The King of Goosey Lake (Part 3)

Despite the unexpected appearance from a cryptic hominid that until then had been elusive to all of humanity, Den’s morning had been going according to plan. The morning summer sun was now just high enough to start warming the air to a comfortable 65 degrees Fahrenheit, and Den had already bagged his fifteenth good-sized melonfish.

He had his line in the water and he felt yet another tug. The line started pulling and his reel started to whine. Den contorted his face into a grimace and let his tongue protrude tensely out the corner of his mouth as he fervently reeled in his latest catch. He glanced quickly at Petunia who continued to sit on top of that controls panel. He gave her one of his yellow, crooked-toothed grins and declared with bated breath: “This one’s going to be a whopper!”

As Den pulled in the copper-colored fish, his rod bowed so severely that he worried that it would snap.

“This one has got to be seven pounds at least!” he said, struggling to keep his rod steady.

But he managed to reel in his squirming catch and capture it with his fishing net. He then grabbed the fish by the torso through the net. He gave it a swift bonk on the head with a small club to knock it unconscious. After he carefully extracted the hook from its lips, he gripped the cold, limp fish firmly with both hands and moved it up and down so as to test its heft and weight.

He beamed and said: “What a beaut!”

Just when Den was thinking about baiting a new hook, he heard a distant cheer erupt from shore. He narrowed his eyes, and briefly wondered how all those people could have known he’d caught such an impressive melonfish. But as soon as he looked over, he realized what all that commotion was really about.

It was Mr. Sasquatch. He stood waist deep in the lake about 25 feet away from Den. The creature wildly whipped his head all around his torso until the glint of a copper scale caught his eye. He then plunged his hand into the water and immediately pulled out a wriggling melonfish. Mr. Sasquatch held his catch up high over his head and let out a triumphant roar. He then tossed it high over his head and then caught it with a burlap sack that he had hanging over his shoulders.

The onlookers on shore erupted into enthusiastic cheers.

As Den continued to look onto this display in frozen-eyed disbelief, Mr. Sasquatch bagged five more melonfish in rapid succession.

Den huffed. He felt an overwhelming shot of adrenaline start to course through his veins. His face turned red, and his lips pursed tensely. He didn't even bother putting his seven-pounder into his big white cooler where he was putting the other fish. He just tossed onto the deck, where it landed and slid until it hit the cooler. Den stomped over to the boat anchor reel and expeditiously pulled it up. The boat rocked chaotically as he did so. He then quickly sat down on the captain's chair.

He glanced over to Petunia who was still sitting on the dash. She was looking on just as blankly as she always did, but this time Den could have sworn that she had an awful glare about her. Especially when she opened her mouth and croaked “Go get ‘em, Denver.”

Den gave one definitive nod, as he turned the key on the ignition of his boat and proceeded sailed over to the Sasquatch and end this nonsense once and for all.

~*~

 

By the time Den made it over there, it was clear that whatever the Bigfoot had been doing before, he’d been restraining himself. Mr. Sasquatch’s burlap sack was already filled with what must've been dozens of wriggling fish, and he'd already moved onto a fresh new bag. The onlookers on shore kept cheering the more fish the Bigfoot caught.

But the cheering suddenly ceased when Den steered his boat between the Sasquatch and them. He then turned off his motor and stood up. He angrily pounded his fists into his hips. 

The Bigfoot’s mouth had then formed a small “o” as he held a wiggling melonfish in his hand as he looked at Den blankly.

“Now what’s the big idea here!” Den screamed, pointing at the Bigfoot. “You just stop this tommyrot right now.”

The Bigfoot didn't say anything. He just remained frozen, looking at him. When the silence became too unbearable, Den decided to scream out some more.

“I mean, you can't do this!” he continued, tensely flapping his arms over his head. “This isn't fishing. This is… err…” he paused to quickly coin a term for it “…noodle tossing!”

It was then that Den heard a familiar voice behind him yell out: “Hey, now. What’s the problem here?”

Den turned his head around to see that it was Belinda who had her hands cupped over her mouth. Den’s eyebrows shot up. He started to stomp his left foot hard on the boat deck, but he quickly stopped himself because all that motion was making the boat underneath him rock around unsteadily.

“Be careful!” she called out. “What you are doing is unsafe! Sit back down and let’s talk about this.”

Den only screamed back indignantly: “Don't worry about what I'm doing! Worry about all this! What this creature is doing is just wrong! He is making a mockery of the fine sport of fishing!”

“Oh come on, Den!” Belinda called out as a chorus of boos started to erupt behind her. “This competition is just a little bit of fun! You know that!”

