The Cloaked Child and the Origins of Bigfoot
By Natalie Daza
No one knew why the Child was there, but there he was. How strange he was, he bore long sharp claws and his skin was an unnatural shade of pale. If one looked into his bloodshot eyes they would instantly regret doing so. The Child lay in the moss of the cold woods. Here came a dusky brown wolf. The Wolf approached the Child with the wicked winter’s curse of hunger and vile intentions for this odd toddler-infant. When the Wolf lunged at the Child a shrill wail of pain shot through the night. However, it was not the Child who cried out, but the Wolf, for the Child had ripped the stomach open; then as the blood washed the victim's paws in the stale moonlight the Child climbed into the Wolf. The Wolf clung to life by sheer will, his claws turned up the earth like plows in the field. The Child then spoke, his voice deep and rattling through the Wolf’s trembling body,
“I will not discard you,”
The Wolf whimpered in fear as the Child became one with the Wolf. The bones melded into one another as the Wolf became a prisoner in his own body. The Child giggled, then by the will of the Child the Wolf stood up on two feet, then he began to run. The Wolf ran back to his den, as the Child had full access to the wolf’s memories. The Leader of the wolf pack scented the supernatural on him and sent him away. Then the Child under the cloak of the Wolf tried to enter the den of the Wolf’s family. The Wife stumbled back with a startled whimper. Then she bravely stood in the entrance to protect her starving children. The Wife could no longer recognize this mangled beast.
"Leave, I no longer know you” she growled, their cubs looking on with dinner plate eyes as they shook in the bitter cold. The cruel Child soon left, skipping as the Wolf’s spirit begged him to free him. To send him home to his little ones– to at least let him say goodbye... The Child simply skipped on, not caring how terribly the Wolf wept the way only spirits do. Over the course of a week, the Child was happy and played with glee, while the Wolf’s poor feet became greatly swollen with strain and grief. Over the years the jailer played within his host, and as the years came the Wolf’s body changed. His tail was lost to time and the snout shriveled in size. Once the Child ran the Wolf right into a tree, and in doing so, the snout was shoved inward. The poor Wolf’s eyes grew bloodshot as the Child didn’t need to sleep when he could play. Whoever saw this morbid scene saw only the mangled fur and swollen feet (which were the size of a bear’s). From this the legend of Bigfoot was born. Oftentimes someone would try to capture Bigfoot, but the Child in his greed hid his host well from sight in the forest. The Wolf’s soul remains a prisoner to this day. So, if you see Bigfoot, give him a smile; both to please the wicked child and give a glimmering flame of hope to the weary soul trapped within