The Hobgoblin of the Redwoods (2 page)

“You know better than that, boy,” Danielle said to the beast, her hand rubbing under the animal's chin.

I got to my feet trying to act like nothing had happened.

“That was fun,” I said. “Yeah, we were just playin' around.”

“Sure,” Sara said, nodding her head at Aunt Danielle.

Danielle headed out the door, Lucky at her side. “Dinner's ready. Make sure you wash your hands after fighting the Hobgoblin.”

I guessed she must have been smiling, but her back was turned. Perfect opportunity. I pulled Sara's hair as I walked past her.

“Oww. Brat!”

She tried to swing and punch me, but she missed.

We had a tofu pizza. Not only was my aunt a tree hugger, it turns out she was something called a Vegan. I thought she might have come from another planet, but it turns out she was just a “complete vegetarian.” Meaning, she didn't even drink milk. Hey, that was fine with me, but I do like real cheese. This tofu pizza was like eating a soggy rag with clumps of boogers. I'm not kidding.

When we were done with dinner, Danielle built a fire in the living room. Well, not in the living room, but in the fireplace in the living room. This was nothing like our fireplace in San Francisco. There we could just flip a switch and whoosh...instant flames.

But Aunt Danielle's fire was awesome. She said she had cut the wood herself.

“But you're a girl,” I informed her. “How could you do that?”

Danielle sat down on the rug in front of the fireplace. “Who do you think used to cut most of the wood in the pioneer days? Women. While the men were out hunting, the women would gather wood and chop it.”

Sara's eyes got wide. “They must have been strong.”

“They were,” Danielle said.

I guess I must have looked skeptical, because she smiled at me and said, “The men also cut and hauled wood, Ben. But there were times when the men were off to town to get supplies, or maybe the man of the family had died, so the women had to do it themselves.”

I was gonna call her on that, but I had to admit that Danielle looked almost as strong as my dad. She was like no woman I had ever seen in San Francisco. She didn't dress like them either, with her flannel shirt and khaki pants.

“Are you ready now?” Danielle asked.

I was confused. “Ready for what?”

Danielle raised her brows and grinned at me. “Ready to hear about the Hobgoblin of the Redwoods?”

We moved closer to the fire. The warmth was nice against my face. And it made a crackling sound and sudden pops every now and then. It was a good thing we had the fire, because I could now hear rain pounding the mossy roof overhead. Now I understood how it got so green.

Lucky lay across the room some, the fire too hot for his fur.

“Now,” she started, “before I tell you this story, you have to promise you'll tell nobody what I'm about to say. Promise.” She raised her right hand, her face dead serious.

She held her hand like that until we both raised our right hands and said “promise.” It was so dramatic, I didn't know if I could handle it. I'm kidding, of course. Did I tell you I like to kid around?

“As I think you know my master's degree is in zoology,” she said. “While that normally means I study animals, it also means that I understand that nature sometimes skips a beat and mutates certain beasts. In fact, it even does that to humans or near-humans at times.” She glanced at both of us to make sure we were still listening.

“You mean like professional basketball players?” I asked.

Danielle laughed. “Maybe. That's mostly a factor of genes and genetics,” she said. “But I guess the principle is the same. However, what I'm talking about here is a total mutation.”

“The Hobgoblin,” Sara whispered.

“Are you sure she should hear this,” I asked Danielle. “She might have nightmares and pee her bed.”

She slugged me, connecting nicely on my left arm. It took all of my power not to smack her back. I did have it coming.

“Yes, Sara. The Hobgoblin.”

“You don't really believe in this crap,” I said. “Maybe we should just call up the tooth fairy and ask her if she's dating Santa Claus.”

“Ben!” my aunt said, brusquely, shaking her head.

I shrugged.

“As you know, I only moved here last January,” Danielle said. “So, I had never heard of the Hobgoblin. There are old legends about Bigfoot, or, as the Native Americans called him, Sasquatch, roaming the mountains of California, Oregon, and Washington. Legends that go back in time for centuries. In fact, sightings of Bigfoot are as recent as this year, and not by some drunken hunter, either. There was a sighting only twenty miles from here by a noted birder. He swears he saw one!”

