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!
Kathy Saunders
Team A
Bigfoot Family Reunion
Zeke Marshall hadn’t been home to Timber Ridge in twelve years—not since he’d traded the damp pinewoods of Washington for the polished marble floors of his LA condo. As a rising wildlife documentarian with a cult-following series called Urban Safari, Zeke had become known for his hip takes on animal behavior in city environments. “Bigfoot believer turned biologist,” the headlines once read, with grainy clips of his teenage self clinging to a blurry camcorder in the woods, muttering about “real evidence.”
Zeke cringed every time someone brought up those old tapes.
Zeke gripped the steering wheel as he drove up the gravel road to his family home. A hand-painted sign : MARSHALL FAMILY REUNION – NO SHOES, NO SHIRT, NO PROBLEM. Zeke sighed. “Back to the wild.” The reunion was already in full swing. Trucks and ATVs crowded the yard. Kids ran barefoot with plastic swords. Smoke rose from the grill, and laughter echoed off the trees. Zeke stepped out in sneakers and a bomber jacket, regretting both.
“ZEEEKE!” a voice boomed.
Zeke turned and was engulfed in a bear hug by his cousin Tonya, who smelled like grilled corn and motor oil. “Boy, look at you! Hollywood slicker now, huh?”
“Hey, Tonya,” Zeke wheezed. “Still doing chainsaw carving?”
“Yup. Just finished a 12-foot Sasquatch last week.” She gestured toward the porch. “Right next to Grandpa’s gnome army.”
Zeke glanced over. Sure enough, a towering wooden Bigfoot statue loomed over an army of red-capped gnomes.
Before he could process it, his mom came barreling down the steps, apron flapping.
“My baby!” she cried, pulling him into a tighter hug than Tonya’s.
“Hey, Ma.”
“I told your brothers you’d show. You think you’re too good for us, but blood’s thicker than that LA soy milk you drink.”
Zeke smiled. “It’s oat milk now.”
Just then, a hush fell over the yard. The crowd parted slightly, revealing a massive, hairy figure approaching from the treeline. Seven feet tall, covered in shaggy brown fur, and with a gait somewhere between linebacker and ballet dancer.
“Uncle Earl!” someone shouted.
Zeke froze. His jaw dropped.
It was Bigfoot.
Or something that looked an awful lot like him.
The creature reached the grill, grabbed a turkey leg, and nodded in Zeke’s direction.
“Still don’t believe?” his dad chuckled, sauntering up beside him.
“You’re still pulling this prank?” Zeke asked, stunned. “Seriously, Dad? A Bigfoot costume? Every year?”
“Not a costume,” his dad said, eyes twinkling. “Earl’s real. He’s just shy. And he’s family.”
Zeke laughed awkwardly, but no one else was laughing.
“What?” he said.
Tonya handed him a paper plate. “Look, Zeke. You were always the smart one, but you forgot what you knew when you were little. Remember how obsessed you were? Tracking footprints, setting out peanut butter jars?”
“That’s… just stuff kids do.”
“Earl’s been around a long time,” his mom said. “Your grandpa met him in ‘62, helped him when he got caught in a bear trap. After that, he just kinda… stuck around.”
Zeke watched Earl—Bigfoot—high-five a teenager and then sit on a picnic bench, munching on corn like it was popcorn. No one seemed bothered. A toddler even climbed onto his lap, offering a juice pouch.
“Y’all serious right now?” Zeke said. “That’s just… an elaborate hoax, right?”
“Spend the weekend,” his dad said, patting him on the back. “Open your eyes.”
That night, Zeke couldn’t sleep. Not because of the hoots of owls or the far-off coyote yips, but because Bigfoot—Earl—was snoring on the porch hammock like a buzzsaw.
Zeke tossed and turned. His camera bag sat in the corner, practically humming with temptation. This was the story of a lifetime. If Earl was real, Zeke could blow the lid off the scientific community. He’d be more than an LA wildlife host—he’d be a legend.
He tiptoed out, camera in hand.
But as he raised the lens, Earl stirred. The massive creature opened one eye and looked at him. Not with fear. Not with anger.
With disappointment.
“You gonna sell out your family again?” Earl asked.
Zeke dropped the camera.
“You can talk?!”
“Because we’re not yours to study, Zeke,” Earl said. “We’re just… trying to live.”
Zeke sat on the porch step, heart pounding.
“I wanted to believe when I was a kid,” he admitted. “But I got mocked. Told it was all fake. So I buried it.”
Earl nodded. “And now you’re back, trying to dig it up. But this ain’t a mystery to solve. It’s family.”
Zeke looked at Earl, really looked. The weathered eyes, the scars on his knuckles, the way he gently shifted so as not to crush a sleeping cat curled nearby.
“Why me?” Zeke asked. “Why did you show yourself again?”
“Because you need reminding,” Earl said. “Where you came from. And what matters.”
The next morning, Zeke joined the family breakfast barefoot, flannel tied around his waist, hair unstyled.
No camera.
He flipped pancakes while Earl braided his niece’s hair with surprising finesse.
Later, Zeke joined a cornhole tournament, losing spectacularly to an elderly aunt and a six-year-old. He helped Tonya repaint the Bigfoot statue, and even took second place in the pie-eating contest.
That night, a bonfire lit the clearing. Music played, drinks flowed, and Earl danced like a woolly whirlwind.
Zeke leaned back in a lawn chair, cheeks sore from smiling.
For the first time in years, he wasn’t thinking about footage or followers. He was just… home.
“Y’all are crazy,” he murmured fondly, watching Earl do the Electric Slide.
His mom passed him a mason jar of sweet tea. “Takes one to know one.”
On his last morning, Zeke hugged everyone tighter than expected.
Earl offered a fist bump. “Take care of yourself, city boy.”
“You too, big guy,” Zeke grinned. “And don’t worry. Your secret’s safe.”
Zeke drove away without footage, without fanfare.
But he carried something better.
Belief.
And a pie in the passenger seat, labeled: For when LA gets too normal. – Love, Mom.
