The Legend Of The House Squatch

Doctor Franzia7 years ago

“Dude, I swear to God if you steal one more of my fucking beers I’m going to smash in the windshield of your stupid Beamer.”

“Shut the fuck up, Kyle. I’m not taking your damn beers. And if you scratch Delilah’s clear coat, I’ll break that iPad you’re always masturbating with over your head!”

“I’m in 7 different fantasy leagues and two big money leagues, asshole. My iPad is an extension of myself!”

“Yeah, so’s your hand.”

The door of the mini fridge was hanging open. Empty beer cans were spilling out.

“Dick.”

“How many beers are you missing? Looks like half a thirty rack. I was at Pint Night last night. How could I have been across town at a bar slugging pints and still made it back here in time and in condition to polish off like 17 beers in the space of two hours? That’d be some impressive shit.”

There was a loud, hairy belch from the other end of the hall. Both Kyle and Harris peered out of the doorway of their double.

“Dude… That burp sent a shiver through my bones. Where did it come from?”

“You two haven’t lived in for very long, have you?” a gravelly voice responded.

Outside, drinking a 40 out of a paper bag, was Grizz. Grizz was probably the oldest and wrinkliest of the old balls, a 6th year senior in Agricultural Sciences who got his name from looking like a lumberjack and a grizzly bear got sloppy and had a love child together. He was a bear of a man that weighed upwards of four pledges, and it was all Mickey’s, Little Caesars, and McDanks.

And yet if Grizz were to stand next to the beast he was about to describe, he’d look so tiny he’d be like one of those freshman cheerleaders who constantly posts “short girl” memes on Facebook.

“No one knows how it first came to the house. Some say it came over during Rush Week for the food and never left. Others say it was a friend of a live-out that passed out in the basement during a post-game. Personally, I think it was that time we left the back door open over spring break,” Grizz said, taking a deep swig of his 40. “However it got here, it roams the halls in the dead of night, eating leftovers out of the big fridge and stealing beers from the member fridges. That’s why I always keep my brews up like this:”

Grizz showed Kyle and Harris a picture on his phone of a black garbage bag hung from the ceiling of his room, kind of like the way you keep your food from bears when you’re out camping.

“I got a bunch of bear mace off the internet. Smeared the bag with it. The beer’s warm, but it’s all mine.”

“But what… is this creature?” Kyle asked desperately.

“It’s called… The House Squatch… ” Grizz grinned. “Nobody’s ever actually seen it. Just rumors and whispers. One guy thought he got a photo of it a couple years ago, but he was so drunk when he saw the House Squatch that he didn’t realize his phone had the front-facing camera on. He switched it over, but then the flash made everything blurry as fuck. That’s the closest anyone ever came.”

“Bullshit” said Harris. “There’s no fucking way a Bigfoot lives in this house. That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Grizz smiled ominously.

“Yeah, just keep telling yourself that, Princess. Once you’re around for a little while, you can’t help but face the evidence. You’ll be a believer like me. Of course… you could always be the first people… to prove it…”

He walked away, plodding like dull thunder in a mineshaft as he disappeared down the hall.

Kyle and Harris looked at each other.

“Dude, let’s try to catch this thing. I’m not going to have some monster stealing my beers for the next four years,” suggested Kyle.

“Are you a fucking moron?” asked Harris. “There’s no such thing. They’re messing with us.”

“Whatever. I’m going to hide a security camera or something in the ceiling. Even if there’s no House Squatch, I’ll catch whoever is actually stealing my beers.”

***

A couple nights later, Kyle came running down the stairs and into the dining room at full speed, panting and out of breath.

“Guys! I… have… PROOF!” Kyle wheezed.

“Wow. You’re really out of shape,” said McHorn, the Pledge Master. “Too much time on that iPad, huh?”

“Shut… up. Look… at this!”

In his hands, he held a smashed security webcam and a large tuft of dark hair. By his feet, he dropped a torn and destroyed case of Keystone. The cardboard looked like it had been torn apart by massive claws.

“What the fuck is that?” asked Dobbs. “Did the House Dog get into Crazy Scott’s cookie stash again?”

“No!” cried Kyle. “It’s… the House Squatch!!!”

Everyone in the house rolled their eyes at the same time.

“No it fucking isn’t,” McHorn laughed.

“What?”

“That’s Grizz. He does that to every new live-in.”

Grizz raised his 40 in a salutatory toast.

“You’re the first one who actually fell for it in a while, though. Thanks for the free beers,” said Grizz.

“But… but… my webcam…”

“Get over it, asshole. You got got. Put a lock on your fridge like the rest of us.”

Flustered, Kyle wandered back upstairs, mumbling to himself incoherently.

Back in the dining room, Grizz took a swig of his 40.

“Great job, guys,” Grizz chortled. “Who ripped that case up? The clump of hair was a nice touch.”

Everybody looked at each other in confusion.

“What are you talking about?” asked Dobbs.

“Huh?”

“Wasn’t that you?”

“No man,” explained Grizz “I stole the first batch, but I didn’t do the second one.”

There was a dead silence that rang out through the house. Somewhere, from under the dusty shadows of Old Wing, a deep rumble vibrated through the floor boards. A reminder that some mysteries will forever remain unsolved. That for all his advances, all his avarice, man can never fully be the master of his wor—

“It was me.”

Harris raised his hand.

“Yeah, I did it.” He said. “Fuck Kyle.”

Everyone in the dining room cheered..