you are an S. B. fan, are actually the false teeth from his dead brother’s taxidermy mount at Idaho State University in Pocatello.

“How did you get this?” he snarled curiously.

“I was snooping in the Island Park News’ trash the other day. Apparently since the paper has been following your story, they got wind of this story.”

But they threw it away!” S. B. howled. “And they know I am real! I have let the editor interview me! I sent her messages by owl the whole time I was in England!”

“Yes, you told me that, sweetie, but maybe she has given up on you. You have not seen her lately. I suggest you pay her a visit. Maybe she will help. . .  Now I must go — can’t you hear your grandfather grunting at me? We cannot waste any more fuel! “

They exchanged affectionate Calderamus good-byes. S. B howled a most ear-piercing howl as he watched the ship disappear into the darkness.

He tucked the paper into his fur and decided to read it later. Although he knew his decision to stay on Earth was right, he would still miss his family. His heart was too sad to do much of anything. And besides, he had avoided any more contact with the newspaper, although they had followed his story pretty well, even the many details of his trip to England. What good was the publicity they gave him when no matter what they said, no one was willing to believe he existed?

S. B. spent the rest of the year wandering around Fremont County, following three different wolf packs all winter, all who shared their meat with him — mostly from elk they had killed in the wildlife management area outside St. Anthony. Then he took up with various grizzly bears who were not so fond of sharing, but who tolerated him because he helped them hunt and they were all very hungry. The meals the bears liked to eat — berries and all kinds of plants and small mammals — were scarce this year because of a drought.

S. B. had particularly enjoyed traveling with the grizzly bears who had discovered dog food, bird seed, and garbage that some Island Park folks left out for the birds. He got a kick out of hiding in the shadows and watching people snap photos of the “cute” grizzly bears who could actually kill them in one or two swipes of their powerful claws, if they wanted to.

But in the past few weeks, the people had gotten really stingy with their food and many had left to spend the winter in warmer places. The bears had started traveling into the high country to make their dens. One had invited S. B. to share her den this winter, but S. B. does not hibernate. He did not want anyone to see his tracks going in and out of the den, and maybe do harm to his bear friend. Plus S. B. preferred to spend winter in a slightly warmer place with less snow, so he planned to find the wolves again.

All those months, S. B. would often feel the paper his Grammy gave him rub against his fur, but he was not ready to know anything new about his species. His curiosity had taken him to England, where he’d met the witches and wizards at Hogwart’s School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. That had led him to discovering his origins on the Planet Calderamus. But none of it had helped him learn what he was truly meant to be doing on Earth. Maybe the information on the paper would. But maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe it would cause him more suffering and loneliness.

But a New Year is beginning, S. B. thought, and the wild, untamed spirit of adventure that is the strongest part of his being is beginning to burn more brightly in his beastly heart than it has in a long, long time. S. B. decided to finally read that paper. But first, he howled and screamed and hissed and grunted at the first hay wagon of kids heading toward the Railroad Ranch Historic District. He saw a few children look his way, but most did not hear him above the racket the tractor pulling the wagon was making, and the electronic spooky sounds that were coming from somewhere. If just one child had actually believed in him, that child would have seen him. Oh, well!

S. B. slipped over to the cookhouse and stood under one of the windows, which gave him enough light to read. It was an Associated Press article from 2006, when S. B, was in England.

First, he read the words under a photo of a dead beast who looked much like himself. His heart began to beat fast:

A creature that was found dead after apparently being hit by a car in Turner, Maine. For years, residents across Androscoggin County have reported seeing and hearing a mysterious animal with chilling monstrous cries and eyes that glow in the night. Now, residents are wondering if the animal found dead over the weekend may be the mysterious creature.

Then he read the article:

Is dead beast the marauding ‘hybrid mutant’?
Carcass may be that of legendary beast that terrorized Maine county

TURNER, Maine - Residents are wondering if an animal found dead over the weekend may be the mysterious creature that has mauled dogs, frightened residents and been the subject of local legend for half a generation.

The animal was found near power lines along Route 4 on Saturday, apparently struck by a car while chasing a cat. The carcass was photographed and inspected by several people who live in the area, but nobody is sure exactly what it is.

Michelle O'Donnell of Turner spotted the animal near her yard about a week before it was killed. She called it a "hybrid mutant of something."

"It was evil, evil-looking. And it had a horrible stench I will never forget," she told the Sun Journal of Lewiston. "We locked eyes for a few seconds and then it took off. I've lived in Maine my whole life and I've never seen anything like it."

For the past 15 years, residents across Androscoggin County have reported seeing and hearing a mysterious animal with chilling monstrous cries and eyes that glow in the night. The animal has been blamed for attacking and killing a Doberman pinscher and a Rottweiler the past couple of years.

