Author: Michelle Garza
Date: 2019-09-26 00:00:00+00:00
Description: A band of friends unknowingly awaken something ancient and hungry, the glowing orbs descending from the trees are more than fireflies. A ravenous group of hunters is set free and are now moving closer and closer to the small town of Brush Mill. Halloween night will mark their arrival, and the townsfolk will have to fight to keep from being eaten alive. Can they survive what lurks in the darkness? Can you? About the Author Michelle is from Arizona. She writes alongside her twin sister, Melissa Lason. They have been dubbed The Sisters of Slaughter. They write horror, science fiction and dark fan
Publisher: Death's Head Press

Tapetum Lucidum

Sisters of Slaughter

Melissa Lason and Michelle Garza

Tapetum Lucidum

Copyright © 2019 by Sisters of Slaughter

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.

This book is dedicated to my children and my husband for always supporting me in my writing adventures.

-Michelle

For Kahlan and Chris, thank you for cheering me on! I love you!

-Melissa

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter One

NIGHT ONE

He slid the blade down the long, pale branch, easing the bark away from it in a single, curling piece.

“See those black knots?” Jeremiah asked, elbowing Leon beside him.

Leon shook his head and sighed, nursing a wound in his palm by holding a cold beer over it.

“Yeah, so?”

“I’m going to make those look like eyes, tourists will love that shit. Probably fetch me a decent amount of money.”

“Are you sure old Squanto or Sitting Bull or whatever his name is will even want them?” Alex asked across the fire.

“His name is Running River, Martin Running River,” Jeremiah mumbled, “you ignorant prick.”

“I’m just teasing,” Alex said.

“And of course he’ll like them. He bought snake skins, elk antlers, and a few geodes from me, I’m sure he’ll shit his pants when he gets a load of these.”

“What the hell is it?” Brady asked, reaching into the cooler to grab another beer, looking among his three friends with a glance, as if saying do you want another one?

He tossed Alex a drink and sat down beside the fire.

“It’s going to be a walking stick,” Jeremiah answered.

“You know, you could get a real job, ya lazy bum,” Alex said.

“Like yours? What do you do down at the burger barn, anyway?” Jeremiah quipped.

Alex had goaded him out of his usual shy demeanor. He felt his voice wanting to tremble with each response, yet he held it in control or he’d only catch hell for sounding like a sissy.

“Don’t be jealous, I’m a business man, guys!” he added.

“I’m not jealous. I’m pissed you made me help you cut a stupid tree down with only a shitty handsaw!” Leon said, cradling his aching hand.

“Don’t be such a pussy!” Alex said.

“Fuck you.” Leon laughed.

“Will you two shut up about it? You sound like you’re an old woman. Shit, look at my knuckles!” Alex said, holding up his fists.

“It was just plain stupid to punch a tree, idiot!” Brady said and lit a cigarette.

“I was a little bit fucked up!”

“A little bit?” Brady said.

“Ok, a lot!” Alex laughed.

“I told you not to take that shit!” Leon spoke.

“No shit! I thought you wanted to smoke a little grass, not take a hallucinogenic, before going on a hike. You could have wandered off or something,” Brady said.

“Ok. I get it, but it made the walk a little more interesting!” Alex said, with his usual mischief sparking in his dark eyes.

“Interesting? You thought the tree was a monster, you jackass!” Jeremiah said, growing bolder, yet feeling a little afraid of the consequences.

“Don’t tell anyone about it, guys!”

“I’m telling everyone I know!” Leon chuckled.

“Fuck you, guys! I saw eyes in the tree bark!” Alex said in mock offense.

“Shut up and drink your beer!” Brady said.

“He’s right, everyone relax,” Leon added.

“Says the pussy complaining about the blisters on his hand like they’re mortal wounds all day,” Alex said and giggled.

“Whatever, douche bag who punches tree monsters!” Leon fired back.

The four friends had a good laugh before settling back into normal conversation.

“How many walking sticks do you plan on whittling in three days?” Brady asked.

“As many as I can,” Jeremiah answered. “I might hike up and get some more aspen wood tomorrow.”

“Hey, what’s that?” Alex asked, pointing to the nearby trees.

“Don’t tell me you’re seeing monsters again,” Jeremiah said, this time internally flinching, wondering if Alex would laugh or get angry.

“No, it’s little green lights,” Alex answered. “It’s real.”

“Fireflies,” Leon said softly as the four grew quiet, “I haven’t seen any since I was a little kid.”

The four young men watched the green orbs floating lazily in a treetop.

“See, guys. I told you we needed to make some memories as friends before we’re all forced to grow up,” Jeremiah said, hoping to dispel any bad feelings he couldn’t help but provoke on one of his last nights of being in the company of Alex.

“Fond memories? Do you mean our shitty truck breaking down, or you ordering us to cut down half the forest with only handsaws?” Alex quipped.

Jeremiah sat still, his face burned, but he wasn’t sure how brave he really wanted to be. He didn’t want to let his mouth run away on him and end up with a fist in his stomach, as he did on a couple of other occasions when having a few too many beers.

“Those, and you seeing monster faces in aspen trees!” Brady said, then laughed heartily.

The others laughed along with him; it settled Jeremiah’s nerves a bit until he made eye contact with Alex. He saw the same old contempt in them, the condescending gaze he’d witnessed for years. He’d never understood Alex’s dislike for him, but it was always there. Jeremiah hoped after graduation he wouldn’t be asked to spend any more awkward nights around the friend of his friends because it was always painfully obvious Alex didn’t intend to ever be his true friend.

***

The cat moved gracefully through the trees, its sleek body low, its eyes searching. It smelled fire in the distance and its keen ears could hear the voices of humans carried on the autumn winds. It avoided them as it padded through the forest, seeking the sleeping grouse it preyed upon to hold it over until it could get its jaws on the throat of a deer. Its nostrils picked up the scent of man as it slinked through the shadows, its eyes caught movement near an aspen grove it usually steered clear of. The earth there felt dangerous to the sensitive cat. It stopped beside the trunk of a pine, watching as the white-barked trees at the bottom of a slope writhed unnaturally. The large male catamount opened its mouth in a silent hiss as the black knots along the slender trees blinked like sets of eyes. Something watched the nocturnal hunter, something hungry. The knots took on the glow of eye shine beneath the moon. The cat backed away as strange voices were carried to its ears on the wind, human and yet not completely, speaking languages of worlds beyond the earth. Creatures as pale and thin as aspen limbs pulled themselves away from the trees and clawed at the black forest soil. They came quickly, on all fours like hunting beasts, toward the cat as it retreated from the unearthly predators. They sped up the low hillside and were soon pursuing the cat. It turned, bearing its fangs and swiping at the ground with its massive claws, a warning, the only one the specters would get. A handful of them leapt upon the cat, using tooth and claw in an attempt to subdue it, yet it rolled over them, crushing them under its weight before bounding into the forest. The cat’s powerful legs carried it away quickly, though it knew it was being followed, the ravenous hunters climbed up into the trees and jumped from branch to branch. The cat could smell their sour breath, like rabid dogs seeking only to destroy. The mountain lion bounded up the mountainside, seeking higher ground to defend itself from, the unknown predators screeching behind it. The familiar smell of human filled its nostrils once more and, all at once, the things pursuing him turned aside, their attention set on a handful of easier targets. They halted to taste the air and the big cat used those moments to flee from them. He was unaccustomed to such challenges but, even more so, the threat of being consumed. He could feel a wound on his side, open and bleeding, yet his instincts told him not to stop, to retreat from the area, for it belonged to a new tribe of hunters.

***

The night wore on; the four sat beside the low fire as it lulled them into comfortable drunkenness. Leon stood and walked a few feet beyond the circle of light to take a piss, his eyes could really make out the green lights by the fading glow of the dying fire. They had multiplied, and were hanging in the trees surrounding the cabin. He felt a chill, but wasn’t certain if it came from the autumn breeze or if it was the strange feeling of being minuscule he always got staring into the forest at night. He stumbled back to where his friends sat and asked, “You guys wanna tell some ghost stories?”

“What the hell made you think of that?” Alex asked.

“I was out there taking a leak and got a little freaked out by the dark, thought it might be fun,” Leon said, opening another beer.

“Alright,” Jeremiah spoke. “My uncle used to tell me stories about a giant, hairy creature people swear they saw up here in these woods.”

“Oh, shit no! Not a bigfoot story!” Alex complained.

“Fuck off. It killed people by throwing big rocks at their heads,” Jeremiah continued in frustration.

“No, no, not a damn Sasquatch story. That’s not creepy at all,” Alex persisted.

“Ok, how about a hide behind?” Jeremiah asked.

“What’s that? Does it play peek-a-boo?” Alex laughed.

“I guess, kinda, before it rips your guts out, tough guy,” Jeremiah answered.

“I’ve heard of those,” Brady intervened. “My dad told me about those, they supposedly killed loggers and shit.”

“Yeah, that’s them.”

“They could hide behind any tree, or something like that,” Brady said and then yawned.

“I’m getting too tired. Honestly, I can’t hold my eyes open. Story time will have to continue tomorrow night,” he complained and stood, stretching his arms, cringing when his palms ached once more.

“Bunch of sissies!” Alex scoffed.

“He’s right, let’s get some sleep,” Jeremiah said.

They retreated into the old cabin they planned on sleeping in; it was a one room shack standing on a remote plot of land for almost a hundred years, it was dusty and had no amenities like electricity or running water but it had a fireplace and it was protection from the elements. They didn’t bother lighting the hearth. It didn’t feel very cold within the rickety cabin walls, especially with the amount of alcohol they’d consumed bringing comfortable warmth to their bodies.

***

Jeremiah tossed and turned, the urge to take a piss woke him up and now the orchestra of snores issuing from his companions kept him from going back to sleep. He wished he would have relieved himself off the porch beside Alex before climbing into his sleeping bag hours before because now he would have to go alone. He seriously considered just whipping it out and taking a leak in the corner of Carver’s Cabin but he knew Alex would only be a smart ass about it if he found out. He stood slowly, feeling his stiff back complain about sleeping on a wooden floor. He walked slowly to the only exit and pulled the door open, trying to be as silent as possible. Jeremiah stepped out onto the porch and hurriedly unzipped his pants. He let his stream go right off the side of the porch; a shiver went through him as he emptied his bladder onto the black dirt below. His eyes rolled back a bit and then focused as he forced himself to hurry it along. Out in the forest, the dry snapping of a twig made him jump, a sprinkle of urine bounced back at him as his stream hit the wooden railing of the deck.

“Fuck!” he cursed himself and stepped back as he finished his business onto the rickety porch.

A nervous feeling built up in his gut as he zipped his jeans. He glanced back into the woods to see green lights by the dozens, waiting there in the tree line, this time at ground level. A thought frightened him, the way the balls of light sat, they looked to be eyes in the darkness. Jeremiah rushed back inside, throwing the door shut with shaking hands, then bolted it shut. He hurried over to the window they’d pushed open to gain entry to the cabin, and made sure it was closed. He heaved a sigh of relief, knowing no animals had access to a crowbar, the secret way inside for over forty years. Leon was the one who recommended the cabin; he had stayed there a few times when he was young, with his father and uncles. There had always been a mutual respect for the place, all who crashed there cleaned up after themselves and didn’t really leave behind any serious damage, besides carving their names in the wooden beams supporting the roof.  Jeremiah snuggled down into his sleeping bag, his ears keen for any sounds other than his slumbering friends. His eyes searched the near absolute darkness; blue moonlight spilled in the tiny windows, casting just enough light for him to stare up at the names of so many travelers who had bedded down there. When they first arrived, Leon told them all those were the names of people who committed suicide there. After falling over laughing, they knew he was full of shit, but the possibility of the tale being partially true gave Jeremiah the creeps something terrible. Faintly, he thought he heard a scratching. There would be no other material that could produce such a sound, other than the pane of the window he stood by moments before. He lay with his sleeping bag drawn up around him to the point where only his eyes weren’t obscured, listening, his heart pounding, yet it came no more. After a few suffocating hours of exhaustion, his brain finally allowed him to drift off into a light sleep.

NIGHT TWO

Jeremiah refused to sit beside the fire outside, he claimed his stomach was upset from the sandwich he ate for dinner.

“You guys were really hard on him,” Brady said.

“Don’t scold me!” Alex said.

“Come on, we were only joking,” Leon laughed.

“He was being serious. He really thought he heard noises outside last night, and you two told him he was a pussy. How much fun do you think he’s gonna have now?” Brady asked.

“Ok. I will apologize,” Leon said. “Look, we got him a gift. Call it an olive branch.”

He held up a couple long, pale pieces of slender wood. “We found a small one and cut it down so he could make a few more walking sticks. We even cut the pieces into the perfect length.”

“See, that’s what friends do. I can’t believe you guys can be such assholes.”

Jeremiah heard the conversation and relented. He stepped outside, still feigning stomach problems.

“Look what we brought back for you!” Leon said and held up four lengths of aspen wood before throwing them down on a pile of others.

“Thank you,” Jeremiah said with a smile.

“We even found a herd of dead deer out there. You could get their antlers before we go and sell them, along with those walking sticks.” Alex added, “You should have seen it, Brady, they were fucking stripped of their flesh and guts, just a pile of skeletons! I bet it was the work of some poachers up here.”

“Hey, you could go get some whole skeletons! Running River would give you at least a couple hundred for them!” Brady suggested.

The gesture set everything straight between the young men and Jeremiah even forgot the fear he’d felt the night before; he scolded himself for looking like such a chicken in front of his friends.

“Can I get a beer?” he asked. “My stomachache is going away.”

***

The sky above the trees faded into a grey violet as the sun set. The friends were busy telling their best stories about girls, most of which were exaggerated, their laughter echoing through the trees standing like a silent audience to the boasting. The night descended around them as they drank more, the beer Leon’s aunt bought for them was nearly gone, but they still had something special for the third and last night of their senior getaway, a bottle of tequila.

“Now, I think it’s time for some spooky stories,” Alex announced. “No chickening out, no going to sleep,” he added and looked over at Brady, who he blamed for ending the festivities the night before.

“Alright,” Leon said.

“Where did we leave off?” Brady asked, rolling his eyes.

“The hide behinds,” Jeremiah answered, without an ounce of enthusiasm in his voice.

“Well, go on,” Alex said.

“They are an ancient Indian legend,” Jeremiah said, “their bodies are so skinny they can hide in the shadows and behind the trunks of trees.”

“And you said they eat people’s guts, right?” Alex prodded, his voice mocking, like an older kid making fun of someone desperately trying to look cool.

Jeremiah could feel the pretense of being buddies again was false, for Alex anyway, he was blossoming into the asshole he usually was. Jeremiah wasn’t sure he could handle it without throwing blows after not sleeping, and spending most of the day confused as to what really took place while his friends slept around him. Brady could feel it, too, and halted the conversation by asking Alex to regale them with a scary story of his own. Jeremiah felt the burning in his flushed cheeks subside as Alex obliged them. He told a story of an old woman who died in his house before his family moved in, it was complete bullshit but it dropped the situation back down to a tolerable level, so Jeremiah sat silently drinking. The others talked and laughed, yet his attention was drawn back to the woods, to the treetops, where he swore he could see a flash of green.

“I’m going to go lay down. I think my stomachache is coming back,” he said and, luckily, Alex didn’t automatically jump his ass and call him a pussy, he was far too busy trying to convince Brady a ghost of an old woman had locked him in the bathroom one night.

Jeremiah made sure to relieve himself only feet from his friends before walking back into the cabin alone. The campfire was only around twenty yards from the door of the old shack and he could hear their conversation plainly. He stepped onto the rickety wooden floor and hurried over to the fireplace. He made certain to put his aspen wood in a far corner before retrieving a few pine logs Leon had chopped earlier and throwing them into the empty hearth. He fumbled in the dark for the lighter fluid they’d brought along and doused the dry wood before using his cigarette lighter to ignite the fire. It crackled and popped into life as the flames chased the lines of flammable liquid across the pieces of pine. He felt his anxiety lessening by the minute. He had realized outside, his fear was growing again and the only way to get his self under control would be to go sit inside the dusty old cabin and stop staring off into the night at the fireflies as they descended on the autumn wind. Something didn’t feel right again. He told himself it was only because he wasn’t used to being outdoors very much, but he could have sworn the only time he ever saw a lightning bug was during a summer barbecue at his uncle’s house. Wasn’t it too cold for the tiny little insects out there? The voices outside were both a comfort and an intrusion as he removed his shoes and slid into his sleeping bag. He didn’t care if they made fun of him in the morning for going to bed early, he was done with being out in the chilly night. Alex’s voice grated at him, he always sounded as if he were screaming, like he didn’t know how to control the volume of his voice, and it only got worse the more he drank. Jeremiah shuffled out of his sleeping bag and walked to the door, he contemplated telling them to shut up, for some reason the voices of his friends echoing off the trees made his anxiety sky rocket. He turned back, deciding it would only cause more problems, then he saw it, the window was cracked about two inches. He recalled Brady joking how he needed to air out the cabin because Alex’s hiking shoes made the place smell like swamp thing’s asshole. It was funny then, when the sun shone brightly through the window, it lifted his spirits a bit and made him laugh, but in the darkness it terrified him. He walked slowly toward the open window, each footstep creaking beneath his weight. The slight breeze coming through felt cold, unnaturally so, in his paranoid brain. He put his hands on it and attempted to force it down, it didn’t budge. He cursed and frantically tried again; each second his arms were exposed to the minuscule opening, he worried something would reach through and grab him, even though the space would hardly accommodate the arm of a child. Jeremiah felt the window give and, at last, it allowed itself to be pushed back down into place. Jeremiah figured if it was nearly impossible to close from the inside, it would be twice as hard to open from the outside, especially since they kept the crowbar, or the “key”, inside on the floor. Remembering it gave him an idea. By the firelight he located the rusted old bar and placed it beneath his sleeping bag, within reaching distance. The feeling of it was in no way comfortable to lie on, yet it did ease his mind greatly to think he had something to defend himself with. From outside he could still hear the voices, two of them he considered friends, while the other was a loud mouth jerk he would be happy to never see again after graduation.

“He’s such a pussy!” Alex was saying.

It made anger and embarrassment bubble up inside of Jeremiah, yet he refused to move from his hiding spot.

“Making walking sticks? That’s something twelve year olds do!”

“Enough, Alex. Jeremiah has been my friend for ten years and I’m tired of you always giving him shit,” Brady said.

“Yeah, man. Ease off of him,” Leon agreed.

“Fuck all you guys,” Alex’s voice rose.

“Where are you going?” Leon asked.

“For a walk, before I end up beating the crap out of all you pussies,” Alex answered, his voice trailing off.

“Whatever, asshole,” Leon said.

“He’s always like this, such a pain in the ass,” Brady agreed.

They watched Alex disappearing into the dark, but refused to play into his childish game.

“So, how’s your relationship with Shelley?” Brady asked.

“It’s going good. She’s definitely different from the usual high school chicks.”

“Her parents are kinda weird, aren’t they?”

“I’ve never met them but from what she tells me, they’re total Nazis. We see each other at Casey’s house, mostly,” Leon said truthfully.

“She’s your cousin, right?”

“Yes, and don’t get any ideas, you horn-dog. She’d probably cut your balls off and feed them to you before letting you get in her pants.”

“Take it easy!” Brady laughed. “I actually asked Julie to the festival.”

“Nice! She’s pretty hot!” Leon said.

“We should double date, you and your girl, me and Julie.”

“It’s a deal!” Leon agreed.

***

Alex plodded through the dark, pausing at the tree line to glance back over his shoulder. Leon and Brady were still seated by the fire, unmoved by his tantrum. Fuck you both, he thought to himself and stepped into the forest. Beyond the trees it was noticeably darker, only thin shafts of blue moonlight pierced the canopy above him. He continued to hold a drunken conversation in his mind, recounting all the times Jeremiah had let him down, and how he deserved to be treated like shit on occasions. Perhaps he took it too far, sometimes, but how could he not? Jeremiah’s juvenile dreams of how life would be after graduation really chapped Alex’s ass, the kid thought he was going to make a living selling shit to some trading post. Alex spat, then searched his pockets for his pack of cigarettes. He pulled out a menthol and lit it. In the momentary flare of the tiny flame dancing atop his lighter he could see a pale flash of movement in the brush beside him. Something crashed through the thorny undergrowth, scaring a sleeping bird from its hiding spot. Alex loosed a single high-pitched, startled cry before quieting himself. He held his breath and brought the cigarette to his mouth with a trembling hand. For a second he thought, hoped, his friends had come to play a trick on him, but it wasn’t them. Long, skinny shadows darted between the trees beside him, as thin as reeds or arrow shafts, passing over the shimmering trails of moonlight. Alex began to back away, regretting leaving the comfort of the firelight and his companions. He dropped his cigarette, its smoke lingering between the shadows as he turned to run; something in his gut screamed for him to get out of the trees. He glanced up before his body reacted to the internal warning, green lights danced in the slender arms of the pines. Being in close proximity revealed something else, lithe bodies around them, they were no insects. Alex bolted, his feet unsteady beneath him as he attempted to hurry over the loose rocks and the blanket of pine needles beneath the soles of his sneakers. He hoped for a moment Jeremiah had slipped him some of his own party pills, and it was all a hallucination, but the way they moved and the clarity of the creatures climbing down the trees was far too real, a horrifying truth bearing down on him. The tree line before him glowed with green light, closing off his exit; dread stopped him from retreating any further toward his only escape. They advanced, stepping into the shafts of moonlight, their skin a pale white, eyes like balls of green flame. They were humanoid, nearly skeletal, some bore filthy ratted strings of black hair on their scalps. Their mouths were filled with jagged black fangs, and their fingers tipped with pointed nails, the tools of a predatory hunter, a meat eater. He could feel those green eyes searching him, slipping below his skin to take stock of his pounding heart and knotted stomach. They were all around him, surrounding him from every side. Alex watched those before him lowering their bodies to the ground, crouching, ready to pounce on him. A frigid cold filled his insides, his knees felt numb. He opened his mouth to scream, to warn the others lounging beside the fire, but the beast holding his terrified gaze leapt. Like a bolt of white lightning, it hit him, its claws found his gaping mouth. It wrenched his bottom jaw loose in a violent tug. Alex felt the warmth of his own blood flooding down his throat, he gagged and then aspirated it down into his lungs. It choked back any cries, turning them into the gurgling of someone drowning on their own blood. His watering eyes caught a last glimpse of the tribe of famished hunters descending upon him, tearing him to shreds while his body still lived. They broke him into pieces and shared their moonlit meal in the boughs of the swaying trees, growing more powerful, more aware of the hunger growing with each bit of meat slipping down their throats. They would soon grow beyond ravenous. They would need to venture out in search of more living flesh.

***

Jeremiah laid in his sleeping bag, his mind would never forget the sound of something scraping at the thin windowpane, the eye shine in the forest while he nearly pissed down his own leg. He wasn’t sure if he could stand another day and night out there in the secluded forests. It would cause him some serious verbal, and possibly physical, abuse by Alex but he planned on asking to leave in the morning. The other two might buy his story of food poisoning, and take them far away from the cabin and the feeling of being watched, of being hunted. He didn’t even dare hike out to the aspen trees again; his plans of making more walking sticks would be no more. His instincts bid him to stay away from those deep woods. He was terrified they weren’t alone out there at all. He wiggled down deep into the warm bag, like a mummy once more, with his face staring into the lit fireplace. It occasionally popped and spat tiny embers out on the stones edging the hearth as a safety precaution for the shack catching on fire. Jeremiah jumped nervously but settled quickly when he heard a sound. His heart raced, it was the same high-pitched scraping he’d heard the night before. He swallowed over the lump in his throat and tried to discern the scratching. It could have been coming from somewhere else, causing his over active imagination to go wild with thoughts of long claws against the window, the nails of a hungry beast, trying to gain access to the fresh meat hidden within a lightweight sleeping bag. Jeremiah considered calling out to his friends, they would surely hear him, but a scraping sound above him silenced him. He buried himself deeper into his only sanctuary, the fire was dying and its faint light no longer held the pretense of protection. He could feel eyes on him as he trembled in the bag, feeling as if he’d suffocate in his own rapid exhalations. He refused to climb out until sweat beaded on his forehead and his breathing became stifling. Beneath his shoulder something jutted into his skin, he remembered then, the old crowbar. It took every ounce of bravery he had left in him to sneak his hand out into the cool air of the cabin and fumble beneath the sleeping bag. His hand gripped it, it steeled his nerves. Jeremiah sat up and freed his upper body from the mummy bag and looked around, crowbar ready to defend himself with deadly force. His eyes roved every inch of the cabin but found nothing, he thought he was alone. He lowered his weapon, embarrassment and confusion swelling to a sickening degree inside him. The scraping sounded again, it made his heart stutter and he yelped like a frightened child. It came from above him. He looked up and, hanging amidst the beams, among the names of all who had visited the secluded cabin, hung a thing with white skin, so white it looked like the flesh of a dead man. Its claws were dug into the wood and it clung there with supernatural ease, its mouth split in a drooling smile of rotten teeth. Jeremiah struggled to free his legs, he didn’t care if he was barefoot, he wanted to run for the campfire, for the protection of his friends. The boney creature scampered across the ceiling and down the far wall, into the darkness. It seemed to disappear in the black corner where his aspen limbs were propped. Jeremiah scooted backwards, trying to pull his legs from the sleeping bag. A short, rasping growl drew his eyes back to see it was hiding there, behind the slender aspen rods. Its body had retracted in to stand, impossibly thin, behind the bundle of cut branches. Its pale flesh blended in with the long white tree limbs, imperfections in its skin camouflaged it against the mottled bark. Jeremiah wondered for the span of a stuttered heart beat if he had called this nightmare into reality by telling his story of the hide-behinds, his thoughts quickly changed to survival when the thing made its move. His feet were still tangled in the sleeping bag, causing him to trip as he attempted to stand; he fell onto his stomach, stealing the breath from his lungs. The thing came, raking its claws across the floor, then gripped his trapped ankles in the sleeping bag. Jeremiah felt himself being pulled back across the splintered floor. He was rolled over, its hideous face loomed over him, its irises up close looked clouded over, like the eyes of the dead, yet behind them shimmered a brilliant green. Jeremiah pulled himself back down into the sleeping bag, hoping it would just go away, praying he would wake up to find none of it was real. The opening above his head closed, held by strong hands. Jeremiah panicked, feeling the grip of suffocation settling over him again. He screamed but knew it was dampened in the down-lined interior of the bag. His heart sank as he felt himself being dragged across the floor toward the window he’d found open. He kicked his legs, but it was hopeless to break the creature’s grip. He cried out as the bag was slammed against the wall. He popped his head out to see the hunter lifting the window open with ease, its body appeared frail yet it had the strength of a ravenous predator, refusing to yield its hard-won meal. It turned angrily to the human and struck Jeremiah in the face, its claw tore a hole through his right cheek, then forced him back into the bag, before hauling him out through the window and onto the jagged stones beneath it. Jeremiah could hear the distant voices of Brady and Leon; they were in the middle of some drowsy conversation, drunken nonsense. His heart filled with defeat. The sensation of being pulled along, cocooned within the bag, caused him to wet himself. The sensation of warmth from blood tracing down his cheek and urine in his pants was a reminder he would soon find the endless cold of death. His life would end in an agonizing manner.

