Hunting Bigfoot for fun and College Credit, Chasing Chupacabra, Part Four, Alonzo Offers a Reward

There's a communication phenomenon peculiar to rural communities. Although you can't find a single business with a decent wifi signal, spend any amount of time in an unfamiliar vehicle in a place that's visible and within hours, everyone within twenty miles will know what you're up to.

Alonzo had arranged for us to visit the local radio station to talk about our Bigfoot adventures, in the hope that exposing the locals to our expertise might make them more likely to cooperate with our Chupacabra hunting.

"I know who you are," a young woman on the wooden sidewalk said to me, as we entered the local general store. "I heard all about how you freed a Bigfoot and her younguns. That was real brave." She smiled, dimples and all.

"Well, thank you. Then you know we're here to catch a chupacabra," I replied. We're about to be on the radio.

"I know that too," she said, pointing to a neatly laid out flier, with our names on it, the radio station's logo and the time in the front window of the stoor, "Chasing Chupacabra" it said. It seems Alonzo had been plotting for our arrival long before he threw the dead goat sucker onto the lecture hall floor.

As I walked in, a group of three giggling junior high girls pretended to be very interested in a cosmetics display, as they watched me in the mirror and two boys abandoned their comic books to follow me to the sunglass display. I'd forgotten mine.

It was like something out of a movie.

"Hey, Jack Bannister, right?" One boy said, his cheek swelled out with what was supposed to look like tobaco but was clearly bubble gum from the scent of it.

"That's me," I said, trying on a pair of aviators that looked like it was made for me. That never happens. My face is wide and sunglasses are hard to choose, almost always.

"You're not gonna catch it," the boy said. Dry spitting over his shoulder.

"Why not?" I asked, selecting a bag of Chex mix and a bottle of sun screen.

The boy scoffed, "Cause it ain't real, least, not like you and me. Show him Joey."

The second boy laid an open graphic novel on the counter, there, in its pages, was the man I'd seen at the foot of my bed. They had my attention. I flipped to the front cover.

"Real and Terrible" the cover read, "Monsters, mayhem, and murder," then, in smaller type, "This episode, the Chupacabra of Paradise Pass."

The native man in the images held three white feathers. It followed the same story Gwen had read earlier, adding that the chupacabra was a vengeful spirit, sent by the dead to enact revenge for things the living had done.

"So, you think it's a ghost?" I asked.

"Nah," Joey said, choking on his own wad of gum, "Spirit don't mean ghost. It ain't dead. It never lived in this here plain, you get it?"

I nodded. "So, what do you boys know about the attack at Rocking Z a couple of months back?"

"I'm Scooter," the first boy said, sticking out his hand. I shook it. "Joey here is an expert in weirdness like the chupacabra, but I'm the one seen him." Here, Scooter stabbed his finger onto the page where the Tonto look alike was pictured.

"Really?" I said, more than a little nervous.

"Oh, shit, man," Joey said. "You seen him too! How many feathers?"

"Three," I said, producing them from my pocket I laid them on the counter.

"No way!" Scooter intoned, reaching for the feathers. I'd been counting on that, I covered them quickly. "Look, I'll let you keep one, if you do me a favor."

Scooter looked up, eyes wide, "Name it."

"Get as many radios as you can tuned into our interview. We're going to do something that can't be done, and I want everyone to know about it. We're going to be the first to capture Chupacabra alive."

Both boys whistled. I said, "Get at least ten radios going and come tell me where they are and its yours." This felt like a black and white horror movie. Weird.

As the boys ran out, Gwen entered, and they stopped to admire her, yep, it was the 1950s here.

"Who were they?" Gwen asked, selecting a cold bottled soda from a fridge near the cash register.

I paid for the sunglasses, sun screen and the Coke, "Local fan club chapter getting started." I said.

The radio station was in the basement of the Lutheran church and consequently could not play heavy metal, which included pretty much everything harder than The Backstreet Boys. It was run by Harlan Jenkins, a thirty year old accidental hipster. Or at least, I assumed these were his grandfather's vintage hand me downs, not ironically selected mid century fashions.

"Okay, I'll be behind the card table, with the control board, so, you three can take those lawn chairs over there. That thing that looks like a lawnmower muffler is the mic. Just speak up, it will pick you up. Don't stand up or try to adjust it, please. I know, it's not a great setup, but it's all we got."

I'd never been on the radio and had he not said anything, I would never have suspected this wasn't standard operating procedure. We sat.

"That was Stevie Nicks, "Stop Draggin My Heart Around." And yes, I know that Reverend Austin is adding that to his "no play" list as we speak, but that's why I'm here, to give him songs to add to that leather bound notebook we've all seen him writing in."

Harlan cleared his throat and smiled, brightening his tone, "And now, we've got a special treat here at WKAW 98.7, the KAW! Jack Bannister and company, here to rid us of evil."

"Jack, why don't you introduce your friends, and remember, this is radio, so the listeners are depending on us to be their eyes." Harlan pointed to me.

"Well, thanks Harlan, we're glad to be here in KAW country. I'm Jack Bannister and here with me is the smoking hot blonde you probably saw on mainstreet, Gwen Canon and a man that is closer than my brother, Phil Johnson." I said, doing my best Ryan Seacrest impression.

"Hi, Harlan, glad to be here," Gwen said.

"Uh, this is Phil, can they hear me? Okay, so, happy to be here." Phil said.

The half hour sailed by. We talked a bit about our Bigfoot expedition, the history we'd learned about the Chupacabra and why were there, then Harlan had an announcement.

"As you all know, Mr. Alonzo Mendez, owner of the Rocking Z has been trying to sell his land for about a year now, and there are some pretty strong feelings around here about that. But, he's a neighbor, and he's asking for our help. So, he's offering a thousand dollar reward to anyone who can help Jack Bannister and company capture, or kill the chupacabra that's been haunting his ranch." Harlan said.

I couldn't believe he hadn't told us, before unleashing something like this on the locals. I couldn't imagine too many of them had ever seen, let alone held a thousand dollars at one time, but maybe I was wrong.

It turned out I wasn't and as I listened in horror, Harlan read out my cell phone number as the one to call if anyone had information.

We thanked Harlan and left the station. As soon as we were street level again, my phone started chiming. Before we could walk the block to where the Jeep was parked, I had over 40 notifications. I turned the phone off, it was useless now, I'd respond to the messages later.

Gwen laughed, "You think he's trying to help, or sabotage us so he doesn't have to pay?"

"Not sure," I said, "but this just got a whole lot more interesting."

When Phil turned the van off onto the ranch road, the sight that greeted us was unbelievable. An entire twenty acre section of pasture along one side of the lake was filled with campers and Miguel stood at the road from our bunkhouse, holding a sign that said, "Tent campers, $20 a night, RVs $40, with hookups."

There were at least three TV trucks in the mix.

"Well, Jack, you might get your audience sooner than you expected," Phil grinned, ducking, as I aimed a good natured swing at his head. This was either the best thing that could happen or a disaster, it remained to be seen which.