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© 2006 Cheryl Alldredge
All Rights Reserved
By Cheryl
Alldredge (writing as C. Furrow)
This story is dedicated to my father. Thanks Dad, for telling me scary
stories that gave me all manner of nightmares…and a soft spot
for all manner of monsters.
~~~~~
The beast quivered
beneath the cover of a dense stand of palmetto. The gusty remnants of
the recent thunderstorm camouflaged the movement of the fronds and its
thickly furred hide protected it from the pricks and scraps of the
malevolent fauna. The rumble of engines, the squawk of radios, and the
jagged notes of human speech drowned out the deep snarling growl the
beast could not control. Enraged by the loss of its kill, the beast
fought the instinct to attack the intruders.
They weren’t much
different from the two that now lie broken and bleeding on the damp
weedy ground—easy meat—but something deep inside the beast held it fast.
Perhaps it was their lack of the sweet, sticky smell of fear. Or perhaps
some buried understanding that not all prey were as defenseless as they
seemed. Or could it be something softer, some remnant of the other?
~~~~~
“Jesus, Mary and
Joseph!”
Chief Lawson
watched the younger officer grow increasingly green in the harsh light
of the cruiser’s flood.
“If you’re going
to puke, do it in your hat. I don’t want anything contaminating
evidence—just in case this wasn’t the animal attack it looks like.”
He wanted the
techs to get the scene as pristine as possible. He hadn’t even checked
the victims for signs of life. There was no point. The man’s throat had
been ripped away. The head lay at an impossible angle. The young woman’s
remains…well, what was left of them were pretty scattered around the
site.
“Chief?” Hooper
swallowed audibly. “It’s the full moon tonight, ain’t it?”
“Yep.”
Hooper turned
away, looking into the woods. “You know what folks are going to say?”
“Yep.”
And that’s why
he’d already called in asking for help from the state’s crime lab. He
couldn’t keep the stories from starting up, but he could try to quash
them as quickly as possible. Lawson studied Hooper’s profile. The boy
had gone from green to pasty white. Quite a feat for anyone who loved
the sun as much as Hooper did.
For the boy’s
sake he kept the conversation going when he’d rather have remained
quiet. “People around here have heard stories about the swamp apes and
the rarfaroose going back for generations. Only natural the stories will
kick up around this.”
“What do you
think—”
“Probably a
panther expanding his territory.”
The explanation
came easily to his lips, but it didn’t sit well in his belly. Whatever
it was, he would show it no mercy. Animals that killed people had to be
put down. No hesitation. No relocation. No second chance to kill.
~~~~~
One month
later...
Chief Lawson sat
in dim emergency lighting, eyeing his prisoner with disgust. He’d pulled
the man in on a warrant during a routine stop mid-afternoon, but had
been unable to get the prisoner to the county facility.
“Hey, Chief.”
Lawson kept his
eye on the prisoner as Becky strode into the room.
“Hey, Becky.
Thanks for coming in. I hated to call. With the hours you’ve already
pulled this week, you deserved the night off, but Hooper’s working that
nasty accident up on Old Thompson Road, and with the power out...”
Becky stepped
into his line of site, instantly claiming his attention. It was always
that way with her. Slim and fit...and twenty years too young for him,
she had a way of drawing his eye. Tonight she wore civies—hadn’t
bothered to change into her uniform.
Her jeans hugged
her toned thighs and a t-shirt that sported the logo for the gym she
favored hung loose down to her hips. The flowers embroidered in silver
thread along the seam of her snug jeans might have been her only
conscious concession to femininity, but her curves didn’t need the help
of fancy duds, they made themselves known no matter what she wore.
“No problem, but
if you don’t mind I’d like to get a move on. Get on back home.”
“Sure, got the
paperwork right here.”
Becky stepped
forward in her usually confident stride and sorted through what she
needed before heading toward the prisoner. Lawson had watched the man
grinning as he surveyed Becky’s backside, could almost see the attitude
he was working up. But when Becky turned to face him, the man settled
down in an instant. Years of cop work sat comfortable on her shoulders
and showed in her face. She was a damn fine cop and Lawson had to admit
he’d been lucky to get her three months earlier. She could have gone
farther working in one of the bigger cities. Damn, but her competence
only lured him more.
As Becky moved
the prisoner toward the door, she turned back to glance at him. The
uncertainty in her gaze surprised him.
“Heard anything
new about the storm, Chief?”
“Afraid they’re
still saying it’s likely to sit over us through the night.”
She smiled,
looking oddly at ease with the news, and dipped her chin in
acknowledgment.
“Stay safe then,
Chief.”
“And you. Keep
the shiny side up.”
“Roger that.”
