It was late one Friday night in mid-April. Our author sat in the corner of his bedroom at a cluttered desk attempting to complete grading on the prior week’s assignments in his online marketing class. Only seven papers left to grade, but the progress was slow. The television was off, he was all alone in the room, and expected to complete the work in less than one hour. It was quiet, but his mind wandered. He found distraction by looking at the walls, looking at the blinds, and walking around the room. “Why can’t I focus?” he wondered. His mind raced from topic to topic instead of looking at the paper in front of him.

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He thought about the Chupacabra, he thought about the marketing campaign of offering a free e-book of his first story, then back to the paper on his screen. A couple of paragraphs read then his mind shifted to audiobooks. Yes, he needed an audiobook for the Chupacabra. That would boost sales! But who would do the narration? He minimized the papers and searched for samples at ACX.com. There were a few that stood out to him quickly, but how much would that cost? He sighed as he saw the computer logged him out of the online classroom and he would have to log back in again once he finished this current paper.

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Not ten minutes later his mind again wandered. This time it was Champ and the current book he was writing. Then projects he hadn’t even started yet. A memoir? Who would want to read that? What had he really accomplished? What would he tell? And would anyone care? Maybe a one-shot short story of Carson, Ty, Tegan, or Kareem in a solo adventure? He had a whole document saved on the computer with ideas for novels as well as short films.

“That’s right – I need to get working on that CDFL short film and gather a cast,” he thought. But what of these papers? It was taking too long to read the current paper, and it wasn’t even poorly written. But his mind was not focused. He then thought of brain fog, which he frequently had. More so in the past, but it was coming back. Just yesterday his doctor told him his lab work came back high in nearly every category and now his sugar was high too and in the diabetes range. Maybe that is why he was tired, and his brain was often foggy and forgetful. Okay, whatever. Back to the papers.

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He managed to complete the one in front of him and surprisingly the next one. Now he was down to five. He checked out some videos on YouTube. But an audiobook would be cool, right? He got up from the desk and walked into the kitchen. A beer will do the trick. That’s what his characters would do. He pulled a nice blue can with a balancing elephant from the refrigerator. Equilibrium Extra Special Bitter from Nickel Brook Brewing Company in Burlington, Ontario. He opened it and took a sip as he walked back to the bedroom.

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“Hmm. Nice bitter taste. Strong malt up front,” he thought. “I wonder if there are any creatures in Ontario I could write about,” he wondered as he sat back in the chair and studied the can.

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The drink worked for a few minutes. He was able to finish the next paper and another. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” he said as he opened the next paper. “Now we’re cookin’ with gas!” But again the progress was short-lived. He looked down at the phone, checked email, logged into Pokémon Go, looked at Facebook, and then realized he was doing it again. He knew the feedback on the papers wasn’t due until Sunday, but he wanted to complete it before the weekend. True, most people considered Friday night the weekend, but for our author, Friday typically meant grading papers and watching paranormal shows from the DVR in the background.

Maybe he needed a break. Even though it was night, it looked nice outside. It wasn’t too hot in Phoenix yet – probably another couple of weeks until it was hot even after the sun went down. Maybe it would do him good and clear his mind if he got outside and went for a walk. A quick check on the kids and the dogs proved everyone was fine. “I’m going to go out for a quick walk quick,” he told the kids. “Probably just around the block,” he said. The kids returned a surprised look at him because that wasn’t a sentence they typically associated with him.

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Leaving the house, he walked toward Arizona Avenue, then right on the street. He could walk a mile down to the QuikTrip. Maybe a soda and two taquitos would do the trick? But with the recent doctor news that wouldn’t go over well at home, he realized. He started walking and thinking. Thinking about all of the projects he wanted to tackle. “A cover with a photograph of the characters!” he thought. “That will be nice. It would allow readers to connect with them more. Maybe a group shot and some individual photos. What about multiple alternative covers? That was a nice trick when he collected comics. Alternative covers were always a draw,” he thought.