NIGHT THREE

The pool crept under the door, stretching out wide and red by the light of the dying fire. Leon watched it growing, knowing the horrid truth it signified. Jeremiah wasn’t a superstitious sissy, he was right all along. Leon and Brady assumed Jeremiah and Alex had joined forces to prank them; they thought their buddies were hiding in the woods, plotting to frighten the two left in the cabin, but as dusk fell, they began to worry.

Leon crawled to the fireplace and began feeding it what was left of the wood he’d collected; knowing damn well it wouldn’t be enough. The cabin was dark but for the glow coming from the hearth, the shadow of the mounted deer head above the mantle loomed over him. Leon no longer laughed at the long dead animal, its glass eyes mocking him as he cowered in the small circle of light for safety. He and Brady had covered the windows with their jackets and duct tape, yet his eyes darted between them. He knew, beyond them, darkness was swallowing the hilltop and the cabin, night had come to transform the forest. He had come there many times since he was a child, spent hours out among the trees. It was his escape from everything tormenting him, but now it was changed. A creaking above him told him something was there. He didn’t dare hope it wouldn’t find him inside, not after Brady’s blood came creeping beneath the door. How could something so childish lead to this? Dust billowed down the chimney from the flue, followed by high-pitched screeching. Whatever it was, it was trying to get in. Leon crawled across the floor and crouched beneath the window. The truck was only a short distance away, yet it was through a heavy stretch of woods and notorious for being a piece of shit. It was there Brady was attempting to get to, but he obviously never made it. Leon pulled his sweater away from the windowpane just enough to get a glimpse outside. The trees were filled with green lights, the same his friend’s blamed on fireflies, until their numbers began to grow. The cooler was beside him, empty now and half filled with water from the melted ice left from their partying. He slammed his fist against it and cursed; if they hadn’t been so wasted, maybe the whole idea of telling ghost stories wouldn’t have come about, and Alex wouldn’t have walked off on his own. He stared at Brady’s blood…the poor bastard. It was Jeremiah’s idea to cut down the aspen trees, the atmosphere changed then, the forest itself changed. He swore the forestry service would never know it was them, and the area was so remote there wouldn’t be any witnesses, but there were, from somewhere far beyond their comprehension. He kicked the cooler and it toppled over, spilling its contents. A bottle of tequila clinked as it hit the wooden floor. Leon picked it up as one of the windows was battered from the outside, broken glass and his shitty makeshift curtains fell to the floor. Leon grabbed the bottle of liquor and tossed it into the fireplace, it burst into a ball of fire. It instantly ignited and leapt out onto the cabin floor. He ran to the only intact window and waited as screeching filled the night; the door trembled on its hinges as hungry cries issued from the other side. The blaze grew quickly, its intensity stole Leon’s breath. It crackled at his back as he stood and prepared to break the last window out. He ripped the tape and denim jacket away, recalling how he and Brady never quite understood why they hung them there. The intense feeling of being watched from the darkness had filled them with dread, and the green lights amassing in the trees made them scramble not to be seen. He came nearly face to face with the source of their paranoia, only a thin sheet of antique glass separating them. Its face was marred by an unnaturally large maw housing jagged, black teeth. Its skin was a sickly pale shade, with small black knots scarring it, like the hide of something dead and buried for years. Its eyes, they glowed green, the same shade they had mistaken for lazy lightning bugs. It brought its long, clawed fingers up to scratch at the glass. Leon fell to his knees, preferring his body to be consumed by the flames racing up his pant legs. The burning was a pain he had never dared imagine, yet his cries were short-lived as the fire hungrily swallowed him in a matter of minutes.

Chapter Two

Russell sat in his favorite chair on his back porch, watching the stars and smoking a cheap cigarette. Rosco came though the doggy door; the poor overweight wiener dog/Bassett hound mix waddled over to paw at its master’s leg.

“What do you want, Chunky?” Russell teased.

The dog whined and clawed at the old man’s knee-high socks. He bent over and, with a little effort, he picked his dog up and held it in his lap, watching the swaying trees of the forest bordering his property. The mountain rose up against the violet sky, shadowing the rising moon. Russell took a long drag from his cigarette and exhaled the smoke as his dog laid its head down on the armrest of his chair. Russell caught the smell of something burning. He forced Rosco out of his lap and searched all around to see if his cigarette had accidentally set anything on fire. After catching his bathrobe on fire a few months before, he wasn’t going to ignore the stench, but then knew it had nothing to do with him as it grew in intensity. He squinted as a thin curtain of smoke meandered into his backyard.

“Forest fire!” he worried out loud.

Russell went to the phone in the tiny kitchen of his single wide trailer and dialed the fire department down in Brush Mill. Maxine answered and he cleared his throat before speaking; if it wasn’t an emergency, he would have hung up on the bitch after gossiping about how he nearly lit his own ass on fire when his cigarette ignited his bathrobe.

“It’s Russell Monroe, I think there might be a fire up here, I can smell smoke.”

“You sure it ain’t your pants again?” she teased.

It took everything in him to hold back the response he wanted to give her, instead he just said, “Tell Archie to get up here!” then hung up the phone. He hesitated by the sink, below it was his secret stash. The fire Marshall couldn’t smell whisky on his breath again, not after the last incident, but he figured if he swished with a little mouth wash it would mask the stink of drunkard. The old man’s hands shook as he retrieved the bottle and unscrewed the lid. He grabbed a small cup from the clean dishes side of his sink; he was fooling himself thinking the little cup would do the job. He filled the glass and swallowed its contents, without hesitation.

“Just one more,” he said down to Rosco, who eyed the old man with knowing in his eyes; even as an animal, he knew his master would soon be a slurring fool if he didn’t abate.

“What are you looking at?” Russell asked Rosco. “I need it for my nerves; you remember how they laughed at me last time, called the medics up here to bandage up my burned ass cheeks.” He huffed and downed his second glass.

Russell carried the bottle out the back door to get another look at the gathering smoke; the moon had risen up over the mountaintop and illuminated a blanket of smoke coming from somewhere high on the mountain.

“Looks like Carver’s cabin,” the old man said. “Damn kids probably partying up there, smoking their drugs and causing trouble.”

The dog huffed and sprawled out on the porch, ready to go to sleep.

“You’d sleep through the apocalypse,” the old man said and opened his bottle to have himself another drink.

***

Archie Lane arrived with his crew fifteen minutes later to find Russell asleep on his back porch, with his dog snoring beside of him. Smoke did hang in the air and as Archie surveyed the mountaintop, he could see the bright orange illumination of a fire in the forest.

“Call it in, let dispatch know we’re heading up there. If it gets any bigger, we’re gonna need help,” he spoke to his right hand man, Clarence.

“Will do, Captain,” the young man answered.

“Wake the old man up and take him inside, we’re heading up the mountain,” Archie instructed the other two men and Clara, Maxine’s daughter.

“He won’t be very happy to see me,” she said. “After my mom runnin’ her mouth.”

“This’ll teach him to drink so damn much, get movin’!” Archie said.

***

They drove down the dirt road; it was usually maintained by the forestry service. It was a rough ride, yet the large engine made it in a matter of a couple of hours. Carver’s cabin was a flaming skeleton, a total loss.

“Goddamnit!” Archie cursed.

“That’s a landmark,” Clarence spoke. “Over two hundred years old, named after the town founder, Harold Carver.”

“Thanks for the history lesson,” Randy spoke sarcastically, his disdain for being out in the middle of nowhere, the night before his daughter’s wedding, was evident.

“Let’s get this under control, those state boys should be here soon,” Archie said.

“You mean in the morning, once we’ve done all the shitty work,” Randy grumbled.

“Get on the hose and stop your bitchin’,” Archie snapped. “We ain’t gonna have enough water to kill this completely, so those boys better get here quick.”

The blaze roared, sizzling the surrounding trees, a few had already caught fire.

“We’re going to be fucked!” Clara spoke.

“We have to contain it as much as possible,” her boss hollered over the sounds of the truck. The radio squawked behind him as his small crew began the battle against the blaze, he recognized the voice; it was Daniel from the hot shot crew.

“Hold it down, we can give you support, but it will take time…looks like you’ll have to call the water man.”

Archie ran for the radio to respond. “Don’t make me call him, Dan.”

“I’m tryin’, brother, but that’s your only option right now,” Dan answered.

“You know we can call Richard, why wait until morning? We don’t have enough in the tank to put this out completely,” Clara cried over the blasting hose.

The fire chief realized the truth to his subordinate’s words.

“You don’t want this getting out of hand, burning down half the damn mountain,” she added in frustration.

“Alright, get him up here,” the chief relented.

***

Richard “the water man” Billings was always on call. His business filling water tanks for citizens was booming during the drought they had been experiencing. His phone rang well after dark, which wasn’t out of the ordinary, but what did surprise him was who needed his water.

“I can be there in an hour and forty minutes,” he answered the local fire crew. “Keep it under control until then.”

Richard arrived to see the truck spitting out its last gallons onto a blaze engulfing Carver’s cabin and a few of the trees beside it. He grinned; the fire chief would owe him big-time for coming out in the middle of nowhere to empty one of his tankers on the rat trap of a shack.

“Probably some dope pipe that lit her up,” he said to himself in the dark cab of his tanker.

Archie shook his head and knew by the smirk on Richard’s face he would never hear the end of it.

“State boys are busy in Arizona, right?”

“Yup. Sent the hot shot units there three days ago.”

“Well, let’s hook up and knock that fire down,” Richard said.

The tanker was used as a secondary water supply and was nearly emptied before the blaze was out, then the crew set about making sure it wouldn’t reignite.

“It’s quiet out here,” Richard commented.

“Everything fled the fire, even the fireflies,” Archie said, pointing to the green lights in the distant trees.

“Fireflies? It’s the wrong time of the year, city boy,” Archie said.

“I know what I saw,” Richard said, pointing his meaty finger in the direction of the lights.

“I don’t see anything,” the fire chief said.

The water man looked back in the direction of the glowing green orbs and rubbed his eyes.

“Must be seeing things.”

“I saw something earlier, too, little green lights in the trees,” Clara said, wiping her hair away from her sweaty forehead.

“Could have been eye shine, maybe the fire reflecting off opossum eyes.”

“Maybe,” she answered.

“CHIEF!” Randy cried.

Archie ran to see what his employee was staring at; by the truck lights he could see the remains of a person, flesh charred to their bones. Clarence came to stand beside him and crossed himself at the sight of the steam rising from the ashen cabin and the corpse of some poor soul inside.

“People party up here sometimes, usually respectfully, and then go about their way, poor fella,” he spoke.

“Call the coroner and investigators up here,” Archie said somberly.

***

Amber read the newspaper to herself while sipping a morning cup of coffee.

“Carver’s cabin burned down, they found a body inside of it,” she read aloud.

Shelley froze before the sink, her heart silently breaking. For a long time she didn’t speak, her mom cleared her throat and lit a cigarette. “I wonder who it was?”

A cold tremor went through Shelley’s body and for a moment she couldn’t feel her legs. She fought back tears and a painful lump in her throat before walking into the living room, keeping her back to her mother, knowing her facial expression would give it all away. Her phone vibrated in her pocket, she knew it would be Casey, spreading the terrible news. She didn’t answer it, there was no way she could keep herself in control, and her mother’s eyes were still on her.

“You ok, Shell?” Amber asked.

“I’m fine, I just feel sick to my stomach today.”

“Your period?”

“Probably,” she answered her mom.

“Go rest a little bit. I’ll let you know when Dale will be by.”

“Ok,” Shelley said and walked down the hallway to her bedroom, still feeling the odd combination of cold and numbness that realization brings.

She managed to keep her tears inside long enough to shut her door, before falling into the pillows on her bed and releasing long sobs. He was there, in Carver’s cabin; was the body they found his? He would never know he was going to be a father.

***

Police tape traced a yellow border around what was then considered a crime scene.

“A truck was found down the hill a little ways.”

“Why wasn’t it parked over here by the cabin? They managed to get a fire truck close enough to put the flames out.”

“The hood wasn’t shut completely, looks like they had some engine trouble.”

“How many missing?” Detective Daniel Petrucci asked.

“Three out of four,” his partner, Christine Tenser, answered. “Four males, eighteen years of age, here for a weekend of drinking.”

She read over her notes. “It’s a small town, there were quite a few who knew about this little camp out. One of the young men’s relatives called when the paper reported the body.”

“Fuckin’ leeches,” Petrucci said, he was no fan of the press.

“I know. We didn’t really have time to speak to the families first, they read most of the details in the paper. I can’t imagine how their loved ones feel,” Christine replied.

“Especially with three of them missing, they’ll either think they killed their buddy and torched the place…or their brothers’ corpses are out here somewhere in the trees,” Petrucci said.

“I would lean toward the latter, unless these boys took off down the mountain on foot. The search crews have come up empty-handed.”

Baying in the distance drew their attention away from their conversation. “The dog is here,” she said.

“You lead the team, I’m going to take a closer look around the cabin, so far it’s only gotten a look-see by the local boys,” Petrucci said.

“I’m on it,” she answered.

Chapter Three

The dog seemed excited from the start, leaping to the end of his leash and growling. He was a blue tick named Elroy. He had a reputation for having the greatest nose in the area. The handler released him, after giving him a sniff of one of the missing men’s t-shirts found in the cab of the truck. Elroy bayed and kept his snout to the ground as he trotted into the forest beside the burned down cabin. Detective Tenser followed quickly along as the dog made its way deeper into the trees.

“He’s on to something,” a handler by the name of Charles said. His comment seemed obvious to the detective beside him, yet she restrained from answering him with her usual sarcasm.

They let the dog lead them while they kept their steps measured and careful, not wanting to step on any evidence. Elroy hurried down a beaten hiking path, then turned and powered into the brush, the humans behind him, trying to keep up with him. A team of men had combed the forest but didn’t recover anything useful; Tenser hoped the dog would have better luck. The hound disappeared in the thick undergrowth, his sniffing and growling sounded farther and farther from its handler, who didn’t seem concerned with the dog’s behavior.

“He’s getting too far ahead of us,” the detective worried aloud.

“Don’t worry any, Elroy is a loyal dog. He won’t run off,” Charles answered.

“Maybe he’s distracted by another animal?”

“He’s all about business, ma’am,” Charles said. “Look, there he is, under that old pine tree.”

Detective Tenser nodded, the hound was stopped at the trunk of a tree, fifty yards away, baying and scratching. She brought her hand to the pistol on her hip and advanced toward the area holding Elroy’s attention.

“Does he hunt anything else?” she asked.

“He has.”

“Maybe he treed an opossum?” she spoke.

The tree the hound was focused on had no limbs low enough for a human to utilize.

“He’s looking for blood, not opossums,” Charles answered, a bit perturbed by the lack of confidence shown by the woman detective.

Elroy howled and fidgeted nervously, his gaze fixed farther up into the tree, where the sparse limbs jutted out nearly twenty feet in the air. He turned to his master and back to the tree, scratching its bark with the claws in his front paws.

“Somethin’s up there,” Charles spoke quietly over Tenser’s shoulder.

She drew her weapon and held it up, scanning the tree with her eyes, expecting a squirrel to skitter down its trunk at any minute. They took a few steps closer and Charles whistled to calm his hound. The dog seemed agitated, but fell silent at his master’s side.

“Stay here,” the detective said.

She advanced slowly, her gun lifted before her. She was a few paces away when her nose filled with the scent of iron, it was unmistakable. Though it seemed impossible, she knew she would find blood. Her line of sight was fixed no higher than what she thought a man could climb, thinking perhaps one of them attempted to scramble up the tree but was unsuccessful, maybe shredding their skin in the process but when she noticed a dark, sticky line tracing its way down the tree from the limbs far above her, the detective knew she had found more than just a little blood. Tenser holstered her gun and stuck a gloved finger into the coagulating line, confirming her suspicion.

“Happens a lot. Search parties go out, but they tend not to look up,” Charles spoke. “Not that high, anyway.”

“What the hell is going on?” she spoke more to herself.

“Mountain lions can climb a tree in seconds, maybe one of them had dinner up there,” he answered, bringing a grisly picture to her mind.

“Maybe it’s not even human blood?” he asked.

“We won’t know until we get it analyzed,” she answered, lifting the radio she had on her hip to her mouth.

***

Sheriff Reynolds came from the old school, had weathered the days of when a select group of citizens didn’t believe a man of his skin tone could work in law enforcement, let alone become top dog. He’d silenced most by proving them wrong, while others got a taste of his take-no-shit attitude. He was in his late fifties, white and grey peppering his black hair and mustache, but with the build of a line backer, he held a powerful presence.

“Detective,” he said, extending his hand to Petrucci. “We’ve been on this since before dawn, it was reported by our fire crew after putting out the blaze. I have a team searching the forests, but they haven’t turned anything up on the other three…yet.”

“We were sent here at a request by your mayor,” the detective spoke, answering the question in the sheriff’s eyes as to what brought them out so quickly.

“Yes, Mayor Barton. He was really disturbed by this.”

“Understandable,” Detective Petrucci said.

“Let’s get down to business,” Sheriff Reynolds spoke, leading the state investigator closer to the scene.

“My partner went out with your man and his dog just a bit ago.”

“She’s in good hands, that’s the best dog this side of the mountains.”

“Any idea as to what went on?” Detective Petrucci asked.

“Not yet, but things won’t stay hidden long,” Reynolds answered.

“They never do,” Petrucci agreed.

“You’re absolutely right,” the sheriff said.

“You probably knew these young men.”

“I did,” Sheriff Reynolds answered and halted.

“Did they strike you as the violent type?” Detective Petrucci asked. He knew it was a shot in the dark, if the sheriff had any notions about the victim or his missing companions, there wouldn’t have been a reason to call for assistance.

“Off the record, no,” Reynolds answered as they returned to edging the scene of the burned cabin. “I will help you dig deeper into their lives, but I don’t think this was murder, none of them had so much as a traffic ticket. Just a bunch of high school seniors, up here blowing off steam.”

Petrucci walked carefully yet couldn’t help getting the sooty mud of the extinguished fire all over his shoes. He rounded the side of the burned skeleton of the cabin and stood beside Sheriff Reynolds. “I remember the layout of the place; it’s been a party spot ever since I was a young man.”

“Looks like he died right beneath the window,” Reynolds spoke. “Why didn’t he just climb out, instead of being burnt alive?”

“It won’t be conclusive until the coroner’s report,” Petrucci noted.

“You’re right, but look how his hand seems to be extended upward, like he wanted to, but didn’t.”

“What kept him in there, or who?” Petrucci asked.

“Hard to say.”

“Maybe we’re not looking at a party gone wrong, maybe someone else crashed their party.”

“Where are the others, then?” the sheriff asked.

The dog howled in the distance wildly, it was on to something. The two law men turned their heads in the direction of the commotion. “It takes more than man, sometimes.”

The radio hanging on detective Petrucci’s hip crackled and his partner’s voice came through, staticky and broken, yet they understood her message, “Somethin’ in the treetops…blood.”

***

Detective Petrucci and Sheriff Reynolds met the forestry service near the area the fire truck and tanker had parked to extinguish the blaze. The drab green truck had a ladder attached to it, longer than any Archie had on hand. They needed a way of seeing the source of the blood in the heights of the tree; it was in a densely forested area, far out of reach of any ladder truck.  Petrucci volunteered to brave the ladder when his partner and the sheriff both seemed reluctant.

“I’ll go up. Give me some gloves and something to carry back a sample in.”

Tenser already collected a swab from lower down the tree, yet they were all aware something was up in the branches, something bleeding; they couldn’t just leave without finding the source. Petrucci ascended the ladder. With each rung he was drawn to the first set of tree limbs, blood clung thick to the bark. Petrucci continued upward until his head rose above the bloody branch. The amount of it was a sign of fatal wounds. How did it get into the tree so high? It wasn’t the work of human violence. Petrucci scanned the twisted limb of the pine, his breath catching in his throat when his eyes fell on a face hanging from a nearby twig, randomly dripping blood as the mountain air passed through the empty holes where eyes should have been. The flesh had been stripped from the skull, a portion of the scalp also remained, blond hair dirtied with red-brown blood.

“We got something up here,” he announced.

“Did any of our missing boys have blond hair?”

“Yes, sir. Alex Stern.”

“I think we found him, or what’s left of him,” Petrucci said solemnly.

“This operation has turned from a search into a recovery, get the dog out here again and see if any of these other trees have any surprises in them,” he spoke down to the horrified group.

***

Charles was shaking internally while he followed Elroy deeper into the forest with the detectives behind them, the dog’s hair stood up in a ridge along its spine. Charles felt it too, like eyes were on him. The forest had changed, it was no longer the place he used to escape to so he could forget his memories of foreign lands and killing. It was filled with the shadow of death, and not the natural kind ecosystems required to continue, it was brutal and senseless murder; a darkness had stained the land. Elroy howled and barked and advanced into low brush, his nose to the ground. He pawed at the dying undergrowth. The forest floor was carpeted in dry pine needles, the branches were shedding their leaves. It made the search difficult with the naked eye of a man, but the nose of the hound could not be eluded. Charles whistled and Elroy came to his side as Detectives Petrucci and Tenser carefully pulled away the dormant brush. He nodded back to Reynolds and Tommy.

“There are a couple fingers over here.”

“Down there.” Detective Tenser lifted a shaking finger, down the hill; in the brush was more bones, stained with blood, but free of any tissue.

“We found the rest of them,” Petrucci announced.

“Look at these markings in the soil,” Warden Andrews pointed out.

“I don’t see anything,” a volunteer on the search team said.

“In the dirt there, looks like  claw marks.”

“What made them?”

“Can’t say for sure, possibly a cougar,” the warden answered, “The remains of the bodies down there in the brush could possibly be its food stash.”

The detectives came to collect the evidence and mark the claw marks on a map of the area; half the mountainside was now a crime scene. Elroy led them a little further, but stopped as the dirt dropped out from under them in a slope. They stood at the forest’s edge and a little ways below them raised a stand of Aspen trees. The dog whined, tucked his tail between his legs, and cowered in the dirt.

“What’s down there?” Detective Petrucci asked.

“That’s the edge of the reservation,” Warden Andrew answered. “Those trees mark some sort of burial ground.”

“Get your dog up, let’s keep moving,” Sheriff Reynolds said.

Charles felt his hands trembling; Elroy had never acted in such a way. “I think he’s finished.”

“Are you sure?” Reynolds asked.

“He’s done smelling death today,” Charles said, watching his dog carefully as a small puddle of urine gathered beneath its hind end. “There ain’t any more to find, or he’d be on his feet.”

“He’s right, sheriff. We need permission to do any investigating on tribal land,” the warden said.

“We’ll get it, if we have to.”

***

Jarred lugged the bail of straw, his arms straining, yet he attempted to keep his face from showing it. The trailer was only halfway full of the decorations needed to adorn the town square in a matter of days. He managed to get it to the opened steel door before it slipped out of his violet hands.

“Need some help, Jarred?” Eric asked.

“No, I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” Eric joked. His remarks always seemed to hit a nerve, and he knew it.

Jarred spun back around and went to grab another bale of straw, his arms itched and ached from bearing the load of the first one. The props were all stacked up outside of the high school auditorium, waiting to be hauled to the staging area. Both Eric and Jarred were seniors, but Eric towered over Jarred, making him look more like a freshman. Jarred was on edge, usually Eric didn’t get the best of him, but he knew Julie was watching from the overhang of the auditorium building, her dark sunglasses shading her even darker eyes. He wanted to impress her, show her he could stand up to the impossible standard guys like Eric set. Why would she agree to be his date to the Fall Festival if she saw him as nothing more than a buddy or a little brother?

Jarred’s hands were still screaming from carrying the first straw bale and the sweat building in his armpits would soon be embarrassingly noticeable.

“Jarred, can you help me inside for a moment?” It was Ms. Clark, the voice of his savior.

He turned quickly with a grin. “Sure, Ms. Clark!”

“I need you to bag up the lighting equipment. I don’t trust anyone else with that job.”

She was middle aged and sweet, reminded Jarred of a mom from a 90s sitcom television show.

Jarred could feel his face burning as he walked by Julie and she waved to him. He wanted so badly to ask her then, but at the same time he dreaded it more than anything.

Chapter Four

“What carries its prey into a tree?” Petrucci asked a game warden.

“Big cats, though mountain lions really aren’t classified as such, we’ve got a few in the area,” he answered without hesitation. “They aren’t as rare up in these parts as people believe, they’re just incredibly elusive.”

“Big cats don’t burn down cabins, though,” Petrucci said.

“You’re right and it’s out of character for a big cat to attack groups of people, unless this was surplus killing.”

