It was late.
An eerie stillness settled in the clearing.
A red mist enveloped the forest floor. None of God's creatures roamed this night. It came crashing through the underbrush and stopped, it's nose in the air. It wheeled its heavy head around and found the thing that had eluded it. The girl screamed as it closed ground on her. Before she could run, it swung a massive arm at her, ripping through the flesh of her shoulder. She screamed again, this time in pain. Rolling on her back, she found the cold barrel of the shotgun, almost out of her reach. With a desperate whimper, her fingers found it and raised the gun.
It's scream echoed in her ears.
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Jeramiah shook himself again. The temperature was dropping, but not enough to chase him inside yet. He gave the paper in his hands a sharp shake, righting the creases and looked up. A sailor's sunset graced the sky just behind the far mountains. But the accompanying orb just off its shoulder shook him more than the sudden chill in the air. A full moon, haloed by a pale pink shadow. Blood on the moon. He struggled to breathe and reached for his inhaler. Dear God, was it time again? His fingers found the medal hidden just under his collar.
He was running before his feet were under him. They were right behind him. Jesus, Carl had to be dead, no one could live through that.
A strong young hand clapped down on his shoulder, startling him out of his reverie. Dr. Parker stood just behind him. Good guy, no imagination though. Jeramiah grinned, wondering what the doctor's reaction would be if...but that was better left alone. They were coming and this time he wouldn't be able to stop them.
Run...don't stop. If you stop, you're dead. They'll catch you.
Karen sat straight up in bed, shaking uncontrollably, gasping for air. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, pushing away the remnants of the nightmare. There was no way she was going back to sleep.
Outside, the barn stood illuminated beneath a swollen pink moon. Horses stood sleeping in the paddock and the crickets entertained the stars above. Karen slipped on a short flannel nightgown and went out through the yard to the corrals. A large buckskin horse nickered softly when it saw her at the gate.
She stood leaning against the horse until she noticed something. A silence had fallen. The horses began to mill around, blowing in irritation. She backed against the railing, wishing she'd remembered her gun and fumbled for the gate latch. Anxiety rose to choke her, this was too much like the dream...
Somewhere in the confines of the tree line, a howl rose. Her head snapped toward the mountain towering above the break line behind the barn. She slammed the gate shut and made a run for the house, never looking back.
She lay in bed, staring at the weird little red light reflecting off the ceiling. Most likely her alarm clock, but when had the power gone out? She didn't bother to stop it, but let it lull her back to sleep.
***
A pack train of horses and a riding horse found their way into town by way of a back trail off the mountain. It was just nearing sunset and the lead horse's head was beginning to droop. The rider dismounted, tying the lead horse to a tack line between several trees. From a scabbard behind the saddlebag, she pulled a Winchester. Pushing the hat off her head, Stephanie Johnson shook her long chestnut hair down her back and gave it a good fluff.
A couple sitting on a bench on the street didn't hear her approach and she startled them with her sudden appearance. As she passed, she heard the woman complaining in a high whiney voice and laughed in pity for the guy she was with. She crossed the street, headed towards the Diamond Wheel Tavern.
The old familiar sound of the brass bell echoed through the store. Stale cigar smoke filled the back of the room, hiding the faces of the few men clustered around a small table. Their eyes never left her. A few locals and regulars had spaced themselves at the other tables and two hugged the bar on the far wall. She headed towards them and the gap-toothed smiled of the man behind it. The smell of sizzling steaks drifted from the open wall beyond and her stomach reinforced its lack of food since this morning.
"Well hello Steph," the barkeep rumbled.
"Hi Frank," She smiled as she slid onto one of the barstools. "How about a screwdriver? And leave out the orange juice."
Frank grinned from ear to ear, exposing the few teeth he had. "This little lady could out drink any of you." He said to another customer.
"Sure I could Frank, but that all depends on whether I wanna walk out of here or be carried out." The man laughed, nodding.
"So, what have you been up to lately? Haven't seen either one of you ladies around in here for about three weeks."