Den scoffed and then pointed at the wriggling sack the Bigfoot had hanging off his shoulder.

“First of all,” Den yelled, “all those fish in that sack of his are still alive! I mean, look! They're suffering!”

Mr. Sasquatch then looked at the wiggling fish that he held in his hand. He shrugged his shoulders, and bit into the its head until it went limp before tossing it into his burlap sack.

That action was met with a din of cheers and applause from the crowd of onlookers.

“Anything else?” Belinda asked, outstretching her arms.

“Are you kidding me?” Den screamed back.

It right was then that Den suddenly lost his balance. He fell backwards into the water and capsized the Seabreeze. The last thing Den remembered thinking right before he passed out was one word.

“Petunia!”

 

~*~

 

“Petunia!” Den screamed the second he drifted back into consciousness, before he even had the chance to open his eyes.

When he did so, he found that he was lying on his back on the silty lakeside shore surrounded by Belinda, Mr. Sasquatch, and—quite unexpectedly—his daughter Annie. Her husband Phil stood behind her. He saw that her nose was red, as she had apparently been crying profusely for some time.

“Daddy,” she said, quickly trying to dry her face with the sleeve of her brown cardigan sweater.

“Annie,” he said back to her, squinting. He tried to lift his head up off the ground, but it proved to be too heavy and it plopped back on the dirt.

“Daddy, take it easy, please,” Annie implored.

Den, ignoring that advice, tried to lift up his head once more. That was when he saw that behind Mr. Sasquatch was his boat had been dragged onto shore.

“Seabreeze!” he called out.

“Daddy, please,” Annie continued. “You’ve got a nasty knock on the head!”

Den brought his fingertips to the top of his scraggly head to find that it had a warm, bloody gash on it. He looked at the red blood that accumulated on his fingers and felt a pang of nausea.

“Mr. Sasquatch retrieved your boat after he pulled you out of the water,” Annie said, sniffing away tears. “Your boat capsized.”

Den’s eyes suddenly shot wide open, revealing a frenzied and panicked countenance. He looked back to his boat and didn't see anything green in the space between the dash and the windshield. 

“Petunia, where’s Petunia?” he wailed.

“Dad!” Annie said, now looking down at him intensely with concern. “Mom’s been gone for five years—”

“No, no, I mean,” Den continued, shaking his head frantically. “Petunia’s at the bottom of the lake!”

“Dad, no she isn't!” Annie said, now combatively. “We buried her in Sunset Hills. Remember?”

A sharp pang of scorching headache coursed behind his eyes, and he suddenly felt more nauseous. He writhed, gripping his stomach. 

It was at that point, Den closed his eyes and let his head plop back down into the silt. He took a deep breath and figured right then that he should remain silent about Petunia. After all, he hadn’t talked to his daughter at all since her mother died—much less told her that since then he’d since taken to conversing with a ceramic frog.

That was when he started to hear the piercing wail of ambulance sirens off in the distance. Den let out a horrifying gasp, and he could feel his heart race so fast that he feared it might beat out of his chest. He looked at Annie with a deathly look of horror on his face. He felt lightheaded and could see fireflies zipping about his field of vision.

“You didn’t,” he yelled at her. “Why did you call them? How could you do this?”

“Daddy, please!” Annie cried so hard, now, that she choked up, barely able to breathe. 

Belinda knelt beside Annie and started to rub her back. Phil, who was never particularly great at picking up cues when his wife needed comfort, even when she was crying like that, followed suit on Annie’s other side.

Den closed his eyes and pleaded with himself to calm down. He took few deep breaths before saying: “Annie, listen…”

Annie looked at her father. 

It was then that Den remembered how mesmerizing his daughter’s eyes were.

Seeing them up close up like that just for a few seconds was enough for him to get deeply lost in them. The last time he got hopelessly lost in those eyes was that horrible day Petunia died. 

Annie had been over at her parents’ house for a visit. Den was looking into those eyes while they were having a playful conversation about the latest antics of Teddy, her precarious Yorkshire Terrier. Then suddenly, they heard something out in the garden go thud. Annie and Den raced outdoors to find Petunia lying face down in the dirt in the tulip bed. She had been planting new bulbs and apparently slipped and hit her head on a rock. 

Den had turned his wife around and tried to prop her up, but she was only barely conscious. Den suggested that they carry her to the couch inside, wipe her down and let her rest it off, but Annie had insisted that they call an ambulance. Petunia would end up dying of a brain hemorrhage on the way to the hospital.

Petunia’s funeral was a nightmare—one where Den got in a screaming match with Annie. He insisted that if she’d only given Petunia a chance to recover on the couch instead of letting the paramedics move her around, she wouldn't have died.