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He continued to walk in the pleasant night air, oblivious to the traffic passing him by or his present location. He had already passed QuikTrip and was halfway to the next street when he noticed. “I might as well keep going,” he deduced. “Arizona Wilderness Brewing is just another mile or so down the road.”

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It was one of his favorite local breweries, named a few years ago as the world’s best new brewery. How fortunate it was just three miles down the road. A perfect place to stop for a beer – and they tapped something new every Thursday, so it created something to look forward to every week. Plus the food menu was incredible. A good selection of continually offered products, but also a daily special that featured fresh, local ingredients.

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The brewery had great patios – both in front of and behind the store. The brewery itself was large with ample seating, but he always preferred the tasting room. It was smaller but comfortable. The bar was large enough for several people and there were tables, but he liked the taproom because it had less traffic. He especially enjoyed brewing days as the air inside was filled with the smell of the malts, yeasts, and hops. He imagined how nice it would be to work there on those days.

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The final bit of the journey made him realize how far three miles truly was. Even though technically he classified himself as a runner and was in the Fifty State Half Marathon Club, he was lazy. He ran a half marathon at the beginning of February in San Diego, and just two weeks ago in Hollywood, but nothing in between. Not even treadmill workouts at the gym. That is why his running time and health risks all increased over the last five years. The next run was in mid-May, but then he realized that was just about three weeks away. The doctor told him he needed to get back in shape through diet and exercise. Walking to the brewery was exercise so that should be good for today, he thought.

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He finally arrived at Arizona Wilderness around 10 p.m. Even though he was tired from the walk, there weren’t any parking spaces, so he was glad he didn’t drive. He had been a somewhat regular at the brewery since they opened, and there had not been many beers over those visits that he did not like. Even though he wasn’t a huge fan of sours, the brewery did frequently have new sours in the lineup, and he would usually give in just to try it. “Only time for one or two,” he thought, “then time to get home and back to work.” A newly tapped beer was Pelton Pale Ale, brewed with Nelson hops. He really enjoyed Nelson hops. He also liked the straw color with the small white head.

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“How’s the book coming?” asked a man walking toward the bar and taking a seat next to him. Jeff was in his mid-30’s, short brown hair, and a medium-length well-trimmed beard.

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“I’m slowly starting,” said Mark. “I finished chapter one, but I may rearrange it. Still forming the story in my head, but I am distracted by other ideas and some writer’s block. I thought it would be nice to get out and take in some fresh air to unclog the block,” he said.

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“And of course a beer,” said Jeff.

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“Well of course. I mean it’s research, right? I can’t write about characters drinking all of these various beers and style of beers if I don’t put in the work myself,” he said with a smile.

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“How is that Pelton?” Jeff asked.

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“I like it. It’s a pale ale, so it’s clean, hoppy, and a little grassy. A very pleasant drink,” he said. “It’s good for starters, but I think my next one I am going to kick it up a notch. I kind of want to try that new collab with Jester King – the Stuffing. And that Hibiscus Tea Gose is wonderful. My wife and I were here the other day and she tried it. Every beer I have ever had her taste she stuck her tongue out and said ‘I don’t like beer’. Even though they are different styles and flavors she only tastes ‘beer’ and dislikes it. But this time she took not one, but two sips and said “Mmm, I like that one.” She liked the smell more than the taste, but she didn’t mind the taste either,” Mark replied.

“That’s a start I suppose,” Jeff said. “Maybe you can find something else for her sometime.”

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“Nah, she’s not really interested. But I am interested in this Chocolate Bunny. I am glad it is still on – one of my favorites. I bought a pint and a growler last week and I am down to have another pint tonight. Awesome chocolatey taste in a porter. I enjoy it every time,” commented Mark.

“Maybe you’ll have to write about that in one of your stories. Any creatures in Phoenix?” Jeff asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t recall coming across any in my reading other than the Mogollon Monster up around the Grand Canyon. Plus, I am still working on the ones in Vermont,” Mark replied.

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The server checked on Mark and Jeff.

