Uncanny Valley (ONC 2024)

Uncanny Valley

[Uncanny Valley National Park, Roanoke State, Spring 1984]

Samson sat nestled in the high bough of an old white pine holding his upper right arm between two powerful white-furred hands. Before he sank his teeth into his juicy bicep he took a moment to consider the life that he had left behind, and how he wished he had told Mom that he was going hiking solo in the Uncanny Valley. She would have told his father to pull the distributor from his truck so he wouldn't be able to make use of his rostered Monday off to get that far into the woods. Dad would have done it too; Mom was the boss. Instead Sam had disappeared without a trace. At least, that's what the front page headlines will say. Dad will read them first when the papergirl tosses the Little Appleton Valkyrie at the door. He won't let Mom see the paper; she'll be beside herself with grief having lost her first and only son. 

He chuckled as his canines sank through the skin and ripped into the muscle of his arm, the taste was like rare cooked trout like he prepared it on the shore of Lake Dare, and just as satisfying. The flesh tore away in sheets and he could slip it down between his lips like a thick spag with sauce. Eating consumed his attention for a short while. But once he had chewed through the cartilage he took a moment to admire the sunset before he'd crack open the humerus for the lovely marrow. He sniffed at the air; hooved prey was near, but didn't need to investigate. He placed the bone on his lap and stretched his massive arms and shoulders. Punched his barrelled chest and whooped.

The sound echoed through the valley, it was liberating to be so powerful. His new life would, however, be bitter-sweet. He would miss the life he had, his family and friends. Matt, Red, yeah. But, Chrissie most of all. There was something about that girl. They had hardly talked but the way she smiled at him on Saturday mornings when he'd go to the diner; he didn't even have to order she'd bring the double choc milkshake out and only charge him for a regular choc. He was going to work the courage up to ask her out, one day soon.

An odd thought crossed his mind (his powers of thought had in no way been diminished by his change of body), a disappointment of not being able to find his friends and family and explain the mysteries of the valley. The disappearances, the strange lights and sounds. Everyone knew the stories, and more serious were the disappearances, but all part of the mystery too. Five people had gone missing in America's sixth largest national park during the last year. A couple of solo adventurers like himself; they found some of the belongings of one of them miles away from where she'd been camping. The others were in a group and went missing without a trace just that summer. Sam had no doubt they were all food for the chenoo, maybe even him, or rather, the body of the chenoo he now possessed. He had the strange feeling this wasn't the first time he'd consumed human flesh, although he had no memory of such. In fact, he shared no memory with the mighty body, only snippets of instinct, like how he could recognise the scent of a deer carried on the breeze and up into the canopy leaves.

What would happen if, like this, he wandered into his neighborhood, knocked on the door to his house, "Hi Mom, Dad, It's me Sam, I'm a bigfoot". While the memory of the people and events in his previous life remained intact, so did the emotional memory. He recalled the fear, still raw, from when the beast had stalked and terrorized him just two days prior. The terror surged anew as he remembered how the monster charged, and a blinding white light tore his soul from his living body, offering it to the Chenoo. No, there was no way he could return to civilization. One look at his giant form and he would be the target of every gun in town. They'd come after him, some too even if they knew who he was.

Every gun in town, that's everyone in Little Appleton. A flash of anger spread through him, "HE WOULD FUCK THEM ALL UP". The words hit his ears as a series of deep and powerful grunts and growls. Then his heart rate fell as quickly as it had just risen. Sam dropped his matted, beard-covered chin to his chest and tried to say his name. The sound that issued forth was Chewbacca-like, nothing at all like the word "Sam". There was no going back.

***

[Little Appleton. Two weeks later]

Pastor Simon White stood at his doorstep at 6:30AM like he did every morning, Monday to Saturday without fail. An early morning mist was lifting as he spotted the girl on her bicycle pedalling down the street. He watched her stop at the curbside in front of every other house and toss a projectile. She stopped out the front of his driveway and pegged the morning edition of The Valk in his direction, it hit on the dewy lawn, bounced up to land square at the foot of the front step where the reverend stood. "Nice throw Sal! Keep that up and you'll be hitting the majors in no time."

"Thanks Pastor White!" she called as she treadled off down the road to the next house.

No sooner had the paper girl passed behind the yew tree on the curb, she was out of his mind, he reached down and snapped up the paper, rolling the rubber band down and onto his wrist, Simon flicked open the tabloid format paper like he had countless times before. Most of the sections were trash, the paper having been taken over by a state-wide syndicate several years earlier. Only the first few pages, and a small section of the classified retained local content. He skimmed over the front page for any mention of his son, who had been missing for over two weeks. Not that he expected any new news, as the unofficial town leader, he knew most happenings before the paper, he was looking for a feature, an update, anything about his son. He flicked the paper open to the second page.

"Well?" Called a woman with a strong English accent.

"I'm looking. I'm looking already." He called gruffly, crunching his way to another page. "Ah here, page four."

When there was no reply, he called out louder, "Meli! There's a search update on page four."

"Okay. Thanks love." Amelia called back.

It was not that the Whites were expecting any new news, their interest in the paper was to dismiss an unspoken fear that the couple held, that the newspaper would tire of reporting on the disappearance of their son; that Samson's plight would become old news.

Amelia appeared at the frame of the font door, she was a slender woman in her mid forties with dove-white hair. She was wearing a yellow dressing gown with an orange and brown marigold print. Stepping forward, reached up to rub Simon's wide shoulders in comfort. "Are you going out today?" he turned to face her and she wiped a curl of his salt and pepper fringe off his deep brow.

"Yea, Earl and I were heading out after lunch to check the southern boundary, we'll probably camp out, but will be back mid afternoon on Saturday."

"You should pack your rod, get some fishing in."

"You think this is a damn vacation?!"

"No, I just–"

He calmed, "Damn it, I know honey. I know. Maybe casting a few lines would be a good idea, I'm missing fresh fish Sundays."

Their attention was drawn by a crow calling in the elm out front of the yard as a deputy's ranger pulled up into the driveway. Deputy Patchuli jumped out of the car. "Pastor!"

"What's up Patch, spit it out." Simon called out eagerly.

"Do you have news of Sam?" asked Meli.

"Ah, no sorry Mrs White." the deputy's good eye darted between the Whites.

"Well, what is it then?" asked Simon

He met the whites in the middle of the lawn, "There's an agent at the station."

"Roanoke Ranger?"

"The Feds, she's FBI"

"And it's about time." exclaimed Simon. "Patch, you head back. Meli and I will meet you at the station in ten minutes."