“Surplus killing?”

“When an animal kills more than it really needs to eat, leaving some behind.”

“Could it be sick, have rabies, maybe?” Tenser asked.

“We haven’t had any reported cases in this area but I can’t really leave it out as a possibility. Though it’s really unlikely we’re going to proceed that way.”

“Well, this is definitely an unusual case,” Tenser commented. “We need to rule out anything we can.”

“We didn’t find any sign of a cougar being the culprit of the killings, the claw marks don’t mean it hunted those boys, but we’ll send out some scouts to be positive.”

***

Charles kept Elroy in the cab of his truck but hesitated at the slender, pale branch lying beside a used, littered campfire ring. He stepped closer to get a better look, there was no mistaking it was aspen wood; one of the young men had attempted to whittle it into a walking stick while sitting by the fire. Beer cans and cigarette butts dirtied the dark mountain soil, along with a few candy bar wrappers and an empty trail mix bag. He wasn’t superstitious by nature but it reminded him of a story his grandfather used to tell him about those mountains, a ghost story of sorts, it used to frighten him as a child and caused him a few sleepless nights while camping out. The aspen trees were sacred to the local tribes; many claimed they should never be cut down, unless the man bearing the axe was prepared for the consequences. He turned and climbed back into his truck and spoke to Elroy, as he often did.

“Shall we go visit the chief?” he asked his faithful hound.

The dog whined but laid itself down in the seat. Charles knew Elroy was acting odd ever since he was freed on the scene. The dog knew something his master did not and it bothered Charles a bit; he hadn’t seen his dog act so peculiarly. He turned the key to his ignition and slowly drove away from the scene. They passed by the old Ford truck Brady always drove; he lived just down the street from Charles. It made him sick to think of the young man’s mother learning her son was lost. She must have been driven crazy by grief and the agonizing sense of not knowing where the hell her son was. Charles felt for his can of Copenhagen in the seat beside him. This was the kind of day a cigarette would suit him better but he hadn’t smoked in three months, the chewing tobacco was helping a little bit, though he knew his doctor would only roll her eyes and tell him it was as nasty a habit as sucking on cancer sticks.

“You won’t tell on me, right, boy?” He questioned the dog, who didn’t answer either way.

“What’s got your tail in a knot anyway?” he asked. “What did you smell up here?”

He drove on down the mountain road, passing by a train of sheriff cars. They were bringing more up to join the search of the trees. Elroy had hit on a few more places of interest, but Charles couldn’t stomach anymore of the grisly Easter egg hunt, his dog did its job and all Charles wanted to do was drink until he forgot ever being at Carver’s cabin. He sped up as he hit the main highway, if he hurried he could still make it to happy hour down at Lulu’s; a plate of chili fries and a couple cold beers would do him good until he could run by the liquor store. If he got drunk enough, he’d stop in the trading post and see Running River, but the conversation would take a whole lot of booze to incite. He just hoped he didn’t get so trashed he couldn’t explain to his longtime friend how something in the forest left him with a rotten feeling inside. Neither were the type to talk about beings of other worlds, or superstitious mumbo jumbo, but he knew River’s ancestors would know a lot more than Charles’ country ass when it came to the legend of the aspen trees, and the feeling of a hunter stalking Charles and his dog. He knew the detectives and the forestry men would go searching for a big cat, and probably find one eventually, but Charles grew up in the presence of predators, had hunted his entire life, and his heart told him with certainty this was not the doing of any mountain lion. He rolled down the window to smell the mountain air and grabbed an empty soda can to spit a brown stream of tobacco juices into it. He glanced over at the passing highway, watching the pines blur by him until he came within view of the small town of Brush Mill, it was then he noticed how fast he had been driving, his need to get off Carver’s Mountain was nearly unbearable.

***

Rena waited beside the entrance of town square; she adjusted her suit jacket and ran her fingers through her short red hair. Paul approached, carrying her microphone, and smiled, “You look lovely.”

“As always,” she replied.

“They’re going to make the announcement within the hour, we have a few other stations on scene but we’ve been promised the first round of questions.”

“Thank you, Paul.”

“Don’t thank me, just do a good job, ok, this could go national. How many mountain lion attacks are reported each year? How many of those involve the deaths of four people?”

“I know, teens at that. This tragedy could captivate the country. We’ll make sure to be on scene when they begin the hunting party, when they drag the carcass of the beast home, and at the memorial services for the boys,” Rena said.

“My sources say there wasn’t really enough to bury, some bones, a handful of fingers, a scalp, bloody soil,” Paul said.

A podium was stationed in the center of the square on a small stage, a few other local media folks were milling about, waiting. They were told within a few hours an announcement would officially be made about the incident on the mountain. Tommy came out of the sheriff’s station across from the town square. He donned his brown felt cowboy hat and strode through the gathering people. Rena rushed toward him, yet kept her cool when he gave her the look. They were entangled in each other’s arms when he got the call to head up to Carver’s cabin, she gave him the usual thirty minute lead before calling Paul to tell him to get their van ready and pick her up. She knew her boyfriend could claim the local news had been using police scanners to pick up their radio activity, but she still wanted to be first on the scene to get the word to the editors at the paper, even if it got him in hot water with his boss, Sheriff Reynolds. After an entire day of speculation, Tommy finally gave her a quick call to say he’d overheard the detectives speaking with the forestry service about mountain lion attacks. She prepared an entire speech about the rarity of such attacks, yet how they weren’t entirely impossible, to give after the law enforcement’s live report to the public. A group of high school students were there and volunteered to manage the crowd, since they had already been there preparing for the Fall Festival. It made her a little sad to think they were probably good friends with the victims. If they were over eighteen, she would have jumped at the opportunity to get a few interviews but didn’t want to press her luck and get tossed out of the press conference.

***

“The vultures are circling,” Eric whispered.

Jarred felt it, too. The few press outlets in the vicinity had already flocked to the town square, greedily awaiting any new information about the boys who were all presumed dead by the mysterious findings in the forest around Carver’s cabin. The addition of state investigators led them initially to believe it had to be a series of murders, but now word had gotten around that animal attacks were more than likely the truth. Jarred felt sick to see the circus unfolding, the young men were his classmates and acquaintances, never particularly close, yet definitely far from being strangers. When the papers reported the missing boys and a burned corpse in the secluded cabin, he nearly choked on his breakfast. It seemed so unreal and, though the teachers at school and his parents tried to keep tight-lipped about it, they couldn’t stop the horrid feeling growing inside of every student at Brush Mill High. It clung to them like a diseased cloud, usually kids their age had their whole lives ahead of them, planning employment, college, and moving out, but Alex, Leon, Jeremiah, and Brady were all having their funerals planned for them. The Fall Festival was still set for Halloween night, the mayor said it would provide a safe place for children to spend the holiday, instead of roaming dark streets. In fact, after the death of the high school students, the entire town agreed to bring their bags of candy to the festival itself and give it out so every child would be within the protective watch of the Brush Mill Sheriff’s office. The adults were really trying not to frighten the children by imposing a strict curfew or canceling the festival altogether. There would be safety in numbers there and plenty of bright lighting to assure the children of Brush Mill would be safe.

“Have you seen Shelley anywhere?” Eric asked, breaking Jarred from his contemplation.

“No. I don’t know her very personally, but I’d like to say how sorry I am. I know her boyfriend was up there.”

“The father of her bun in the oven, you mean,” Eric said.

“I had no idea,” Jarred spoke. “How sad.”

“Yeah, I overheard her talking about it to that goth girl but kept my mouth shut about it. I guess she hasn’t told her parents yet, she hadn’t even told her boyfriend yet. It’s shitty, isn’t it?”

Jarred nodded. Eric was a dick most of the time but since they weren’t in the view of any attractive girls, he dropped his caveman act and actually held a conversation with Jarred. “Teach should be here soon, we’ll ask her where she wants us to put all the stuff after the conference is over.”

The steel storage bin sat just where the moving truck unloaded it, to the east of the square. It was filled to the brim and ready to unpack, but the boys waited for their drama teacher to bring her map of decorations and games so they could get started setting the festival up. There were still two more days until Halloween, but they had a lot to do and time was running out.

“There’s Julie, I know you like her,” Eric whispered. “Go on, ask her to the festival!”

Jarred turned to him, his cheeks burning red, and opened his mouth to respond, his mind played through the different ways he should react to the accusation, though it was entirely true.

“Don’t even try to say you don’t,” Eric smirked. “Get your ass over there and ask her before some other douche gets in your way…or I decide to!”

Jarred shoved Eric in a rough-housing, playful manner and then ran his hands through his hair and dusted off the front of his dirty shirt.

“You look fine, Romeo,” Eric said.

Jarred spun on his heels and walked toward Julie; his confidence faded with each step and when she smiled it froze him in his tracks. He suddenly became self-conscious about how badly he had sweated while moving props for the festival. He glanced down and realized his shirt was more than just dusty from his labor; he also sported some massive sweat stains in his armpits. His mind began to rethink the idea of asking her to be his date in such a terrible state.

“Hey, Jarred!” A voice spoke; it always sent a thrill up his spine and turned his stomach to butterflies.

His eyes met hers, sudden embarrassment stole any logical words from his mind, so he nodded and stood there smiling.

“You guys are working really hard. I came down here to try to wrap my brain around what happened to Brady and his friends,” she said.

“It’s terrible,” Jarred finally spoke.

He wanted so badly to hug her, to help ease the confusion and sadness he saw clearly in her face, but he worried he still smelled like underarms and dirt.

“Are you going to the Fall Festival?” he asked.

“I’m not sure if my parents will let me, it all depends on what Sheriff Reynolds says tonight, I guess.”

“I understand,” he said. “This was such an unbelievable tragedy.”

“Definitely,” Julie said. “Brady had asked me to the festival, he was going to be my date.”

Her words felt like an ice pick being driven into his stomach; now he would only look like a vulture, preying on her in her loneliness. He was unable to speak for a painfully noticeable amount of time.

“I’m going to save a seat for my parents,” she said at last.

“Ok. Well, take care,” he answered and watched her walk away.

Internally, he cursed himself for being such an awkward asshole, the short conversation made his mind up for him; he would go to the festival solo.

Eric jogged up to him, shaking his head. “I can tell by the look on your face it didn’t go well.”

“Not at all.”

“She wasn’t seduced by your greasy hair and pit stains?” Eric teased, it was only a joke but it hurt.

“Actually, she was supposed to go with Brady, but now he’s probably dead. I didn’t have it in me to seem like a hungry shark tasting blood in the water.”

“You’re too dramatic,” Eric said.

Jarred didn’t feel like engaging the alpha male who occasionally pretended to be his friend. He turned his back to Eric and flipped him the middle finger, to which the hulking jock just laughed. There was a ton of work to do. Jarred figured if he pushed himself, it would not only please his teachers but it would leave him so exhausted his mind wouldn’t obsess over the last conversation he had with his crush. Maybe, just maybe, he would actually be able to sleep.

***

Sheriff Reynolds sat at a conference table with the state detectives, going over the details they would reveal to the public. He was frustrated and at odds with himself because he couldn’t say, with one hundred percent confidence, it was a mountain lion responsible for killing those boys, yet there was no way the killings were done by a human. The mayor had already made it clear he expected results, and answers, for the families of the young men and the residents of Brush Mill.

“The game warden didn’t seem to think a big cat did this, but he didn’t rule it out. There was sign of one in the area but nothing definite.”

“Isn’t it possible a rogue cat came wandering through, a sick one would act out of the ordinary,” his deputy, Tommy Masters, noted.

“You’re right, Tommy. I’d rather not have to speak about this at all until we’ve got a grip on what we’re lookin’ for, but the people need to hear something from me.”

“We’ve already spread the word, any trick or treating will be done only within the safety of the town square, at the festival,” Tommy said. “It will assure everyone still gets to have some fun, but feel secure doing it.”

“Sheriff, if you don’t think this was a mountain lion, then what do you think it was?” Detective Tenser asked.

“I had to climb a damn ladder up twenty feet of pine tree just to recover leftovers,” Petrucci spoke. “I can’t see a human doing this, it seems impossible.”

“I didn’t say a human did this, but until we have a mountain lion showing signs of being dangerous, I can’t think that for sure either, but you’re right, it appears to be the only explanation we have,” Sheriff Reynolds answered.

A slender brunette opened the door of the conference room. “Sheriff, it’s almost time.”

“Thanks, Char,” he answered.

The four investigators rose from their seats. “Let’s go face the media, ease some minds,” Reynolds said, but something inside of his own mind still gnawed at him, uncertainty.

Chapter Five

Rena nodded her head, Paul recognized their silent signal and hit record on his camera as she advanced to stand before the stage while the sheriff and his team came to stand at the podium.

“I’ll allow a few questions, but please hold them until we give you time to speak. I’m going to try to give you the answers you seek from the evidence we’ve gathered thus far.”

The audience stirred in anticipation as he looked out into their concerned faces. Tears streamed down more than a few cheeks, as women wrung their hands. Men came armed with deer rifles, ready to hunt down the monster responsible for taking the lives of the young men.

“We have four young men and, by the evidence we have collected, they are presumed to be dead.”

That final word sent a ripple of both fear and anger through the crowd, he could feel it reverberate through his gut as he spoke it into the microphone…dead, such a cold word, filled with absolute hopelessness. None of them would be brought back to their parents, not a one would go on to college, or to become a father. Sheriff Reynolds halted, and fought to control the well of sadness opening within him.

“We have no definite culprit in mind, but the fish and game department are launching a massive hunt in the morning. We hope it will shed some light on this horrible incident.”

Two sentences, it killed him to think they were all he could really offer any of them.

“At this time we will take a few questions, please keep them brief and respectful to the families of those we lost.”

Rena’s hand shot up as her voice lifted and she spoke quickly. “Was this the work of a bear or mountain lion?”

“We don’t believe this was a bear, we are seeking more information about the possibility of it being a big cat,” he answered.

“Do you have any human suspects?” another reporter shouted as Rena began to ask another question.

“I already said we do not believe this was the work of a human being,” Reynolds spoke.

“Was there any alcohol or drug use involved?” the second reporter’s voice rang out.

It was clear from the reaction of the crowd the question didn’t sit well with them, and he answered clearly. “That was NOT a factor; I’ll take questions from someone actually seeking the truth, instead of looking to stir in shit.”

“That’s not entirely professional,” the reporter quipped; he was from a local gossip column, the kind of guy Reynolds had no patience explaining himself to.

“Let the sheriff finish!” a man shouted.

Tommy came down from the stage and whispered into the ear of the mouthy reporter and they grabbed their bag and exited rather quickly. He winked at Rena, who posed a respectful yet hard hitting question. “Is there the possibility of more attacks?”

Reynolds looked to the detectives beside him. It was the one question they’d fully expected, but couldn’t answer without instilling a level of fear in the people of Brush Mill.

“We can’t say for sure. That’s why we are restricting the area to only allow those involved in the investigation, until further notice.”

The crowd fell silent; he knew what was passing through all of their minds, because it haunted his own many times, from the moment he got on scene at the burned down cabin. Would this unknown killer come closer to the city, would it stalk the outlying communities, those rural houses and farms? Knowing he couldn’t promise them all the nightmare was over turned his skin cold.

“That’s all we have for you, folks. We’ll keep you updated round the clock.” Tommy stepped in and spoke into the microphone, took Reynolds by his elbow, and they returned to their investigation.

***

Lulu’s was understandably quiet, most sat staring into their drinks for answers the news and the sheriff couldn’t provide. Larry McAllister was lost in reflection, his mind conjuring memories of a young boy. Alex used to like to go fishing when he was little, before he disowned his father for being a drunk. There was one summer in particular, Larry and Alex spent almost every day down on the bank of the lake. He would always have to put the worm on Alex’s hook because the boy couldn’t keep it from wiggling out of his grip. They caught a lot of trout in those warm months, when they both went shirtless and worked on some serious tans while they reeled in cooler loads of fish. His wife would fry them in a pan with butter. The boy didn’t really enjoy eating them, but he sure liked catching them. His son would wade out into the water and splash around when the sun got too hot, then they’d sit in the shade of the trees and eat sandwiches they put together the night before. It was when business was good and money came easy, he only drank for fun, then. He drank now to silence the voices in his mind, repeating to him how worthless he was on a daily basis. He lost Sharon and his boy after his business started to tank. His wife and son weren’t greedy or overly needy; it was because he chose to drown himself in cheap booze, rather than talk to anyone about how shitty life was. Now he’d never get the chance to change for his son, to show Alex his father wasn’t a selfish drunk. The sorrow was hard to swallow, even after putting down his last fifty on the bar, demanding any bottle it could buy and some privacy. The barmaid didn’t have the heart to turn him away, she knew damn well who his son was. Her only stipulation was he took a taxi home. Larry agreed, he planned on it anyway, if he survived his self-imposed punishment for not reconnecting with his son sooner. If he could go back in time he would fall on his knees and beg the boy for another chance. At a corner table sat Charles; he left his dog back at his house in order to tie on a serious drunk. He still wanted to speak with Martin Running River, but hadn’t gotten the nerve up to question him about the aspen trees. How would it make him look when the sheriff and his boys hauled in some mangy, half starved mountain lion, after he ran his mouth about paranoid superstitions? His beer sat on its coaster, sweating a wet ring down onto the decorative piece of cardboard. Lulu must have had her heater cranked, or he was catching some sort of flu. He knew the real reason why he felt feverish and sick; it was because he’d never forget the detective discovering a boy’s face up in the treetop. It churned his stomach and got his mind racing again. He lifted his third and last beer to his mouth and downed it. He belched loudly before dropping a tip on the table top and walking out to his truck. The liquor store was almost across the street from Martin’s trading post. It was a tourist attraction, most of it just to empty the pockets of those folks passing through the mountains, but Charles knew Martin was the man to speak to about things most wouldn’t understand, things which weren’t supposed to exist.

***

The trading post was closed for the night, but Charles knew to go around back to the stairs leading up to the tiny apartment above the tourist attraction. He stepped onto the first step and right on cue, Martin’s dog started barking. The Border collie named Sky could be seen sticking her face between the curtains of a small window beside the door. She quieted, realizing it was someone who had spent time with her master. Around halfway up the steps, Martin opened the door.

“Charlie?”

“Hey, buddy!”

“What has you out so late?”

“I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Come on inside.”

Charles stepped into the small studio apartment and took his usual seat at a table just big enough to accommodate two people.

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” Martin Running River said. “Though I have a feeling I know what it might be about.”

“Ok. You tell me why you think I’m here.”

“You were up on the mountain, right?”

Charles nodded, “Yes.”

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna come up here and treat me like the others, like I’m some magic shaman. You know my father wanted to open an auto shop here, but after all these people came demanding his wisdom, like he was some magic being instead of a man with a different culture, nothing else would do them but to have this place changed into a damn gift shop and antique emporium,” Martin said bitterly. “I never thought you’d treat me like that.”

“Calm down, my friend. I didn’t mean to offend you. I just thought you’d have an idea of what we’re dealing with. What killed those boys?”

“It was traumatizing?” Martin asked, letting go of his frustration.

“Yes, it was horrible…but also very strange. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“How so?”

“Listen, Martin, I’ve been a hunter my whole life, something killed those boys, but it ain’t no animal I’ve ever hunted.”

“Is it a man?”

“No. There’s no way a man could’ve done it, to drag body parts up into trees, it would be impossible.”

“What made you believe it isn’t a cougar, then. There have been cases proving they carry their kills into trees.”

“There have been, that’s true, but they’re solitary animals, unless they’re with their young. They kill and stash the corpse to feed on them for weeks, why would a cat kill three boys in a matter of two days?”

“That is out of the ordinary, but who knows, the animal could be sick or something.”

“Do you believe that, Martin?”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore, Charlie. Are you going out in the morning to join the hunt?”

“I haven’t decided.”

“Elroy would be very useful.”

“I know he would, but the feeling I got up there left me wondering.”

“Like what? I’ve known you for twenty years. I know when you’re holding back,” Running River said.

“I felt like something was watching us, up in the trees. Elroy was acting nervous. I haven’t seen him so skittish since he was a pup. He refused to go near the Aspen trees on your people’s land.”

“And?” Martin asked, leaning forward across the table with a knowing frown.

“Alright, you’re gonna think I’m crazy.”

“I already know you’re crazy, Charlie,” Martin smirked.

“Those boys cut down some of those Aspen trees, looked like they were whittling something out of the wood.”

Martin Running River sat back and ran his hand over his face. “Is that why you’re here?”

“Yes, Martin.”

“Those are just legends, I’m not sure my own father even believed them. He left the reservation and brought me here as a boy to live in the present, not the past.”

“Tell me about them. My granddad told me some stories, but I want to hear them from where they originated, from your people.”

“There are only a handful of the old men left who could tell you about them. My grandfather knows them all, but probably wouldn’t want to tell you because he’d feel like I just did when you came here, like a spectacle.”

“You tell me, River. I want to know.”

“This is so important to you?”

“Yes, it is.”

Running River stood, walked to his refrigerator, and grabbed two beers, he handed one to Charles and took his seat once more.

“This must be serious, you hardly ever drink,” Charles said jokingly, trying to ease the tension building since he started talking about what he saw and felt out by Carver’s cabin.

“I’ll tell you just what I was told about the reasons we leave those trees alone.”

Charles cracked open his beer and nodded, “I appreciate this, River. I really do.”

“We have always been a small group, but we were split in half during the worst winter this mountain has ever seen. Hunger is a demon of sorts, turning men to animals. The demon convinced a handful of our people to eat the flesh of newcomers to the mountain, the settlement that is now Brush Mill. It left bad blood between my people and this town ever since, even though it took my people to end it, to bless the earth and to trap those hungry spirits in the trees. They never forgot it, and even now, to this day, I’ve been called a savage, and looked at like a murderer.”

“These people do that because they’re assholes, not because of any myth.”

Martin nodded, “I’d call them more than that.”

“These…things, what are they called?” Charlie asked.

“In your tongue they would be called the hungry ones, more after the demon who claimed their bodies. It is never satisfied, its stomach is never full, no matter how much it eats.”

Charlie was silent for a long while before asking quietly, “What kills them?”

“The light of the sun, and purifying fire.”

Martin returned to his refrigerator but hesitated, then opened the cabinet above it. He pulled out a bottle of whisky and brought it to the table. Charlie’s face was white, a million questions apparent in his eyes.

“Ask me anything else you are thinking,” Martin said as he opened the bottle.

***

Larry stumbled to the door under the watchful eye of the bartender, his taxi waited for him. He slid into the back seat, his mind still wandering the shores of Summer Lake.

“Taking you home?” Benny, the cab driver, asked.

“Yes,” Larry answered.

The cab drove down the silent, dark street. The hour was late and no ordinary people were about, they had been in bed, praying for the souls of the dead boys up on the mountain…his son’s soul. He broke down, tears welled up in his eyes and he sobbed out loud.

“Are you ok?” Benny asked.

“No. I have nothing left of my son than memories.”

“Hold on to those,” Benny said. “Cherish them.”

The pain in Larry was overwhelming; he needed to clear his mind, not fall apart.

The cab came to a stop at the curb outside of his home and he handed Benny a wad of crinkled bills.

“Take care,” Benny said, then waited for him to get into his house before driving away.

He crossed the living room; it was small and it felt suffocating. Larry had lived alone for a long time but tonight he felt more than alone, helplessly lost. On the mantle above the TV was a photo of that magical summer, that time when his boy still looked up to him and he hadn’t learned the truth about his father’s addiction to drinking. He gripped the photo frame in his hands and fell to his knees.

“You remember how you caught all those fish?” he asked the darkness of the living room.

There was no response, only silence, a cold absence of the only thing he’d ever truly loved. He had lost his child somewhere up in the forest, his mind pictured him still a little boy, roaming the darkness, crying out for his father. He stared down at the picture by the light of the moon peeking through his curtains. The smile on Alex’s face, brighter than the summer sun, his feet muddy from wading along the lakeshore, looking for crawfish and skipping stones across the mirrored surface of the water. Summer Lake was their special place, a treasure that could never be taken from him. He got to his feet and walked into the garage; he flipped on the light switch and searched the dusty piles of things he hadn’t used in years. He pushed aside a tool box and beneath it was what he sought, his son’s tackle box. He grabbed an old fishing pole that’s line was dry and knotted, and opened the garage door. He pushed his scooter out into the night and used a tie strap to get his gear loaded to the back of it. He grabbed a bottle and pocketed his son’s picture. Larry figured if he was pulled over on the old Kawasaki, he might avoid another ticket for driving while impaired. He had one destination in mind, the past, the lakeshore and his son’s memories. He would find him there, at least in spirit, and he would feel close to him once more, like the days long before he lost him, and then lost him forever.

Chapter Six

If the highway wasn’t empty it would have been a dangerous ride. The wind whipped over him, the smell of autumn filled his nostrils and invigorated him, and his drunkenness seemed to be forced from his body with the cold breeze. Larry was on a mission, his mind focused. He needed to remember those happy times with Alex, not the phone call from his mother, the woman who cast him out of his son’s life. Her voice on the telephone would be something he would relive in his darkest nightmares, until the day he passed on.

“It’s Alex. I think something happened to him.” Sharon wept then for a long time, her ex husband frantically trying to pry from her why she knew something happened to their son. Nausea turned his stomach into a violent tempest of acid shooting up his throat to scald the lump of worry growing there.

“He went with his friends to a cabin, it burned down,” she wailed into the receiver. He dropped his cell and sat, unable to speak, Sharon’s voice rang out, distant through the phone, over and over again, like something from a dream. He drank late into the next morning after hanging up on his ex, who did nothing but sob into the phone. The reports came with the newspaper and from the sheriff at the town square, his son was gone, his death was not an easy one from what he gathered.

