Author: Scott Adamson

Packy Northrup was used to being ridiculed.

Once he opened the McNairy County Cryptozoology Center in the storefront of an abandoned video rental store in Selmer, Tennessee, he became a prime target of derision.

Long a student of legendary creatures and their origins, this awkward, self-described “doofus” saw his passion for “monsters” became a career – thanks in no small part to his Nashville family’s old money. Soon, he was able to set up a research facility near the state park, and even hire a couple of assistants.

But the MCCC rarely made it through a week without being vandalized. In fact, when he drove up to the building on the following day of its not-so-grand opening, a prankster had painted “Bigfoot Was Here” across the door.

However, things had taken a more serious turn – and tone – in recent months.

While people once laughed at him and his team for chasing everything from chupacabras to giant vampire bats (a late night search for the latter ended in disappointment when the “bat” was merely a black kite caught in a tree), the “Tennessee Wildman” had become the talk of the nation.

The creature, often compared to a Sasquatch, had supposedly been around since Native Americans nurtured the land. Descriptions almost always had it standing more than seven feet tall and covered in wiry, gray hair. Its red eyes glowed in the dark, and the beast would unleash a bloodcurdling scream when closing in on its prey.

Superhuman speed and strength made it the alpha of all alphas, and from time to time residents would claim to spot “TW,” as they called him, streaking through the woods.

But teams of cryptozoologists from across the country had come to Tennessee to search for the Wildman over the last year, and none of them had returned.

The first crew, which ventured down from Indiana, featured five members equipped with the latest in “cryptid hunting technology.”

When they fell off the radar, police and rescue teams went searching. They found their equipment and campsite largely undisturbed and authorities concluded they must have drowned.

Later it was a six-person team from Texas. They went into the state park on a Monday and disappeared with no signs of bodies or bones.

There were researchers from California, Missouri, Kentucky … teams continued to enter but never exit.

In all, there were 32 cryptozoologists who had ventured into the woods to find evidence of the Wildman, and all had vanished.

It had reached the point where police and park personnel had to at least consider the possibility that TW might actually exist, adding a tragic and frightening twist to the area’s folklore.

Bobby Senta and Cindy Kim, Packy’s assistants, clocked in at the MCCC early on a Friday morning and saw Packy arranging camping equipment.

“What’s up, boss?” Bobby asked, plopping down in a rolling chair behind his gray metal desk.

“I’m going in,” Packy said, carefully laying a tranquilizer gun on the floor. “The Tennessee Wildman is real, and I’m gonna find him. And I’m gonna find the people who went after him, too. There are no tattered clothes, no blood trail, nothing. I think they’re still out there.”

Sally crossed her arms and snorted.

“Dude, they’re gone,” she said. “And you’ll be gone, too. And then all of a sudden me and Bobby are out of a job because our boss has been eaten by Temu Yeti. You really need to leave this alone, Packy. I mean, we didn’t sign up for this. We thought it’d be a fun gig, chasing shadows and all that shit, but I sure as hell don’t want to tangle with a real monster.

“I’m not asking either of you to go with me,” Packy said curtly, placing tranquilizer darts in the green duffle bag on his desk. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to prove this wasn’t a joke, and if I have to lose my life to prove it, so be it.”

Both Bobby and Sally were taken aback by Packy’s solemn determination, and neither said a word as he stormed out the door to load up his Jeep Wrangler.

Packy drove in silence for the next 45 minutes, a journey that took him to one of the primitive campground spots inside the park. With all the missing cryptozoologists and the panic among the members of the community, he doubted he’d encounter any other humans.

And truth be told, he was scared; since not one member of any of the research teams had made it out this could, indeed, be a suicide mission.

But what if he could somehow engage the creature, just long enough to get documentation? It would be like pulling Nessie out of Loch Ness or, holding a press conference near the Klamath River in Northern California – one that featured a real Bigfoot, and not a man wearing a gorilla suit.

As he wandered deeper into the woods and daylight began to fade, he decided to set up camp. He anchored his pop-up tent, proceeded to build a fire, and simultaneously hoped and dreaded that the light might draw out TW.

An hour passed – then two – but Packy remained on high alert as the sun disappeared. Suddenly, he heard a rustling sound in the woods. He jumped to his feet and clumsily reached for his tranquilizer gun, aiming at nothing and everything.

His heart was pounding as he spied a figure moving toward him through the brush. Instead of a tall, hairy Tennessee Wildman, though, it was a short young man wearing what appeared to be tan coveralls.

“You can put that down, buddy,” the man said. “I’m not gonna hurt you. Nobody is.”

As the unexpected visitor moved closer Packy thought he looked familiar, but couldn’t quite place him.

“My name’s Aiden Jones,” the man said. “I’m from the Lubbock Cryptid Society. Why don’t you follow me – and you don’t need that weapon.”

Packy realized Jones was one of the missing crew from Texas, and he was both shocked and relieved to see him alive. He reluctantly put down the gun and followed Jones, who walked to a cypress tree, placed his right hand on its trunk and pressed as though he was pushing a button.

Approximately 10 feet from the tree, a portal that resembled a glowing sinkhole opened in the ground.

Jones walked to its edge, looked back at Packy and smiled.

“Wanna take a leap of faith?” he asked, extending his left hand.

Packy crept closer to the portal, gripped Jones’ hand, and before he could form another thought, found himself standing in a lush forest covered by clear blue skies.

As he looked around, he saw researchers going about their business – as well as several creatures who fit the description of the Tennessee Wildman. They were all mingling. One of the TWs was pointing to a tree and gesturing with its long, hairy arms as three people looked on with great interest.

“Not what you expected, huh?” Jones said. “This place is called Asthenos, and those guys we used to call the Tennessee Wildman when we were up top are natives to this interior part of earth. They don’t speak, but after a few days you’ll find you can communicate with them through a form of telepathy. It’s pretty wild.”

Instead of being traumatized by his fantastical situation, Packy felt … happy.

“It kinda seems like I’m supposed to be here,” he said.

“You are,” Jones said. “We all are. I’m guessing the police are out looking for all the researchers who came here, but they won’t find us because they won’t be invited in by the Asthosians. When they sent me out looking for you, I knew you were one of us. So many people think we’re kooks, but we’re kooks who stumbled into paradise. Everything you see on a tree is edible  and delicious. There are other creatures here – cryptids – beyond your imagination running through the woods, and soon they’ll be running up to you to get a bite of your buska berry. A buska berry, by the way, is kinda like a cross between a sweet apple and tangerine. And the Asthosians? They’re guardians. They’ll occasionally go up top to get leaves and berries for some of the special foods they prepare, but they aren’t attacking people or animals. They don’t want to harm anything or anybody.”

Jones handed Packy a buska berry and he took a big bite, chuckling as the juice rolled down his chin. He didn’t fully understand what was going on. Hell – he didn’t understand at all. Regardless, he was completely at peace. He wanted to interact with the Asthosians and learn more about them. He couldn’t wait to see the other cryptids. Mostly, he longed to explore this new world.

And while he was also curious as to how he got here – and how he could get back to the park – those were questions that could be answered another day.

Then again, maybe he already had his answer.

Why would any cryptozoologist ever want to leave?

He took another bite from his buska berry, and smiled.