Rexik, Trika and the Mystery of the Giant Footprints

That week a giant moved into Fern Valley. At least, that’s what everyone said who had seen its footprints by the Black Swamp.

It had all started the evening before. Rexik and Trika came running home muddy right up to their eyes. They had spent the whole day jumping from tussock to tussock in the swamp, to see who could jump farther.

“The swamp again?” Dad frowned so hard that his bushy brows met in the middle. “How many times do I have to tell you? Don’t go running over there!”

“Why not?” asked Trika.

“Because I said so!” Dad thundered.

Trika just shrugged. Rexik’s Dad thundered every day, and the whole valley had long been used to it.

“And I won,” she whispered to Rexik. “By three whole tussocks.”

That evening Dad sat behind the nest for a long time. From there came the sounds: crunch, crunch, tock. Dad was gnawing and whittling a thick log with his teeth, and wood shavings flew everywhere.

“Dad, what are you doing?” asked Rexik.

“A little bowl for your mom,” said Dad, and he stood with his back to the log so nobody could see it.

Without even looking up, Mom said:

“A little bowl. Uh-huh.”

And in the morning, footprints were found by the swamp.

Rexik could have curled up in any one of them. Three long toes, with deep claw holes at the front. The footprints ran through the mud past the reeds, curved around the swamp and vanished by the flat stones.

By lunchtime the whole valley had gathered on the bank. The grown-ups walked around, sniffing, muttering and arguing.

“Three toes,” said Uncle Horn, pointing with his chipped horn. “Big ones. And who in our valley has three toes and is big?”

Everyone turned to look at Rexik’s Dad.

“Those aren’t my feet!” Dad roared so loudly that dragonflies shot up out of the reeds.

“We’ll soon see,” said Uncle Horn. “Step in!”

Dad stepped into the footprint. His foot fit inside with room to spare: the giant was bigger than him by a whole Rexik-sized step.

Uncle Horn blinked and blinked.

“So... there’s someone bigger than you?”

“Looks like it,” said Dad, and for some reason he started studying the clouds very carefully.

“Then from today, nobody sets foot near the swamp!” ordered Uncle Horn. “Not the little ones, not the big ones!”

“Not one foot!” Dad agreed happily. “And not one tail!”

It was probably the first time in their lives that these two hadn’t argued about anything.

The grown-ups went home, but Rexik stayed. He found a straight stick and bit it in half, so that both halves came out exactly the same.

“What are you doing?” asked Trika.

“Measuring,” said Rexik. “A real detective measures first and gets scared later.”

“Well, I scare first and measure later!” Trika took a running start and stomped into the mud. Boom!

Her footprint came out completely different: round and wide, with four short toes at the front, as if someone had set a tree stump with four buttons into the mud.

“See?” Rexik held his stick up to it. “Triceratops footprints are round. Four toes on the back feet, five on the front. But we tyrannosaurs have three long toes, like a bird.” He put his own foot down beside it. “So this giant is a tyrannosaur.”

“A relative of yours,” Trika said solemnly.

“Maybe you shouldn’t say that?” Rexik pleaded.

He walked along the trail, measuring every footprint. And with each one he frowned harder.

First, the footprints didn’t start anywhere. The first one was right by the stones, as if the giant had dropped out of the sky and simply started walking. The last one was by the stones too. And on the stones themselves, nothing.

Second, the stick sank into every footprint the same amount: right up to the same notch. In soft mud, the same; on hard clay, exactly the same. But that very day Dad had sunk into the mud up to his ankles, because Dad is heavy. A giant bigger than Dad should have sunk in even deeper.

Third, the steps were perfectly even, as if someone had drawn them. A real animal takes a longer step, then a shorter one, then walks around a puddle. But this giant hadn’t walked around a single one.

And fourth... On the middle toe of every footprint there was a small round dent. The very same one. In every left footprint, and in every right one too. As if that toe had a knot in it, like wood.

Rexik stared at that dent for a long time. He remembered: crunch, crunch, tock.

“Well?” Trika asked impatiently. “What is it?”

“I don’t know yet,” said Rexik. And that was almost true.

“Then let’s track it down!” Trika actually bounced. “Tonight. We’ll hide behind the Big Rock and see the giant with our own eyes!”

“Maybe we shouldn’t?” said Rexik. “Uncle Horn said nobody sets foot near the swamp.”

“We’re not going to the swamp. We’re going to the rock. A rock isn’t a swamp!”

Rexik sighed. He knew Trika would go without him anyway. And besides, he really wanted to find out whether he had measured right.

That evening Dad didn’t whittle. He was very, very quiet, and when the moon came up he swung a heavy bundle wrapped in leaves over his shoulder.

“I’m going fishing,” he said.

“At night?” asked Mom.

“At night the fish are... sleepy. They practically swim right into your mouth.”

“Uh-huh,” said Mom.