"Really?" Steph sounded surprised. "Karen was supposed to be down, geez, about a week ago for supplies. I wonder what happened." She took a mouthful of the vodka. "I haven't been home in a month. I was up on Wolf Ridge doing research for the university. I wonder why she didn't come down. Usually she makes up excuses to be gone all day." She swirled the contents of her glass. "Oh, by the way Frank, do you know of any wolves up by the border? I caught the trail of one, but I lost if about sixteen miles into the national park up there."
"Naw, ain't been any wolves around here since I was little, well back before you were born. There's some farther south though." The bell rang again and Frank left Steph to her vodka. Her mind wandered, wondering what could have kept Karen at the farm. None of the horses were gravid, unless on of them had gotten sick...
Matt Kay sagged onto the seat next to her. Matt ran the stockyard in town, kept the cattle coming off the train that were waiting for slaughter. There were spots of dried blood all over his shirt. "Jeeesus, Matt. What the hell happened to you?" Frank appeared out of nowhere, setting a jigger of whiskey in front of him.
Matt downed it in one gulp, not saying anything until he had taken another. Even his voice was tired, " I had fifty head just brought in from Richmond last night. Twenty of 'em down in the yard nearest the pine break line. I have thirty-one left. Frank?" He jiggled the glass.
"What happened to them?" Stephanie asked gently.
He took another shot and eyed her; "I went down to the yards this morning to start the feeding and take a head count. I got down to the alleys and I could hear this one group just screaming hysterically. So I walked down to the end of the yard towards 'em to see what they were carrying on about." He paused to tip the glass up again. "Christ...I got down there and all I saw was blood. Everywhere. Six of 'em still alive, but barely. Great big chunks bitten out of their hides. One of them was missing most of her one leg."
Steph swallowed hard, "Any idea what could've done it?"
Matt just looked at her. She could read the fear and defeat in his eyes. But it was the sound of the bell that made her jump. Her gaze found the fading outline of the door and she stood. All eyes were on the hunched over figure that stumbled through the pale patch in the wall. The town drunk, and from the look of it he was plastered.
Frank and another man rushed forward just as the old man was about to collapse. Together they carried him to a chair near the window. The old man's blood-shot eyes shot open and he began yelling gibberish. He pointed a shaking white finger toward the park, "Blood...everywhere...can't stop it...oh, God...it's in the park..." He struggled to sit up, but Frank restrained him.
Steph had been standing in the midst of the gathered crowd, the group from the table in the corner behind her, watching. But something snapped inside her when he pointed toward the park. The horses! She pushed her way to the door, only to come to a sliding halt and run back for her rifle by the bar.
Matt reached out for her before she reached the door a second time, but she avoided him, skipping down the steps and into the center of the deserted street. "Steph!" he called after her. "Get back here! Goddamnit! You'll get yourself killed!" She paid no attention.
She walked down the center of the street, wishing for once the streetlights hadn't clicked on so early. All the stores and the few houses were dark yet except for Frank's and the Northwind Inn ahead of her. Matt and Frank stopped yelling and stood watching with the rest of crowd on the porch of the Diamond. Matt pushed back through the crowd, grabbing several lanterns off the shelves and one of the rifles off the wall. Frank caught up with him and tossed him a box of ammo out of the display case.
In the pines, an owl hooted. A horse's scream rent the air, making the tiny hairs on Stephanie's neck stand at attention. A swift chill blew up her spine. Her breath came shallow, echoing the staccato beat of her heart. Something was watching her. Her stomach lurched, her face losing color. She sprinted to the edge of the park and crouched in the shadow of a large bush.
Silence.
Not even the hollow chirp of a cricket.
A movement from the corner of her eye made her shy to the other side. A pint-size field mouse was running away from her for all he was worth. She'd probably scared the little thing. She started to her feet just in time to see a large owl beginning it's final dive...right at her head. She squealed and ducked, the owl adjusting its course only slightly to catch the field mouse. In a rush of wind and wings, the owl found it's prize and perched on a nearby branch.