~~~~~
The call that came in thirty minutes later propelled
Lawson out of the office and into his car with the force of a nuclear
explosion. When he arrived on the isolated stretch of road that curved
around the back side of Baker’s Lake, it occurred to him he had no idea
if he’d locked up before he left and he had no recollection of the drive
that brought him across town and halfway across the county.
Blue and white lights lit the road in a familiar
pattern that offered not a damn bit of comfort. He pulled in behind the
SUV that must belong to the Samaritan and took a deep breath. Becky’s
cruiser had gone off the road on the lake side. The car hedged into the
trees at an angle, leaving the driver’s side visible from the road. Both
doors hung open and someone, probably the Samaritan, hunched over a
figure lying on the ground a few yards from the car. He took in the
scene in an instant, then bolted out of the car. Half way across the
road the squeal of breaks registered just enough to reassure him the
ambulance had arrived close on his heels.
The moment he stepped off the road, the coppery smell
of violence smacked him in the face. The sodden shoulder sucked at his
shoes as if trying to slow his pace and the murmur of voices and
whimpers of pain whispered across his senses. Beneath it all a faint
animal musk permeated the scene.
Lawson scanned across the grisly tableau of victim
and first responder—his gaze lingering only long enough to identify the
victim as the prisoner Becky had been transporting. He scanned the
cruiser’s interior and saw no sign of Becky…or blood. He found no
visible damage to the car. No dented hood, no broken windows. Why had
she stopped, damn it? Why had she left the safety of the vehicle?
He turned back to where the paramedics where taking
over for the Samaritan and strode forward as fast as the muddy ground
allowed.
“Just relax, Mister.” The paramedic spoke in
confident tones and moved with brisk efficiency. “You’re going to be all
right. Just relax.”
Lawson watched as the blue latex covered hands worked
to staunch the flow of blood from the neck injury. “Can he answer
questions?”
In unison, the paramedics lifted their heads to meet
his gaze. Their job was to see to the wounded without prejudice, but
they had to have taken in the meaning of the cuffs and shackles.
“My officer is missing. This is my only witness.”
The pair nodded.
“Missed the jugular, he’ll be okay. Should be able to
talk some.”
Lawson edged in closer, aiming to fill up the man’s
vision with his toughest, your-gonna-wish-you-were-dead expression.
“Where is she?” His voice sounded uncommonly harsh, even to his own
ears. But it did the trick. The man’s eyes, pain filled and unfocused,
sharpened slightly. “Where is my officer?”
“Ran…off.” The man choked out the words with visible
effort.
Rage flared at the implication Becky would have run
off and left her prisoner. But the prisoner wasn’t dead and he was out
of the car. Maybe he had bolted. Maybe that was why she’d had to get out
of the car in the first place.
“Why did she stop?” He hated asking the question in
front of the others, but he had to know.
“Full…moon…”
“Don’t be an idiot, why—”
“Rarf…rarf…rarfaroose…is…loose.” With that ridiculous
statement the damned man lost consciousness, escaping his wrath. Coward.
One of the paramedics looked up at him again. “These
look like the result of an animal attack. The man’s forearm is snapped.”
He left out any mention of the obvious throat wound.
“Look at these tracks, Chief Lawson.” The Samaritan
spoke up for the first time.
Lawson looked. What choice did he have? Becky was out
there somewhere. Maybe injured. Maybe… He looked down to the mud and saw
an enormous print. Narrow as a human foot, but long. At least two feet
long, tipped with heavy gouges where claws had sunk into the mud at the
toes.
“Jezuz-H…”
He lifted his chin to the sky and stared at the fat,
full globe of the moon. Back toward town, the stars were still hidden by
thunderclouds in the night sky. He heard the rolling booms of the storm
in every direction, but directly overhead the clouds had cleared to
reveal the brilliant white orb that had held sway over the night from
the dawn of time.
The mournful howl of a wolf broke the spell. Lawson
snapped back to clear thinking in an instant. He made a beeline for the
cruiser, popped the trunk and pulled out the shotgun. Becky was out
there somewhere and he would find her…one way or another.
For it, whatever it was…there would be no mercy. It
had killed before, he knew it down to the ground. Whatever was out there
had killed that couple last month—had probably killed even before that.
He’d been right about something expanding its territory, but it wasn’t
any panther. Well it had erred by moving into his. It would end
here—tonight.
~~~~~
Five minutes into the woods he found remnants of
Becky’s t-shirt—blood spattered across the cotton. Damn. Damn. Damn.
Twenty minutes later he crouched at the lake shore examining another of
the impossible prints when the feeling of being watched settled over
him. The moonlight reflected off the surface of the lake, providing a
breathtaking backdrop for his hunt of the monster.