I had to shake my head. Maybe that tofu pizza was having a strange effect on me.

“You don't believe in these things, Ben?” she asked me.

“I don't know,” I said. “There's this big, hairy homeless guy who lives down by Fisherman's Wharf. And, come to think of it, he does have big feet.” I tried my best not to smile, but I think I failed.

“Can I finish the story?”

Sara nodded her head eagerly. I sighed and shrugged in defeat.

“As I said, we have all heard of Bigfoot. But when I first got here, the oldest ranger at the park told me about this ancient creature that lived in the Redwoods just a short distance from here. He had seen...the creature...the Hobgoblin only a few times in the past twenty years. Yet, the encounter left a great impression on him. He never enters the forest on his own. And even with others, he carries a gun, even though the creature has never tried to hurt him.”

Sara moved closer to Aunt Danielle, her hand clasped nervously on her lap.

Outside, the rain continued to pound the roof.

I let out a deep breath. “Is this almost where you jump and say boo?”

Aunt Danielle cocked her head to the side trying her best to ignore me. “Let me finish, please. I was skeptical too when I first heard the story. But then I went down to the library after I heard this next part. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Do you want me to continue? Or will you have nightmares?”

“I ain't afraid of no Hobgoblin?” I said.

“Go on, Danielle. Finish.” Sara said.

“All right. But remember, you can't tell anyone about this.”

We both nodded agreement.

“The old man, I can't tell you his name, told me about all the missing children who ventured too far into the Redwoods. He told me about how there has never been a trace of any of them found. Why?”

We both shrugged.

“Because the Hobgoblin eats only the young,” she whispered softly. “Only the young who have gone too far into the forest.”

Snap! The fire popped loudly, sending a burning chunk onto the old wooden floor.

Danielle jumped up and kicked the fiery chunk back into the fireplace. Then she paused for a moment, glanced toward the front door, and listened carefully.

Nothing.

“What does the Hobgoblin look like?” Sara asked, her interest evident as she leaned toward Danielle.

She hesitated and then said, “Not many have seen him, but I hear his nose is long and skinny, his ears are pointed, and his skin is shriveled like when you've spent too long in the bathtub—only ten times more.”

I thought I heard a noise outside, and so did Danielle because her head shot around toward the front door.

Nothing!

She continued, “He's really hairy, and I hear he doesn't have to wear many clothes.”

“Like a animal,” Sara said softly, her eyes wide.

“Yes. Almost like the snow monkeys from Japan.”

We all heard another noise outside.

Danielle looked at Lucky, who was now in a sitting position, staring out the window.

“What's the matter, Danielle?” Sara asked quietly.

“Nothing,” she said. “It's probably just that bear that keeps knocking over my garbage can.” She turned and put another log on the fire.

“You have bears in these woods?” Sara said, “And you're worried about Hobgoblins?”

Suddenly, there was a crash outdoors.

Lucky jumped toward the door and growled.

“What was that?” I asked. It sounded like some kind of wood snapping.

Danielle got to her feet and walked softly toward the door, yanking on Lucky's collar. She peered out a small window next to the door and switched on the outside light.

By now my sister and I were standing to the left of our aunt, whose normal ease had been replaced by uncertainty. All I could see was sheets of rain coming down at an angle.

“See anything?” I asked. “Maybe it's a grizzly.” I smiled and poked my sister in the ribs.

“There aren't any grizzlies in California,” Danielle said softly. “Not for more than a hundred years. But we do have a bunch of black bears.” She reached for the door knob and glanced back over her shoulder at us.

Then with one quick motion, she swung the door inward.

Sara and I both screamed.

Standing there, dressed all in black like a grim reaper, a hood pulled up around its face, water dripping down from top to bottom, was...an old man.

“Jesus,” he said, twisting a pinky in his left ear. “Even with my poor hearing, that hurts.”

