Welcome to the fourth week of the Spring Writing Challenge!
You all did so well with your stories last week! There were so many interesting and unique ways you interpreted the prompt. It’s now the fourth week, so it’s time to do it again! Will your story have an epic battle between good and evil? A long-lost evil brother? Whatever you decide, we can’t wait to see what you come up with.
So, without further ado, here’s your next prompt!
Week Four Prompt – The Theme Prompt
Write a story that’s about a
Bigfoot Reunion
Wait…what’s a theme prompt?
A theme prompt is a prompt that’s about a particular subject! It doesn’t matter where your story takes place, who’s in it, or what’s said. The only thing that matters is that your story must be about a Bigfoot Reunion.
Before you start writing, we have some important rules for you to follow.
Writing Rules
1. Please keep the content of the stories you post to a PG rating. Please avoid real curse words. Violence/fighting should be limited and purposeful. Please do not include any spice.
2. Your story must be 1,000 words or less, and must contain the prompt to be counted for the challenge. You’re not required to post it in order to “win” the challenge, but if you want it to count for your team, your story must be posted by Sunday at 11:59 PM ET, and you must include your team name.
Remember to scroll all the way to the bottom of the page and post your story as an “answer” to this question, not a “comment”. 🙂 You’re all doing such a great job! I’m so proud of all the stories you’ve posted.
Happy Writing!
Title: Littlefoot
Team A: Herbert
It’s hard to fill in the steps of someone with such humongous feet.
And I mean, literally.
My dad is the Bigfoot.
He came from a long—very long and ancient—line of cryptid, bipedal beings that resembled furry forest animals. And not the cuddly kind. Native Americans believed Bigfoot to be spirits, wandering between dimensions, warning humans of impending doom. That’s not entirely true. We’re just trying to survive. And lately, it’s gotten harder.
It’s been weeks since our cousin Horse Hunter disappeared without a trace. My dad grew restless. He decided to hold a meeting with his brothers.
“Your Uncle Botan is coming.”
One of the most extraordinary things about Bigfeet is our super sense—a heightened awareness of the environment and all five senses. It’s how we’ve avoided discovery for over thousands of years. With some exceptions—but never because of carelessness.
“Why, if it isn’t Tiny Everett!”
A voice smooth as smoke in our ancient tongue drifted through the trees.
Uncle Botan floated across the red-leafed forest floor with a hushed pat…pat…pat. His long, braided fur swept behind him like a shaman’s cloak. My dad sighed and rubbed his nose with a rough hand.
“You still reek of fish, Botan.”
“What a warm welcome.” Botan grinned with gleaming teeth. “The fish in Japan are exquisite. Even the people eat it raw.”
He leaned forward to sniff, and my dad stepped back.
“Is this young Griffin?” Uncle Botan circled me like smoke from a fire, eyes narrowed in amusement.
“Uncle Botan, it’s me.” I rolled my eyes, heart drumming.
“Your Sas needs work. You sound human,” he said, voice suddenly cold, “You look like one, too, Littlefoot.”
“It’s not my fault I’m the son of someone who’s nearly hairless and the shortest in the family tree!” I bit my tongue too late. Botan’s grin turned sly.
Truth be told, I didn’t mind being different. I used to. I wanted to be like my dad—loud, proud, always hunting. But I was quieter. I liked observing nature. Even the humans.
“Diamir…” my dad called out, waving his arms more dramatically than I’d ever seen him do before.
A figure moved from the forest’s shadow.
“Ugh. You invited him?” Botan groaned and dropped beneath the western hemlock.
Uncle Diamir, a giant Yeti, stepped forward like a glacier breaking from its cliff. His chest was cloaked in icicles of white fur, his scent like first frost.
“Son,” my dad said, “this is your Uncle Diamir.”
I lifted my chin.
“Little one,” Diamir rumbled, voice deep and steady as a mountain. “A spitting image of your father when he was a hairless cub.”
His laugh echoed like distant thunder. Though my dad and I looked alike, we were opposites. Dad puffed his chest to feel taller. I stayed small and observant. I collected books and magazines humans left behind, studying their world. My strength was not in muscle—but in insight.
“Wish I’d known this was a reunion,” Botan muttered, slithering low. “I’d have stayed in seclusion.”
Diamir lifted his cloudy blue eyes. “The wind carries tension. I sense the Hibagon’s fire.” It was hard to tell if he spoke prophecy or proverb.
“We don’t have time for anger,” Dad said, stepping beside me. “I summoned you both because our cousin Horse Hunter in Northern Territories vanished weeks ago. I can no longer sense him.”
“Maybe your age is dulling your senses,” Botan sighed, then closed his eyes. A beat. “You’re right.”
Even Botan’s sharp tongue faltered.
“Do you think he was captured?” Diamir’s voice cut through the stillness.
My dad’s brow furrowed. For once, he looked… vulnerable.
“Dad…”
“Not now, Griffin.”
I bit my lip, then glanced at Diamir. He met my eyes.
“Ev,” Diamir pronounced, “let Littlefoot speak.”
My dad turned to me, slowly, as if truly seeing me.
“Dad, I think I know where to start.” I unshouldered my backpack. “I should’ve told you sooner… but I was afraid.”
I unzipped the pouch and paused, fingers brushing the cold surface of my battered laptop before pulling it free from hiding.
“I joined the Bigfoot Field Researchers Organization.”
The mouths of both uncles were left open like caves. “What?”
I closed my eyes briefly, hoping I could get my words out in one breath. “They’re a group of human scientists who look for proof that we exist.”
Botan’s red-dot eyes blazed. “Traitor! You’re the one feeding them information!”
“No—I’ve been watching their reports to protect us!” My voice cracked.
“Then why, son?” my dad asked quietly.
“It was easier pretending to be a lumberjack. I learned to live like them when you left me alone on this side of the mountain.”
“And what can you learn from those violent creatures?” His strength surged again—but it felt hollow.
I held his gaze. “I learned that here, in Skamania County, Washington, there’s a law protecting us. Humans can’t legally hunt or kill us.” I softened my voice. “Not all humans are murderers, Dad…”
“If you want to be like us, you have to think like us.”
“Well, I’m me, Dad. And whether you like it or not, I’m going to save us from extinction. But I can’t do it alone.”
I held out my rough hands.
A hopeful invitation.
Thank you for your kind and encouraging comments, Juli! I found it very interesting that other countries and cultures have their own form of Bigfoot, so I wanted to incorporate that here 🙂
OOOH I like the intrigue here. Also this line: “Uncle Diamir, a giant Yeti, stepped forward like a glacier breaking from its cliff.” This is so thought provoking! 🙂