It was then that Den had suddenly recalled that right next to her  head where she had laid unconscious was that ceramic bullfrog. 

Den sighed heavily. But then, as he continued to gaze into his daughter’s eyes, he realized he didn’t mind losing that bullfrog so much.

“Annie, I— I—,” Den started, choking up.

Annie, now a bit calmer, let a small close-mouthed grin manifest on her face. Den continued to gaze into her eyes, which seemed to be getting warmer with every passing second.

“I love you, Punkin,” Den finally told her.

It had been such a long time since Annie heard her father call her by her childhood nickname. She then let out a full smile, one that looked crooked toothed and uncannily exactly like her fathers except without the yellow tint.

“Right back at you, daddy,” she said.

It was then that a couple ambulances arrived and a team of four paramedics jumped out and ran over to them. The lead paramedic, an athletic woman with tight blond braids named Samantha, observed the scene for a while with a marked expression of confusion on her face. She moved her eyes quickly back and forth between the nearly unconscious Den and the Bigfoot. Then, she finally asked: “Which one of these guys did you call us to pick up?”

 

~*~

 

Den’s recovery in the hospital went about as smoothly as it possibly could. He was allowed to go home in the late afternoon with only a bandage tied around his head. They drove back to the festival in Annie’s lime-green Volkswagen Jetta, where Den had intended to see what he could do with The Seabreeze. 

The Sun's shine was dark orange as he, Annie and her husband Phil walked back to the shore. Den felt strong enough to carry his grandson, Tucker, in his arms whose young brain was still trying to process a previously inconceivable notion that it was possible for him to have two grandpas. Den looked into Tucker’s eyes and noticed that they were steely blue, just like his was. 

Den thought about how he didn't win the melonfish catch trophy like he had hoped to, but as he held his grandson, he realized how little that mattered. Besides, there would always be next year.

As they walked into the marina grounds, it was still bustling with life. The air had the smell of caramel corn, campfire smoke, and hot dogs. 

Den looked upon shore where he’d last seen his boat, but he saw that Seabreeze wasn’t there. Then he looked out over at the docks and saw it that it had been moored back to Slip No. 9.

It was right then, Den had heard a familiar voice call out his name through loud speakers. It was Belinda. She was standing on that covered stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Den Whitaker!” she said. “The winner of this year’s Melonfish Catch.”

Goosey Lake citizens who had been milling around enjoying the festivities turned around to face him and started to clap and cheer. 

Den, looking around at this scene thoroughly confused, set down his grandson and slowly made his way to that stage. 

As he approached Belinda, he glared out at her with a furrowed brow. He shrugged his shoulders at her with his palms turned upward.

“Den, come on up!” she said. He saw that she was gripping that two-foot high melonfish trophy in her hands.

Scratching his scraggly head with confusion and looking onto the crowd of Goosey Lake citizens cheering wildly, he climbed onto the stage and said: “But I didn't win it!”

Belinda, grinning, patted Den hard once on the back and said: “Well, apparently Sasquatches aren’t exactly ones who like to accumulate things, you know. And if you didn’t notice, you were the only other person who actually got any fishing done today. Everyone else was too busy watching the Sasquatch.”

She held out the trophy at him while gesturing take it with her eyes. He grabbed it reluctantly, but as soon as his hands touched the object, a new round of cheers and applause erupted from the crowd. 

Then, Den couldn't help himself. He triumphantly held it up over his head, as his eyes started to water.

That was when a large figure suddenly approached the front of that stage. It was Mr. Sasquatch. He’d came holding five burlap sacks filled with melonfish. The creature looked at Belinda and grumbled something. Her eyes then lit up enthusiastically as she turned back to Den. She looked like she might explode with laughter at any second.

"Den,” she said. “Mr. Sasquatch is asking you if you wouldn’t mind frying up these melonfish for everybody in town.”

Den squinted and then gave Belinda a sideways glance.

“Seriously?” Den said.

“Yes absolutely,” Belinda confirmed.

Den, then setting the trophy down on the stage, crossed his arms and looked at Belinda curiously.

“Say, how can you even understand a word he’s saying?”

She grinned back at him and said: “Isn’t that a funny thing?”

She took out her hearing aid and showed it to Den.

“It has to do with how it sends computerized signals to my brain,” she said. “The Sasquatch figured out how to manipulate its function so that I could understand him. Doctor Hewitt tried to explain it to me, but…”

She put the hearing aid back on.

Den, now looked at Mr. Sasquatch with a cocked head said: “Well, I'm going to need a ton of olive oil and paprika…” 

The Bigfoot grinned and gave him a thumbs up.

Link to Conclusion