I changed the name because I had it pointed out that “Charlie and the Wendigo” is evocative of a certain author’s name. I wouldn’t have cared if Charlie/Gary turned out to be the villain, since it wasn’t intentional — but since I like Gary, I ain’t going to saddle him with such an unfortunate name choice.
Gary was on — well, I guess it was his porch now — resting in a rocking chair that’d fit him and enjoying the breeze. Only he wasn’t enjoying it all that much. It’s hard to read a Bigfoot’s face because of the hair, but he wasn’t sitting real easy. He was bristly, too, like he was getting goosebumps all over. I didn’t care for that. Bigfoot or human, when we see somebody get nervous our monkey brains tell us we should get nervous, too. Just in case.
At the time, I figured he was a little scared and homesick from living in the cabin. I would be. Or maybe he didn’t like having human neighbors so close. That’s… fair, although we’re peaceable, here in the backwoods.
So I decided not to take it personal and just got out of the truck with a wave and a nod. “You’re Gary, right?” Like there’d be another Bigfoot in another cabin around here. “I’m Shirley. Shirley Lee, from down the mountain. Pleased to meet ya.”
Even without [that guy] existing, Gary just flows better.
I know nothing of the individual in question, but I see that he survives in the current YA climate, so I can draw certain inferences I suppose.
Every single inference you might make vein that is correct.
Who is this person you’re talking about? I *literally* know nothing about them, and a web search for “Charlie Wendigo” isn’t helping.
Another nickname for ‘Charles’ is ‘Chuck.’