Splatsquatch: The Ocean Crest Chronicles #1

Splatsquatch

"Arlene, this is Skeeter. It seems we got ourselves another report of the Sasquatch watching the kids and abusing himself up at Laurel's Holler," the short, skinny constable said over the portable radio.

Arlene, a woman in her sixties with too much lipstick and glasses as thick as coke bottles, picked up the hand held and replied, "Come again, Skeeter?"

Holding the radio back up Skeeter replied, "Splatsquatch is at it again. Blew a gasket on the door of Jimmy McCormack's Ford."

"He did what now?" Arlene asked.

Sheriff Mack McCoon, standing half way out of his office, was listening to a static filled Skeeter on the radio. He shook his head, straightened his gun belt and walked over to the radio. "Skeeter, this is Sheriff McCoon," he said. "Now what the hell you going on about?"

Skeeter spoke back into the radio. "Bigfoot, or whatever the hell it is, was spying on the kids up and Laurel's Holler again, Mack," he said. "We got five witnesses this time. Big old fella was buffing the banana and peeping right in on Jimmy and Sheila."

"Sheila?" Arlene said to the Sheriff, "That better not be my Sheila."

Mack tried to make eye contact with the old woman, but her deep glasses amplified her eyes until they were the size of dinner plates at the Golden Corral, and he quickly averted his gaze. "Arlene wants to know if it's her granddaughter, Sheila?" he asked the constable.

A built red head girl in Daisy Dukes and a crop top stood behind Skeeter frantically waving her hands and whispering, "No no no!" to him while her boy friend stood a few yards back.

"Yeah that Sheila," the constable said. "She been cruising around town with Jimmy for the better part of a month now."

The red headed girl, Sheila, stomped her boot on the ground, "Goddamn it, Skeeter Willis!" she screamed as she shoved him in the back.

Skeeter slammed into the door of his 92 Ford Escort, bounced off of it and fell to the ground. Doing some sort of karate roll that he learned at the dojo when he was a kid, Skeeter sprung to his feet and squared off with the girl. "Hey now!" he screamed with force as he unholstered his revolver. "I'm an officer of the goddamn law and I have every right to shoot you in the goddamn head right now!"

Jimmy, Sheila's overall clad boyfriend, scooped up Sheila in a fireman's carry and hauled her away to the back of his truck. Arlene was on the other end of the radio making all kinds of squabbling noises. "Tell that little.... I'm gonna skin... she better hope..." were some of the phrases Skeeter heard as he gave a kick in Sheila's direction and reholstered his weapon. "That's right!" he yelled at the young couple. "Get! Get now! I ought to take you in for assault on an officer! That's prison time right there, Sheila!"

After regaining his composure, and brushing off his brown and tan uniform, Skeeter picked back up his radio and tried to cut off Arlene's tirade. "Arlene?" he said. "Arlene? You need to let me speak to Mack again."

But the old woman had wrestled the radio away from the much taller sheriff. Mack tried to get the contraption back from Arlene, but it was no use. What she lacked in eye sight she made up for in unnatural, old woman strength.

"Odin's beard! You're a wiry old bitch !" the sheriff yelled at the wild cat who now held his radio as he retreated into his office. Arlene was still yelling threats and obscenities into the radio when Mack pulled out his iPhone and called Skeeter. "Talk to me," he said when the constable picked up.

"You can't get the radio back from Arlene?" Skeeter asked.

"No, Skeeter, I can't get the horn back from Arlene," he said as he sat down at his desk. "She's going wilder than R. Kelly in a urinal factory manned by fourteen year old girls."

"That's too bad," the constable replied as he leaned up against a tree. "She was saying some really scary stuff, so I walked away from the squad car til she is finished."

"It's not a squad car. It's a Ford Escort from the 90's," Mack interjected.

"It's a squad car and a damn fine one at that," the dull looking twenty six year old replied. "And my choice of car got nothing to do with that crazy old woman yelling about skinning Jimmy's pecker over the public air waves. She's talking about doing it with a rusty box cutter, Mack. Something ain't right with her."

"Yeah," the sheriff said. "Sometimes I wonder if we should start looking at having her committed. Or maybe deported. I hear she has family up in Canada who could maybe take her in."

"We have the power to deport people now?" Skeeter asked. "Man, I'm feeling better about my Trump vote every day."

"No, Skeeter," Mack replied with a straight face. "We can't deport people."

"I bet it won't be long til we can. He's really my president, you know," Skeeter said.

"Focus, constable," Mack said as he hung his head. "Now tell me what is going on."

"I already told you."

"Tell me again."

"Jimmy and Sheila were going at it in the rig his old man bought him a few months ago and when Sheila freed her titties from her brazier they looked over at the window and they seen a beast towering over the truck. He took one look at them melons, howled like a love crazed coyote and blasted a bucket all over Jimmy's window. I probably would have done the same. That girl grew up right," Skeeter said before taking the phone away from his ear and sending the photos he took of Jimmy's door to the sheriff.

"Sheila is sixteen, Skeeter. Don't be thinking about her lady bits," Mack said into the phone right before it dinged. The sheriff opened the photos he had just received. "Sweet mother mercy," he said as he looked at the pics. "You were not kidding. That is going to take more than the executive wash at the Wash n Go to get that clean."

Holding the phone back up to his ear and shaking his head, Skeeter said, "I told you so, Mack. I ain't never seen anything like it. Well I mean I seen it before cuz I'm a man and all and when I was a teenager I used to beat it like it owed me money."

"That is a visual I didn't need, Skeeter," the sheriff replied before looking at the pic again. "Either that really is a Bigfoot or some large, hairy man is toting around an oatmeal cannon and blasting horny teenagers trucks in the middle of the night."

"They really got oatmeal cannons?" Skeeter asked. "You think it's some kind of government weapon test we dealing with here?"

"You need to lay off the Alex Jones, constable," the sheriff replied.

"He spits truth, Mack," Skeeter said without pause.

"He certainly spits something," Mack replied. "Look, I'm going to attempt to calm down Arlene again."

"I'm gonna have a look around," Skeeter replied. "See if I can find any indication of where he took off to."

"Okay," Mack replied. "After that head on home. We'll go check the area out in the morning."