How was I supposed to get close enough to the Reclusive Songwriter to snap his picture?
Gathering up my bag, I followed the fence line back through the trees toward the front of the property. Finding a spot that gave me a good view of the front of the house, I settled down to wait, hoping he came out the front this time.
An hour passed.
I tried to get comfortable on the hard ground, reading on my Kindle and glancing up at the house every once in a while. But the man was indeed a recluse.
I didn’t know what to do. Desperation clawed at me. Should I go back to the front gate and ring the buzzer again, and keep ringing it until the man agreed to speak to me?
Right. That was only going to get me arrested.
I eyed the nearest “no trespassing” sign mounted on the fence about ten feet away. With all the surveillance cameras, he had to know I was out here. I was probably lucky the guy hadn’t had me arrested yet.
Another hour passed.
The sun was disappearing over the horizon now, darkness settling in. It didn’t look like I was going to be successful today.
With a heavy sigh, I gathered up my bag and rose to my feet, deciding to call it a day.
My skin prickled as something moved on the other side the fence.
I spun around, my heart smacking into my ribs.
The heavily-treed yard now deep in shadows, it took a moment for my eyes to take in what had appeared before me. Even then, I wasn’t entirely sure what I was looking at in the low light. He stood as still as the tree trunks surrounding him.
My hand flew to my throat, my eyes widening.
Gasping, I stumbled back, tripping over my own feet and falling into the underbrush, my bag landing beside me.
I tilted my head back, unable to tear my gaze away.
Oh. My. God.
Sasquatch was real.
And I was looking at him right now.