***

He hardly had the time to slow down enough to make the turnoff at the lake. Larry pulled off the side of the road, shaking and trembling. He climbed off the scooter and fell into the tall grass. His cries were those of someone in uncontrollable pain, he would have rather cut out his own heart than receive the news about Alex. The autumn wind swept over him, the grass caressed his tear-stained face. It reminded him of those happy days. He let his mind fool him into thinking he could hear a child’s laughter, he was aware it was just a trick of his subconscious, but it was too beautiful to let go of.

“Alex,” Larry spoke.

“Dad!”

He held his eyes closed, the picture in his mind was Alex, with sunburnt skin, wading through the green grass with the help of a walking stick. The vision of Alex walked over the crest of a small hill and began descending the slope to the shore of Summer Lake. His father got to his feet and followed, by the time his mind’s eye caught a glimpse of Alex again, he was knee deep in the black water. Larry smiled through tears and stumbled down the bank of the lake toward where his son splashed through the water. He took a seat on a flat rock to watch as his memory replayed times from the past like a projector screen of old home movies.

Alex leaned upon a long, slender limb of a tree, its bark was pale white beneath the moon and dotted with black knots. He paid no attention to his father as he sat watching in dreamlike contemplation, a sad smile on his face. The boy waded a bit deeper until the water lapped at his thighs. His father sat forward, opening his mouth to warn his son, when Alex was pulled underwater. Larry shook his head as the vision dissipated, leaving him cold and alone once more. The pain of watching his boy slide beneath the black surface of the lake filled him with frantic longing to hold the boy again, to hug him and hear him say how much fun he had fishing. He wept, and gripped the sides of his head, his son was dead and he would never have him back. The memories, once consoling, only felt empty now. Larry stood up as wracking sobs nearly made him tumble over onto his face. He wept and cried out, he walked to the water’s edge and gazed into it, it welcomed him. A long, pale object floated near the muddy bank, it was slender and white, with black knots like eyes dotting it, an aspen limb. He bent and reached forward, his fingertips just brushing the branch in the frigid lake water. A wailing broke the silence, Larry jumped and turned around, nearly falling backwards into the water. His stomach climbed up into his throat as nausea hit him. He wished, as the cold night air crept up his legs, he hadn’t forgotten his bottle strapped to his scooter. The mountain lake was behind him, like an endless black mirror and before him raised the sloping bank of the lake. On each side of the tiny, rutted path he walked down by pure memory was waist high weeds; it was from the tangled jungle of undergrowth the noise originated. Larry began walking sideways, keeping his gaze on the weeds as they began to move. He stumbled and fell over in the shallow edge of the water. He pushed himself up quickly, wiping the dark mud down the front of his shirt. The brush writhed as he moved faster; whatever it was in the weeds was following him. Terror filled him, his son was killed only miles away, now he found himself completely alone in the night. The high-pitched screech rang out again and all Larry could think was a rabid cougar was now coming for him, as it had his son. His eyes searched the brush but the moonlight revealed nothing. He took off running along the shore of Summer Lake, his legs wobbling as he skidded on loose stones and small, stagnating puddles, where larvae teemed. The piercing shrieks were now directly beside him when his right foot found a deeper puddle, sending him falling over. The pain was immediate and sharp, he tried to move his leg but the agony he experienced told him his ankle had snapped under his fall. He looked to the weeds as they grew still and silent. There, in the thin reeds and cattails, floated two green orbs, eye shine. He knew an animal stood only yards away, observing him. Larry held back screaming with long, deep breaths. His clothes were cold and wet from landing in the shallow water and his ankle sent tremors of sickening pain up his leg, but he sat watching the thing as it obviously stalked him. He waited to see the silhouette of a feline head peeping through the brush, but he was surprised and terrified to see a humanoid head emerge, green fiery circles in its large eye sockets, its eyes made for the night. Larry cried out as it dragged the rest of its body out onto the cold mud of the lake shore. It was pale and sickly in appearance; its skin clung to its rib cage. Its mouth hung open wide, like a ravenous hunter as it moved with impatience, unwilling to let Larry get away. Larry wanted to see Alex so badly but he realized then, in order to meet his son once more, he would have to be torn to pieces first. The creature lifted its head and screeched; its call was reminiscent of a catamount mixed with an elk, piercing and haunting. Larry felt the warmth of his bladder letting go as the glow of more eyes became clear from the brush. They had advanced to hunt further down the mountainside; their meal would be the liquor-sodden flesh of a man in mourning.

***

Dawn was cold; most of the men hadn’t slept in twenty-four hours. The teams were assembled of forestry men, law men, and a group of volunteers Sheriff Reynolds couldn’t turn away.

“Let’s be clear, we are searching for any animals displaying the characteristics of being ill, whether it is from rabies or some other type of sickness, but mostly mountain lions. The game and fish department is following the tracking device of the only known cat in the vicinity, but we can’t rule out any others straying from their territory, especially if they are looking for food. We’ve been in a drought; it could  possibly be a hungry cat that has come to try to stake its claim on these mountains. This operation will be dangerous and we ask you to use any and all safety precautions to keep yourself and your hunting parties safe, in other words, if it is necessary, shoot to kill.”

“I’m not so sure this is a good idea, having so many tromping through the forest. A big cat can smell them and hear them coming from a mile away,” Warden Andrew said.

“I realize that, but we couldn’t turn them away, these men have hunted their whole lives, we’re not accepting just any old Joe with a rifle,” Tommy said.

“I understand, but we could be putting these men in danger by sending them out there.”

“They are aware of the risks they are taking,” Reynolds answered. “We need to get this under control, ASAP.”

The sun had yet to color the sky, the horizon was grey-blue, and the chill of night still hung heavy in the air. Maps were given to the groups of hunters, each team sectioned off to their own areas by the game warden. They loaded up into their trucks and set out, a handful of townspeople stood watching, hopeful the hunters would end the monster responsible for stealing four young lives.

***

Charles only peered out his window, watching them go, his anxiety spiked as his neighbors cheered on a truckload of men on their way to hunt what they believed to be a mountain lion. His mind replayed the story imparted to him by Martin Running River. He knew Elroy would be helpful, but refused to go, he ignored his ringing phone, knowing it was the sheriff. He couldn’t bring himself to face the hungry ones out there waiting, and his explanation would only be laughed off as bullshit. Martin’s story told of why his people were so few, how they believed in spirits taking over a man once he ate of human flesh, entities who were never satisfied. They were imprisoned within those trees by a shaman of tremendous power, the barrier broken when the hands of man, the sons of man, cut them down. A chill went through him, one which coffee couldn’t kill. He hadn’t slept at all, each time Elroy stirred or whined in the night, he awoke to expect to find these things looming in the black corners of his bedroom. Charles had always been told stories of the creatures of the forest. His granddad liked to tell them when they were out hunting, hide-behinds and Sasquatch, the flesh hungry Wendigo. From what Martin told Charles, these hunters on the mountain were close kin to two of those things from his grandpa’s tales, these hunters, the cast outs, the exiled tribe, were creatures insatiably hungry and could contort their bodies to take cover behind almost anything. Their only fear was of fire, but as the legend went, they were nearly indestructible and after, the land would need to be cleansed, their spirits banished once more to roam the dark world between earth and sky. Charles went to his cabinet and pulled it open; a little whiskey in his coffee would have to warm his insides. Elroy sat on the rug beside the back door, waiting for his master to let him out to mark his territory over every bush in the backyard, as he did every morning. Charles had been ignoring his dog for nearly an hour, he couldn’t any longer unless he wanted Elroy to start lifting his leg on the couch or recliner. He walked slowly to the door, unlocked the knob, and slid the chain free. Elroy wiggled excitedly and scratched at the bottom of the door as Charles pulled it open. The air assaulted his skin and he stepped aside to let his dog run free. Elroy went around to his usual spots and relieved himself, then hesitated to pick up his tennis ball he and his master usually played with for a bit every morning. He tilted his head when he noticed Charles standing just inside the door with his coffee cup, instead of on the back porch. Elroy dropped the ball in the yellow grass and playfully nuzzled it with his snout in an effort to let Charles know he wanted to play for a while but, instead, the old man whistled and patted his leg. The dog obeyed and came trotting back into the house. Charles slammed the door and quickly secured each lock again, then walked to the fridge and pulled out a pack of hot dogs. He tossed one to Elroy in an effort to make up for neglecting their morning play time. The dog ate it in two bites and sat staring up at his owner, hoping to beg another treat from Charles, who gave in and gave him a second hot dog then made his way into the living room. The TV was off, its screen black, the thin layer of dust on its surface could only be seen when it was not on. Charles thought maybe instead of going out, he’d give his house a good cleaning. He knew he was only avoiding what was going on in town, but it would help him think of a solution, if there was one.

***

Martin fried up some bacon and carried it downstairs; it was only fifteen minutes until it would be time to open up the shop, and he was never late. He sat at his counter, chewing on his small breakfast, his eyes roving over the assortment of things hanging on the walls. Most, he thought, were just superstitious items meant to impress people from other states, but when he gazed up at a rack of elk antlers his heart ached; the boy Jeremiah had sold them to him. The boy loved the forest, and often spoke to Running River about his adventures out away from the city. He thought about what Charles had told him, about the aspen trees, it had to be Jeremiah carving them. Those other boys didn’t strike him as the type to do that, they were more the drinking and drugging kind. Charles asked him if there was anything they could do if the exiled hunters really were freed. Martin told him he didn’t know, but he knew he was lying. He decided to wait for his shop assistant, Jody, to show up, then he’d hop in his truck and take a ride out to see someone who would know for sure.

***

Cougars are nocturnal and crepuscular hunters, hiding during the day. This made the search more difficult, yet it was on the human hunters’ terms. Warden Andrew tracked the movements of territorial cats by the electronic collar and tagging they wore. The resident cat hadn’t been in the area for months, that fact concerned him. If it was a catamount, then it wouldn’t be traceable, therefore must be hunted down. It also indicated the animal could very well be sickly or deformed; seeking food desperately might cause it to kill unnecessary prey, like the three young men. He knew it was a long shot, but not out of the realm of possibility, to think it killed one of the boys, and when his friends came to his defense it was forced to kill them, too. The fourth young man in the cabin may have hidden there from the cougar, but accidentally lit the cabin on fire in the process. There was no cell signal in the remote areas of the mountains and from the looks of their truck, it wasn’t a reliable escape, especially where it was parked, down the hill a bit. None of the boys could possibly outrun the mountain lion if it chased after them. Andrew still wondered why they found only a few pieces of the corpses, a random assortment of bones, his only explanation would be scavenger predators dragged them away, or the cat had a cache they hadn’t located yet. The piece in the tree top could have only been executed by a cougar, bears weren’t known for carrying kills into trees, and they were even more scarce in the area than the pumas. He rode with Sheriff Reynolds; both were silent with contemplation, both turning over the extraordinary set of circumstances surrounding the killings at Carver’s Cabin.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked Reynolds.

“I just hope we can find this monster, I can’t have it loose. The mayor is pressuring me to get this solved before tomorrow night.”

“Him and the Fall Festival, I think I’ll pass on that, too many damn people in one place.”

“I see why you became a game warden, plenty of solitude.”

“That’s exactly right,” Andrew answered.

“What about Catherine?”Reynolds asked with a sly wink.

“I’m thinking of asking her out,” he answered.

“I’m happy she’s finally forgotten about that bum, Richard…stupid water man.”

“I know, I have no idea what she ever saw in the guy!” Andrew laughed.

The turnoff approached, killing their conversation. Reynolds could feel the tension build in the cruiser as they parked beside another truck. Dale Lindeman and Bob Tomlin waited to take care of business, rifles ready, and their faces like stone.

“This ain’t one of our resident cats.”

“What does that tell you?” the sheriff asked.

“This could be extremely dangerous.”

“I wish Charles would have got his ass out here, the dog would have been helpful,” Reynolds answered.

“I saw his truck outside of Lulu’s, could be your answer,” the game warden said.

“I’ll get Tommy over there to wake him up, then,” Reynolds said, then picked up his radio to call for his deputy.

Chapter Seven

Tommy watched the teams head out before phoning Rena.

“Be ready, with any luck we’ll end this today.”

He then phoned a handful of his coworkers to place them on extra patrols around the outskirts of Brush Mill, as his boss had instructed him to do.

He slid his cell phone into his pocket, climbed into the cab of his patrol truck, headed through town toward his designated search area, where the state detectives were supposed to meet up with him, when his radio squawked with Reynolds’ voice.

“Go get Charles and Elroy before you head out.”

“Will do, sir,” Tommy answered.

The teams they sent out were more than sufficient, without causing such a ruckus the cat would be alerted to their presence. Mayor Barton demanded it in no uncertain terms; Reynolds’ ass would be in a sling if the hunters didn’t return with something. Tommy sped across town and, in no time, he sat in Charles’ driveway. His truck was there, it was late morning. Charles was usually out on his porch by then, drinking coffee. He was retired from the military, never married, his only companion was Elroy. Tommy walked across the gravel driveway and up onto the front steps. Inside, he heard Elroy start barking. Before he could lift his hand to knock, the door came open and Charles stared out at him.

“What do you want, Tommy?”

“I came to see if you’d help us out with tracking, Elroy would be invaluable.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not feeling well,” Charles answered and went to close the door. Tommy shook his head, the old selfish bastard wouldn’t step foot outside after those poor kids were killed. It flipped the switch of his temper. He reached out and grabbed the door; Charles momentarily stared out at the deputy, his brows furrowed and his eyes darkening. Elroy whined and put his paw on the door, almost begging to get out into the front yard.

“Well, Elroy seems to like me, I can take him out.”

“Bullshit! You’ve never commanded a dog, you would only get him killed out there.”

Tommy understood then, Charles wasn’t thinking about himself when he refused to join the hunt teams, he was concerned about his dog.

“I promise he’ll be ok,” Tommy said.

Charles’ face softened from a wrinkled mask of annoyance to one of confusion, and something in his eyes changed; he was afraid.

“What’s got you actin’ so weird, my friend?” Tommy asked.

“I just don’t feel like going out today.”

“Don’t bullshit me,” Tommy said.

“Alright, I haven’t seen any shit like that since the war. I don’t want to see it again.”

Tommy understood, the old man was right. He had used his dog to track down a few runaways, who always ended up just fine, and a few car thieves. Charles laughed when Elroy bit one of them on their ass, but not the carnage on the mountain. Tommy nodded, “Alright, Charlie. No problem.”

“I’m sorry, Tommy. I just can’t,” Charles said and shut his door.

Walking back to his truck the deputy got chills up his spine. It was true what the old man said, Brush Mill had never seen such a nightmare. The nightmare of Carver’s cabin was why Mayor Barton had turned completely crazy overnight. He was accustomed to drinking highballs and playing rounds of golf, in between town meetings to discuss holiday decorations, and setting up charity softball games; murder and death were nowhere in his realm of experience. Tommy headed out to join Detectives Petrucci and Tenser; they were going to work in a zone between the sheriff’s and the third party, stationed closer to the lake. He picked up his radio to inform his boss there would be no dog accompanying them.

***

“Where are we heading first?” Marcus asked his brother, Anthony.

“I think we’ll go back to the rocky area, just the other side of Summer Lake, it would make for a good cat den,” he answered.

“Let’s get this son of a bitch,” Thomas said,  lighting a cigarette as he rolled down the window of the single cab truck. The three of them were armed with deer rifles, each in their mid-forties, all of them avid hunters. They were all raised in Brush Mill, and meant to end the threat creeping around the outskirts of their small town.

***

The woods were silent; the morning light only did so much to dispel the shadows of the trees and all the numerous places an animal could bed down. The three of them stalked silently along, with the smell of the lake, wet reeds, and small stagnating pools at its edge, greeting their noses. There was something else beneath it all, an iron scent or the smell of wet pennies. The hunters came to a stop, Thomas lifted his finger up to point at his nose, indicating he caught a whiff of something. The others nodded in agreement. They knew the scent well, it accompanied the skinned bodies of the animals they brought home triumphantly, strapped to the hoods of their trucks.

“Blood,” whispered Marcus.

They readied their rifles and continued their search with a new level of awareness, something close had bled, and bled a lot, by the smell of it. Marcus wiped his forehead, something wet ran down the bridge of his nose. It was too cold still to be perspiration. He looked to his fingers, dark crimson stained them. His brother stared at his face, then looked up into the trees above them. Blood dripped from the branches high over their heads. Anthony’s face went white as he fought to keep himself from running for the truck. The limbs were leaf bare, they could see a red pile of innards lying in the across thin branches, it wasn’t much, a few handfuls.

“What is it?” Marcus asked.

“Can’t be certain, maybe the leftovers of a deer?”

“What took them into a tree?”

The question hung between them, they knew the answer, but wouldn’t speak it out loud.

“Let’s check the watering hole; the mud might have tracks we can follow,” Anthony suggested. They nodded in agreement and advanced slowly toward the direction of Summer Lake. They froze when a sudden burst of waterfowl took flight from the edge of the water, an abrupt cloud of noise and feathers. The three advanced to the tree line to survey the lake, its placid green surface beneath the autumn sun didn’t even ripple once.  They edged the water, using the cover of the trees to obscure them from any animals looking to drink. They were fairly certain any cougar would have already found somewhere to pass the day, but the odd behavior of the killer they sought left them wondering if it wouldn’t be so brazen as to show itself by the light of day. They hoped it did, so they could end the hysteria taking hold of the citizens of Brush Mill.

“What’s that?” Anthony asked, pointing to something lying on the opposite lakeshore.

Thomas lifted his hunting scope to his eye and cursed, “Something is definitely dead over there, Goddamnit!!”

The three hunters took off. carefully yet quickly, around the brim of the lake, coming within feet of a bloody, tangled mess. Anthony brought his hand up over his mouth, nausea twisted his gut. They knew by the bone structure it was a human, stripped of their flesh and organs.

“Radio the sheriff!” Anthony said.

Marcus lifted a radio to his colorless lips to do as his brother asked but halted as Thomas took a step closer; his hands shook to the point of nearly dropping his rifle. “Oh, Lord. I think it’s Larry.”

“How can you be sure?” Thomas asked.

“There’s a picture over here, its old, but I can tell it’s him.”

“Radio the damn Sheriff!” Anthony repeated.

A rustling in the reeds sent them jumping, raising the barrels of their rifles, fingers frantically gripping the triggers. A handful of geese took flight, eliciting a string of foul language and a few stray shots being fired into them. The third attempt at radioing the sheriff was successful, his voice coming across filled with static and concern.

“What’s going on?”

“Sheriff, we found a body near Summer Lake, we need a deputy out here!”

“I’m on it. Keep your eyes open, boys!”

***

Shelley took the Alleyway to Casey’s house. Her stepdad, Dale, didn’t like her hanging out with the cast outs of Brush Mill. Casey was a Goth girl who wore all black and kept her hair cut into a short pixie cut. Shelley was what most would consider a very plain girl because of her parents’ strict dress code, but it didn’t keep her from catching the eye of a boy in her fourth hour class. He happened to be Casey’s cousin, which sometimes made Shelley feel guilty, but she had never used Casey to get to Leon. They had been friends for months before she realized they were related. Shelley wasn’t far along enough to show, and her swelling belly would be concealed beneath her oversized sweaters, but she knew she couldn’t fool her mother much longer. Shelley was usually an obedient girl and followed the overbearing guidelines for living under her parents’ roof, yet for this, for her child, she would show them a side of herself they had never seen. She would fight to keep it, she was eighteen years old and wouldn’t be forced into anything crazy like abortion or putting the child up for adoption, even if it meant being tossed out of her home and shunned. Shelley already had a steady job down at Lulu’s, and once she graduated, she would beg them for extra hours. She stopped walking for a minute as her head wouldn’t stop spinning; she took a seat on a crumbling curb. It was early morning, Dale had gone to help with the hunting party and she lied and told her mother she was picking up the breakfast shift down at Lulu’s. School was out for fall break and the weather was nothing but grey skies and cool wind. She began to feel queasy; she wasn’t sure if it was actually a side effect from her pregnancy, or if it was the crushing amount of stress bearing down on her. Only Casey knew her secret, and promised Shelley she could come live with her and her mother if Shelley’s parents booted her out in the street. It eased Shelley’s mind a little to know she wouldn’t be forced to sleep in a shelter somewhere, but sooner or later, she’d have to strike out on her own to give her child a house to grow up in. There would always be a hollow place in her heart, and the life of her son or daughter, because their father would never be alive to see them. Her hands felt numb just thinking about how quickly he was taken away, she would never know if he would have stepped up to be a good dad, or even put a ring on her finger, those would be questions unanswered and dreams never realized for the rest of her life. Shelley tried to collect herself before continuing the walk to Casey’s house, the covert mission she hoped her mother wouldn’t be wise enough to uncover. Once the truth was revealed, Shelley knew it would be gut-wrenching, a fight to end all fights. She had sat quietly in the morning light, choking back tears, while listening to Dale describe all he’d read and heard about the killings at Carver’s cabin. Rumor had it all four boys were drinking and using drugs. Her heart sank when her mother sighed and called them losers, then added how she felt sorry for their mothers. Her stepfather agreed and boasted he was going to kill the mountain lion before it got a hold of any good kids…like Shelley. How could she ever admit to them who the baby’s father was, after all the rumors about Leon’s character? It made her anxiety skyrocket to nearly uncontrollable levels. Luckily, Dale left in a hurry and her mother followed after him to kiss him, and Shelley ran for the bathroom to vomit up the meager handful of cereal she’d eaten for breakfast. Casey texted her soon after and Shelley knew she had to get away from her house; she needed a place to cry out loud, to scream, and someone who understood her pain. She had no one but Casey, the freak of Brush Mill.

Casey waited at the back door with a cigarette pressed between her violet lips. She loved wearing black, but threw in hints of purple and blue to her wardrobe. She was thin-framed and average height. To Shelley, she looked like a doll with her smooth, pale skin and large eyes, but Casey would always scoff at such compliments. She had a tough attitude, allowing only a few to ever see her as anything but a badass. She worked at Lulu’s, too, waitressing and washing dishes; it wasn’t a high-paying job but the owner of the place was a really sweet lady who never made fun of Casey and how she dressed. Casey’s mother, Ruth, also worked there, as a bartender and manager. Ruth had never been married, leaving Casey without a father, and often accused of being a cougar for sleeping with younger men, both rumors she never denied. Ruth was always kind to Shelley when she would come to see Casey and never questioned why the girl always snuck through the backyard. She knew Shelley’s parents well enough to guess what they probably thought of her daughter. The pair seemed like the odd couple, yet they were inseparable.

Casey still felt numb after hearing the news about the death of her cousin, Leon, especially how it happened. Whenever she thought of dying young, it was always involving car accidents, a drowning, sudden terminal illness, but never being torn to pieces by a hungry animal or being burnt alive, those are deaths she couldn’t fathom. She still expected at any moment to awaken from some bizarre nightmare to find he was still alive, begging her to call Shelley over so he could see her again.

The wooden gate came open, and Shelley snuck through, her dirty blond hair hung about her shoulders. She was wearing a big, grey sweater and jeans, her eyes were red and puffy, it was obvious she had been crying. Reality struck Casey and the veil of numbness lifted, her heart broke watching her friend approach with her face filled with grief and confusion. It was very close to the same look she had on her face when she came out of a school bathroom stall holding a positive pregnancy test and crying. Casey dropped her cigarette and went to her only friend, they embraced and each burst into a fit of sobs. Ruth came out into the yard to collect them; she wore her auburn hair in a tight bun, which meant soon she would be heading off to work. She rubbed their backs and coaxed them inside to sit on Casey’s bed.

“I’ll make you some cocoa before I go to work,” she said. Tears wet her eyes, too; her brother’s son was gone forever, and it killed her to remember him as a little boy, running through her living room and playing with her daughter. They seemed to grow up in the blink of an eye, and now he’d never be back. He’d never know the secret Casey told her about why Shelley had to come see them so urgently.

“Have you told your mom?” Shelley asked.

“Yes, she said you’re always welcome here,” Casey answered, wiping her nose on her sleeve.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, you’re my best friend,” Casey smiled. “I’m assuming you haven’t told yours.”

“Not yet,” Shelley answered. “I’m still so scared.”

“You need to see a doctor, it’s important for the baby,” Casey said; it was something she’d read on the internet. She had actually studied a lot since Shelley found out she was going to have a baby, but she didn’t want to overwhelm her now, with no father for her unborn child.

“I will tell her when the time is right, away from Dale.”

“Are you afraid of him?” Casey asked, bristling at the thought of her best friend’s stepdad.

“A little,” Shelley confessed.

“Don’t be. I promise I won’t let anything bad happen to you,” Casey said.

“You should tell his mom, too,” Casey added. “It might bring her some sort of happiness, like she still has a piece of him.”

Shelley smiled as tears streamed down her face, “I still do, too. I keep it in my mind all the time.”

“You need to try to calm down; it’s not good for the baby,” Ruth said from the doorway.

She walked over and stroked Shelley’s hair and smiled down at her as she dried her eyes.

“I’m going to work, you girls behave.”

“Well, I planned on smoking some crack, but Shelley ruined the party by getting knocked up.”

Her humor was usually tasteless, but it always made Shelley laugh, even in the darkest of times. She needed it, it was something she never had at home. Casey smiled and sat her cup on a bedside table, putting her arm over Shelley’s shoulder. “Everything will be ok, you’re never alone,” she whispered and patted Shelley’s abdomen softly.

Chapter Eight

Amber lit a cigarette as she made her way toward the town square, her mind still mulling over whether or not she believed Shelley was really at work. Her daughter seemed so strange when she left early in the morning, shortly after Dale got in his truck and headed out to join the group of volunteers searching for a rogue cougar. Amber decided she would swing by the restaurant and bar for lunch, to see if the girl was really where she claimed to be. She needed to start setting up the booth she volunteered to run at the Fall Festival, bobbing for apples, it would give her a chance to watch over her daughter while doing some good in the community. God knew it certainly needed it after those boys died in the forest, drunk and whacked out of their minds on drugs of some sort. She tied her shoulder length, sandy blonde hair back into a ponytail and began sorting through the box of decorations to adorn the booth, as her mind still fixated on Shelley and her odd behavior.