Danielle let out a deep sigh. “Mr. Hatfield,” she said. “What are you doin' out here so late?”

“Mostly freezin' my rear end off,” he said. “Can I come in to your fire?”

I glanced over at Lucky, whose tail was waging furiously. If Lucky liked the old man, maybe he was okay. The old guy had a strange way of talking, as if he was having a hard time breathing.

Danielle let him in, and my sister and I took seats again by the fire. The man just stood close to the fire dripping water onto the floor. He pulled his hood off, revealing scraggly gray hair to his shoulders. His skin was as wrinkled as one of those dogs that come from China. When he took in a deep breath, I could see he was missing a few teeth, and those that were still there were the color of coffee.

Without prompting, the old guy said, “Kind a weather only the Hobgoblin could like.”

Sara's eyes got wide.

I said to Danielle, “Is this the guy you told us about? The guy who told you about the Hobgoblin?”

The old guy looked at Danielle. “You told them about the Hobgoblin?”

Danielle shrugged. “Well, I thought they should know...you know, since they are children. I didn't want them to become his snack.”

That was strange. She wasn't smiling.

“True enough,” the old guy said. “I just hope they believe you.” He pointed his long, skinny finger at me. “You listen to your aunt. She knows about these things.”

That was weird, I thought. How did he know Danielle was our aunt?

Danielle went to the kitchen and returned shortly with a hot cup of tea she had made after dinner and put in a thermos. She handed it to the old wrinkled guy.

“Here you go, Mr. Hatfield,” she said. “This is a good night for tea.”

He took the cup in both hands, which were shaking slightly, and immediately sipped from it. Then he said, “Thanks, young lady. Around these parts, it's always a good day for tea.”

Danielle didn't take a seat, but I didn't know why. “You see that bear outside tonight?” she asked him.

“No, no. But it wasn't the bear I was lookin' for, you know.” He gave her a knowing grin.

Then, as his coat slipped open a little bit, I noticed the gun on his left hip. It was one of those old western-style six shooters.

“Did Danielle tell you that Hobgoblin ain't far from here?”

We both nodded.

“Good!” he said. “You stay out of the Redwoods. That Hobgoblin can hear a child's voice from a mile away—those pointy ears of his. He can smell ya too with that narrow, long nose. Like a weasel that one. As mean as one, too.” He turned his gaze from us and looked at Danielle. “I miss anything?”

“His eyes,” she said.

“Yes, his eyes,” he said, tapping the side of his head. “His eyes are beady little black things like the eyes of a mouse. But his can see just as good at night as yours do in the day.” He thought for a second. “And they glow in the dark.”

“Don't forget the smell,” Danielle said.

“Right. He smells like a bag of wet rags that have molded up. Kinda like a bear that hasn't been outta the rain in months.”

“Where does he live,” I asked. I wasn't buying this, but I also didn't want to insult their story either.

“He's close,” the old guy said. “But if we knew exactly where, we'd go after him. Legend has it, he lures young ones like you into his camp with food and the warm fire...and then....”

“That's enough,” Danielle said. “Don't you have to make your rounds?”

He smiled at Danielle, finished the tea, and headed toward the door. He reached down to Lucky and rubbed a spot under his chin, which the dog seemed to like.

“I better be heading out,” the old man said. “I got Sparky in the truck. Thanks for the tea and the fire.” He narrowed his eyes toward me and Sara. “You two listen to your aunt and stay away from the Redwoods. You get in there and they'll swallow you up.” He swept his hand through the air. “Then the Hobgoblin will find you. Enough said.”

Danielle opened the door for him. “You stay dry now, Mr. Hatfield.” She handed him one of Lucky's dog biscuits. “Here, give this to Sparky.”

He smiled a crooked grin and headed out into the pouring rain.

Our aunt had a disturbed look on her face after locking the door and turning off the outside light. She went directly to the fire and started poking it with a metal stick.

“Who's Sparky,” my sister asked.

“His dog,” she said. “Could have been Lucky's sister. I think it's time for you two to hit the hay. You've had a long day.”