People from Litchfield, Sabattus, Greene, Turner, Lewiston and Auburn have come forward to speak of a mystery monster that roams the woods. Nobody knows for sure what it is, and theories have ranged from a hyena or dingo to a fisher or coydog, an offspring of a coyote and a wild dog.
Now, people are asking if the mystery beast and the animal killed over the weekend are one and the same.

Wildlife officials and animal control officers declined to go to Turner to examine the remains. By Tuesday, the carcass had been picked clean by vultures and there was not much left of the dead animal.

Loren Coleman, a Portland author and cryptozoologist, said it's unlikely that the animal was anybody's pet.

After reviewing photos of the carcass, Coleman said he was bothered by the animal's ears and snout. It reminded him of a case years ago in northern Maine in which an animal shot by a hunter could not be identified. In the end, wildlife officials got a DNA analysis that showed the animal was a rare wolf-dog hybrid, he said.

Mike O'Donnell, who is married to Michelle O'Donnell, said the animal looked "half-rodent, half-dog" to him.

It was charcoal gray, weighed between 40 and 50 pounds and had a bushy tail, a short snout, short ears and curled fangs hanging over its lips, he said. It looked like "something out of a Stephen King story.

“This is something I've never seen before. It's an evil-looking thing," he said.

S. B. snarled, “Hybrid mutant! Foul smelling! Evil-looking!” 

His snarl turned into a full blown, blood curdling howl. A few of the kids walking toward the cookhouse jumped, and one began to cry.

“Coyotes!” her parents said. “They must be pretty close.”

If they had really listened, they would have known they did not hear a coyote.

S. B. stared at the photograph of what was certainly his dead relative, and knew he would have to travel to Maine, wherever that is, to look into this mystery. The beast in the photo looked quite young, its fur soft and its teeth white. And the article says it has a bushy tail. S. B. knew that young Guyastickutes calderami have bushy tails that shorten and grow thin with age.

Just thinking of this beautiful body being devoured by vultures made him run as fast as he could to the river, throw back his head, and howl more loudly than he ever howled in his life. That set a flock of geese to flight.

Surely there must be more of these so-called mutants in Maine.

Hours before sun-up the next day, S. B. stopped by the cabin in Shotgun to visit the Island Park News editor. He watched her through a window. She was at her computer, staring intently at the screen but no typing anything.

S. B. howled.

The editor looked up, smiled, and he saw her stand up and walk toward the door.

“Is it really you, S. B?” she asked as she slipped outside onto the deck.

S. B. howled and opened his green eyes wide.

“Great to see you! I had begin to think you had gone back to Planet Calderamus or just disappeared. You have given me nothing to write about this year, you know! I have been so worried! I missed my deadline for your annual story. You know I like to have it in the paper that comes out just before the Haunts of Harriman!”

S. B. spent the next half hour catching her up on everything that happened that year, ending with the question, “Why did you toss that article in the trash?”

“Simple. I have a copy in the computer. I don’t keep a lot of paper. It’s messy.”

“Ohhhhhh, growled S. B.”  He should have known. Neat freak!

“But I can help you get to Maine, if you want,” she said. “I can print out a map and show you the best route. It is a long walk, but given how clever you are, I am sure you can catch a lot of rides if you follow the interstates and look for opportunities at all the truck stops. Let me go get you that map.”

S. B. started to follow her into the cabin, but she turned and gave him a look.

“Okay, okay, I stink! I can’t help it! I’ll wait out here.”

In 20 minutes, S. B. had his map, marked with a route that would take him 2,631,84 miles to Turner, Maine, and a huge bowl of treats the editor had taken out of her refrigerator. He noticed she had also poured herself a big mug of coffee, which she sipped slowly as she watched him study the map.

“The map says it can be driven in 40 hours, 7 minutes,” S. B noted. “That’s less that four days.”

“Right,” she said, so if you hitch ride, I bet you can get there in a week or two, tops. Just be very, very careful.”

S. B. sighed and scratched his full stomach. “I guess adventures are my destiny,” he hissed.

“You are a wild beast of legend and lore,” she replied. “So, yes, adventures are your destiny. It’s about time you got your mojo back and started out on a new journey!”

“Mojo?” S. B. hissed.

“Yes, Mojo — your power, your magic!”

“My beastliness!”

“Yes, that’s it. So off you go, and I hope I hear all about it next year. Please find a way to keep in touch. Something a little less dramatic than sending owls.”

S. B. growled playfully. Light went on in a nearby cabin.

“You better go,” she told him gently. “People are getting out of bed. It’s still hunting season. Thanks so much for stopping by. I think I have something to write about now!”

S. B. wished he could give her a Guyastickutes calderamus good-bye, but she was finicky about things like snotty noses and beastly drool. And so he gave her his best affectionate howl, turned, and trotted down the road. He stopped when he was out of her sight, and peeked at her from behind a pine tree. She was looking at the stars and smiling.