“Do you think she’s gonna try baptizing kids while their head’s stuck in the water?” Eric teased, nodding his head toward Shelley’s mother.

“Shut up!” Jarred laughed.

“Maybe she’ll bob on my apples?”

“Be quiet! She’ll hear you!” Jarred said.

“I’m serious, ain’t she some holy roller?”

“I don’t think so, but definitely as strict as a nun,” Jarred answered.

“Nuns have no fun, I wonder how she’ll react when she finds out she’s gonna be a grandma?”

“Stop it! You don’t want someone overhearing you. it’s Shelley’s business, not yours.”

“Calm down, geek!” Eric acted offended.

“Get over there and grab another bale of straw, troglodyte!” Jarred ordered, his laughter uncontainable at Eric not understanding what Jarred just called him.

“I don’t dress up like a woman!”

“You’re a real idiot, you know that?” Jarred said.

Jarred preferred when Eric acted like they were friends, instead of being an overbearing prick like the times he was in front of the varsity squads, but he was a serious douche bag when it came to his outward prejudice of other people’s lifestyles. Jarred was relieved to see the caveman sprint off to carry back the heavy bales of straw. He glanced up to see Amber staring at him, her pale eyes studying his and Eric’s exchange. He worried for a moment she might have overheard their teasing and his stomach sank. If she heard anything about Shelley’s situation, he would never forgive himself.

***

Tommy got a call from the sheriff ordering him to the lake, leaving his partners to continue their hunt.

“We got another body,” he said to the state detectives. “I’ll go get it lined off; you can get a look at it after the hunt.”

“You go on. We’re trained hunters, whether it’s human or animal, we’ll turn something up,” Detective Petrucci answered.

They watched him hiking back toward the cruisers and Tenser turned to her partner with a doubtful look, “Don’t be so sure about that.”

“Listen, I’ll keep my eyes on the ground and you keep yours on the trees,” he said.

It sent a chill through her, it was rare she found herself feeling incapable, but she couldn’t help but fear they were completely unprepared.

***

Tommy arrived to find the three men standing at the top of the grassy hill above the lake, a scooter lying on its side beside them.

“He’s down by the water,” Anthony said into the cruiser window.

“It’s Larry,” Marcus said.

“Back on the other side of the lake, in the trees, we found some bloody pieces; we thought it was an animal, not a human,” Thomas spoke, his voice sounding shaky.

“I phoned the coroner, he’s on his way. Direct him down the hill for me,” Tommy said, then drove down the dirt road leading to the lakeshore and dock. He parked and took a deep breath; his partner would be there soon, along with the meat wagon to carry away whatever was left of the town drunk, from the look on the hunter’s faces, he guessed there wasn’t much. He made a note to close all access to the lake; the entire area was one big crime scene.

“I think what may have been the case on the mountain was surplus killing, it’s when an animal kills more than they need to eat, stashing the bodies sometimes, and others just leaving them out. They became meals for scavenger predators,” Warden Andrew said.

“Is that why you didn’t find much of the bodies?” Dale asked.

“I believe so. The dog only hit on a few areas where we located small pieces of remains. It would have found something more of those boys if it was here.”

***

Tenser and Petrucci made their way deeper into the forest, searching high and low for any sign of the animal responsible for taking the lives of Leon and his friends.

“This is useless,” she said, after hiking for nearly two hours without a sign of anything.

“Calm down.”

“I just feel like we aren’t getting anywhere out here. It’s probably hidden somewhere in a cave.”

“We’re doing all we can,” he said.

“You’re right, I’m just frustrated.”

“Let’s take a seat on a high point, survey our surroundings,” he said.

Ahead of them was an outcropping of rocks, moss creeping up their sides. “Over there,” he pointed out.

His partner nodded and followed in his path, through the brush toward the towering stones.

“Mountain lions live around boulders and such, maybe we’ll get lucky and find him.”

“I like your optimism,” he teased.

They came to the foot of the rocks protruding from the mountainside and found their way around to the top.

“We have a good view from up here, we’ll just stay quiet and see if the bastard shows himself,” Petrucci said.

His partner of six years sat beside him, her dark hair pulled into a braid down her back. Diana was still relatively young, being thirty four, and never married. Detective David Petrucci was forty eight and in good physical shape, his hair,  once jet black, was now steadily going grey. He blamed it on the job, and having an ex-wife from hell. His two sons, who were in their twenties, both chose careers far away from law enforcement, after seeing what it put their parents’ relationship through. He thought about the parents of the boys who lost their lives in such a brutal manner and wondered what they were going to do now; if the time they had with their children was something they would cherish, or if they would only be haunted by memories of them until they, themselves, passed on.

“What are you thinkin’?” Tenser asked.

“About my boys.”

“I told you, retiring early wouldn’t be a bad idea. You could have time to spend with them.”

“Is it too late?” he asked.

“No, it never is,” she answered honestly.

He laid his rifle down beside hers and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I hope you’re right.”

Her partner had his mind in the past and his face in his hand, a terrible mistake. She glanced up to see eyes, glaring down at them. A blur of grey leapt from the top of a boulder standing higher than the one they were perched on. Diana hardly had time to shove David backwards as the cat came for him. It missed its target, but hit the smaller figure beside him.

Detective Petrucci fell back onto the mossy stone as a massive shape moved over him. Diana tumbled beneath the weight of the animal; a quick scream escaped her as she and the cat went falling over the edge of the boulder and hit the steep incline beside it. Petrucci grabbed his rifle and stood as the cougar and Tenser rolled down the hill, tangled together in a ball of fur and flesh. He took one breath, and took aim as they came to a skidding stop. The cat went for her throat, seizing her in its powerful jaws, a move it employed to snap the necks of its other, much larger, prey. Detective Petrucci pulled the trigger and the cougar released his partner and fled. He rushed down the hillside on shaking legs. Her light brown shirt was covered in blood; her eyes were wide in terror. He knelt over her, with his rifle readied.

“Diana, talk to me!”

She sighed and lifted her hand to her throat, feeling a gaping wound pouring blood.

The mountain lion yowled and hissed, it hadn’t retreated very far. David glanced down to see Diana holding the side of her neck. He lifted her shirt with one hand to see there were no wounds in her abdomen, the majority of the blood came from her attacker.

“Hold on!” he said.

The catamount came from the brush, bounding toward them, then halted and prepared to spring upon them. David gripped the gun in both hands, his years of training made firing the rifle nothing more than muscle memory. He pulled the trigger as the cat left the ground; the bullet found its mark in the center of the predator’s chest, its body fell only feet from them. The cat’s mouth hung open as it panted, its blood pooling beneath it in the dark forest soil.

***

It was late morning and the Sherriff, Dale, and Warden Andrew found themselves climbing, rather than hiking. The terrain was rising into the peaks of the mountains. After nearly an hour of moving mostly in silence, but for the heavy breathing of exertion, Sheriff Reynolds cursed. “GODDAMNIT! We aren’t gonna find shit! It killed again, I’m sure of it, and I’m gonna be left with empty hands. The mayor will have my ass.”

A gunshot echoed in the distance, ending his tirade. A second came soon after and the three men looked to one another. The sheriff’s radio crackled, the voice of the frantic detective screamed into it, demanding assistance and an ambulance.

***

Archie and his crew were trained paramedics, as well as the town fire crew, and came frantically to the call put in by the sheriff. Clara rode shotgun in the ambulance while Randy drove; Martin rode in the back, working on Diana as they sped to the small hospital in Brush Mill. She had a wound in the side of her neck, and her body was bruised and scraped from the cougar attack.

“It’s deep, but appears to have missed the arteries,” Martin spoke up to Detective Petrucci. “She’s damn lucky.”

“Has she lost too much blood?”

“She’ll more than likely need a transfusion, but I think she’ll be ok.”

David nodded and gripped his partner’s hand, his heart pounded in his chest, his anxiety levels were topped out. He wouldn’t rest until his partner was given the medical attention she desperately needed. His mind kept replaying the attack, how he let his mind drift to personal matters, it nearly cost them their lives. Diana’s face was so white it startled him, her hand felt cold in his.

“You’re gonna be ok!” he said, leaning over her. He repeated it over and over, not only to keep her awake, but to reassure himself, as well. The ambulance sounded its siren, alerting everyone as they passed by and those stopping to stare at the forestry truck following along behind it. The corpse of the Carver’s cabin killer was lying dead in the back.

***

The rest of the day was spent gathering evidence at Summer Lake, bagging Larry’s corpse, sending him away in the back of Miguel’s meat wagon, and combing the area for any stray parts of him.

“He was stripped clean, plainly eaten. We photographed and casted a few claw marks left in the mud, but there are so many tracks left from visitors of the lake, we couldn’t find much else,” Tommy reported.

“Yesterday was busy, even after the news of the deaths at Carver’s cabin; an amateur fishing tournament took place with around thirty contestants,” Sheriff Reynolds said.

“Too bad we didn’t get the cat one day sooner, old Larry wouldn’t have suffered like he did.”

“It’s really a shame,” Reynolds agreed. “I’m sure by now the newspapers have spread this story to state and national news. You should have seen the size of the thing, it was a monster.”

“How are the detectives, Diana?”

“She’ll make it, the bite missed her arteries. It bled a lot, but was nothing fatal. The kill shot took it down but nearly hit her, too. Her partner’s really shaken up about it.”

“I’ll swing by the hospital and see if I can’t bring them something from Lulu’s.”

“That’s a good idea, neither one of them have slept in twenty four hours or more, I’m sure they’d both appreciate it.”

“What about the Halloween restrictions?”

“We’ll keep them in place, it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“You think this ain’t the only one?” Tommy asked.

“I didn’t say that, but I would rather things adjust back to normal slowly to be certain.”

“You got it, Boss. We’ll keep the festival under control tomorrow night and everyone will be able to breathe easy. Everything will go back to normal, you’ll see.”

“I appreciate your hard work and dedication, Tommy. This is why you’re my right hand man; I know I can always count on you.”

“Always, Sir,” Tommy said with a proud grin.

***

Catherine felt like a nervous teenager again when she waited anxiously for Andrew to call. At her age, it made her feel a little embarrassed to blush like she did when he smiled at her. Those paranoid feelings were only products of her own insecurities. It didn’t matter if she was forty-three and single, she deserved to be in a loving relationship. The game warden was exactly what she needed after dating Richard the water man. Sure, he made great money from his business hauling water, but he sure let people know it with his outright tacky behavior, sometimes. He was overbearing and controlling and she was happy to finally be free of him. Clara stepped into her office; she looked like a completely different person when she was on duty with the fire department.

“Hi, Cathy,” she said.

“How are you, Clara?”

“I’m exhausted, but it seems like everything is finally coming to an end,” Clara answered, reaching for the coffee pot in the break room of Brush Mill medical center.

“I’ll take good care of them, go get some rest,” Catherine said and led Clara over to a couch in the corner of the room.

“Sit down and take a load off. I’m on duty all night.”

“I know you’ll keep your eye on her. I just got so terrified seeing how much she was bleeding. I mean, I’m trained to handle medical emergencies but, I admit, mostly my days consist of putting out trash fires after campers or dealing with drunks lighting their asses on fire, not such trauma.”

“It’s quiet out here, we don’t see much like this. It’s completely normal to feel the way you do,” Catherine reassured the young firewoman.

“How do you deal with it?”

“It takes time but you learn to forget it once you’re off the clock, and when you are, just do your best, then you know it was not by your negligence someone didn’t make it, it was their fate,” Catherine answered softly.

Clara nodded, “It’s been a long two days.”

“Get a little rest. I’ll take care of them,” Catherine promised and stepped out of the break room.

Chapter Nine

Detective Diana Tenser was sound asleep, the pain killers and sedatives banished her memories of the attack temporarily. Her partner sat beside her, his head back against the uncomfortable plastic chair. He snored, yet when Nurse Catherine came in he sat forward, startled from a dead sleep.

“Don’t let me bother you, just coming to check on her.”

“Thank you.”

“You can go to your hotel and get some sleep if you’d like. I’ll be here with her all day and most of the night.”

“Thank you, but I think I’ll just stay here.”

“Ok. At least sneak into the lounge and help yourself to the recliner next to the vending machine.”

“Vending machine? I might take you up on that,” he smiled.

“I can bring you something from the cafeteria if you’re hungry?”

“No, thanks,” he answered.

“I know hospital food is never any good!” she laughed.

“Where is a diner I can grab some food, something close?”

“If you walk up the sidewalk out front for two blocks and hang a right, you’ll find Lulu’s,” she answered.

“Perfect, I need some good old greasy food to keep me going,” he joked.

“You go on ahead. I’ll take good care of your partner.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Enough to bring me some fries?” she laughed. “Just kidding.”

He chuckled and exited Diana’s room while Catherine went about checking her wounds and adjusting her pillows beneath her head. She shuddered thinking about the mountain lion she had seen on her way into work, on display like some kind of mythical monster slain by a group of heroes. She could tell by the look on Andrew’s face he did not agree with the animal being paraded around. He hated the media and the way they portrayed animals like mountain lions, bears, and wolves, painted them into murderous beasts when, in fact, they acted only by their instincts. It was in rare instances, like the one gripping Brush Mill, when predatory animals became the monsters the media made them out to be. He whispered to her he wanted to see her, and then he asked if she’d like to go star-gazing Halloween night. She enthusiastically agreed. The more she thought on it, she guessed it was not only because he wasn’t a people person, or the fact that they might run into Richard the water man there, but also to show everyone it was safe to go out into the forests again, including himself. Finally showing a stubborn side, she mused to herself. If he wasn’t so damn handsome, she might just call him on it but she hadn’t gotten anything more than a kiss out of him and thinking about being out in the dark on a blanket beside him kept her lips shut and her sarcasm in check. She blushed just thinking about his kisses, they were deep and warm; he was gentle, but not timid. She liked him, and she hoped desperately he would finally be the relationship she had been waiting for. Diana was deeply sedated, unaware she looked like the bride of Frankenstein, with a tube in her nose, IVs in her veins, and a catheter. Catherine examined the bruises on her abdomen from the tumble down the short hillside and  the weight of the cougar pinning her down. It didn’t use its claws, it wasn’t looking to fight, it used its jaws, it meant to kill her. If her partner hadn’t risked the kill shot, it would have broken her neck in a matter of seconds. Catherine knew a bit about animals, that’s how a conversation started with Warden Andrew two months before. It was about not feeding the deer wandering into many of their backyards in Brush Mill. The talking continued through phone conversations, where she might have exaggerated her need for him to come check up on a young doe she saw a few times up near the highway by her house looking for feed piles, the type poachers use to attract targets.

***

Detective Petrucci walked along the sidewalk while relieved parents hustled by with their children, content the danger was now gone. Exhaustion clung to his feet like concrete shoes, soon it would creep over his entire body. He wanted to sleep, but not on an empty stomach, and when he awoke there would be reports to take care of while watching over Diana. Her words wouldn’t leave him; his heart was now accepting early retirement as the best option for him. He was thankful she’d lived through the attack, had it gone the other way, David would not be able to bear the weight of it for the rest of his life. He had a long career in law enforcement but hadn’t lost a partner to the grim reaper yet; most of them were promoted to other positions, or had taken jobs in other cities and moved on. Diana was the closest he ever got to seeing someone so close to him die. Death was a constant companion in his line of work, doing justice for the dead and gone, but he would not have been able to forgive himself for letting his mind wander long enough to let the cat destroy her. It was the case, those boys, how they died; it got under his skin and crawled somewhere deep inside.

“Hey, Detective!” a voice called from a car window.

It was Tommy, Sheriff Reynolds’ deputy. “Where you headed?”

“Goin’ down to grab something to eat before I come back and catch a little shut eye.”

“I was just comin’ over to ask if I can get you anything. Hop in.”

“Much appreciated,” Petrucci said and climbed into the cruiser.

“We should’a left you a vehicle, after you get your stomach filled, I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you, Tommy.”

“No problem, let’s get down to Lulu’s, they got the best lunch specials.”

The parade ended, leaving Warden Andrew to transport the catamount back to the fish and game department. It was hauled into the office by a handful of assistants, in order for the warden to do an analysis of its blood while waiting on a specialist to perform an autopsy of sorts. They had to be certain, without a shadow of doubt, the cat was the perpetrator of the heinous attacks on the citizens of Brush Mill.

“Rochelle will be here soon,” his assistant, Patricia, alerted him.

“Thanks, I’m anxious to have this all said and done.”

He pulled latex gloves on and began looking over the cougar. There was a gunshot wound entering its left shoulder blade and exiting through its chest in a large, jagged hole.

“The shot must have missed the detective by just a hair.”

“She’s lucky the bullet didn’t wind up in her,” Patricia said, making notations of his findings.

“We have a deep laceration on its hip, it’s festered a bit. Probably from fighting another male for territory.”

Warden Andrew pulled back its lips to take a look at its white fangs; they were in good condition for the cat’s estimated age. It was the largest mountain lion Andrew ever saw, alive or dead or even in captivity, where cats are kept in good physical health. He removed his gloves and washed his hands.

“I’m going to need her to give him a thorough once over.”

Patricia nodded her head and placed her hand on his arm, “Rochelle will do an internal exam, check its stomach contents, you need to get some sleep.”

Warden Andrew nodded, “You’re right.”

“I’ll have a detailed report waiting for you,” she smiled, her wrinkles deepening on her kind face.

“You’re too good to me, Patty.”

“We’re a team. You’re good to me, always have been.”

The warden knew she was referring to when he let her take off two months when her husband passed away from cancer. He didn’t have to, she wasn’t a full-time employee, yet he refused to fill her position with anyone else.

“Always will be, Patty,” he smiled. “I’ll call you in a little while.”

Evening fell over Brush Mill; a collective sigh of relief escaped the terrified townspeople, knowing the night would be safe once more. Autumn could once again be savored as it should be, with walks around the neighborhoods, children raking up piles of leaves to leap into, and parents relaxing on their porches as the sun fell in the bleeding sky. Everything felt right once more, now, since the hunter was killed. The cloud of hysteria had dissipated the moment the sheriff and his men rode back into town bearing the corpse of a massive catamount, with its ragged, scarred face and gaping jaws. Though pity and sadness still existed for those who were gone and those left to bury them, the monster was silenced for good.

***

Russell sat on his back patio, smoking his favorites. He attempted a smoke ring yet it was broken by the cool fall breeze steadily building up around his trailer on the outskirts of town. Rosco whined at the back door so Russell got up with a grumble, annoyed with his dog who didn’t understand, and opened the door.

“Why the hell do we have a doggy door if you refuse to use it? Lazy little shit.”

The dachshund mix plodded out the door slowly, Russell rolled his eyes in exaggerated frustration. “Any day now.”

Rosco was old, his miniature legs stiffened with arthritis when he laid around too long, and his right eye was clouding a bit with cataracts but Rosco had the attitude of a much younger dog. He perched himself at the top step of the porch, staring down into the overgrown yard. A low growl started in his hanging belly, he barked at something, then attempted to descend the three wooden steps, which wasn’t easy when he was just a pup on his short, wrinkled legs. Now, as a mature dog, well past middle age, he found it nearly impossible to accomplish without tumbling down the last two into the yellowed grass and goat head weeds. Russell cackled hysterically as the dog fumbled and failed to correct himself before going headlong into the yard and laid there for a moment like a furry hotdog. He laughed so hard it sent him into a coughing fit, bringing up a mouthful of phlegm. Russell spat a mouthful of infection out over the porch railing and gripped his chest; with no insurance, he wouldn’t be seeing a doctor again. The payments he owed for accidentally lighting his own ass on fire the year before were still plaguing him. Rosco got to his feet and put his nose to the ground, something had him in a mood.

“That old squirrel is too fast for you,” Russell said as he stood up to go retrieve a drink from the kitchen. He returned with a beer and resumed his smoking and sitting as the sky faded from crimson into violet. Rosco rooted around in the tall grass for a while until, finally, he gave up and came to the bottom porch step and barked up at his master in agitation.

“Hold your horses, I told you, you ain’t gonna catch old bushy tail.”

Russell came down the stairs slowly; his knees were getting too worn out for the climb down into the open backyard. He contemplated fencing it off many years before but when no neighbors came to his stretch of the hill, he decided his money was better spent on booze and smokes.

“Get over here.”

The dog backed away a few steps, trying to lead his owner out into the jungle of tangled weeds.

“I said get over here, or I’ll leave your little fat butt out for the night,” he warned.

Rosco begrudgingly obeyed and allowed Russell to stoop down and pick him up. The old man carried his dog under his arm back up the porch steps and took a seat with Rosco in his lap.

“Damn!” he said.

A stench hit his nose, like shit and rot.

“You need a bath, I think your ass is going sour.” He laughed and then set the dog down on the wooden deck at his feet. Russell sipped his beer and lit himself another cigarette, disobeying every order the emergency room doctor gave him while administering care to his singed nether regions.

“Its paradise out here, ya know. Not a soul around.”

The dog whined and waddled over to the doggy door entrance.

“Come on, Rosco. Just at least try to use it!”

The dog only stared over at Russell, cocking its head slightly before begging once more for Russell to open the door.

“You got a screw loose, damn dumb dog!”

The old man got to his feet, putting his cigarette out in a coffee can sitting atop a small table beside his chair, and pulled the door open. He followed Rosco in and locked the door, then made his way into the small living room attached to the kitchen of his one bedroom single wide.

“It’s time for wheel of fortune, anyway.”

Russell awoke to darkness; the infomercials on the small TV provided meager blue light. His back ached terribly from dozing off in his recliner. He sat forward and struggled to get the foot rest back down into position on the broken-down chair. He sat there for a minute, preparing himself mentally to stand. He hated getting old and having to prepare every muscle in his body for the most mundane tasks. He forced himself up and walked hunched over until he reached the entertainment center where he hit the power button on the TV, leaving him in total darkness. The light from the moon in the window was hardly enough, but he maneuvered through his sitting room by memory alone, until he reached the hallway where his only bedroom and bathroom were located. His bladder urged him to visit the toilet before retiring to bed for the rest of the night. Russell stood over the toilet in his cramped restroom and started taking a leak, when his dog yelped; it startled Russell out of his sleepy haze and also caused him to decorate the toilet in a thin stream of yellow beer piss.

“DAMN YOU!” he hollered.

After he wiped up what he cared to reach, he hobbled back into the black living room, searching for Rosco in his usual spot beside the recliner, on a doggy pillow. It was empty but the old man was certain the whine didn’t come from his bedroom. The dog let out a high-pitched bark in the kitchen. Russell took four steps toward the sound, then his bare foot met the cold linoleum tile. His hand went up instinctively, searching for the light switch to turn on the small yellow bulb above the tarnished sink. Rosco growled and barked again as his fingers fumbled with the switch before flipping it upward. The dog’s hair stood on end along its spine, Rosco bared his mouthful of decaying teeth, his eyes fixed on the doggy door.

“What is it, boy?” the old man asked. His voice shook and it reminded him of his dad’s voice, when Russell was finally struck by how time had taken its toll on his father.

The dog held its ground but didn’t get any closer to the small plastic flap, the only barrier to the night beyond. The thought sent a chill up Russell’s spine.

“Get over here, Rosco,” he said, though his voice wasn’t very commanding.

A scratching on the other side of the door made him step backwards; it was long and drawn out, something sharp was dragged across the metal siding of the trailer. It made him shrink away from the screeching as it turned his insides cold, his eyes searched the tiny window above the sink beside the door for a sign of what was outside. He desperately wanted to believe it was only a raccoon or opossum trying to get in to steal some of the dog food from Rosco’s doggy dish, but his heart told him it wasn’t. A thump on the roof of his trailer sent him fumbling backward toward his bedroom, where he kept an old sawed off shotgun in his closet. Russell hurried into the tiny room and slammed the door shut behind him; he turned the lock on the brass doorknob and went to his cluttered closet. He rifled through handfuls of old sweaters and towels, looking for the only thing he had left from his father. He moved a box full of shoes he meant to donate to the local thrift store. The dust-coated barrels of the loaded gun poked out from under his winter blankets. Russell grabbed it and screamed when a series of awful yelping came from the kitchen, he realized Rosco hadn’t followed him through the bedroom door. Desperation filled him; Rosco was his only companion, in many ways better than any human he had ever known. A sound of a different kind, one completely foreign to the man of sixty eight years, issued from the adjoined kitchen and living room. Russell stumbled backwards and, with trembling hands, he opened the dresser beside his bed. Beneath his socks were only a handful of shotgun shells, he scooped them up and placed them in his shirt pocket before walking toward the door. It shook on its hinges as something battered against the other side, whoever or whatever it was knew he was in there. The door burst in and what followed caused his heart to seize and his body to go numb. The gun hung from his side as he stood, wide-eyed, staring at the creature who’s eyes glowed bright green. It looked like a sickly man, a corpse with blackened fangs. The thing hunkered down and prepared to pounce on the old man, who still couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It raised a clawed hand and swiped at the small space between them, there was blood on its long white fingers. Russell knew it had to be Rosco’s, the poor old dog; he died trying to defend his owner. The creature leapt as Russell raised the gun in anger, his finger pulled the trigger, a bright blast filled the room, along with a deafening boom. The shot decimated the chest cavity of the white-skinned hunter. It reeled to the side and pulled its bleeding body across Russell’s bed, leaving a dark, chunky trail in its path. Russell rounded the bed and fired the second barrel into the face of the injured beast. Its head exploded like an overripe pumpkin, spilling its grey matter out over the wall, table, and lamp. He jumped at a screeching behind him, his hands shook as he fought to breach the gun open and load it once more with two shells. A pale flash passed behind him, another was stalking him, angry from tasting its kin’s death in the air. Russell turned to face it as it entered the room at full speed, one shot took it down. He let the gun lead him as he left it headless on the floor. He crept into the living room, where all was silent and black. He looked to the front door, it was still closed and the chain lock still in place, he moved toward the kitchen as something beat against the front door. The phone was beside the back door. His foot met a warm, slick pool and he went down hard on his back. He slipped and skidded as he tried to regain his footing and the front door rattled; it nearly gave in, but for the brass chain holding it closed. Frantically, he got to his knees and made his way through the pool to the light switch on the wall beside the sink. He flipped it on and screamed, realizing he had slipped in the bloody remains of Rosco, whose body was torn open, his organs gone. Russell went for the phone as the front door flew open. He left the phone off the hook and spun, the monster came across his living room with blinding speed. He fired the gun, hitting it in the shoulder and spinning it back onto the shag carpet. It screeched as Russell fought to retrieve his last two rounds from his shirt pocket, to keep himself covered while using the phone. He breached the gun over his arm, fighting the trembling in his hands to get it loaded. A sharp pain erupted in both of his ankles, sudden and horrendous. He tried to take a step but fell onto his stomach over the remains of his beloved dog, the gun slid across the kitchen floor. Russell rolled to his side to see a clawed hand reaching through the doggy door. He kicked feebly out of the grasp of the creature and pulled himself forward, his hand found the shotgun, but it wasn’t loaded. He managed to recover one of his shells so he crawled to where the carpet met the tile and frantically tried to get the gun open. He froze when he looked over to see the thing pulling itself through the doggy door, its muscles contorting, bones dislodging, ribs shrinking in like those of a dead man. Its face was hungry, eyes shining ravenously like a starved animal, and it wouldn’t abate until it had its fists in his intestines. He pushed the shell into place and snapped the gun shut. He leveled it at the face of the intruder, who could unnaturally contort its shriveled body to fit through a most unaccommodating opening. His finger found the trigger but couldn’t pull it, the creature he left bleeding in the living room was at the back of his neck, and its teeth sank into his flesh and found his spinal cord. It dragged the old man backwards, into the darkness, to find his lost companion in some other existence.

