Since an early age, storytelling has been Fay’s greatest desire. She seeks to create memorable characters that touch her readers’ hearts. She says of her writing, “If I can’t laugh or cry at the words written on the pages of my manuscript, the story is not ready for the reader.” Fay writes in various genres, including romance, romantic suspense, and contemporary fiction.
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Of course, when they find a body, a stiff in the mud, Connie shifts into deduction mode. Was the deceased somehow scared to death or possibly attacked by what should be imaginary, or are there other, more human and certainly more vicious, intentions at play?
Match wits with The Visitor as she unravels this twisted puzzle and the family drama that surrounds it.
The Visitor Meets Old Hairy
Polly turned to her sister, her finger to her lips.
“I’m not talking.” Connie’s attempt to whisper had the decibels of a seven-forty-seven. Wind whipped hair into her face. “And who can hear anything with this wind. Give us a little rain, and we’ll have a hurricane.”
“Try not to step on the twigs.” Polly ignored her sister’s complaints.
“We’re not on a path, Polly. The ground is littered with them.”
Ethan’s snicker took the air of frustration from Polly’s wings. She leaned against a tree and covered her face with her hands, trying to keep from bursting into laughter.
Connie leaned against her, her body shaking. “If Old Hairy was out here, we most definitely would see him.”
“No.” Ethan came near. “Aunt Connie, they’re stealthy and hard to spot even in the daytime. They hide themselves against trees and don’t make a sound unless they want to be heard or seen—all eight feet—no grunting from exertion, no stomping when they walk.” He glanced at his mom with a sly smile. “Some people believe they have a cloaking ability like a chameleon.”
Marc drew near. “And they read minds.” He wiggled his brows and glanced at his wife. “When they’re near you, their sub-sonic hum can make you deathly ill.”
They were making fun of her, but Polly didn’t care. Standing alone with her family in the middle of expedition and gabbing with the people she loved, that was all she wanted. “They hide in caves. That’s why they aren’t seen,” she countered with her own knowledge of Bigfoot lore. “And they’ve had years to adapt to the land; they know the layout.”
They remained silent for a moment as the limbs above them rustled.
“Did you hear that?” Connie spun around.
“With the wind?” Polly threw her sister’s words back at her.
Connie waved her hands back and forth in front of her face. “And smell that?”
Polly took a deep breath and coughed. “That’s not a Bigfoot.”
“It’s a skunk.” Ethan took off running through the dark in the direction of the camp.
Connie put her hands out to stop Marc and Polly. “Let’s see if he runs into it first.”
Marc laughed aloud. “Good idea.”
Polly spied something illuminated by the rays of the moon filtering through the trees: the white of a skunk’s coat.
Perhaps Ethan had been the clever one.
Polly held to her sister’s and her husband’s arms. “There.” She nodded.
The skunk stood up on two feet and looked around.
Polly held her breath, and not from the stench. Did skunks attack?
The skunk stayed still for a moment, looked behind it, and then turned to look in their direction.
Polly planted her feet so as to run if it moved toward her.
Despite the wind, tromping could be heard and then a heavy grunt.
The skunk took off.
Connie—and Marc—jumped behind Polly’s back.
More stomping sounded, coming closer.
An overly large figure silhouetted in the moon’s shine moved into the center of the trees. His attention was in the direction the skunk had fled.
The creature stilled completely. Then it turned.
“Stay still.” Marc whispered. “Polly, is it a man?”
“I-I don’t think so.” She trembled. “He’s huge.”
The huge apelike man stared. When it blinked, the action was slow.
It swayed back and forth like an ape.
Polly took a step back, forcing Marc and Connie with her.
The creature raised its shoulders, bent low at the knees, and inhaled. As it straightened, a tremendous howl built from its innards and reverberated against Polly. She’d never heard anything the likes of it.
The howl ended, and the creature stood stock-still, his attention never leaving them.
“Shoo. Shoo.” Connie moved her free hand.
The lumbering beast stared at Connie, blinked again, and turned. Then it thundered off into the woods.
Polly released her breath. “Was it really…?”
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