She slowed her pounding heart to listen between beats for something, anything. A light came on from across the street and was just as quickly extinguished. She slumped farther down into the shadows.
A hand was reaching out from the corner of the building closest to the green.
In one smooth motion, she stood and swung the shotgun up. Matt's look of surprise and shock almost made her laugh, but she stifled it. She grabbed his sleeve and pulled him the shadow made by the building and a large maple. "What are doing?" she hissed at him. "You scared the shit out of me!"
"Scared you! You didn't have that damn rifle pointed at you. It was the only thing I saw." He took a deep breath and held a lantern aloft. "Frank lent me a couple of these to come talk some sense into you." She sighed.
"Okay," she said. "Let me go behind those bushes and then you light up one of 'em. I'll stay close enough to cover you, it's more likely to show itself in front of an unarmed man."
"Beautiful," Matt said sarcastically. Stephanie smiled and slipped noiselessly into the bushes. From where she hid she could see the light play across the ground as Matt walked. The lantern shone off eight pairs of horses eyes; she counted, when there should have been nine. Matt stopped for a moment, looking at something, all her senses peaked. When he continued, she settled into place again.
Steph followed along the bush-line, carefully staying out of sight. She sat back on her heels when Matt stopped again. A packsaddle and pack lay torn away at Matt's feet. It was splashed with bits of flesh and bone. He held up the light to see better. His stomach heaved, bile rising in his throat. The mangled, bloody heap at his feet would never be called a horse again. Three of the strong sinews in its neck were the only things holding the beast's head on, the lead still tied to the tack line.
Matt skirted it and tried not to step in the mess. He bumped into something. Turning slowly, he looked behind him. "Sweet Mary, mother of God..." his voice was raw.
Bones pokes through the bruised flesh of the crushed abdomen, the head was gone. The legs had been turned at impossible angles and the knees, at some point, had begun to bleed inside; looking strangely like large pomegranates. The man Steph had passed on her way to the Diamond lay like a forgotten rag doll in a blood puddle. Pushing back the red-tinged leaves of the bush to his left, Matt spied what remained of the body and stepped back quickly.
Stephanie put her empty hand to the ground, trying to get closer to the horse without betraying her position, but a vile taste rose in her mouth. A rich, warm smell drifted to her, making her gag. Her hand slid on a slick patch. Slowly she moved her hand forward, but snatched it back at what she felt. Her mind refused to work. She shot to her feet, trying to control the overwhelming wave of hysteria that threatened to engulf her.
Matt pulled Steph close to him. She reached out, lifting one of the branches, despite Matt's muffled protest. The man's head lay cradled in the roots of the bush. In her mind, there was a fleeting image that it had been chewed off. The glazed eyes had a look of terror in them and the mouth was open in a perpetual scream. She let the branches fall back into place, frantically wiping her hands on her jeans to get rid of the blood that wasn't there. Her stomach roiled, threatening to lose the lunch she hadn't eaten.
"Let's call the Sheriff, Steph." Matt said, pulling her towards Frank's. She nodded, then stopped, looking up at him questioningly. Matt held a finger to his lips, listening. Steph saw his eyes widen slightly. They both heard it.
Crying.
Coming from the alley, just around the corner of the building backing the park. They traced it down to a large, overturned box. Steph shoved the box aside to find a pale slip of a girl. Her eyes mirrored the same terror they'd seen in the dead man's and Steph could almost smell the fear radiating off her skin. Sudden realization of what she'd seen, gone through, sent chills up Steph's spine. Cradling her shaking body between the two of them, they half-carried the girl back to Frank's.
***
Her night chores finished, Karen headed back toward the house to start dinner. Checking the last paddock, she patted the Appy's rump and closed the stable doors. The cool night air felt delicious, so she took her time getting back. Behind her, a twig snapped. Silence ensued. She shivered. Turning toward the break line, she saw a dark figure move on the edge.