Chapter Ten

Martin readied himself for anything; his grandfather was a hard man to read. He wasn’t sure if he’d be taken seriously, or laughed out the door of the tiny house set in the forest reservation. His cell phone vibrated on the dash of his truck, pulling his attention back to the real world after being lost in memories for a long while.

“Hello?”

“Martin, it’s me, Charlie. Did you hear about the hunt?”

“No, I was on the road. I’m about to talk to someone about what went on by Carver’s cabin. What happened?”

“They got themselves a big cat. My neighbor said it’s the biggest he’d ever seen.”

Embarrassment burned in Martin’s face, his hand reached for the keys in his ignition.

“I’ll head back that way.”

“No.”

“What?”

“They’re wrong about this,” Charles said. “Larry was killed out by the lake; they’re coming closer every night.”

“How are you so sure?” Martin rubbed his eyes with his free hand in frustration, why did he go chasing legends?

“I know it in my heart.”

“No, I’m coming home,” Martin said.

“Wait! Listen to me, they’re wrong!”

“Just stop, Charlie.”

Running River ended the call and reached for the keys once more. A thump against his window startled him and a string of obscenities came out in his native language before he recognized the silhouette standing on the other side of his tinted window. There was no way he could leave without speaking to the old man now. He rolled down his window to see his grandfather glaring at him.

“Ain’t you gonna say hello?” he asked. “I’ve been watching you from my window, out here sitting in your truck.”

“I was just coming in.”

“Don’t lie to me,” his grandfather said with a solemn face. “I know why you’re here.”

“Why do you think I’m here?”

“Again with your games? The dead boys.”

The skies were overcast and the wind blew through his grandfather’s white hair, his eyes held a hard glare, like they always did. “Well?”

“Yes, that’s why I’m here.”

“I thought so. Come inside and we’ll talk.”

Martin climbed from the cab of his truck, an uneasy feeling gripped him, but he couldn’t turn back without offending the old man.

He followed his grandfather, Johnny was the name he’d always gone by, and waited again for him to speak. The house was as he always remembered it, very plain inside, and always held a sense of true home.

“Where’s Sky?”

“I left her at home,” Martin answered.

“You shouldn’t have. Dogs know things we do not.”

Martin took a seat on a small sofa as his grandfather sat in an aged recliner; it no longer reclined but was broken-in and comfortable. “Tell me what you think was responsible.”

“The warden and his men killed a big cougar on the other side of the mountain.”

“No,” the elder Running River held up a wrinkled hand to silence his grandson, “tell me what you think did it.”

Martin looked to Johnny, who smiled a toothless grin, the old man’s constant argument when it came to Martin and his father, who lived off of the reservation. When Martin’s father died, the old man all but came out and blamed it on living where he didn’t belong, which was ludicrous because Martin’s father passed away due to stomach cancer and nothing to do with Brush Mill.

“What do you want me to say?”

“What you feel.”

“I’m too old to chase monsters and tell tales,” Martin fumed. “And you complain about people treating us like sideshow freaks.”

“You’re never too old when they exist,” Johnny spoke gravely.

Martin sat silent while his grandfather stood and went to the window. “I walked out to the aspen grove, three were cut down.”

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Martin said.

“You know what is in my head, but I’ll tell you anyway.”

Martin sat forward as Johnny turned to face him. “The hunters are forever starving, and they will creep closer to the city with each passing night, as they did in the past. They will only stop when they are completely cut to pieces and afterwards their spirits will walk still, only a blessing will send them back into the trees. A blessing preformed by one of our blood, the people who imprisoned them to begin with.”

Martin still couldn’t speak, it was settling in on him.

“That means you,” Johnny answered the question forming in his grandson’s mind. “Only you… Do you remember enough from your people to protect those you live amongst now?”

Martin rose and walked to the door, readying himself to hurry back to Brush Mill, but stopped when his grandfather said, “Take Sky with you.”

***

The Fall Festival was set for dusk and, after three days of hard work, the booths were finally ready. Ms. Clark sat down with a sigh of exhaustion and wished she had a drink in her hand.

“Too bad there won’t be any booze at this festival,” Eric teased.

She couldn’t help but laugh at her student’s joke, even though it was completely inappropriate. She guessed it was plain on her face, after such grueling days, she really needed a whisky on the rocks.  Shelley’s mother, Amber, was there again, this time she brought her daughter with her. Ms. Clark had to show some serious restraint when Amber started ordering Shelley around, the girl was obviously not feeling well and retreated to the restroom a few times. They left an hour before the setup was complete to prepare dinner for Dale, a man Ms. Clark hadn’t liked since her days in high school with him. A handful of other volunteers had also gone back home to dress their children for the Halloween festivities. There was another sore point she had each year, she wasn’t allowed to tell anyone “Happy Halloween” due to upsetting the religious folks around town. It all seemed so silly to her, but she followed the rules, nonetheless. The Brush Mill fire department had a booth setup for Maxine and her daughter Clara to run, it taught fire safety and also provided coloring books for the younger kids. There was a cake walk in the center of the square, so attendees could play a game quite like musical chairs but, without the seating, in order to win half-dozens of cupcakes provided by the local bakery. A miniature haunted house was erected, with prop walls from her very own drama department at Brush Mill high, and many other booths ran along the perimeter of the square. She was pleased with how everything turned out and could finally relax a bit before the party really started.

“We’re gonna head home so we can get dressed,” Jarred said as he and Eric walked down the sidewalk.

“Go ahead; be back at five on the dot!”

“We know, you only told us a thousand times!” Eric called back over his shoulder.

“Little shit,” she responded softly to herself.

***

Charles sat beside his telephone, hoping Martin changed his mind. The newspaper was folded up and lying on the coffee table; he kept the front page out of sight because he couldn’t stand looking at a picture of Larry from happier times. He’d seen him on more than a few occasions down at Lulu’s, getting wasted; he was nothing more than a hollow-eyed shell of the man memorialized in the Brush Mill Gazette. The story told the whole tragic tale of how his son was murdered by the Beast of Carver’s cabin, it was what they dubbed the cougar the whole town thought had committed the killings. It went on to tell about Larry’s life after the years he spent with Alex’s mother, it was the retelling of a lackluster life without his family, though they tried to make it sound fulfilling. It made Charles grow teary-eyed to read about the memorial services which would be held for both Larry and Alex, they were to be reunited once more, the day after Halloween, at the Eternal Peace Mortuary on the edge of town.

Charles went to his garage and dug out an aluminum ladder. He carried it inside and stationed it below the attic access door in his second bedroom, the one meant for guests, though he never had any. Elroy sat patiently on the floor, watching while Charles held a small flashlight between his teeth and crawled up the rungs. He pushed the man-sized door up and prepared himself to enter a vault of memories he tried damn hard to forget on a daily basis. The attic was dark and dirty, dust motes danced in  the beam of his flashlight as it passed over the boxes and trunks he stashed up there decades before, like caskets of skeletons overflowing from imaginary closets. They were within arm’s length but he was a younger man when he placed them up there. The one he sought was heavy and scraped across the delicate ceiling of the old house. Sweat beaded on his forehead; even in autumn, his attic was stifling, and cramped with insulation so old it more than likely poisoned his lungs with each inhalation. Charles managed to drag the footlocker to the entrance and stepped down one rung, resting a minute before hauling it down to the top of the ladder. He sat it there, looking at it, a familiar box fastened by a brass clasp lock. Elroy whined a bit, drawing Charles’ attention.

“I had this long before you were ever born, my friend. I was a different man then, you helped me become better.”

Carefully, he brought the box down and carried it into the living room. Charles nearly sat it on top of the Brush Mill Gazette, but something in him thought it might be disrespectful to old Larry, his son, and those other boys written about in its thin pages. He lugged it over to the sofa, instead, and placed it there. He stepped away for a moment and grabbed a beer. He never had an addiction to alcohol, like many other vets who came home alongside him, his problem was with violence. The war had left him with a fuse far too short for civilian life. Charles knew he didn’t have the time to hesitate long in reliving his wartime escapades, a few would certainly bring a smile to his face, but every single other one would only be a reminder to the prisoner he once was, of his mind and the way it dealt with life. He opened the footlocker; his eyes fell on the handful of pictures he stored away when he decided it was time to change. Charles picked them up and flipped through them, briefly recalling his younger self, a man who cut the ears from his enemies and laughed when they begged him in a language his mind didn’t comprehend…yet their eyes spoke universally to his soul. How many times did he tell himself he was only doing what he had to, just to survive? It was years later he finally admitted to himself there were deeds he committed with his own hands, out of pure spite, and not out of necessity. Shame followed him, it clung to him like a sodden cloak, invisible to all but him, and  stained with blood and tears. As if it could be felt physically radiating from his master, Elroy came and put his head on Charles’ knee, his dark eyes staring up at Charlie’s, begging him to stop torturing himself.

“I know, boy. I know.”

He slid the faded pictures back down into the side of the box and lifted out an old set of fatigues, his only camouflage left from those days so long ago. He held them up and popped the dust from them, examining them. He wasn’t concerned he had grown too large in the abdomen to wear them anymore, it was the opposite in fact, as if he’d deflated with age, losing his muscle mass along with the poisonous rage his body once held. He set the drab, olive green fatigues aside and located his old boots. He wondered if his feet could withstand the blister-producing footwear, anymore. He figured it would only be for a night, maybe two, this tour would probably be his last, and he could handle it. He went to his closet to retrieve his hunting rifle and handgun. He still enjoyed target practice and hunting animals, it had a different feel than tracking a man down and putting a bullet through his skull. Charles found therapy in going out with Elroy, wandering the endless miles of forest, just the two of them. The peaceful feeling was shattered the day he was called out to bring his dog to the cabin on the mountain, and he felt it might never be the same; it made old demons stir within him. He glanced over at himself in the mirror in the bathroom and it receded back to hide inside him. He saw an old man staring back at him, one who swore to never take the life of a man again.

But these aren’t men.

***

Martin didn’t even bother trying to use his cell phone until he was clear of the mountains, it would have been useless to try explaining to Charles what he had in mind through a broken signal. This was a subject he wanted to discuss face to face with his old friend, a plan most people would find preposterous, and call to reserve him a room over at the psyche ward. He needed to run to his apartment first, there were a few things he needed, and Sky would be waiting. His gut knotted just thinking about taking his dog along, she was like a child to him, but if his grandfather insisted, he knew leaving her behind was not an option. If what Charles said was true, and he was beginning to believe it was, the hungry tribe was making their way closer and closer to civilization each night. The old stories said they slumbered within the trees during the day, hidden in the bark and branches, watching everything below them. He contemplated burning the entire forest to the ground while driving back toward Brush Mill, alone with the knowledge of what really hunted the woods just beyond the peaceful city.

Chapter Eleven

“Are you feeling sick? You were in the bathroom a lot today,” Amber asked her daughter.

“I’m fine, probably something I ate.”

“That’s the same excuse you gave me for not being at Lulu’s yesterday.”

“I wasn’t lying,” her daughter replied.

“I didn’t say you were, your manager told me you left early. What’s going on with you?”

“I said I’m fine. Just coming down with something.”

Shelley was so thankful Casey’s mom covered for her when her mother came spying, she didn’t know how she’d ever repay Ruth for being so supportive, but she meant to.

“I have a feeling I know what it is,” Amber said.

Shelley’s stomach turned, her mother must have seen the signs. She was a woman, after all, and had been pregnant, a time she nearly died, at least that’s what she said to Shelley every time they argued. Shelley felt tears welling in her eyes, as her mom placed a hand on her shoulder.

“The deaths of those boys really got to you, didn’t it?”

To hear her mother speak those words was both a relief and a reminder of her lonesome situation. Shelley wasn’t ready to confess her secret, not until it was absolutely necessary, yet her mother’s suspicion wasn’t too far off. The loss of one of those boys in particular nearly killed her inside each time she thought about it. Shelley nodded and let the tears fall, masking them with the excuse of the deaths hitting too close to home, reminding her even young people die.

“Your school sent a letter home. After the fall break they will have counselors available to speak to students individually. Promise me you will talk to one of them,” Amber said, and embraced her only child.

“I promise,” Shelley answered and wept into her mother’s shoulder.

“I know it’s gotta be hard to lose your friends, it’s terrible.”

Amber felt selfish, but she was so thankful her daughter wasn’t among them. She cried reading the newspaper the morning it was reported, and when she saw the boys’ family members out around town, with their eyes not really seeing what was around them, it broke her heart. She held her daughter tighter and they cried together. Dale already told her he thought it would be a bad idea to allow Shelley to go to the memorial service; he said it would only be too sad. She hoped Shelley wouldn’t ask to go because it would only start an argument, and she didn’t want to be caught between her husband and her daughter.

“I know you are really upset but do you think you’ll be able to go to the festival with me, get some fresh air and have a little fun? It might make you feel better.”

Shelley wanted to refuse but when she looked up at her mother, knowing she was trying so hard to console her, she nodded and smiled sadly.

“That’s great. I’ll make sure to get you a big cup of apple cider and some funnel cake.”

She hugged Shelley again and stroked her hair, she was trying so hard and Shelley knew it. She wrapped her arms around Amber and held her, knowing soon she would destroy her mother with the truth of why she wasn’t feeling herself anymore.

***

Patrick and Lana Wright hadn’t slept in days, the news of the death of their son, Leon, was destroying  them both. Patrick didn’t go on the hunt for the cougar, Sheriff Reynolds told him he was needed at home and he was right. Lana hadn’t changed her clothes or brushed her hair, she only sat staring out the window into the front yard, hoping it was all a terrible nightmare and Leon would return home. He managed to get her to drink a little water and eat a few scant meals, but he worried she might leap into the burial plot on top of the pine box when the memorial service was finished. He had to identify what was left of their son, the burnt remains; it was mostly formality because they had to use DNA testing to make it official. Patrick remembered watching his blood being drawn, watching it fill the small tube, he wanted to cut his wrists and empty himself out, but Lana needed him. Carol and Daniel Grove, the parents of Brady, suggested they have a memorial service together so the community could gather around them on their day of letting go. He and Lana agreed, they couldn’t imagine leaving the other parents alone in their darkest hour when they laid their sons to rest in basically empty coffins. He came to collect her from her vigil at the window; she was watching the children go by, their excited shouts echoing across their empty yard. Patrick knew it killed her inside, every one of them reminded her of Leon when he was small.

“Come on, honey,” he whispered over her shoulder.

She didn’t answer, but let herself be led to the bedroom. He helped her into the bed and took his spot beside her, holding her in the dark silence, wondering if they would ever be able to sleep, eat, or walk down the streets again without seeing how much they had lost at Carver’s cabin.

***

The water man was a bit perturbed all the booths were already taken at the Fall Festival; it would have been a prime opportunity to promote his company. He took the night off, a rare occurrence for him, to attend the gathering hoping he’d get the chance to see Catherine again. Rumor had it she was seeing the game warden, but he refused to let a weirdo, tree-hugger take his woman. He parked his car out in front of Lulu’s and opened his glove box, inside was his favorite cologne. He doused himself with the semi-expensive scent before stepping out into the evening air. He walked into the local watering hole and took a seat at a corner table.

“What will you be having tonight, Richard?” Ruth asked.

“Throw a burger on the grill and get me a draft beer,” he answered.

“Sure thing.”

He waited there for his dinner and checked his cell phone a few times to be certain his employees hadn’t left any messages. They were a capable crew but no ship ran perfectly without its captain. Richard knew Catherine frequented Lulu’s after her long shifts, which may have contributed to her being a little curvy, but he liked his women that way. He hoped to accompany her to the festival and rekindle their short love affair amidst the cool fall breezes and the scent of funnel cakes. The restaurant was basically empty; most folks in town were preparing to attend the festival. It would be a much needed night of happiness after all they had been through in a short amount of time. He smirked, remembering how Archie’s face looked when the water man showed up on scene to save the fire department’s ass. He meant to brag about it to Catherine, maybe shed a tear for those lost boys and see if she fell for his sensitive side. Warden Andrew never lacked in that department, he was always around, saving baby raccoons and relocating deer wandering through neighborhoods, like some kind of Tarzan. Richard could feel his anger rising and tried to cool himself off with a swig of cold beer; if he let himself lose control it would spoil his whole plan. Ruth’s daughter, Casey came through the front door and walked past his table, he shook his head at the girl sporting a boy’s haircut and all black clothing. Ruth came out of the kitchen and nodded to Casey, who took a seat at the bar to wait for her mother while she served the water man.

“This place is a ghost town tonight,” he said.

“Yeah, seems like everyone will be down at the town square tonight,” Ruth replied.

“What about you?”

“I’ll be here until close. We’re making some food trays for the memorial service tomorrow and I want them to be done right,” she sighed.

“I know how that goes. I haven’t had a day off in months, but all I can do is think about work when I’m finally free.”

She laughed and patted him on the shoulder, “Nothing goes right without us, right?”

“You can say that again.”

“Enjoy your dinner.”

Ruth went to sit with her daughter at the empty bar; they sat close and talked quietly. Richard had seen the girl wandering around with his buddy Dale’s stepdaughter. She was weird, too; she always looked like she just woke up. Richard felt sorry for girls like Shelley and Casey; he couldn’t think of very many decent men who would take them on, which only left the trashy guys as choices for boyfriends. He ate his cheeseburger and drank two more beers, watching Ruth and her daughter, who appeared to be making a list on apiece of paper for her mother. He remembered that they were kin to one of the boys who were killed. Ruth was doing all she could for them, with all she had, he thought to himself. If Catherine didn’t take him back, he should set his sights on the single mother, but if he did, her daughter would have to show some respect for herself and stop it with all her Goth bullshit. Being a businessman he thought he could work his magic on Ruth, it would only take a little time.

“We’re going to need a few more platters of sandwiches and some drinks and we’ll have everything ready,” Ruth said.

Casey kept glancing back over her shoulder at Richard, who stared at them.

“That guy is a fuckin’ creep,” she whispered.

“I’m not thrilled to see him either, believe me!” Ruth answered.

“Why the hell does he keep looking over here?”

“Focus on the list.”

“I will, but he needs to mind his own damn business.”

Ruth shushed her daughter and took the slip of paper, folded it up, and stuck it in the pocket of her work shirt. “Are you going to the festival?”

“Yeah, I thought I would swing by and see Shelley for a little while.”

“That’s a good idea, she’s stuck with her mom all night and she needs company.”

“Hopefully I don’t have to kick anyone in the balls tonight; you know how they are on Halloween.”

“Tell them to cram it.”

“Or I could pretend I’m a devil worshipper, looking for sacrificial victims to appease the dark lord.”

Her mother laughed and snorted. “That’s my girl!”

“I’m taking off, I want to get down there early and head home before you get off.”

“Yes, please. I’m still worried after everything that went on. Will you go with me to the memorial tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Casey answered, their light mood died. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

Ruth nodded and hugged her only child, whispering, “Take care tonight. I love you.”

“I love you too, Mama,” she answered.

***

Andrew read over the report, scratching his forehead. “Did you run tests on the stomach contents?”

“Yes, but those won’t be ready until the morning,” Rochelle answered. “There was no sign of rabies, but it looked pretty beat up; the cat must have come a long way looking for hunting territory.”

“Alright,” he answered. Internally he hoped the cat bore some sign as to why it acted the way it did; he still felt a little clueless as to what provoked it to kill.

“I’m heading home, my daughter wants to go to the festival dressed as Little Red Riding Hood and I still haven’t made her costume,” she said.

“Go on. I’m closing up here soon to get out for a little while, too.”

“I think we all desperately need that,” Rochelle smiled sadly.

“I can’t agree more,” Warden Andrew said.

“Are you going to the festival?”

“No, actually, I have a date,” he grinned

“Well, she’s a lucky lady,” she winked.

He blushed and waved her away. “Go have fun with your kid!”

“I’ll have those results on your desk, but from the looks of the body, I’d say this was our killer.”

Warden Andrew watched her go before going over the file she had worked on. He read it over; everything seemed to point toward the cougar being the culprit. It was a large male, its body showed signs of an intense fight. He guessed it must have been ousted from its territory by a younger cat and came looking for new hunting grounds. He closed the file and laid it back on the desk. The final bit of proof would be the contents of its stomach. If human matter was discovered, there would be no question. He picked up his phone and dialed Petrucci to check on the exhausted detective. They had both thankfully got a night’s rest, but wrapping the case up needed tending to. He headed to the hospital to pay Detective Petrucci a visit and to be sure Diana had been well taken care of, though he didn’t doubt, she was in the care of Catherine.

Chapter Twelve

“Can I do anything else for you before my shift is over?” Catherine asked David.

“No, you’ve been wonderful. Thank you for making sure my partner was comfortable.”

“It was my pleasure,” she blushed.

“Was there ever a doubt?” Warden Andrew asked from the door.

“Come on in,” Detective Petrucci said.

He worked most of the day at Detective Tenser’s bedside to finish up everything he owed to his superiors. Diana slept most of the time; she felt sore but much better and was looking forward to the next morning when she would be released.

“How is she?” the warden asked.

“She’s tough, she’ll be just fine,” Detective Petrucci said with a grin.

“What’s your plan for the night,” Catherine asked. “Down in the square they’re hosting a Fall Festival, you could find something to eat and get a little fresh air.”

“No, I’ll be fine right here. I don’t want her waking up alone.”

“I’ll make sure you have everything to keep you comfortable before I go then,” she smiled.

“Maybe a cup of coffee?” David asked.

“I can definitely do that.”

Catherine winked at Andrew as she left, asking, “We still on for tonight?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

Detective Petrucci smiled, “She’s a wonderful woman.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“Are you taking her out to the festival tonight?”

“No, we have other plans. I’m taking her just outside town to look at the stars; it’s going to be a hunter’s moon,” the warden answered.

“Sounds like a good plan,” Detective Petrucci winked.

“Are you two headed out in the morning?” Warden Andrew asked, changing the subject.

“As soon as she’s released. I’m taking her back out to recover at home; I’ll be out in the field on my own for a few weeks if you need me for anything.”

“I really hope not.”

“That’s true,” the detective said.

“If you’re ever up this way again, and you’re not on duty, why don’t you stop by. I’ll buy you a beer.”

“I will, my friend.”

* * *

Falling, falling, a crushing weight on her chest, pinning her to the dirt. All she could feel were teeth in her flesh, tearing at her neck, and then the warmth of her own blood. Disbelief, replaced by the certainty of death, the jaws of the beast dripping with saliva. Heat on her neck, crushing pressure, and pain. Eyes watching, orbs above her, gathering sunlight, gazing hungrily as her blood was spilled. Eyes looking down but not from the sky, from bough and branch, opening in the bark of trees held captive by foreign entities. Diana could see how they swayed, not with the wind but in the act of trying to cast away something attached to them. Greedy eyes counting every drop of her blood. A deafening boom, the beast at her throat releases her to scream one final time as its heart stills. It lays over her, suffocating her like shovel-loads of grave soil.

“Diana!?”

The eyes close, unseen in their lofty seclusion.

“Diana?!”

The eyes are one with the trees, camouflaged in them.

Her body is shaken by invisible hands. Though she’s aware she’s moving, her body is numb, the pain is drowned and forced back by a mixture of sleep and pain medication. She is pulled back into reality and away from the nightmare she kept reliving each time she closed her eyes, only this time it didn’t hang back in the periphery of her subconscious, it stalked her slowly until she recalled how helpless she felt. It attacked then, when it could feed on her helplessness. She awoke, remembering eyes watching her, those that didn’t belong to the cat, but of a predator of a different kind.

“Diana, are you ok?” Detective Petrucci asked.

Catherine rushed through the door holding a cup of coffee. She put the cup on a table and hurried to the detective’s bedside,

“What’s wrong?”

“She was having a nightmare,” Warden Andrew said,

“The poor thing, I hate to say it doesn’t surprise me,” Catherine wiped the perspiration from Diana’s forehead. “She’s been through a true nightmare.”

“You’re gonna be ok, Diana,” Petrucci spoke down to his partner as she settled back against her pillow.

Detective Tenser sighed deeply. “Water, please.”

Nurse Catherine helped Diana sit up and then held a cup with a straw in it to her lips. She sipped the water and calmed down more and more as she became fully awake.