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“Do you guys want any food this evening before the kitchen closes?” he asked. “I am sure the doctor and my wife would kill me, but I want the peanut butter and jalapeno jelly burger with the house chips,” said Mark. “I know it sounds weird, but I had it once, and it was amazing. I heard it’s even better when they have it as a special on Taco Tuesday night. I have yet to have the peanut butter tacos, but I hope to find them one day,” he said.

“They are as elusive as those crazy monsters you write about,” prodded Jeff.

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“Maybe so,” replied Mark, “but I have a strong eyewitness claiming to not only have seen them, but he has ordered them before. Like the truth on the X-Files, it’s out there,” quipped Mark.

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The burger arrived, and Mark took a bite and enjoyed the mixture of flavors. As odd as it sounded, perhaps just a little bit more peanut butter would make it even better. The jelly was slightly spicy but was a good balance to the meal. The chocolate from the Chocolate Bunny and the peanut butter from the burger reminded him of the old Reese’s Peanut Butter cup commercial; Your peanut butter is in my chocolate. Your chocolate is in my peanut butter. Either way, it was good.

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“I would say I shouldn’t eat it all this late at night, but I will get my ass kicked if I bring a burger home,” Mark revealed.

“Are you heading home when you finish?” inquired Jeff.

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“Maybe. I don’t feel that I am up to writing or grading yet, but I am walking so it will take a while. Maybe by that time, I will regain my focus,” said Mark.

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“Well, if you still want to be out, I am heading down the street to the Perch after this. They are open until 1 a.m., and the upstairs patio is awesome this time of night,” offered Jeff.

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“That’s cool. I like the Perch also, and it’s even closer to my house. A short walk back from there,” Mark replied.

Mark finished the burger and the Bunny as Jeff cashed out. Mark’s check arrived soon, and he paid the bill in cash.

“It is a very pleasant night,” said Mark. “My friends back east don’t really get it that it can be a high temperature and still feel nice. Like right now, approaching 11 p.m. and it’s seventy degrees. That’s more than the daytime high in many places.”

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“Hey, anything under one-oh-five I will take,” Jeff said only half-jokingly.

“Ready when you are,” said Mark.

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The pair of friends exited the front patio and entered Jeff’s red 1998 Toyota Tacoma pickup just outside the wooden fenced walls. Godsmack’s Voodoo played as Jeff turned on the truck. While Mark was not necessarily a fan or regular listener of the group, he liked that song. His mind drifted back to 2000 when he first watched MTV’s Fear, a show which drew him into the paranormal world and also used Voodoo as the show’s opening music. It was just a few miles from Arizona Wilderness down to the Perch. They could easily park in the lot off of Arizona Avenue and Chicago Street, then walk the short distance down Wall Street. As they drove down a quiet Arizona Avenue, Voodoo ended and Amorphis’ Black Winter Day played. Jeff was definitely hardcore. Mark wondered if the roars coming from the lead singer resembled what a chupacabra sounded like when it attacked? The drinks from Arizona Wilderness helped him begin to relax, and the menu at the Perch would certainly finish off the last of the resistance.

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They walked the less than a block walk down Wall Street to the front of the Perch. Mark always liked the entrance, the heavily wooded dining area, the multiple cages of birds, and the layout of the tables created a charming, almost Southern atmosphere. He could see this dining area like a courtyard in Savannah or New Orleans, but it always felt somewhat surreal being just outside of Phoenix.

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The outdoor dining, a large indoor bar, and the rooftop bar offered many options for diners as well as drinkers to have a good time. The hostess directed them toward the stairs leading to the upstairs bar. As they walked past the cages, the birds began to hop around and speak. There was Pinky the Moluccan Cockatoo, Bubba the Hyacinth Macaw, Mango the Sun Conure, Bebe the Nanday Conure, Jazz the Umbrella Cockatoo, Bogey the Green Wing Macaw, and many more. There were more than a dozen birds in total. The night air was filled with the songs and sounds of the birds. As they walked by Jazz called out “Night Night,” but the duo continued walking. Bogey gave a cat call and kissing sounds as they walked up the steps to the rooftop bar.

