The Midnight Snack

By Rachel Dib

Henry stared wide-eyed at the top of his tent. Was Gerald’s snoring growing louder? Sighing, he crawled from his sleeping bag and unzipped the flap. Memories of campfire smoke and burnt hot dogs clung to the crisp night air. His stomach growled.

“Might as well have a midnight snack,” Henry muttered. “No use being tired and hungry.”

As he stoked the fire back to life, Henry tried to focus on something besides Gerald’s snoring. He failed.

“No wonder everyone else bailed on this trip once Gerald committed.” Scowling, he sank into a lawn chair and skewered a hot dog. “Someone could’ve warned me.”

A shadow fell across Henry’s lap, and he glanced up to see a giant, hairy beast crouched on the other side of the flames. His first thought was “Bear,” but Henry’s mind quickly informed him this assumption was incorrect. The creature before him was worse than a bear.

While Henry knew he should run or scream—anything besides remain motionless across from the sasquatch—his body refused to respond. So instead, he stared slack-jawed at the monster.

“Oh. From the snoring, I thought everyone here was asleep. Embarrassing,” the sasquatch muttered in a low southern drawl. He cleared his throat and pointed to Henry’s skewer. “Any chance you could hand that over before you run away? While I don’t mind fishing hot dogs from the fire, I’m not particularly a fan of the ashy coating.”

Henry’s jaw dropped open a little wider. He tried to cry out but only managed a wheeze.

The sasquatch made a popping sound with his lips. “Right. The whole struck dumb thing. Haven’t come across that in a while.” He rose to his full height—easily eight or nine feet—and motioned to the ice chest beside Henry’s chair. “Do you mind if I…?”

Henry wheezed again.

Hands up in a defenseless posture, the sasquatch sidled around the fire and flipped open the ice chest. “Oh, you have the good hot dogs. Three should do it.” Noticing some extra skewers, he selected one and returned to the other side of the flames.

Surprisingly, Henry relaxed as the sasquatch roasted his hot dogs. The giant ape seemed to notice, for he met Henry’s eye with a toothy grin.

“I love hot dogs,” he explained. “I’m supposed to wait until campers have fallen asleep and then raid the campsite, but this is so much easier.”

“Su… Supposed to?” Henry choked out.

“It’s one of Ranger Joe’s rules. ‘If you really need a hot dog, Carl, get a hot dog. But wait until the campers are asleep and pretend to be a bear.’ That’s what Ranger Joe says.” The sasquatch lowered his chin and eyed Henry narrowly. “By the way, I’d prefer if you didn’t tell Ranger Joe about this. He wouldn’t approve.”

Henry managed a shrug. “I haven’t met Ranger Joe, so…”

“Well, that works then.” The sasquatch scrutinized his hot dogs, shook his head, and placed them back in the flames. “I’d never hear the end of it if you did. ‘Carl, I can’t believe you showed yourself again.’ That’s what Ranger Joe would say.”

“Um, who’s Carl?”

“Who’s Carl?” The sasquatch prodded himself in the chest with large, knobby knuckles. “I’m Carl.”

Henry tilted his head. “You’re a Bigfoot… named Carl?”

The sasquatch looked down at his feet. “Are they big?”

“I mean…” Henry sunk down in his chair, regretting the comment.

Carl chewed his lip. “I suppose compared to yours, they’re large, but…” He stuck a prehensile foot in the air and wiggled his sausage-like toes. “For my kind, they’ve always seemed normal. Especially for my size.”

“Of course,” Henry quickly agreed. “Forget I said anything.”

“Wait. You said ‘a’ Bigfoot.” Carl slipped one of the hot dogs from his skewer and took a bite. “Is Bigfoot one of your names for me?”

Henry made a noncommittal sound and sank lower.

“It is, isn’t it?” Carl accused, shaking his skewer pointedly at Henry. “Kinda rude. How would you like it if I called you a pale, hairless biped?”

“I, um…”

“Bigfoot. I suppose it could be worse. A little south from here, they call me Wood Booger. I mean, who comes up with that?” Carl shook his head. “Would you mind tossing me another hot dog?”

Henry flung the package the sasquatch’s way.

Carl caught it effortlessly. “And if I travel way south, where it’s a bit swampy, they call me a skunk ape.” He poked his new hot dogs into the fire and sat back on his haunches. “I still don’t understand that one.”

“It’s weird,” Henry admitted. “Though, I wasn’t expecting Carl either.”

“Oh, Carl isn’t my real name. It’s what Ranger Joe calls me. My real name is—” Carl let out a series of low grunts followed by a high-pitched howl.

Gerald’s snoring halted as Carl’s howl echoed around the campsite.

Henry stiffened. Don’t wake up.

“Bet you can’t pronounce that, though, can you?” Carl asked.

Henry shook his head, his eyes glued to Gerald’s tent. Snore, darn it! Instead, he heard a slight rustling.

“Neither can Ranger Joe.” The sasquatch popped the last hot dog into his mouth. “Are there any more of these?”

Henry shook his head again. Was that a zipper? He swallowed, imagining Gerald’s reaction to Carl. He doubted it’d be as quiet as his own.

“Too bad.” Carl rose and stretched. “I should probably go, anyway.”

A light beam flicked on inside the tent, illuminating Gerald’s silhouette.

Henry snapped to his feet and grabbed the tent’s outside zipper, holding it closed.

“What the—” Gerald muttered from within.

“Well, it was nice meeting you.” Carl motioned back and forth between them. “And remember, this stays between us.”

Henry nodded, gripping the zipper a little tighter as Gerald’s tugging grew more insistent.

When Carl finally disappeared into the forest, Henry released the zipper. The tent flap flew open.

“Huh. Must’ve been stuck.” Seeing Henry, Gerald jumped. “Oh. Couldn’t sleep either?”

“No.” Henry glanced back at the forest. “But that turned out to be a good thing.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rachel Dib is a stay-at-home mom of three small children. After marrying a soldier, she left her home state of South Carolina to live in random places across the United States. Her works of short fiction have been published by On the Premises Magazine, Havok Publishing, and Ye Olde Dragon Books. She has also had short stories published by Toasted Cheese Literary Journal under the name R.J. Snowberger.

You can hear an audio narration of “The Midnight Snack” on the Finding Fantasy Reads podcast.

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