Acceptance had come gradually. Acceptance of the
notion that monsters were real. That he likely would come face to face
with one before the night ended. That the next time he saw Becky, she
might well be torn into little pieces and scattered around a clearing.
That last pained him like a knife lodged between his ribs. The ache, he
realized, had to be his heart breaking. He wished it would go on and be
done with it. He needed to face this thing with cold determination, not
hot hatred.
He stayed hunched low. Not to hide—the thing had
already spotted him. The hairs on the back of his neck testified to
that. He stayed low to draw the thing in. Standing, he would present a
larger figure. Animals typically preferred the easier prey. Something of
a manageable size, so he would stay low and small…and ready. No mercy.
Even if he had to destroy it while taking his last breath, he’d do it.
Memories of that horrific scene last month, a woman torn into a half
dozen chunks of raw meat and gnawed bones, fueled his resolve. His grip
tightened on the shotgun as his gaze skimmed the tree line.
The rhythmic lap of the lake against the shore and
the gusty edges of the storm buffeted his senses as he waited.
Waited for movement…the attack.
He shifted his weight in the mud…narrowed his
eyes…listened.
The burning in his muscles slowly began to eat at his
concentration.
A rustle of branches tightened his muscles to a point
beyond pain. And then…the crackle of his two-way coming to life
shattered the moment. Damn Hooper. The tension between his shoulders
eased. He pushed to his feet, shaking out aching muscles and answered
Hooper’s demand for information. He took no more than a minute to bring
Hooper up to speed via the two-way before he got back to his hunt,
slowly making his way, following the tracks. Let Hooper and the county
boys beat the bushes with a methodical sweep, he would stick to the
trail.
~~~~~
Twenty minutes later Lawson realized the trail led
back toward the searchers. Had the activity drawn the monster’s
attention? Had it gone back to hunt? Or to reclaim its earlier kill?
Becky? When the heavy, coppery scent of blood mixed with the musk that
trickled through the trees to fill his nostrils, Lawson raised the
shotgun and steeled himself for what might remain of Becky.
Creeping forward, he worked his way through a thick
patch of underbrush. The musk grew strong. The moon above was still
full, providing light, but not enough to give the blood color. Ink black
patches spread across the officer’s chest. A raw, meaty mess spanned the
distance from the torso to the head. A hollow spot where the belly
should have been made it clear the monster had filled its belly before
moving on.
Lawson lowered the shotgun and spoke into the
two-way. “Hooper, tell the Sherriff he needs to do a head count. I think
he’ll find one of his men is missing.”
“Jesus, Mary and
Joseph! You mean...?”
“Roger that.”
The habitual phrase he’d heard from Becky only an hour before twisted
the knife in his ribs.
“But, Chief.
Nobody heard a thing.”
What if it had
been Hooper laying there? He had to put an end to this now.
Making no effort
at quiet, Lawson searched out the trail and followed where it led. “Come
and get me you coward.” He flexed his fingers around the shotgun. “Come
and get some of this.”
He repeated the
words over and over, the words taking on a rhythm, like a child trying
to coax a stray puppy. Rage carried him forward. There one moment, then
gone the next—replaced by shock as he stepped into a clearing and came
face to face with his prey…or his death. In that moment he had no idea
which it would be.
It stood
no more than five feet tall. Stood on two legs, with those two
impossibly long feet, giving it a steadiness he envied. He felt a tremor
rush through him as he took in the claw tipped fore paws and glistening
canines. The snout rivaled a gator’s for length and ferocity. It stared
him down with large, ebony eyes. Delicate dog ears stood alert atop its
head, flicking in response to sounds beyond his range of hearing. It
didn’t flinch or show any sign of movement. Maybe it had eaten its fill
already. He didn’t know or care. No mercy.
Slowly he raised
the shotgun into position.
It tilted its
head in an almost human movement that stopped him, made him take another
look. The monster’s hide glistened with the inky blackness of fresh
blood matted into its fur. But there was something encasing its legs.
Like clothing. Or remnants of clothing. Could it really be something
akin to a werewolf? Something that had once been human? Then he saw
it—running in a faint line down the seam of the garment clinging to the
creature’s legs. Silver thread embroidery. Flowers.
His heart
stopped beating and his breath stilled in his chest.
His own foolish
words echoed through his suddenly empty brain … no mercy. The creature
had shown no mercy to a young woman who’d gone out for a stroll while
watching the submarine races with her boyfriend one month back. Had
shown no mercy to a fine county deputy twenty minutes ago. She would
show no mercy to the next fool she ran into either.
He lowered the
barrel of the shotgun a few inches and pulled the trigger, throwing up
mud and muck at the rarfaroose’s feet. Then watched the creature slip
away into the brush.
But what was he
going to do next time?
~The End~
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