THE CRYPTID MENAGERIE, Part II

He awoke in a dark, red room no bigger than ten feet by ten feet. The red was from the lamp by the Hospital Bed he was in, a pine-green, fuzzy sheet over him. The room was windowless and made of black brick.

He didn’t even entertain the idea that the Thunderbird had been a dream. His sore chest, reddened bandages and stinging temples told him it was as real as he was. And to top that off, it would explain why he was in a room he’d never seen before.

A man stood outside the door. He could see him through a plexiglass window in the door. It was circular, too – this building seemed to date to the 50’s or 60’s, the modernist architecture told him.

He tossed around knocking on the door and letting the man know he needed water or trying to escape in some fashion. He figured he couldn’t, so he knocked on the door with his eyes clenched and his head down. He expected the worst.

The same man as before, the Australian Hunter, looked in on him without emotion.

Al’s head was still down when he opened the door. He expected to either be killed. Since he hadn’t expected near-death by Thunderbird, he figured expecting the absolute worst was the best way to prepare for it.

He let his guard down by only the most minuscule factor when he heard the man speak to him.

“Lighten up, mate, ya ain’t hurt that bad.” He looked at him. The man looked as empathetic as he could, which apparently wasn’t much.

“A Goddamned giant eagle tried to carry me away. I think it would’ve taken my top half off if I hadn’t killed it.” His voice was flat and colorless, and his eyes were pleading and as pathetic as he felt.

He sipped a cup of water in his hand. Wait, no – tea, Al realized. There was the string of a bag coming out of it.

“First off, ‘at thing was more a Condor than an eagle, and secondly it woulda carried ya off. It’s a shame ya killed it, too. Only one of its kind.”

He stared at him for a moment, and then nodded hollowly. “I’ll cry myself to sleep over it’s extinction. I’ll even take cred for it, if you let me.”

The man looked like he was about to say something, but stopped. Shook his head.

“I’m not one to argue. If I had it my way, things like that wouldn’t be up and roamin’ around, either. But there they are, and here I am. And most importantly, here is a good goddamn job that pays well. So animal control, even for things like . . . that . . . is good enough for me.”

He finished his tea and chucked it in a trash-can. He pulled out a walkie-talkie, a big, khaki-colored one, and spoke into it.

“Sandy?”

Pause from the other end.

“Yeah?”

“He’s up.”

“Good. Bring him into the first building.”

“I thought you said…”

“Don’t back-talk me, Shuker! Just do what I tell you, alright?”

He looked at the kid, rolling his eyes and flapping his hand like he was miming a duck.

“Alright, Sandy. Coming!” He answered her in fake, mocking happiness.

“Wait,” Al said, regaining what little confidence he’d had before all this. “Where am I?”

The man lifted his arms up. As if to say, ‘Whaddaya want from me?’ And then he answered him.

“You’re at the Zoo!”

Al shook his head, tried to clear it.

“The Zoo?” He asked.

“Yep. More specifically, Miss Terry Sanderson’s private Zoo. Or ‘Menagerie’, as she likes it called. You’re in the building she lives in now. It’s also where we keep the med stocks for, um, injuries.” He motioned to Al’s wounds.

“Oh, of course. It was an escaped Zoo animal. Weird, never seen anything like that before…either, uh, either way,” he stumbled over his words. “I need a shirt. You got one?”

He pointed to a white T-shirt on the foot of the Hospital bed, which he walked over and put on.

The hallway was the same black brick.

They left the building, and Al saw it was night. Stars, somewhat obscured by the Zoo lights, were poking out of the blackness.

“Well, this’ll be a fine thing to explain to my parents.” Al said, still sore.

The Australian man lit a cigarette.

“Shuker, you know I despise smoking,” he heard a woman say. Al could now tell she was from somewhere in the area of Tennessee, probably near the coastline.

