So, I uploaded my most recent novel into the verifier at nanowrimo.org and it says I’m a winner. I can now do a happy dance. I just wish I had some champagne! But I needed more than the 50,000 to get to the end, so I’m trying to get there tonight, but it will probably be tomorrow. I’m at 50,666 words and here’s a sample:

When Ralph and Peter were driving back to town, they got to the Young Street Bridge and the black police cruiser was parked on the shoulder and Eric was sitting on the trunk. He waved at them to stop, so Peter pulled the van over behind Eric’s car. Ralph jumped out first and walked over to Eric.

“Hey, what’s up? Are you sure you aren’t the geocache guru?”, Ralph asked Eric.

“It isn’t me, some dude bought a bunch of those boxes from me last summer. I think he lives in Elma. Did you two call the cops again?”

“Yeah, somebody threw a foot and a head at us”, Ralph replied.

“No shit. I didn’t see anyone up there. I was just checking to see if the cops had cleared out.”, Eric said, thinking that he might not have anything to worry about.

“We decided to put that ammo box back where it was supposed to be in the woods. Someone brought it down here I guess”, Peter said walking up.

“Did you find the clue under the bridge?”, asked Eric, not really caring.

“Yes, it was another hidden message”, Ralph answered, “It had a web address on it. I have to look it up when I get home.”

“So, the cops will be in the rampage again, huh?”, said Eric.

“We just told them about the head, the foot and the mortician.”

“The old dude with the gnarly Cadillac?”

“Yep, he’s my neighbor and he went up to the trail right after we came down.”

“Too weird, dudes. So they’re looking for him now?”

“Yes, the old guy and bear. That’s what they’re hoping to find now.”

“I see, well, that’s interesting. Thanks for letting me know”, Eric said getting back into his old cop car.

“Do you think he’s like a crime buff now? Keeping tabs on the cops, since he was one?”, Peter asked.

“Maybe, who else drives an old beater Crown Vic?”, Ralph asked, getting back in the van.

*****

“Denton! We found it! U-fuckin-reka!”, the Sheriff couldn’t really contain his glee at seeing the impression in the dirt.

“What size foot is that?”, Denton asked.

“Size? It’s not A size, it’s THE size. It’s Bigfoot!”

“I thought you said it was called Sasquatch up here, sir.”

“It is. Sasquatch, Wild Man, Skookum, makes no difference. We are back in business Denton. Go get your forensic mold plaster and I’ll go talk to Svenberg.”

The Sheriff grabbed the bag and took another whiff, “Whooee, that’s ripe. That’s the smell of crazy tourist dollars, it is.”

Denton walked back to his rig and got out the plaster for make shoeprint molds, he just hoped that he had enough for the footprint he had to fill. The Sheriff made his way through the brush back to the Cadillac where Ollie was still waiting patiently.

“Is this your body bag?”, the Sheriff asked, holding up the mangled black pouch.

“Yes, that’s it. Did you find the monkey?”

“Wasn’t a monkey Ollie. It was a Skookum and I’d wager that you’ve fallen under their spell. Didn’t you have a strange tale to tell after you went missing a few years back?”

“Yes, I really don’t know what happened in the woods.”

“I think I know. You must have communed with the Wild Man, sung with the Sasquatch, danced with the Skookums in the DreamTime!”