Her nerve broke and she ran for the house. Karen threw the door open and grabbed the rifle out of the corner by the fireplace. Silently she thanked Steph for keeping it there. She stood in the doorway, her shadow falling across the porch and into the yard. The dark figure found its opportunity. It bounded from the edge of the woods, growling madly.
Karen stood stock still, watching it come. Her brain refused to work. What she was seeing wasn't possible. Nerveless fingers fumbled with the safety and she brought the rifle up. This was crazy; she'd never hit it in time. She retreated inside, slammed the door, flipped the deadbolt into place and slid the brace board into its rack. Then remembering the windows, she ran to each throwing their boards across as well. Then she went to her bedroom and locked herself in. Huddling in the corner across from the door, she cracked the gun open and double checked to see if it was loaded. It was.
"Let it try me now," she whispered to herself. But her teeth chattered too hard for the statement to have any menace in it. Every little noise made her jump and gasp as she listened to it try to find a way in. She heard the glass in the front windows shatter to the floor and screamed. There was an answering growl and a whine of the bolts on the shutters as its weight strained against them.
Abruptly, it stopped. Her heartbeat echoed through the room, her ribs hurt from it pounding so hard.
Karen sat shivering for a moment, wondering if it had actually gone or was simply waiting. She scrambled to her feet, leaning against the wall for support and using the rifle as a crutch. She carefully opened her bedroom door and let out a sob at the destruction in the kitchen. Glass lined the floor along the front wall, clear over to the table at the middle of the room. The wood covering the windows had been splintered in places, but the restraining boards and bolts had held. They wouldn't take another attack though.
She crept back to her room, exhausted from her fear and closed the door behind her. After a moment's pause, she locked it. She checked the restraining board across her bedroom window and sat in the far corner, where she could see both door and window. Towards early morning, still terrified, she drifted off to sleep. Sometime toward four a.m. the scratching started again. Karen never noticed.
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America Today
July 15, 2000
Killer Photo Shoot
by Peter Jenkins
Sweetwater, Wyoming
Last night at approximately 9:45pm a 911 call was received in the Sweetwater Sheriff's Office. The only information the dispatcher could get from the excitable caller was there had been a murder in Sweetwater Park and the urgent request to send an ambulance for the survivor to the Diamond Wheel Tavern; owned by Mr. Frank Penscot.
What appeared to be a foiled attempt to save the horses tethered nearby resulted in a grisly death for one man. Arriving on the scene, Sheriff Tom Houseman found the decapitated body of photographer Lyle Barrett of Jackson only fifty feet away from the roadway. His head had been located prior to the Sheriff arriving by a member of an impromptu search party, a Miss Stephanie Johnson. Miss Johnson had no comment.
Miss Johnson and her associate, Matt Kay; owner of the local stockyard, initially investigated the sounds of distress coming from the direction of her horses in the park. Mr. Kay told us, "There was blood everywhere. I could see that one of the horses was down and I thought that was what was spooking the others. I don't know what could have done this." Mr. Kay had recently had a streak of bad luck himself, losing several head of cattle in his stockyard to apparently the same killer.
Mr. Kay also informed us that the survivor, Miss Noel Taliesin; a model on assignment with the late Mr. Barrett, was found in an alleyway approximately one hundred yards away. She was diagnosed with severe shock and paramedics on scene are speculating that she may have several broken ribs. Miss Taliesin is currently in stable, but shaken, condition at Sweetwater General Hospital.
Animal control specialists have teamed up with local Park Rangers in attempt to locate the perpetrator of this hideous crime. Brad Tomlin, a Park Ranger with the Jengen Game Reserve, assured us that such a slaughter could be contributed to a wolf attack. "While most wolves are pack animals, no animal will kill without being provoked or hungry. While it's premature to assume that Mr. Barrett could have provoked such an attack, to assume otherwise would force us to come to the conclusion that the animals involved are rabid and should be avoided at all costs."