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Mark was thinking about just having a pint, but there were so many on tap right now that sounded good he felt like he had to go with a flight. The flight came in a nice round tree trunk and offered five individual four-ounce beers. Mark looked over the menu. So many to choose from he wasn’t sure what to select. The Saison de Beaver by Belching Beaver was just tapped, that would be one.

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Desert Cider House offered the Desert Dragon. Since his fantasy football team was named the dragons, he picked that as well. He pondered for a moment. Based on his football team and his geography, he thought he was The Desert Dragon. Then he realized after his doctor’s analysis of his blood work he must be the dessert dragon. “Diabeetus,” he internalized in a Wilfred Brimley voice. Some of the others on the menu he previously tried and decided to pass on this time even though they were good. He still liked trying new beers, even though there was no more World of Beer points to earn for new beers. There were others that sounded good, but he thought to fill out the rest with beers brewed by the Perch, so he selected the L’Phiddy Shades IPA, Luna Loves Simcoe Pale Ale, and Sprechen Sie Dunkel Dunkelweizen. Enough were remaining on the list to get a second flight if he felt up to it.

He and Jeff talked and drank beers from their flights. The conversation was a little about beer, a little about writing and monsters, and a bit about football. The NFL draft was less than a week away. Although living in Phoenix for the past thirteen seasons, Mark was not a Cardinals fan. Well, he was a David Johnson fan because he helped his fantasy team make it to the Shaker Bowl championship game last year. However, he could not keep him this season and having finished second overall in the league, David Johnson likely would not be available to him at pick eleven.

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His favorite team used to be the Cincinnati Bengals, but when the team dumped Chad “Ocho Cinco” Johnson and Dhani Jones the same year, Mark dumped the Bengals and replaced them with the Detroit Lions.

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Now a new team moved up the charts and was becoming Mark’s not-quite-official second team; his side chick if you will. The Cleveland Browns. Yes, they hadn’t won in years, but he thought they could be close.

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“The Browns better not screw up and pick anyone other than Myles Garrett with the first pick,” he told Jeff.  “I will be pissed if they take Mitchell Trubisky at one. I wouldn’t even take him at twelve. They need defense and some pass-catchers. Like Malik Hooker. That’s a better twelve,” he continued.

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“Well my Cardinals need a quarterback,” said Jeff. “Carson is getting older, and I like Patrick Mahomes as a building block for the future,” he said.

The moon continued to rise in the night sky and was a lovely sight against the Chandler city line backdrop. Not a full moon, but a definitely a waxing gibbous phase, the phase when the moon is more than fifty percent illuminated but not yet a full moon. Mark thought about taking a photo with his camera, but knew he would be disappointed when it turned out to be just a speck of light as it always was his on his phone.

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“Well,” Jeff said as he stood up and put some cash down on the bar, “I think I’m going to head out since it’s after midnight. Want a lift?” he inquired.

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“No, I’m good. I will have one more flight then walk home from here to enjoy the weather a bit more. But thanks for the ride here,” Mark said.

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“Good luck on that book. Can’t wait to read it,” said Jeff. The two shook hands, and Jeff departed down the stairway.

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Mark was almost alone on the roof now and looked over the menu once more. The server asked what next.

“One last flight,” he said. “Touchdown for the Bear Red Ale, PaleYEAH! 2.0 Pale Ale, Choose the Ryeght Rye Beer, Wak-A-Mole IPA, and let’s end with the Perch S’Wheat 2.0,” he ordered. The flight arrived quickly, and Mark drank while enjoying the quietness of the rooftop. He could occasionally hear the birds from downstairs talking to passersby. He wondered if he would be able to write when he got home or if he would just go to bed. He had always heard the phrase “Write drunk, edit sober,” to whom the internet had credited to Ernest Hemingway.

