Zack pulled out the canvas bag of specially selected scat and poured it out. He picked up the two wooden sticks with extra large feet and carefully walked them away from the scat while disguising his footprints with a tree branch.
He hid in a tree so he could see the reaction of the Bigfoot hunters that he knew where nearby. Years playing the game watching men make idiots of themselves looking for a mythical monster. It was good for local businesses, like his.
The hunters came into view the same moment a powerful hairy arm choked Zack to death!
The man in the mirror was changing every time Randy looked.
It was a slow transformation. His once calm and bland features turned into a landscape of worry wrinkles. His blue eyes became murky gray.
He knew the change was about more than just growing old. Something was evolving in his mind. Something dark that slithered around his consciousness just out of sight. Fear of the other. People with different beliefs and colors.
Randy’s world, rooted in another era, was gone and he missed it so much it made him angry. Hate crept into his heart like a venomous snake.
Raymond turned away from the radio in time to see his Mother’s worried eyes.
“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “This is just nostalgia radio with Orson Wells narrating War of the Worlds.”
Suddenly static. Sounds of people panicking. A man’s voice “This is not a drill” Fading. Static.
“It’s not for real, Mom. It’s from a 1938 broadcast.”
Static stops. A man’s voice. “The president was able to flee in Air Force One when…”
“Son! When Franklin Roosevelt was in office in 1938 there was no Air Force One!“
They both turned to the window in time to see the mushroom cloud.