The autopsy on Lyle Barrett is scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. Animal Control and the Park Service investigation into the possible animal connection will continue well into next week.
------
The old man set down the paper and rolled the wheelchair to the window. The fading sun cast the skyscrapers in silhouette. "Dear God, don't let this be happening again." Even as he said the words though, he knew they were useless. The devil's children had returned, to see who would stand against them this time. He wheeled the chair around, the memories blinding him. He clasped his head between his hands as though they would escape the boundaries of his brain. He saw the images, the shadows, clearly. He remembered the feast he had given them and the show they had returned. Nausea gripped his stomach and he forced the memories back into their hiding place.
Picking up the phone at his elbow, he dialed a number he knew by heart. "Hey Doc, how about a game of poker tonight?" The last thing he needed right now was to be alone.
Jack Parker had other plans though, "Well Jerry, I'd love to. But I've gotta pack up and take a short trip. Some people were attacked by some sort of animal out in Sweetwater this weekend and they want me to come in and help."
"Yeah, yeah, I was just reading about it in the paper. Nasty business. Well, I'll catch ya later Doc. Have a safe trip." Jeramiah tried to keep the panic out of his voice.
"Thanks Jerry..." there was a soft click from the other end and the line went dead.
Sleep didn't come to the old man that night. He tried to convince himself that others would learn the danger and stand against it. But the old doubts came back to mock him.
***
As Steph neared the farm, she could tell something wasn't right. And after the events of last night, she wasn't sure she wanted to be here by herself. She checked her watch, though she knew it was past feeding time. She heard the horse's hungry bawling as she tied the remainder of her horses to the fence. As she went around the barn and turned toward the house, her eyes caught the rhododendron bushes lying in mangled heaps across the porch. Her stomach flip-flopped.
She ran up the flagstone walk and jumped onto the porch, a huge lump in her throat. She noted the long, bear-like claw marks engraved in the woodwork all around the door. Steph's foot crunched on the glass from the windows, though a few stray pieces clung to the frames. Putting a shoulder to the door, she shoved hard. All she succeeded in doing was knocking the breath out of herself. Karen must have the door barred.
She hurried around the side of the house, her boots rumbling on the wooden boards. The only window not shuttered was the one in the bathroom. She pivoted, looking for a stone. It'd either catch Karen's attention or break the window. No big deal really, they'd all have to be replaced anyway. Finding one, she drew back and let it fly. The window shattered inward. Satisfied, she began to walk toward the window and was greeted with a volley of buckshot. She hit the ground with a thud.
Karen had been sleeping, dreaming again about the shadows that waited outside. She had drifted between sleep and consciousness for the past two days, leaving her room only to find something to eat and use the bathroom. The shotgun had been her constant companion. Rousing herself, she headed toward the bathroom again, her bladder screaming. She heard it before it hit. A rock came flying through the window, her tired mind processing this slowly. They'd found a way to get in! She threw her shoulder against a bracing wall next to the door, her muscles whining in protest and butted the rifle. Closing her eyes and praying, she pulled the trigger. Not once, but three times.
Steph opened her eyes and spit out the dirt and grass in her mouth. The shooting had stopped and she could hear the muffled sound of Karen's sobs. "Karen, it's me. Steph. Karen, can you hear me?" She walked closer to the window and managed to climb in.
Karen sat on the floor, her head down. She looked up when Steph finished pulling herself through the window. The resignation in her eyes cried, 'Kill me, but make it fast.' Steph sat down beside her, cradling her little sister's head against her as she sobbed. "It's okay, I'm here now. They can't hurt you. Sleep." It was one instruction she didn't have to give twice. Karen was already asleep.
Bio:Shalane is the assistant to the senior editor for an international craft magazine in northern Pennsylvania. Though inspiration for her stories can come from any quarter at any time, it's her nightmares that usually take center stage. When not trying to scare her readers, she can usually be found tinkering with her computer or tormenting her cat.
E-mail: penchant_shalane25@yahoo.com
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