While it could sound like something he might say, it was not verified to the best of Mark’s knowledge. Still, it seemed like good advice. He remembered writing Troll’s Canterbury Tales in college for English Literature class in college. Uncertain what to write Mark drank a fifth of Jack Daniels and wrote the story. It did earn an A for the assignment and admiration from friends, but looking back now the story wasn’t as good as the rave reviews his friends gave it or as he remembered it himself. Maybe he didn’t edit sober?

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Mark finished up the final flight glass, paid the tab, and confirmed he had his debit card in his wallet, his keys, and his phone. During that routine process, he frequently heard Austin Powers in his mind repeating “Spectacles, testicles, wallet, and watch.”

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Time to walk back to the house. At just over a mile, maybe a mile and a half he imagined it would take about twenty minutes. “Well, maybe thirty minutes after these beers,” he thought. He turned to leave, held on to the handrail, and slowly made his way down the steps. Most of the birds were now asleep, and only the staff remained in the bar. Everyone else apparently called it an evening long ago.

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By the time Mark reached the front entrance, the lights from the rooftop bar had turned off, signaling the server was finished and ready to go home for the evening. The hostess walked Mark to the entrance and locked the door as he exited. He stood there in the parking lot looking around, checking out the moon and stars, and marveling at how nice it still was at this early hour. He turned to walk back home when he suddenly felt the urge to use the restroom. Those flights were kicking in now. He turned back toward the Perch, but the door was locked, and the lights were slowly turning off throughout the facility.

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“Good luck getting someone’s attention now,” he thought. Then he remembered two things – there was an alley behind the building, and he was a guy. “It’s empty out here, so no one will find out,” he thought.

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He walked around the side of the building and to a back alley where he was confident no one would see. “Besides, it will only be a minute,” he thought. In front of the brewery, the alley stretched in both directions. One direction led into an area behind the ImprovMANIA Comedy Club and Gangplank. He could see a painted mural wall in that direction, but there were also several street lamps lighting the alley. The other route seemed like there would be more people, but it was quiet. Chicago 55 sat on one side, a dumpster and Pirates Fish & Chips on the other. He decided to go that direction and was surprised to see how empty it was. Looking around there wasn’t a good way to get behind the Perch. It seemed like the dumpster would have to do. He walked close to the dumpster and, standing in front of it he unzipped his pants.

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Just then he heard a loud noise. It sounded like rustling in the trees from inside the brewery. The other birds were completely quiet despite the disturbance. In the wild that might symbolize a predator or larger animal in the area, but here? Who knew? It was probably nothing. Mark turned toward the brewery to see if he could see anything but did not detect the source of the disturbance. All he was certain of was that he was now unable to begin the process of relieving himself. All of a sudden, the rustling of leaves grew louder, and moments later a creature burst from the canopy! It landed on roof peak just above the brewery’s sign.

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Mark stared at the animal in utter surprise, his eyes widened, and his jaw dropped. Suddenly, the process of liquid elimination involuntarily began. The animal was a large bird-like creature and looked to be around eight to nine feet in height. The Perch’s wooden entrance sign was wide, and this bird matched its width. From his dumpster vantage point, Mark estimated about forty inches wide.

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“What the hell is that?” he said aloud. The monster-bird unleashed a loud, ear-piercing scream that did not resemble any bird he knew. The animal had a bird-like head with a large beak, similar to a pterodactyl or crane, but the head was not shaped like the prehistoric pterodactyl. The head was attached to an elongated neck and an extensive body with a tail that stood out like a peacock. It had long muscular legs that looked like they could snatch up large prey, possibly the size of a large dog or even a human. Hopefully not a burly-sized author.

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The animal stayed perched atop the brewery’s sign looking around its surroundings and down the alley where Mark stood. He searched his mind of all of the large birds he had researched in the past. It was not a big bird like a heron or crane.  California condors were the largest known living birds but became extinct in the wild in 1987 when all remaining birds were captured. Once breeding programs proved successful, condors began being released in 1991, but this did not look like a condor. Despite the condor being the largest known bird, this creature appeared larger than the biggest condor recorded.

