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hs35150.jpgbuy prints of select halfsquatch photographs at etsy or dawanda. (prints of all photographs are available upon request) day 35

Bob Richman picked himself up off the living room floor. He headed upstairs and knocked on his daughter’s bedroom door. “Come in,” Rebecca called.

Bob poked his head into her room. “After Dave leaves, I’d like to see you downstairs – we need to talk,” he said and closed the door behind him.

Rebecca groaned. She begged Dave to stay. “Please? My dad never wants to talk, so it’s gotta be something hideous.”

“Can’t do it. My mom will freak if I’m home a minute past midnight. She doesn’t even know I’m here.”
“She’s still pissed about the cat?”

Dave nodded. “Yup. Still pissed.”

Rebecca waited ten minutes after Dave was gone before going downstairs. Please don’t let it be about sex, she thought.

“So, what’s up?” Rebecca slumped into the corner of the couch. Please don’t let it be about sex.

Bob cleared his throat. “I don’t know how to say this, Rebecca. I should have talked to you about this a long time ago, but I didn’t know how.”

Oh God, it’s about sex.

“You see, sometimes things get complicated, especially in relationships that—”

“I know about sex, dad. We don’t need to talk about it — really.”

Bob was flustered. “This isn’t about sex. But in a way, it sort of is, I suppose. It’s about your mother.”

Rebecca was quiet.

Bob continued. “Your mother and I had one of those complicated relationships. It’s not something most people will understand. I wanted to protect you and keep you safe, so I left and came here, with you. I thought it would be better for you to be here instead of out there.”

“Out where?”

“Out there, in the woods, with me and your mother. I wanted to do the right thing.” Bob started to cry.
“Dad, I’m fine. You did the right thing. I mean, if my mother was unstable or a drug addict or whatever, you had to do it, right?”

“Oh, Rebecca. Your mother — she wasn’t unstable or a drug addict. She was kind and wonderful – like you. But she was different. She couldn’t come with us. And I always felt so guilty, and then seeing her again and knowing you’ll never get to know her….” Bob’s voice trailed off.

“She’s here? You’ve seen her?”

“Everyone has.”

“Dad, what’s going on?”

“You mother, Rebecca, your mother was killed. Tucky Thompson killed her.”

“What?”

“He killed her – your mother, the Lady Sasquatch.”

“No.”

“Rebecca, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“No.”

Bob crossed the room to where Rebecca sat. He leaned forward to embrace her. “I’m so sorry.”

“No!” Rebecca screamed and pushed hard on Bob’s chest. He flew backwards, landing splayed across the coffee table.

Rebecca stormed up the stairs to her room. Bob called after her. “Rebecca, please. We need to talk about this.”

“No!” she screamed again and slammed her bedroom door.

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                                                                                                                                                          ©2008 pamela klaffke