“I’m ok, now.” Her voice was hoarse.

“I’m busting you outta here tomorrow,” David promised.

***

Elroy ran down the hallway to bark at the front door, the dog was always Charlie’s first line of defense. The knocking and voice on the other side eased the tension twisting his guts into a ball.

“Open up, Charlie.”

It was Martin, his voice was unmistakable. Charlie’s nerves were driving him crazy; it reminded him of when he was a young man preparing to go out on recon. He opened the door and the look on his old friend’s face answered the singular question eating at him, Running River believed him.

“Come in.”

Martin whistled for Sky and she leapt from his truck. His face was grim when he stepped inside, but didn’t sit. “We have to make a plan.”

“No shit.”

“Are there any other people you’ve spoken to about this?” Martin asked.

“No, no one.”

“They wouldn’t believe us anyway.”

“Believe us about what?” Charles asked, he had to hear it, to know he wasn’t going insane.

“The hungry tribe.”

“What are they?”

“Beasts, monsters, spirits, an unbelievable legend.” Martin tried to explain; he gripped the sides of his head thinking of how to tell his friend what they were dealing with.

“That’s all I need to know.”

“How the hell can this be real? We’re actually thinking a pack of creatures are coming for Brush Mill?” Martin shook his head. “I sound like a fool.”

“Listen, a monster is a monster, whether it looks human or not. I’ve had my dealings with them, remember?”

Martin nodded, noticing Charles wore his old fatigues; he was already dressed for war.

“How do we kill them?”

“In the myths the battles were brutal; my people had to cut them to pieces. Even then, they tried to keep killing. After they were burnt and torn apart, it took the blessing of my people to banish them to the trees.”

“I’ll do the killing, if you do the blessing,” Charlie said grimly.

“It’s gonna take more than you and me, my friend.”

“These assholes around here won’t believe us until the war has already begun. I say we get stationed and when the shit hits the fan our army will come to us, they won’t have any other choice,” Charles said.

“Let’s get to work then.”

***

The town square glowed with soft orange lights Ms. Clark had hung in the trees. She kept most of the decorations in the theme of fall colors but couldn’t help throwing in some traditional Halloween flare. The haunted house was restricted to PG13, so younger festival goers could walk through it. She set up a pumpkin patch in one corner, where kids could carve their own jack o’ lanterns. The town’s people began making their way to the celebration just before five and it filled quickly with the laughter of children. Camille Clark felt a sense of pride swelling in her. Families happily strolled along, stopping at each booth to play games and eat fall snacks. The shroud of terror they wore only a few days before had been cast aside and life felt as if it were returning to normal. Sadness came when she thought of the four families who wouldn’t attend, those who wouldn’t be among their neighbors because they were still in mourning.

“Eric!” Ms. Clark called to her student volunteer. He came jogging over; he was dressed as a clown.

“Go to the storage container and look for four of those small plastic boxes we used to store extra decorations, dump them out and bring them to me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered.

She knew he only volunteered to boost his grades, in order to be allowed to stay on the wrestling team, but he had actually been an invaluable helper. He was sarcastic but it wasn’t anything Ms. Clark couldn’t match with her own teasing, so they got along well.

She hoped to turn the sadness many felt into hope, by adding four donation boxes for the families of the boys who would never be able to enjoy such gatherings again, without remembering their tremendous loss.

***

Casey stopped by the apple-bobbing booth, but she could feel Amber’s eyes on her as she talked to Shelley. They weren’t supposed to be very close; at least that’s what Shelley always insisted around her parents.

“Sorry, I don’t want you to have any problems with your warden,” Casey whispered. “I just wanted to check on you.”

Shelley smiled, “Don’t worry, she seems to be in a good mood.”

“I don’t think so,” Casey said. “I’m just here to show my support for you, I don’t want be around these assholes.”

“I know, thanks,” she smiled appreciatively.

“I’ll make my rounds so I’m not so obvious, but I’ll come say goodbye.”

Casey heard them whispering behind her, saying the usual stuff, like how she was always dressed for Halloween, and how she looked like a devil worshipper. It never truly bothered her unless they got confrontational, which had happened before, but most backed down once they realized she would happily punch someone in the face if she had to.

***

Jarred dressed as a werewolf, his mask itched and he could hardly see through the eye holes, but it looked really creepy, which made him happy. Even with impaired vision he could see Julie making her way through the crowd. She was dressed as a witch, with a short black dress and witch’s hat perched on top of her head. His heart pounded as he watched her laughing as she watched the kids battling for position at the cake walk.

“I see you watching her.”

He turned uncomfortably, trying to see who caught him checking out Julie. A clown with a rainbow afro wig and painted face giggled down at him.

“Where’s the rest of your cavemen. I didn’t think you’d speak to me tonight.”

“They have other plans,” he answered and winked.

Jarred didn’t like the idea of the rest of the jocks planning a Halloween prank and he knew Ms. Clark would totally flip out if it happened anywhere near the festival.

“Don’t get caught up in any shit, or you’ll lose all of your extra credit.”

“Cool out, don’t turn into a snitch,” Eric said.

“I’m not. I’m just saying you worked just as hard as I did and you don’t want it ruined by your friends pulling some stupid prank.”

“You’re a pussy, Jarred.”

Eric tromped off in his oversized clown shoes, grumbling to himself, and with him went Jarred’s hopes of finally becoming one of the cool crowd. He always tried to deny it, even to himself, but it was the truth. Beneath his mask he fumed, how could he have been so stupid to think the group of guys who treated him like crap for half his life would suddenly accept him just because Eric said he was a nice guy after all?

***

Troy Chandler, Anthony Pierce, and Joey Martin hovered in the darkness behind the giant, steel storage unit Ms. Clark had hauled down beside the set up in the square. It usually sat behind the auditorium and was used to hold all of her extra props and supplies for the drama classes, but in its new resting place, it created a perfect spot to hide and scheme up a way to cause a little Halloween raucous.

“Where’s Eric?” Anthony asked. His dark eyes always darted about nervously and his face looked so much like a rat it was hard for people not to laugh sometimes, but he was also wealthy and popular, which meant kids left him alone.

“He’ll be here in about twenty minutes,” Joey answered. He was the mastermind behind the crashing of the Fall Festival. He was blessed with good looks and sandy blond hair that drove the cheerleaders crazy, yet a much smaller bank account, so he kept Anthony around for providing extra funds.

“We’re gonna be famous after this!” Troy laughed and smoothed his black hair down. He usually wore dark sunglasses and polo shirts and thought he was a really smooth operator, but tonight he wore his old wrestling tank top and tan cargo shorts.

“He said there were two of them in there, so you’ll play the victim,” Joey said, pointing to Troy.

“Did you bring what I need?”

“Of course.” Joey grinned in the dark and pulled three tubes of fake blood out of his pocket.

“There’s a ton of cops in there. I hope I don’t get my ass shot off,” Anthony thought out loud.

“You can’t be that dumb! It’s going to be obvious pretty quick it’s fake!”

“You’re right, but I don’t want anyone getting an itchy trigger finger after what happened to Brady and Leon and those other two idiots.”

“Just calm down, Anthony. If you’re gonna chicken out then go bob for apples, you puss!”

“I’m not. I’m just saying we gotta make sure after the initial shock, we make it known we are only joking around.”

“We will!”

“Yeah, and besides, do you really think people will be stupid enough to believe there are two mountain lions walking around on their hind legs?” Troy said. “You remember those costumes for game day; they don’t even look like a mountain lion!”

“We are the fighting jaguars!” Joey sang the fight song of their high school and giggled.

“Go Jags!” Troy shouted.

A rainbow wig bobbed as a figure approached, they knew it was Eric, just by the way his arms hung at his side like a gorilla. “Look at that douche bag!” Anthony teased.

Eric made his way to the edge of the festival setup and snuck between two booths to locate the storage unit. “You guys here?”

“Yes, what are you, blind?”

“It’s getting dark, dickhead!” Eric said.

“Whatever, where’s the key?”

“I was just coming to tell you, I left the lock open earlier when I got sent in to find some stuff for Ms. Clark. The costumes are in a red box right inside the door.”

“Kick ass!” Anthony said.

“We’re gonna wait a little bit longer and then the magic will happen,” Joey said.

“Killer!” Eric said with a thumbs up.

“Oh, and try to make sure no one shoots Anthony, he’s being a pussy about all the cops in there!”

Anthony gave Joey the middle finger and shook his head.

Chapter Thirteen

Charles and Martin rode in Martin’s truck, since it was in better shape mechanically, their dogs sat in the cab between them. They were silent for most of the ride, lost in the grim determination to stop the threat approaching their peaceful town. The dogs didn’t fidget happily like they normally did when the two friends went out fishing or hunting, they, too, were quiet, their eyes searching the trees on both sides of the road. The two planned to head out to Summer Lake, it wasn’t far from Brush Mill and it was the scene of the last known murder, when poor Larry was eaten on the muddy banks. If the stories were true, the hunters would have fed on him, but would have taken shelter to hide amongst the trees at dawn. Their trail of death went as the crow flies, cross country, in the direction of Brush Mill. Charlie and Martin meant to hunt them, to track them down, and stop them, at any cost. Martin took the back roads; the evening sky was blood-red and cloudless.

“It’s gonna be a blood moon tonight, a hunter’s moon,” Charles spoke, breaking the silence.

“May the best hunters prevail,” Martin said.

Sky barked, causing them both to jump in their seats. Martin slowed the truck to a crawl.

“It ain’t dark yet, can she smell them?”

“I’m not sure, but my grandfather told me she needed to be with me tonight.”

Elroy started to growl, a low rumble in his chest.

“What’s the matter, boy?” Charles whispered to his dog.

“He smells something, Charlie,” Martin said and brought the truck to a stop.

Ahead of them, lying in the road, looked like a broken road sign. Charles looked to Martin and nodded. He opened the truck door slowly and his dog followed. Elroy sniffed the black top and crept forward at a steady pace, while Charles walked behind him, his rifle ready. As they approached the thin piece of wood, he quickly realized it had a mailbox attached to it. He turned back and waved Martin to drive forward.

“It’s a mailbox,” he spoke through the driver’s side window.

“Who lives out here?” Martin asked.

“Russell Monroe, he lives up the hill just a little ways.”

“Let’s go check on him,” Martin said.

***

Tommy waited for Rena just outside her apartment. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in anticipation of seeing her again. She came out her front door and took the stairs down to the grassy courtyard and stopped, staring into the parking lot, until she recognized his personal vehicle. She jogged toward him with a smile on her face. He couldn’t hide the lust in his eyes when she stood outside the driver’s side window. She wore a pale blue blouse and black pencil skirt, accentuating the curve of her hips.

“No cruiser tonight?”

“I didn’t want anyone ratting me out.”

She laughed and rounded the car to climb inside. She opened the door and sat beside him. He sped away from the apartment complex as she buckled her seat belt. “Where are we going?”

“For a little ride, before I have to be on the clock again.”

“So, is there anything new?”

“Are you asking as a civilian or as a reporter?” he asked.

“Both, I guess you’d say.”

“Larry’s family is out of state, so we’re waiting for them to claim his body. It will definitely be a closed casket.”

“That bad?”

“I wasn’t exaggerating when I told you it was just blood and bones left of him.”

“That’s terrible, anything else?”

“You know all about the memorial service tomorrow for those kids, and the festival going on tonight.”

“Is there still any threat, I mean, anymore cats looking to tear people to shreds?”

“We talked about all of this. We got the damn thing, it’s dead, and everyone can go on about their normal way of life.”

“Ok.”

“I got you the scoop and you wrote a nice article about it, but you did promise me a reward.”

“Oh, that’s right!”

She ran her hand up his thigh and rested it between his legs. She could feel him growing excited. “Can’t you drive any faster?”

Tommy stomped on the gas and they laughed as they sped through town.

The fields outside of town swayed in the evening breeze, the sky was just fading into violet. Rena rolled the window down and let the wind blow through her short, red hair. Tommy pulled off the black top onto a rutted dirt road and drove a little ways, before stopping beneath the lazy limbs of a willow tree.

***

Sheriff Reynolds walked through the crowd of festival goers, his mood had lifted after seeing all the happy faces. The mayor had him into his office for a celebratory glass of scotch before relieving him to go patrol the Fall Festival. Everyone passing him greeted him with a smile, and a few with appreciative handshakes. He hadn’t seen the families of Leon, Brady, Jeremiah, and Alex since the day before, when he brought the news to them the killer of their children was put down by a state investigator and his partner. He noticed the donation boxes for the families were also filling up. It wouldn’t bring those kids back, but it would show their families the community was there for them. He checked his watch; it was hours until the change of shifts, when Tommy and his crew would take over. Reynolds counted his team; there were enough deputies to make an army, if needed. He walked by the fire department’s booth, run by Clara and Maxine, both were busy instructing children and adults about fire safety. He waved as he passed by. Seeing Maxine made him think of Russell and his unfortunate incident with lighting his nether regions on fire, and he couldn’t help but chuckle. He knew Russell wouldn’t be at the festival, he’d be at home getting drunk with his dog, Rosco, on his lap. Sheriff Reynolds sent a few of his men out patrolling the outskirts of the city, but most of them were positioned around the festival grounds in order to keep everyone at ease.

***

Charlie and Martin pulled into the steep driveway of Russell Monroe, their dogs whined and shuffled in the seat between them.

“I don’t like this at all,” Charles said pointing to the open front door.

“We know where they hunted last night,” Running River answered grimly.

“Larry was reported as the most recent killing, but old Russell’s house is between the lake and town, looks like he was the last person killed.”

“That we know of,” Martin added.

“Let’s look inside.”

“Get your gun ready and bring the dogs,” Martin said.

Sky and Elroy were kept on their leashes, for fear of them catching the scent of one of the hunters and getting away from their masters. The dogs tugged and howled as they drew near the open trailer door, it was forced in. Charles stepped onto the first step and the smell hitting him reminded him of when he was young, in the jungle, permeating the same stink so densely it could be tasted on his tongue and it clung to his clothes and skin…death.

“I don’t have to go any further to know he’s dead.”

“Go on, we’ll have to call it in.”

Elroy whined and shook; he lay down on his belly and refused to move. Sky backed away and attempted to pull Martin with her.

“They know, too.”

“I’ll do it, I just want this over with,” Charles spoke as he handed the leash to Martin.

Charlie stepped inside, through the broken door. He found Russell first, at least he assumed it was Russell, the corpse was picked clean to only a pile of bloodstained bones. Not far from it was a stain of black fluid.  Charlie kept his gun out before him as he surveyed the one-room trailer house, in the bedroom there was another black stain, and hunks of grey material on the bedside table and the wall beneath the window. It stunk worse than anything he’d ever smelled. He examined it close enough to believe it was brain matter, and began to wonder if Russell hadn’t fought back. He backed out of the room and down the small hallway and stepped over the corpse to locate the phone in the kitchen. A much smaller skeleton had been dismantled and stripped of its flesh and organs, Rosco. It brought a tear to his eye to think the old dachshund hadn’t made it out alive, either.

“Protecting your master, same as what old Elroy would do for me,” he spoke down to the dog’s remains.

“What’s going on in there?” Martin called through the door.

“We were right, Russell is dead, and so is his dog.”

“Let’s call someone out here, then.”

The trailer was growing dark with the falling night, it made Charlie shiver involuntarily. The hunt would begin soon and so would their defense. He prayed it would be enough, after seeing the devastation the hungry tribe wreaked upon Russell and Rosco. Elroy bayed, shattering Charles’ train of thought. The sky through the window was now almost dark, it was time. Charles dug in his pocket,  pulled out his cell phone, and dialed the police department. The phone rang and rang before anyone answered. He left a simple message to the woman listening, Russell Monroe was dead in his trailer, and something killed him. He hung up the phone amongst the barking and howling of his dog. He stepped out of the trailer to find Martin struggling to keep Elroy in control.

“He smells them,” Martin said.

“Well, are we hunting or what?”

“Let’s do this.”

Martin and Charles dragged their dogs back to the truck and stood beside it. Night was upon them. The time of the hungry hunters had begun.

***

Rena was stretched out on a blanket beneath the willow tree. She was wearing black panties and a black bra. Tommy stripped down to his boxers and laid over her, kissing her neck, feeling her body responding to his as she wrapped her legs around him.

“I want my reward,” he whispered and she laughed softly. “Come get it.”

Their relationship had blossomed from flirting into much more, in only a matter of months. She was in great shape and her sexual appetite was almost more than he could handle. Her profession could really cause Tommy problems with his boss, especially since he passed information along to her, so he kept it under wraps until they decided how far they really wanted to take it. He slid his hand around to unfasten her bra, he loved feeling her naked skin against his chest, but unhooking it was akin to getting a pair of handcuffs off without a key. She giggled as he struggled, so she sat up and did it for him, slowly revealing her breasts to him. His face went red, then he pushed her gently back to help her slide out of her panties. The autumn air was getting chilly, night was setting in. She waved him toward her. “Come keep me warm.”

“I just want to admire the view for a second.”

He left a trail of kisses up her leg, stomach, and chest before kneeling before her. Rena grabbed the sides of his boxers and began pulling them down, when his cell phone rang.

“No, not now!”

“Go ahead, answer it.”

“Not a chance,” he answered and quickly pushed his boxers down.

***

The festival was in full swing, the sky was growing dark, and all the orange lights shone brightly. Ms. Clark sat beside the donation boxes and enjoyed the movement around her, families out having a good time together, children on sugar highs, and teens flitting about with flirtatious eyes as they walked hand in hand. The air truly smelled of fall, cinnamon and apples, pumpkin pie from the local bakery, she closed her eyes and breathed it all in. A sudden burst of screaming sent everyone into a panic; mothers ran, holding their children and crying out for help. Ms. Clark got to her feet and ran into the alarmed crowd. She had no idea what she could do, but it was her event and she felt a responsibility to try to help in any way she could. Amidst the fleeing people she could see one of her students, Troy Chandler, he was covered in blood and screaming at the top of his lungs.

“Troy!” she screamed.

Two shadowy figures leapt onto Troy’s back, pulling him to the ground. Deputies ran toward the young man and his attackers, who appeared to be two people dressed as cougars. They drew their weapons and began shouting orders. The costumed assailants rose slowly, putting their paws into the air. One of them appeared to be laughing but shut up rather quickly when Sheriff Reynolds came out of the crowd and unmasked him. Ms. Clark’s terror turned to pure fury when she realized it was all a tasteless prank. The sheriff and two of his men cuffed the three teens and escorted them away from the crowd, as the rest of the deputies tried to restore  calm to the festival.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Sheriff Reynolds asked.

“It was only a joke for Halloween,” Anthony answered.

“We could have shot you. If it weren’t for these terrible costumes, you could have been killed.”

“We’re sorry, Sheriff,” Troy said.

“Don’t you think that was a pretty messed up joke to play after your classmates were just killed?” Reynolds asked.

The three young men fell silent as the sheriff continued, “You’re all going to be charged with disturbing the peace.”

“CHARGED?” Anthony protested.

“You’re damn right.”

“We’ll see what my dad says about this.”

“There ain’t anything he can do about it. I think we had about three hundred witnesses willing to point you out of a line-up, not to mention the other two hundred who scattered, scared shitless their children were in danger.”

“I knew this was a bad idea,” Troy whined.

“This was all a stupid joke that got out of hand. We’ll make it up somehow, but don’t charge us with a crime,” Anthony offered in his best apologetic voice. “Please.”

“I know how they can make it up,” spoke Ms. Clark, who came from the festival after managing to settle the crowd.

“You name it, Ms. Clark,” the sheriff said.

“You three are on cleaning detail, you are not to leave until I release you, and that won’t be until this place is spotless.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Joey agreed.

“Now get those jaguar costumes back in the trailer, get your asses some trash bags, and start helping pick up litter,” she ordered as the sheriff removed their handcuffs.

“You’re damn lucky I like Ms. Clark, or I’d haul your asses in.”

The three young men shuffled off to fulfill their teacher’s demands and she stood by Sheriff Reynolds, who snickered. “Little shit heads.”

“I’ll keep them under control, and their debts will be paid by the time they leave. We still have three hours worth of people using the portable toilets, too.”

“I dig your style!” he laughed.

She winked and walked back toward the carnival as it began to ease back into a good time once more. Sheriff Reynolds watched her go. She was younger than him, but single, and always gave him a sly smile when they interacted. It made him think she might be attracted to men in uniform. He glanced at his watch, he was on duty for two more hours and then Tommy would come to relieve him. There was still time to work his charms on the drama teacher.

“SHERIFF!”

His radio crackled and the voice of his evening dispatcher came across sounding like an enraged bird; he flinched. Sheila still hadn’t gotten the hang of using the radios. After three months, he hoped she wouldn’t continue to screech into it, yet she still did.

“There’s a problem out on the edge of town. Russell Monroe is having some troubles.”

“What was reported?”

“I’m not sure, sir. We got a call from a cell phone, the reception was terrible, but I did make out Russell was in need of some help.”

“I’ll send a few men out to check on him,” he answered.

Chapter Fourteen

Ms. Clark smoothed her hair and made certain to add a little extra sway to her hips as she walked away. She knew the Sheriff had to feel her coming on to him any chance she got; she couldn’t help being attracted to him. His smooth, dark skin and muscular chest beneath his uniform was something she couldn’t resist checking out. She just hoped, after so many hints, one day he’d ask her out. She began barking out orders and stopped Eric as he walked by.

“Did you know those three were planning this?”

“No, Ms. Clark.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not.”

“Ok, fine. If I do find anything out about you being involved, you can kiss your extra credit goodbye. Got it?”

He nodded and she pushed by him on her way back to man the donation boxes and monitor the movements in the festival. If his face wasn’t painted so ridiculously, she would have seen him blush and known how guilty he was. He didn’t want his grades to go to shit just because he agreed to help his asshole friends; it plagued his mind as he set off to run a group through the haunted house. Jarred snuck out from behind a prop wall, his werewolf mask in his hands, and walked over to Eric.

“Did you get in trouble?”

“NO!”

“Ok. I didn’t rat you guys out,” Jarred said and pulled the werewolf mask back on.

“I know, thanks. You’re not a snitch, after all.”

“I was actually hoping those deputies would just open fire,” Jarred teased.

“You asshole!” Eric said and snickered.

Shelley sat beside her mother; she was starving, though she didn’t want it to be so obvious. She had already eaten cotton candy, three funnel cakes, and a basket of French fries. She had always heard pregnancy makes women hungry, yet she also ate in times of high stress, so she didn’t know which ailment to blame it on. When Anthony, Joey, and Troy attempted to scare everyone she was too close to the action and upon seeing the “attack” she knew right off there was something funny going on. The jaguar costumes were obviously from her own high school. The bobbing for apples booth happened to be empty at the time and she grabbed her mother by the sleeve and whispered in her ear it was only three idiots she knew from school. He mother cursed out loud, something she rarely did, and then sat in her seat with arms crossed, shaking her head until order was restored. Two more times she waved at Casey in the crowd before she came over to say good night. She left fairly early and so Casey’s mom, Amber, finally stopped watching her like a hawk. Shelley sometimes wondered if her mother worried if she and Casey were more than friends. It used to make her giggle. Now it was just another reminder of something she couldn’t hide much longer. If she had been a lesbian, she wouldn’t have found herself impregnated by a young man who died too soon. She couldn’t wait for the Fall Festival to be over with, all she wanted to do was be alone in her room.

***

Richard the Water Man hadn’t had a chance to do any reconciling, Catherine never showed up to the festival. Anger swelled inside of him, jealousy twisted his gut, yet he didn’t want to admit it. He walked out to the street and lit a cigar. He contemplated going in to work but dashed the thought from his mind. It had been far too long since he had a night off and no matter if Cathy was at his side or not, he intended to make the best of it. He walked back over to Lulu’s and strutted in, Ruth would definitely make up for losing his woman to Tarzan. He glanced over at the horizon; the orange face of the moon was making its appearance, a blood moon. He wondered how many weirdos would be roaming the streets, using it as an excuse to go overboard. Usually, Catherine would tell him about the cases they received at the hospital during the full moon, people thinking they were the messiah, women claiming to be werewolves and stripping down to their underwear to avoid ruining their clothes. He’d heard so many strange stories from Cathy, it made him miss her in a strange way. He shook away the sentimental feeling and walked quickly up the street to Lulu’s, seeking a little comfort from any woman willing, though he did have his mind set on one in particular.

***

“Look at the moon!” Rena said, lighting a cigarette.

Tommy only nodded and searched for his cell phone. He flipped it open and recognized the number on the missed call notification.

“Damn it.”

“What’s wrong?”

“That call was from the station.”

“I hope I don’t get you in trouble.”

“I’ll just say I was in the shower, but we gotta head back toward town.”

Rena pulled her clothes on and folded up the blanket while Tommy buttoned his pants and pulled on his boots. His phone rang again as he was putting on his shirt and he fumbled to answer it. The sheriff informed him he was sending two deputies and a paramedic out to Russell’s place and asked if he could make it to the festival a little early. Tommy agreed and hung up the phone.

“What’s wrong?” she asked as they headed back to drop her off at her apartment.

“Russell must have hurt himself again, damn old drunk.”

“That’s a mean thing to say.”

“We’re called up there weekly, just to deal with his drunkenness. I’m a little tired of it.”

“Maybe he’s lonely,” she said and squeezed Tommy’s thigh.

He looked over at her, her face still flush from making love; she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. “You’re right, I’ll try not to be such an asshole to him.”

***

Martin and Charles had only gotten just beyond Russell’s property line when the dogs froze, the hair stood up on their backs, and they stared into the darkened tree line.

“What is it, boy?” Charlie asked Elroy.

“Be prepared for anything,” Martin said as he turned around in a circle to keep an eye on their surroundings.

“Those woods there, the dogs don’t like them. That’s where those bastards are gonna be.”

“We need to be the barrier between them and the city,” Martin whispered.

“Let’s go down the road a ways and set up a perimeter.”

