I know you're worried, kid, but think about things logically.

Consider what happened to your dad all those years ago. Can you imagine how much he blew up in the eighties? He fucked up, big time! And that's why he's so upset at you; he sees his own failure in what you did. But you know what? Yeah, you got caught on camera, big deal. You know what you didn't do? Leave a bunch of tooth and claw marks on some poor schmoe's can and get the entire county police force involved in a full-blown investigation!

Now, I understand why he did it; he'd been seething for a long time, that one, over the folks that kept encroaching on his home. Imagine living somewhere for centuries, then all of a sudden a handful of dirty yokels walk over and give your home a name, and start destroying it with mining gear. So, one day, a car gets too close, and your dad, grumpy and full of moonshine--oh yes, you didn't think he was always such a stick in the mud, did you?--ends up doing something he regrets.

You couldn't get away from him back then. He was like a hit song on every station. They put him on shirts and book covers, made a fortune off his name, and all he wanted was to get some sleep. But you know how it went, didn't you? I'm sure he talks to you about it.

For a while, it seems like it will never end. People come over to the area, look around, and you think that you're done for, that you'll never rest easy again. But what happens next? The hoaxers start showing up, the costumes, the casts, the shitty phone cameras and wild stories for the press to eat up, and eventually, it moves beyond you. Your dad doesn't have any heat anymore, nor does Rowan, Shelly, or even the old owl, bless his rotting heart. And their fuck-ups were colossal, magnitudes more than a little wander in front of a security camera! Trust me, kid--we all go through this sooner or later, and the first thing we learn is that, after a while, the legend becomes its own entity and frees you from its influence.

We all fuck up. It's how things are meant to be. And sometimes it feels catastrophic, like there's no tomorrow, like you've just signed off the rest of your life to a freakshow. But calm down, kid, and close your eyes. Breathe. Think. Get some sleep, and for the love of all that's holy, don't check your phone until the shitshow's settled. After a week, it'll hurt less. After a month, it'll barely bother you. And after a year, it'll feel like it happened to someone else altogether.

We live in the age of smartphones, CGI, and Instagram filters. It's become easier than ever to convince everyone something exists, and even easier to disprove reality itself.

Go home. Don't think about it. Let me handle the phone calls.

When's the last time you heard anyone talk about the Lizard Man of Scape Ore Swamp? Never, that's when. Your old man's a washed-up old celebrity now.

Sooner or later, we're all forgotten. The legend takes over, and you learn to laugh at the drawings they make of you.