A Letter from The A.S.S.

Prompt Day #198: Deliver an unwelcome letter.

Ok, I know this isn’t horror, it’s comedy. But if you’re a horror fan, you know those two go together like peanut butter on a hotdog. (which sounds horrifying, doesn’t it and yet my husband loves it, isn’t that funny?) Ah, Comedy is probably not my strongpoint and I hope no one takes offense to this because if anything, I used my own hometown roots and actual dialect I’ve heard growing up to construct this letter (which I admit sounds dictated rather than written–but that’s me using my comedic license). See, here’s the thing. I am in the best mood tonight. I had a great day at work, I got off early to start a week’s vacation and to top it off, I got my acceptance letter into Seton Hill’s Masters in Writing Popular Fiction program. I’m celebrating. Seton Hill is in Western Pennsylvania about 45 minutes south of where I grew up in a small rural farming and coal mining town. I’m a hick at heart and thinking about going home again in June for my first on-campus residency put this idea in my head and Dwayne Burnell Wayman took over from there. Enjoy.


A Letter from the A.S.S.

Dear Mrs. Montgomery,

As president and founder of the American Sasquatch Society, it’s my job to write you this email and inform you of the death of your husband Earl during our recent expedition into the wilds of Alaska. Rest assured that your husband died doing what he loved. We can only pray that the last thing he saw on this earth was the angry eyes and pointed teeth of the beast he’d spent the last years of his life chasing down. I’ve tried to recall the events surrounding his death to the best of my abilities. So that you know what all transpired that fateful night.

See, we’d been hearing squatch calls all night, so me and Earl and Buck, we got our night vision equipment and set out in the dark swampy marsh where we know they like to do their mating. The closer we got to those grunts and howls, the stronger the smell of the squatch became and well, you remember how Earl used to gag every time little Junior’d go and shit up his diapers? Well, Melinda Sue, I’ll tell you, he started gagging and choking and I do believe them squatches heard him. Now me and Bucky were in the lead but Earl was right behind us when we heard the rustling of something mighty big coming through the swamp towards us.

Bucky called out “Run!” and we all started running. But Earl fell behind pretty quick which I suppose was on account of him losing them toes last year at the lawnmower races. Anywho, Bucky goes back to help him but that’s when he saw the hulking beast standing over Earl who had tripped on a stump and on the way down got his night vision goggles tangled in a bush and he was frantically trying to release himself from that predicament. He didn’t see the Squatch standing over him but Bucky did and he hollered at Earl to hurry up. See, Bucky didn’t have any gun on him on account of it being night and we thought we was just going out on kind of a fact finding mission.

Well now, Earl, the way I see it, he could have done one of two things: he could’ve cried and begged Bucky to help him knowing Buck’s the kind a guy to always lend a hand or he could’ve done what he did which was to holler at Bucky to run. In fact, Melinda Sue, I’ll tell you the God’s honest truth; Earl’s last words were “Run, Bucky, Save yourself. I’m squatch meat.” That’s the kind of man Earl was. You should be proud.

Now, you’re going to be hearing from the local law enforcement if you haven’t already. They’re going to tell you it was a grizzly that attacked him but that’s what all the non-believers say. Bucky saw the thing standing over Earl on two feet, big as Goliath. That’s a squatch and they either know it and are trying to hide it from the general population or they’re in denial. Either way, We know what we heard, we know what we smelled and Bucky’ll swear on a bible it was a squatch what took Earl’s life. Now, we don’t want you to have to worry about nothing, so me and Buck did the honorable thing and ID’d the body today. They say it’s up to the next of kin—which is you as his widow to determine what get’s done with it but might I strongly suggest cremation. Trust me, even old man Jackson at the funeral home can’t fix him up enough for an open casket.

One last piece of business here before I end this letter and let you get on with your grieving. Turns out, Earl’s plane ticket for the return flight is non-refundable. Now, considering the circumstances, the airline lady said it could be transferred. So, I’d like to ask you to consider approving the transfer of Earl’s ticket. Turns out Bucky knocked up a local girl and he’s fixing to make things right and bring her home to wed. So, if someone calls asking you to ok the transfer of Earl’s ticket to an Amy Kunayak, it’s be great if you’d agree.

Well, thanks for your time Melinda Sue. We’ll all be home next week so if you could hold off on the arrangements until then, me and the boys would appreciate that. We’d like to show our respects to one of the finest squatch hunters I’ve ever known.


Dwayne Burnell Wayman

President and Founder

American Sasquatch Society