Bigfoot Crank Stomp by Erik Williams Read Free Book Online

let a pissed-off bear out?”
    Russell started to say he didn’t know when he thought about the big bowl of meth. “Fuck, Mickey, the bear’s hooked.”
    “What?”
    “The bowl. The powder. Time to feed the need.”
    “Oh, shit.” Mickey rubbed his forehead. “They got a fucking bear hooked for fun.”
    Another roar.
    “Think that’s why they had the TV so loud,” Russell said. “Drown it out between meals.”
    Mickey shook his head. “Let’s ice this idiot before it gets free.”
    He stepped around the corner. Russell straightened the bag of cash behind his back and followed.
    “Back the fuck away from the door,” Mickey said.
    The dude’s head shot up from the chains. “Hey man, I’m almost done here, okay?”
    “What’s down there?” Russell said.
    The dude turned back to the chains. “No time to talk. If it doesn’t get the product—”
    Mickey fired. Buckshot ripped through the dude’s arm and shoulder and face. Most of his head disappeared in a cloud of flesh and blood. His body pitched sideways, twitching.
    The thing in the cellar roared. Russell backed away but Mickey checked him with his hand. “We need to get those chains back on.”
    The roar turned into something else. Painful. Desperate. Not a cry, though. No, it still had a vicious cut to it.
    “Fuck that.” Russell walked past the twitching dude on his way around the house. The bowl of powder was tipped over next to him, half-soaked in blood.
    “Russell, damn it, get back here.”
    Russell stopped and turned around. “We’ve wasted too much time and I’m not going to be here when a junky bear breaks out of that cellar. Let the cops deal with it.”
    Mickey looked down at the cellar door and the last chain holding it in place and then back to Russell. “Yeah, you right.”
    The cellar door burst up. The wood cracked and split around the remaining chain. Then another hit in rapid succession. Large splinters ripped the air. One final hit and most of the door blew up and away from the hinges. Mickey shielded his face with his arm and backpedaled. Russell just watched, dumbfounded by the sudden destruction.
    Then something reached up out of the darkness of the cellar. A hand. A brown furry hand. Not a paw. Not a claw. But five enormous digits. Like a gorilla’s only bigger. They wrapped around the last remaining chain. The thing roared and yanked down and the thick circus chain snapped and disappeared out of sight. The shotgun fell from Russell’s hands again. Not out of fear. This time, out of total disbelief.
    “What the fuck?” Mickey said.
    “Get away from there.”
    “What the fuck was that?”
    “A bear.”
    “Wasn’t no bear.”
    Russell stopped arguing when he heard sniffing. The damn thing was sniffing the air. Then his eyes darted to the bowl of dust, tipped on its side, its content on the ground and saturated with blood.
    “Micky, get the fuck—”
    His voice was cut-off by a roar and heavy pounding footsteps. The thing sprung out of the cellar and had Mickey in its grasp before he could fire another round. Russell could do nothing but stare.
    An ape. No, it was too big to be an ape. The thing towered over Mickey. It was covered in rich brown fur, not black like a gorilla or orange like an orangutan. No, this thing was colored like a damn grizzly. But it sure as hell wasn’t a grizzly.
    Fucking Bigfoot , Russell thought.
    The thing lifted Mickey in the air so he was eye level with it. Then it unleashed the loudest roar yet. Triumphant. Russell winced as it pierced his eardrums. It was soon outdone by Mickey’s screams.
    Russell watched as it ripped Mickey’s arms out at the shoulder. He dropped to the ground, kicking and wailing, blood jutting in all directions as Bigfoot stood over him, arms firmly in its grasp still. Then it lifted its right foot and stomped down on his head and his screams stopped for good.
    Bigfoot dropped the arms and turned and fell to its knees and scooped as much of the powder into