As soon as Dad’s footsteps faded away, Rexik slipped out of his nest. Trika was already waiting by the ferns, and her yellow frill shone in the moonlight like a lantern.

“Hide your frill,” Rexik whispered.

“How am I supposed to hide it? It’s attached to my head!”

They crept up to the Big Rock and lay down behind it. A chill drifted up from the swamp. Frogs croaked. Somewhere in the dark something bubbled: bloop... bloop.

For a long time nothing happened. Trika had already started yawning when suddenly the frogs went quiet.

Tock.

Tock.

Tock.

A huge black shadow rose above the reeds. It bent down, set something in the mud, stamped on it, and stepped on.

“The giant!” Trika aimed her little horns. “I’ll get him right now...”

“Shh!” Rexik grabbed her by the frill. “Listen!”

The shadow was humming a song. And so badly out of tune that the frogs probably wanted to cover their ears:

“Who-o walks in the swa-amp... tock... will be ve-ery so-orry... tock...”

Trika lowered her horns.

“Rexik,” she said slowly. “I only know one dino who sings like that.”

“Me too,” sighed Rexik.

The moon came out from behind a cloud. Standing by the swamp was Dad. He was holding a wooden block, gnawed into the shape of a big three-toed footprint. He set it in the mud, pressed down on it with his foot (tock!) and carried it one step farther. And he himself stepped only on the flat stones, where footprints don’t show.

Just then the reeds crackled, and out leaped Uncle Horn.

“AHA!” he roared. “Got you, giant!”

Dad got such a fright that he dropped the block. Splat! It sank into the mud right up to its toes.

It turned out that Uncle Horn had been lying in wait too. He had wanted to catch the giant all by himself and then spend the rest of his life telling everyone who was the bravest in the valley.

But now he looked at Dad, then at the block, and burst out laughing so loudly that every dragonfly still left in the reeds took off.

“A giant!” he hooted. “A giant with a little wooden block! Bigger than you by a whole step! Oh, I can’t breathe!”

Dad stood there, not knowing where to look. Then he saw Rexik and Trika coming out from behind the rock.

“And what are you doing here?” Dad and Uncle Horn asked together.

“Catching the giant,” Trika said honestly. “Same as you.”

Rexik went up to Dad.

“Dad, why?”

Dad was silent for a long time. Rexik had never seen him so quiet.

“So you wouldn’t run off to the swamp,” Dad said at last. “I told you, and you kept going. So I thought: I’ll scare you. You’d listen to a giant, wouldn’t you?”

“Why didn’t you just explain why we’re not allowed there?”

Dad sat down on a rock.

“When I was your size,” he began, “I got stuck in this swamp. Right up to my tummy. The mud kept pulling me down, and the harder I struggled, the deeper I sank. My dad was pulling me out until morning.”

Uncle Horn stopped laughing. Trika stared at Dad with wide green eyes.

“Is that a tall tale too?” she whispered.

“No,” said Dad. “That part is actually true.”

Uncle Horn cleared his throat.

“Well,” he said, not quite so loudly now, “that’s the first time I’ve ever heard the truth from you. It was worth sitting in the reeds all night for that.”

Everyone walked home together. Rexik carried the block.

Mom wasn’t asleep. She was sitting by the nest and didn’t look surprised at all.

“You knew?” gasped Rexik.

“A little bowl, he said,” said Mom. “Three evenings in a row. And there’s still no bowl in the nest. Mom’s ears hear everything, sweetie. Even a log crunching.”

Dad blushed, even though he was reddish-orange to begin with.

By the next morning the whole valley knew about the giant with the little wooden block. Nobody could say how. Though Uncle Horn probably knew.

He teased Dad about it for a very long time. Every time Dad headed down to the river, Uncle Horn would shout across the whole valley:

“Look out! The giant’s coming! Hide your logs!”

And for the first time in his life, Dad couldn’t think of anything louder to shout back.

“So can we go to the swamp now?” asked Trika. “There’s no giant!”

“NO!” Dad and Uncle Horn barked together.

It came out so exactly equally loud that they couldn’t even argue about who had out-shouted whom.

“There’s no giant,” Mom said gently. “But there is a swamp.”

Trika sighed, and this time she didn’t argue. She thought first.

That evening Rexik sat by his shelf. On it lay a striped pebble, a feather and a seashell. And now, right in the middle, stood the wooden footprint block, with three toes and a tiny knot on the middle one.

“Treasure of the day,” said Rexik.

“Embarrassment of the day, if you ask me,” Dad grumbled.

Rexik climbed into his nest. Dad settled down beside him and began, as always:

“When I was your size...”

Then he stopped. He thought for a moment.

“...I got stuck in the swamp. And that’s true.”

“I’ve heard that one,” Mom smiled. “But it’s worth hearing twice.”

Rexik closed his eyes. Dad’s true story was scarier than any giant. And now, without any wooden blocks, he knew why the swamp was off-limits. And with that thought, he fell asleep.