ON GROUND, SOMEWHERE IN THE WOODS - THE STATE OF OHIO
Mr. Higgins sits at the bottom of large tree. He clutches his leather satchel to his chest. His eyes are wild, what is left of his hair has grown. Wispy and tangled, it halos around his face and is full of leaf litter. He is wearing a velvet waistcoat that is torn and rumpled. Dried mud is stuck to half of his slacks. He is thinner. With shaking hands, he winds the tape recorder.
MR. HIGGINS:
“I have fallen in with a madman.”
He pauses and looks around, peering through smudged and cracked spectacles, searching for something, or someone. Dusk is settling in the forest, making it dark. There is no movement in the underbrush that surrounds him. He pulls the microphone closer to his lips and whispers.
MR. HIGGINS:
“I am having a difficult time keeping track of how long we have been lost in this forest. It must be at least two weeks, if not longer. I am no longer certain the train was being held up, or if it was some elaborate ploy by my confederate, the aptly named Wild Bill, who is currently foraging for food.”
He pauses again, cocks his head listening. When nothing but the small noises of the forest is heard, he draws his knees to his chest, still clutching the recorder.
MR. HIGGINS:
“I do not know why he has taken me hostage. It may be a sneaky plan by Mr. Buffurt. He must know I am on track to finding the Unicorn, and this is his way of keeping me from Hehewuti, so he can get to her first!”
He takes a deep breath and reaches inside his coat pocket, pulling out his flask. It is empty. Mr. Higgins shakes it over his upturned mouth and then licks the rim. Sadly he puts it back.
MR. HIGGINS:
“My fellow naturalists. If my tapes should, by the grace of the Unknown, make it into the proper hands, and you discover what happened to me and you think to ask, why did I not escape the clutches of the wild cowboy and harken out on my own, the answer is simple. I have been informed, a Bigfoot roams the area and is most dangerous. One man cannot hope to stand up to the hideously hairy beast, and as all of my luggage has since been lost, I have no weapons for defense. So, I am forced to rely on the unpredictable and I fear unhinged, Mr. James Hickock in the hopes that he will eventually tire of whatever game he plays and lead me out of these woods and to civilization. Until then, I follow his command, and I wait, hidden under the brush and--”
A loud howl interrupts the recording. Startled, Mr. Higgins drops the microphone entangling it his fingers. He swallows, rights the microphone, and lowers his voice to the softest of whispers.
MR. HIGGINS:
“As you just heard, this forest is full of wild animals, and Bigfoot is king. If I die, at least I can die with the knowledge I have recorded evidence of such a being. I just hope it does not destroy these tapes-”
Mr. Higgins gasps, as he spots a dark figure lumbering toward him through the trees. He scrambles to stuff the recorder back in the leather satchel and stores it in a hole created by the roots of the tree, before sliding behind the tree. He presses against the trunk and squeezes his eyes shut.