When he turned his head, he saw the same woman as before – the blonde hair, short stature, thin frame. It was strange how such a small and weak-looking woman could be as vicious and ballistic as she was earlier. In fact, he was frightened even to approach her.

She must have detected this as she walked near the two of them.

“It’s alright, hun.” She said, holding her hands up and closing her eyes as if in surrender. “Sorry ‘bout our earlier……scuffle. I have a bit of temper, especially where my animals and my money’s factored into the situation.”

She held out an elegant, thin-fingered hand, which Al shook weakly. “Alva Keel,” he introduced himself.

“I’m Terry Sanderson. PhD.” She looked at his hand as he shook hers. “Dead-fish handshake, huh? I can see you’re still a bit in shock from earlier. Would you like some Coffee? Candy?” She leaned forward.

“How about a tour, son?”

Al, still frightened, nodded up and down. “Can I call my Parents, at least? I wanna let them know I’m O.K.,that I’ll be home soon. Is that alright?”

She laughed at him, a high-pitched, girlish giggle. It sounded fit for a five-year-old, forget about this woman in her mid-thirties.

“We’ll see,” she said.

* * *

“This Menagerie – isn’t that a beautiful word? Menagerie? Has a lovely Victorian air to it, doesn’t it?” Sanderson said. Four guards, people in green vests and black pants with tranquilizer guns, surrounded them. Al knew they’d take him out if he tried to run, so he kept his mouth shut and simply nodded along to what the maybe-nice/maybe-lunatic lady was saying.

“This Menagerie was built in 1936, as you can tell from the brown-black bars around the empty exterior cages. Not to forget the cement models of beasts and ancient-looking gift stands, of course.” Al took the opportunity to look at what she was pointing to as they walked down the white, winding brick pathways.

In one small ‘park’ area were life-sized models of Elephants, Cheetahs, Lions, Cassowaries, Alligators and Water Buffalos. In the other were out-dated, too-reptilian and un-birdlike Dinosaurs. A generic, horned and black-skinned Carnivore, looking ridiculously fearsome, presided over all of them. A smaller, blue-black one fled from it, frozen in that sculpted position forever. A big, blue Brontosaurus was near the edge, seemingly looking at them as they passed. It hit him that it was probably designed with that effect in mind, all those decades ago.

“The first building is for animals from America. Ones used to varying seasons and wilderness. You’ll find some of them familiar, no doubt. If only in a very particular way.”

He very, very much didn’t like her emphasis on particular. It was, what was the word? Creepy. Very, very creepy.

But what the Hell? He was getting a free tour of a Zoo.

The first Building wasn’t labeled, though some letters were still left over its opening. 

Outside was a black-barred, gargantuan mock-up of the American Desert. It was open. A dead animal, mutilated to the point of being unidentifiable, lay on a rock.

‘Oh. That’s where the Bird came from,’ he thought, rubbing his wounded ribs.

In the unremarkable building he was led into, there were four exhibits. One behind Glass, but that was the only remotely modern one. The rest were all behind bars, as they would have been in a Zoo in the 30s.

She motioned, proudly, to the first enclosure.

“Shall we have a look, Mr. Keel?” She said, pointing at the bars.

He nodded.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.”

The first enclosure was that of a Northwestern forest. Not like the sparsely wooded one he’d been in just hours before, either. A thick one, like the forest must be near its center; hundreds of miles from the nearest human settlement. Quiet, calm, green and thriving. Too, unusually still. That struck him most of all. Very, very still.

“Turn on the Light,” Sanderson Commanded.

A single light, a very dim one, shown from behind a tree. In the Center of the Enclosure were large, dark black shapes that were hunched close together; of different sizes, they seemed almost to be huddled around something.

Alva turned to say something, but Sanderson shushed him and pointed back to the shapes.

When he looked back, he saw all the shapes were now looking back at him.