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Mark’s mind began running through legend for an answer. Perhaps Native American legend? A well-known legend was the Thunderbird, but those cryptids were said to have lizard features and resemble the extinct pteranodon. They were believed to have wingspans of between twelve and eighteen feet. It was known that the Tombstone Epitaph newspaper printed a story about the capture of a large, unusual winged creature on April 26, 1890. It was a creature that was shot in Arizona and described as having smooth skin, featherless wings like a bat, and a face that resembled an alligator. But this animal did not match that description. It was something else.

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This land used to belong to the Hohokam, Mark remembered. Perhaps besides the Thunderbird, there was another large animal that hunted these lands. After all, there were drawings from the Hohokam on rocks on South Mountain. The Hohokam were known to have created rock art for more than a thousand years, before the tribe’s sudden and still mysterious disappearance around 1500 AD. If this creature was the same as the large bird depicted in their rock art, perhaps it had something to do with the tribe’s disappearance?

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Thinking of the potential of that theory, and looking at the size of the legs and talons on the creature, Mark began to worry and started to walk down the alley further away from the brewery slowly. As he began to move, the animal took notice and let out another shrill, then suddenly shot straight up in the air.

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In the air, it was easy to see the bird’s wingspan, nearly eclipsing the moon. The creature glided effortlessly in the night air, circled, then flew toward Mark. He froze briefly with fear, but then began running. Not the slow, plodding half marathon pace he usually displayed, but one with more purpose. Across Chicago Street he cut through the now abandoned gravel lot, the bird-creature still following. The animal made a sudden move, diving down toward Mark, but he luckily slipped on the loose gravel and hit the ground just out of the creature’s grasp.

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While the bird flew back up and circled for another approach, Mark crossed over Arizona Avenue and ran along the sidewalk between the City Hall and under cover of trees. Mark passed by Serranos and continued to the corner where Modern Margarita and La Bocca located, but already closed for the night. Now he had to cross the intersection, and the danger increased as the trees opened up leaving him in the clearing.

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The bird was following and ready for another attempt, but Mark managed to make it across the street and back under cover of trees before it had the chance to attack. He left the sidewalk and ran on the grass close to the trees. It was a long stretch, but well-covered to prevent the bird from getting too close. Further down the sidewalk, the terracotta cement pavilion of the downtown Chandler district provided the necessary coverage to remain out of range. As Mark ran from the pavilion toward the next set of trees, the creature swooped again, and again come up short. Here the trees were sparse. Mark’s best hope was to stay under the largest tree and wait the animal out. As Mark ran to the tree and hugged the trunk. The bird circled the area high above the trees unable to get its prey. Suddenly, it swooped down and landed on top of a stone structure resembling a Mayan pyramid in front of the Chandler Administration building. The bird and man continued closely watching the other, each awaiting an opportunity for the advantage.

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Mark watched the beast perched upon the pyramid for more than fifteen minutes. The standoff finally ended when the creature heard another noise in the far-off distance and suddenly took flight. It climbed high into the night sky and quickly out of sight as it investigated the noise, hoping to find easier prey. Even though Mark stood underneath the tree for several minutes, he was still breathing hard and unsure of the events that just took place. What was that thing? Where did it come from? Where was it going next? All answers the author would not find. This was like something out of his books – an unexplained creature right here in Chandler, Arizona.

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He remained under the tree and phoned the police department. An officer responded within a few minutes and found Mark sitting on a park bench beside the large tree. Mark attempted to explain what he saw, but his description could not possibly do the event justice. The officer took notes but looked on with disbelief. Mark and the officer walked past the trees and into the lot where the pyramid stood. There they found three large feathers left by the unknown creature. The two men looked on with astonishment at seeing the size of the feathers. The officer did not appear to believe Mark’s story, but the size of the feathers did leave him with uncertainty. He called forensics, and they arrived to collect the specimen. The officer offered to drive Mark home while forensics remained on the scene and finished data collection.

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The report of the sighting made its way into the Arizona Republic within days. Given the location of the final conflict just across from San Tan Brewery, reporters dubbed the creature the Santanimal. No other sightings of the creature have been recorded.

 

The creature remains at large.