Their eyes were a dark brown, no whites anywhere. A sloping forehead came down over them, like on an old depiction of a neanderthal. They reflected back the dim lighting and he thought, for a moment, that they were Gorillas. For what reason a Gorilla cage might conceivably be modeled after the American Northwest was the mystery to him – unless this Madwoman intended upon releasing them into that area. Of course, he thought, finding the strength of his personality to roll his eyes. The P.E.T.A. nuts finally got a billionaire on their hands, and now they’re –

One of the shapes stood. From the heel of its feet to the top of its dull-pointed skull, it must have been almost ten feet tall.

Alva walked forward to peer at the animal. His whole mind and body had become consumed by the same wonder Darwin must have felt when observed the Galapagos. Eyes wide, his mouth slightly agape, he took another step forward.

The animal continued to stay where it was in perfect stillness, like a statue, and briefly the preposterous thought of this being some elaborate animatronic prank came across him.

The animal had distinct teeth in a short face, canines and incisors and the distinctly robust jaws of a Primate. Its ears were slightly pointed and each arm was six feet long, ending in thick, calloused fingers with cracked and jagged fingernails. Its hair was black, shaggy and looked to be five or six inches long. Its eyes were large, clearly adapted for a nocturnal lifestyle, and he could see the glistening in its nostrils as it breathed.

He heard it, breathing slowly; its broad, massive shoulders rising gently up and down. The odor of must was strong. Either the beast exuded it or this was a territory heavily marked with their sprays.

When he was close to the bars, another one of the animals rose up and looked over at him. This one, he saw, was only about four feet high, and had much bigger eyes and ears – a Juvenile.

It loped towards him on all fours, and when it was close enough to him, it appeared to look as though it had the same expression that he did.

Wonder. Curiosity. Innocence. Caution.

An animal with a full range of emotions if there ever was one.

What happened next sent the Big-Game hunter’s arm right around Al’s neck; wrenching him backwards and nearly giving him a heart attack in the process.

A low, but very loud, guttural shrieking roar erupted from the collection of animals; another ten-footer rose up and stomped forward with alarming speeds at the Juvenile ran away on all fours again; to an eight-foot beast with large bulges under the thinner fur on its chest.

The female picked up the Juvenile in its arms and held it over its Shoulder, a bit less massive than the male’s; a second female carried off a second juvenile as both of the males lumbered forward.

That was when Al saw the male that had reached the cage first trumpet a different kind of roar; one more whooping and rhythmic and higher-pitched.

It smashed up against the bars and reached out both of its six-foot arms. Had He been closer, the giant would’ve mangled him and ripped him to shreds through the bars. Like a Cheese-grater, he though sickeningly.

Two of the guards seized a nearby fire-hose and, at the sight of it, the second male sprinted away. The one by the bars, however, wasn’t so lucky.

It was caught in a cross-spray of hot water; its ungainly body knocked off-balance, it thundered backwards. It struggled to keep its balance and stumbled through the foliage and, after barely making it out of the range of the water-blasts, it dropped to the ground.

The cage-bars rattled even though the beast had to be over twelve feet away.

“That’s enough! That’s enough!” Sanderson shouted at them.

The hoses went off and the guards went back to their business.

“Tranquilizers don’t get through the fur,” the Hunter explained. “Hoses are the only things that work. Sadly for them and us.”

Alva barely heard him. He simply panted looked on, experiencing an emotion not encountered often enough to have a name in the English Language.

Sanderson looked on proudly.

Raising a 26-inch long, dark-red foot, the monster planted it in the ground and rose up, soaked with water and scared with rage.

It looked at them, though Al could swear it was looking directly at him, and let out another whooping Roar.

Too stubborn to leave it at that. Still its territory, and it still wanted it.

“Alva, meet the Wood Ape. Pongo Gigantis, we call him. You might know him by a more colloquial name, however.”

Al nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know ‘im.”

The Hunter turned on the lights in the observing half of the enclosure, revealing the name plate under the cage bars.

BIGFOOT.