They hiked back to the truck, intent on finding a good place to make a last stand.

Martin drove silently, while Charlie kept his eyes on the blackened roadsides.

“Wait, there’s something strange.”

“What?”

“Look in the trees over there.”

Martin Running River focused just over Charlie’s trembling hand as he pointed.

“That ain’t no eye shine I’ve ever seen,” he said to his partner.

“It’s them. That’s why I felt like the trees were watching me,” Charles said.

“Because they were,” Martin spoke in disbelief as he slowed the truck to a crawl.

In the near distance, green orbs glided among the boughs of the trees, steadily making their way closer to Brush Mill. He felt his blood run cold, like his veins had frozen, at the sight of the hunters. He felt guilt twist in his gut for always treating his grandfather as many had treated him his whole life, like some superstitious dinosaur on the verge of extinction in the modern world.

***

The night brought with it the hunter’s moon. Andrew promised the sanguinary orb would hang like a burnt-orange eye against the black velvet sky. He was often overly poetic in private, and a bit cheesy, but she liked him, nonetheless. He was old fashioned, a trait she found hard to come by amongst the other single men in town. Catherine stretched out atop the flannel blanket, only a little disappointed Andrew truly brought her moon-gazing…and nothing else. The autumn air was an invigorating conclusion to the summer that felt as if it would never die. He was leaned back against his pack, searching for constellations, though the moon seemed to keep her attention far more than any set of stars named after fish or Greek mythological heroes.

“We’re safe out here, aren’t we?” she asked.

“You’re always safe with me,” he answered.

His reply filled her with the anticipation of his kiss.

“Look, there!” Andrew pointed to the trees at the bottom of the hill on which they sat. “The last of the summer Lampyridae.”

Her eyes followed in the direction of where he pointed.

She nodded. “Fireflies?”

“Yes, aren’t they beautiful?”

“Yes. Very beautiful,” Catherine smiled in the dark.

The soft green orbs hovered amidst the canopy of the trees below them, creating an ethereal feeling, as if she was looking down on some tiny faerie folk illuminating the maple trees. Catherine was struck by a romantic notion when she realized they hung in pairs, eight of them in all, slowly descending to the forest floor together.

“Isn’t it a little late for fireflies?” Catherine asked.

“I suppose not,” he answered. Then he looked to her in the darkness, she could tell his brain was mulling over her question. “Perhaps it’s Tapetum Lucidum?”

He stood and walked to the edge of the small hill, peering down at the orbs disappearing in the tall grass.

“What is that?” Catherine asked.

“Eye shine,” Andrew answered. “It occurs in many animals.”

“Oh, yes. My uncle used to hunt that way. Spotlighting, he called it. He drove around shining a big light until he caught the reflection from the eyes of opossums and deer.”

“Yes. I know what that is,” he answered with a voice vacant of its usual kindness.

Catherine felt like an idiot, Andrew was a game warden and spotlighting was an illegal form of hunting. She shook her head in the darkness while embarrassment twisted her stomach.

He watched for a while, in silence. To Catherine it felt like hours, though she knew it couldn’t have been longer than twenty minutes.

“Look in my pack and hand me my flashlight,” Andrew said. His voice was flat as he spoke in a tone just above a whisper.

She handed him the high-powered flashlight, still wondering if she should clarify her uncle was a drunken idiot who often broke the law, much to the disappointment of the rest of the family.

“My uncle was…”

“Keep your voice down,” he hushed her.

She realized then he was intent upon scanning the bottom of the hill. Catherine was relieved her confession to knowing a poacher hadn’t altered his perception of her, yet his reaction to whatever was in the tall grass was unsettling.

“The eye shine... It came down from the trees,” he spoke to himself.

“Opossums?” Catherine asked.

“It was much too far apart. Unless their heads are as big as ours.”

“What is it, then?”

“The full moon brings a lot of predators out.”

“Like coyotes?” she asked.

“Not in the tree tops, dear,” he reminded her. “Most predators’ eye shine is red, anyhow.”

Goosebumps rose on her arms. “I don’t like this. Can we go?”

“My jeep is on the other side of those trees.” He pointed beyond the tall grass and the Maple trees from which the orbs descended.

“What are we going to do?” she asked.

“Wait and see if I can distinguish what it is,” he answered. “Maybe we can go down the other side of the hill, but be ready for a long walk.”

She nodded, wrapping her arms about herself. The approaching autumn air held a crisp chill that crawled up Catherine’s legs from the cool grass.

“Put the blanket back in my pack and be ready to go,” Andrew said.

“What’s wrong?” Catherine asked.

“I can’t really say, but something doesn’t feel right about this,” Andrew answered, fearing they had made a mistake in thinking the cougar was the true killer of the boys at Carver’s cabin.

She hurried back to roll the flannel blanket into a ball before shoving it down into his pack. The few feet between them felt like a mile, all she wanted was to be in his jeep again, heading back into town. He had brought her to a small hill beyond the outskirts of Brush Mill; it was known as the local spot to bring dates for a little privacy, a make-out point.

Catherine hurried back to Andrew’s side with his pack thrown over her shoulder. He had his high-powered flashlight out before him, casting a wide beam down the hillside. They stood in silence. Her eyes could discern the trouble in his face by the light of the hunter’s moon.

“What’s wrong?” she asked again, her voice shook and he put his arm around her shoulder.

He leaned in to whisper in her ear, “It’s quiet out here.”

She realized, then, the truth in his observation, being raised in the rural areas, she was accustomed to the sounds of country nights. There were no animal noises, no night birds calling…not even a cricket chirping…only the wind through the trees. Catherine could sense the hush of the inhabitants of the wilderness surrounding them for many miles. The need to escape wouldn’t leave her. Andrew’s arm around her provided little comfort, for she could feel the tension in his muscles; he knew how wrong the situation was. A squealing cut the silence in an instant, causing her to cry out. He dropped the flashlight to clamp his hand over her mouth.

“Be quiet,” Andrew whispered against her cheek. “Please.”

Catherine nodded, breathing heavily beneath his hand as he loosened his grip. Andrew released her for a moment to pick up his flashlight before pushing her back, higher up the hill. The sound was loud but died instantly, leaving nothing but silence in its wake.

“I need to go check it out. Stay here with my pack. I have an extra flashlight in there…and a gun, if you need it.”

“No, Andrew!” Catherine gripped his arm.

“It will be alright,” he reassured her, but she didn’t feel the least bit better.

His silhouette beneath the blood-stained moon made its way down the hillside slowly. Soon, Catherine could barely make out the shine of his flashlight below her.

Andrew descended quietly. He scanned the distance as he moved along, his breath faint in his chest. The sound was unmistakable to him, a dying rabbit. Why he decided to investigate was a question even to himself, but he had to see the source of the lights from the trees. Animals were hunted and eaten everyday in the forest, yet the perpetrator was still a mystery to Andrew, one he wouldn’t be satisfied with until he knew their identity. Somewhere within him he knew the mountain lion was not the beast of Carver’s cabin. They had slipped beyond the bright light of the moon, masking their eye shine.  He meant to illuminate the foreground with his flashlight, just far enough to try to make out the shadow of the hunters. There had been times in his career when he felt such terrifying curiosity, only to find it was a natural occurrence, but those days had left him years before, when he was still green. He was struck with a sense of vulnerability when the wind blew over his back; his scent was being carried downhill. Andrew halted, knowing what he was doing could prove to be very dangerous. He thought then of Catherine, on the hilltop all alone. The bright circle of light cast before him was nothing more than a beacon to the unknown predators. He took a step backwards, thinking to abandon his foolish search, to return to the woman he’d left shaking at the crest of the hill, but a figure caught his eye.

It parted the tall grass with human-like appendages. Andrew gripped the flashlight with both shaking hands, intent upon seeing what was there, hoping like hell it would be something he could laugh at in the light of dawn. The distance was still far enough for the thing to be partially obscured in shadow, but what he did see sent him scrambling back up the hillside. Its face was pallid; it had pale, milky eyes reflecting the moonlight, and a wide, flat nose. Its mouth gaped open, revealing the sharp fangs of a killer, dripping with rabbit blood. He would never forget how it cocked its head to one side, as if studying him just as closely. A thing that size wouldn’t be satisfied with what it had just eaten. Andrew nearly tumbled over Catherine when at last he found her.

“Down the other side! NOW!”

“What were they?” Catherine asked as she ran hand in hand with him.

Andrew didn’t answer. Her question reminded him the thing at the bottom of the hill was not alone. He pulled her to a stop before yanking the pack from her shoulder. He dug through it to find his pistol, a .357 magnum. It only held six shots, but they would be powerful ones if they needed them. Catherine knew then they were in a very bad situation. Andrew tugged her along to flee down the opposite hillside. By the time they had just begun to descend, Catherine could hear the creatures reach the hilltop, growls of defeat were followed by wet chuffing, as they sniffed and tasted the air. It was unlike anything Catherine had ever heard. A sense of urgency so great seized her heart, causing cold dread to grow there. They were moving so quickly, her legs struggled not to misstep as they ran down toward the tree line of the forest. Autumn air burned her nostrils, the chill of it swept over the goose bumps on her arms. They were still charging down the incline when she felt him stumble. Andrew’s grip on her hand tightened for a second, before twisting her fingers until they nearly broke. She watched him tumble; the pistol fell into the tall grass at their knees. Catherine skidded as she turned around to help him to his feet. She faced them now, watched them leaping down the hill at Andrew as he desperately searched for their only protection. In the light of the hunter’s moon, their skin was a pale grey. She would have described them as being very humanoid in build, yet they crept along on all fours. They looked like the reanimated corpses of some kind of human-animal hybrid, with long, sinewy appendages. Claws tipped their elongated fingers and toes, their coccyx stuck out as if malformed tails had begun to grow there. They were mostly hairless, but for sparse patches of light-colored fur around their groins. Their mouths hung open in wide, gaping maws lined with sharp teeth. The creatures’ abdomens were sunken and clung tightly to their rib cages. Catherine knew they were ravenously hungry by the way they snapped their slobbering jaws at each other as they readied themselves to take down the prey before them. One of the beasts advanced… the chosen one to lead the attack.  Andrew stood at last, raising the pistol to take aim at the closest of the beasts. He shuffled Catherine behind him with his free hand without speaking a word or taking his eyes off of the pale-skinned hunters. She could hardly breathe as she watched over Andrew’s shoulder, recognition flashed in the eyes of the creature; it was aware what the weapon meant. For what felt like hours the creature stood gazing, calculating its next move.

Chapter Fifteen

The hunger within them was far too great to allow the humans to pass. They needed the flesh of Andrew and Catherine to sustain them through yet another period of dormancy in the land between worlds. It had been centuries since they last tasted the marrow of man. Beneath the autumn sky, they meant to rectify that. It defiantly crept forward, with what appeared to be a taunting grin splitting its face in two. Drool slid from the corners of its smile, muscles tensed. Catherine knew it was about to leap. She put her hand over her mouth and waited. Andrew squeezed the trigger; the pistol’s report ricocheted off the dark hills, leaving Catherine’s ears ringing painfully. She could smell the gun smoke, the blood. She watched the beast crumple, with half of its head missing. There was no sense of relief because another two came in unison, both clawing the ground…snapping their teeth in frustration. Andrew fired, his shot catching one of the hunters in the chest, leaving a fist-sized hole erupting into a bloody geyser. He wasn’t fast enough to put a bullet in the second one, who came through the air with its mouth readied to take hold of anything made of human flesh. Andrew’s forearm came up instinctively to block his throat, saving his life. Teeth like saw blades serrated a mouthful of tissue and muscle free, blood sprayed into the milky eyes of Andrew’s attacker. Andrew was forced back, nearly toppling over, but Catherine caught him. He placed the barrel of the gun against the forehead of the beast, then pulled the trigger. The fourth retreated a few yards before pacing in the moonlight, causing momentary flashes of eye shine to glow from the ghost-white orbs it kept fixed upon the two it longed to devour. Andrew stood ready for the imminent attack, while Catherine cowered at his back. Andrew was bleeding badly from the wound he’d received in the first onslaught; his vision was beginning to darken as shock threatened to disable him. Catherine watched him swaying as he fought to keep consciousness with his pistol raised, attempting to keep the gun aimed at the creature as it zigzagged before them.

“Andrew,” she wept.

He didn’t answer, he couldn’t, and it took every ounce of strength in him to keep himself ready to defend them.

“It’s playing with us,” he spoke at last. “I can’t hold on much longer, and I don’t want to miss him. I can’t waste the bullets.”

Catherine slid her arm along Andrew’s, steadying it, before taking the pistol in her own hand. She wrapped her other arm across his chest, holding him as his body began to give out. Catherine panicked as she felt him collapsing. He slid down to the ground before her, leaving her alone to protect them both. As Andrew blacked out, the creature leapt with a cry rattling her insides. The sight of its pale flesh hurtling through the night caused her to hesitate; its twisted face, with eyes full of moonlight, was just beyond arm’s reach when she pulled the trigger. The muzzle flash issued forth in a white-hot blast, blinding Catherine. She screamed as she felt the creature impact her chest. She fought beneath its weight, awaiting the searing pain of its teeth in her flesh…it never came. Her sight returned to her to reveal the corpse of the fourth creature lying across her, headless and bleeding out. It sickened her to feel its rough hide against her palms as she rolled it from her body. The stench of its blood was like a long-dead animal, it left her nauseated. Catherine rushed to Andrew, who was breathing, but bleeding badly. She shoved the pistol into the back of her pants before removing his belt to secure around his arm as a tourniquet and then helped him to his feet. He leaned heavily on her as they began to make their way back up the hillside. As they passed the corpses of the creatures she noticed that their bodies were beginning to disintegrate, their flesh was already sloughing off of their bones into the high grass. She figured by sunrise they would be totally indistinguishable. Andrew halted and Catherine allowed him to rest for a short time before she urged him onward. The ascent was a slow struggle, leaving her wondering if she had the strength to help him reach the jeep. They crested the hill, then passed the grassy area in which they had stretched out atop the flannel blanket. Catherine wanted nothing more than to be shaken awake by him, only to find what had transpired was nothing more than an embarrassing nightmare…but it never happened. The pain in her side from bearing his weight said she was, indeed, awake, the monsters were real.

“Come on,” she said to him. “We can make it.”

Her gaze was steadily fixed on her feet, watching each labored step as it passed. Catherine’s mind was occupied by the task before her. She only prayed she could fulfill it. Andrew stopped once more, which caused her frustration to flare.

“Keep going!” she said.

“Catherine,” his voice cracked.

She looked to Andrew to see tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

“Look…the trees.” He raised his good hand to point down the hillside at the forest below.

Catherine collapsed, Andrew fell with her.

The canopy was filled with green orbs, all shining brightly in the moonlight. They watched as many of them began to descend to the forest floor. A breeze carried the stench of decay into their faces.

“Tapetum Lucidum,” he said. “Their eyes have been watching us. They were the killers at Carver’s cabin, not any damn cat!”

Catherine was sickened at how enchanted she was by them when she first beheld them; the truth was like a cold fist in her gut.

She pulled the gun from the back of her jeans, held it out before them in a trembling hand.

“They know we are here,” he spoke. “They are coming for us.”

“I will shoot them,” Catherine said, keeping the gun aimed at the edge of the hill.

“No,” Andrew said.

He placed his hand over hers, lowering the gun.

“We only have two bullets left,” he said and softly caressed her cheek.

“We won’t make it out of here,” he reminded her then gripped her hand, bringing the gun up to his own temple.

Catherine was beyond hysterical, she refused, shaking her head and pulling the gun away from him.

“We’re not going to make it, Cathy. Please.”

There was a guttural growling, followed by a wet inhalation.

“They KNOW we are here,” Andrew repeated. “Do it, Catherine. Please, do it now!”

She lifted the gun. In her peripheral vision she could see two small balls of green fire barreling toward them. Her memory was scarred by knowing what existed beyond those orbs of light; she couldn’t bring herself to gaze into them again. A booming report startled her, then another and another. The creatures fell to the grass as the baying of dogs split the night. A large bloodhound came running up to greet them, its body tense, still on alert, it paced back and forth while Catherine helped the warden to his feet.

“Let’s go!” she cried, and they took off down the hill.

Silhouettes awaited them, very human shadows hailed them with waving hands as they descended. Each holding a rifle in one hand.

“Who is it?” Andrew asked.

“Who are you?” Catherine called.

“It’s Charles, that’s my dog. Come on, move faster, those fuckers are everywhere!”

“Andrew’s hurt. He’s bleeding really badly.”

“We have to move, those things don’t stay dead!” another male voice urged.

“We’re coming!” Andrew said breathlessly.

A second dog came to them, a small Border collie mix Andrew recognized and guessed the identity of the second figure.

“Martin?” he asked.

“It’s me, Andrew. We have to get the hell out of here. Those bastards are making their way for Brush Mill!”

***

Johnny Running River sat in his kitchen, his mind  focused on his grandson. For the first time in many years he felt true fear. Not since Martin’s father died had he known such a helpless feeling. He regretted not climbing in Martin’s truck beside him, but he knew his grandson would have refused him. That was how Martin was, there would be no way he would let the old man accompany him to what he worried would become a bloodbath. Johnny could see it in Martin’s eyes how he felt, like a man on death row, waiting to face down his execution. He must have forgotten how many stories Johnny told him about the many times he had to draw blood to survive, how many men were left in the dirt because of his fists. He looked down at his hands, they were wrinkled, but as hard as steel when he clenched them, and his will was ten times as resilient. He hadn’t had a truck to drive in nearly three years; it suited him just fine not to go into town and endure the eyes of those who thought he was either a heathen or some snake oil salesmen. His son, Martin’s father, had argued with him many times not to let people’s opinions bother him, but Johnny came from a different time and faced much more terrible things than just a sideways glance, the scars and anger didn’t dissipate overnight. His wife accused him of being stubborn and foolish, she may have been right, but he was too old to change, at least that was his excuse until she died, too. The night became a frustrating walk down memory lane as he was visited by many ghosts from his past. He regretted not beating Martin over the head and making him take Johnny with him, it was the worst medicine to swallow because he had felt it before in his life, the night before his only son left the earth behind. His grief felt like a caged animal inside of him, eating him slowly, until nothing would be left but an emptiness he could not abide. A knock at the door broke his concentration. He stood and answered it; there stood a handful of young men.

“You know the significance of the trees being cut down,” one of them spoke.

“Does your generation still believe in those teachings?”

“Don’t get cynical now, Johnny. Doesn’t your grandson live in Brush Mill?”

“He does.”

“We want to ride down there and see if he needs us. He’s still one of us.”

“It might be too late by the time you arrive.”

“It’s never too late.”

The old man nodded as a sad grin split his wrinkled face. He grabbed his pistol from a cabinet beside his sofa and stepped out the door saying, “Let’s take care of this as we did many years ago.”

***

Deputy Jennifer Clark and her partner, Robert Martinez, arrived at Russell Monroe’s trailer after nightfall. The orange blood moon was just creeping over the eaves of the roof, casting its rays down on Russell’s home, revealing the open entryway.

“Front door is kicked in,” he pointed out as their headlights swept over the front of the house.

“He’s always drunk, probably passed out and left the door open.”

“Don’t be so reckless, Jen,” Robert said.

They exited their vehicle and kept their hands on their holsters. She nodded and he went ahead of her up the rickety wooden steps of the trailer. She pulled a flashlight from her belt and flipped it on. The beam of light passed over the skeletal remains on the far side of the tiny living room.

“Is that a body?” Robert asked.

“Looks like it.”

“Maybe it’s a Halloween decoration?”

“We’ll have to be certain before we call it in,” she answered.

She nudged his shoulder a bit to coax him into moving forward, he flinched at her touch and she knew he shared the same feeling. She hoped it was only a decoration he hadn’t placed in his front yard, yet but knew the type of man Russell was. He didn’t give a shit about the holidays and definitely 8wouldn’t be waiting for trick-or-treaters on his porch in the middle of nowhere. Robert finally advanced beyond the doorway, his hand went for the light switch and turned it on. The tar-stained light bulb shone a yellow light into the living room, reeking of stale cigarettes and blood. A bloodied skeletal figure lay in the floor; the carpet was soaked in crimson. Jen stooped over it, letting her eyes adjust to the poor lighting and her mind grasp it was, indeed, the bones of a dead man at her feet.

“Look in the kitchen,” Robert said.

Jennifer lit the kitchen up with her flashlight she held in one clammy hand. Rosco’s tiny skeleton and blood dirtied the linoleum floor.

“That’s his dog,” she confirmed.

“Let’s take a look at the rest of this place, then we’ll call it in,” he said.

The deputies surveyed the bedroom and hall bathroom; there were signs of a struggle, and pools of strange black fluid. They stepped out to stand beside their patrol car before radioing in the news of Russell’s bizarre and grisly death scene, each taking a moment to let the cool autumn air fill their nostrils, polluted with the stink of death. A gunshot echoed in the distance, then another and another. Robert looked to Jennifer. “What the hell is going on?”

“I have no idea, but I don’t like this,” she answered.

“Get on the radio,” he urged.

Chapter Sixteen

Martin and Charles dragged Catherine and the warden back to Martin’s truck. Charles let Cathy sit in the front seat beside Martin and the dogs, while he sat in the bed of the truck with Warden Andrew.

“Wait,” Catherine said, climbing from the cab of the truck.

She removed her sweater and instructed Andrew to hold it on his wound. She crawled into the truck and nodded. “Let’s go,” she said, short of breath.

Martin stomped on the gas and his truck sped down an old single-lane road, toward the backside of Brush Mill. A pounding at the sliding glass window caught their attention and Catherine opened it.

“I can see the lights in their eyes, the bastards are following us,” Charles shouted over the sounds of the truck and the rushing wind.

Martin pushed the truck to its limit as he navigated the rutted back roads. “We gotta make it into town before they do. Can you call the sheriff?”

“Yes,” Catherine answered and dug in her pocket to find her cell phone.

She hesitated before dialing, “What the hell do I say?”

Martin glanced between her and the road, thinking of how they could explain the situation. “Tell them there are killers out here and they are trying to make it into town.”

Cathy dialed the phone; it rang three times in her ear. The operator answered in an exhausted tone but before Catherine could speak the truck fishtailed, sending her flying against the door. She screamed as Martin fought to regain control of the speeding vehicle. Her phone tumbled from her shaking hand.

“It was in the road!” he said.

“Why didn’t you run it over?” she asked.

“I tried, I swerved and missed.”

A far away high-pitched voice came from the floorboard of the truck, from Cathy’s phone. She leaned forward, searching in the darkness until she located her cell. She brought it to her ear and began screaming into it how Brush Mill was in danger. A thump on the roof of the truck, followed by the dogs going crazy, barking and growling, accompanied with the boom of Charles opening fire sent Catherine into a panic, she dropped the phone and screamed, “Drive!”

“Hang on!” Martin cried.

He slammed on the brakes, sending the truck sliding forward. A flash of sickly white hide rolled down the windshield and disappeared over the hood of the truck. Charles beat the roof of the truck and screamed, “GO!”

Running River hit the gas and the truck jumped as it smashed its way over the creature on the blacktop before it. Cathy glanced back through the window at Andrew; he held a pistol in his hand. He was focused on the street behind them and she knew what was happening. The injured beast was writhing and reaching, screeching as it thrust a gnarled, clawed hand upward as three pale figures came to its side.

“There’s more!” she screamed.

“We’re going as fast as we can,” Martin said.

Sky turned in the seat and barked out the back window as Charles and Andrew readied themselves to open fire on the hunters, now chasing after the truck full of humans and their dogs, with ravenous, glowing eyes. The hunters ran tirelessly after them, while Martin maneuvered around the turns of a road, winding downward toward Brush Mill cemetery and the outskirts of town.

“You gotta be kidding me!” she said.

His headlights revealed a few cars parked alongside the road. “Who the hell is at the cemetery at this time of night?”

She put her hand on her cheek and responded, “Not the cemetery, the mortuary, the families are planning the memorial services for those boys.”

The truck sailed passed the entrance, but Martin put his foot on the brakes, and then threw the truck in reverse. “We can’t leave them like sitting ducks.”

Tommy made it to the Fall Festival just as Sheriff Reynolds got the call of shots fired, and the discovery of human remains in Russell Monroe’s trailer. The sheriff was silent for a moment before he began delegating work to the men he had available.

“Call up Archie’s crew, tell them to get their asses out here. We might be in need of medical support.”

“Yes, sir,” Tommy answered, his mind still grasping for answers as to why hell seemed to be breaking loose around Brush Mill.

***

Archie sat in front of the TV in the fire station, a bowl of beef stew still steaming from being pulled from the microwave only seconds before. He lifted a hot spoonful to his mouth and blew on it, sending little specks of broth out onto the dining table. His mind was lost in the newest episode of a popular reality television show about bachelors looking for supposed true love. It was his escape, shitty shows and food. He needed it to forget the things he saw regularly: broken bones, burns, blood, vomit, it all was pushed aside when his attention was focused on who Mark, the investment banker from Denver, was going to choose to continue in the battle for his heart. His phone rang and, for a second, he never noticed it over the whining of one contestant who didn’t agree with being sent home, even though she hadn’t been completely truthful since the beginning of the show.

“SHE’S FUCKIN MARRIED TO SOME GUY IN JERSEY! DUMP HER ASS!” Archie protested and shoveled another spoonful of soup into his mouth.

The phone continued and he rose from his seat in frustration, then jogged over to the countertop where he left it sitting. Earlier, he hoped and prayed for a quiet Halloween, but they were definitely few and far between. The holiday was a close second to New Year’s Eve and the Fourth of July, for injuries.

“Yes?” he answered it, his voice held a bit of his frustration, but it quickly went away when he recognized the deputy’s voice.

“What’s going on, Tommy?” he asked as one of his crew walked through the door with a bag of cheeseburgers and fries.

“What’s wrong?” Randy mouthed and Archie held his hand up to silence him.

“We’ll be right out there, don’t you worry.”

Archie hung up the phone and fished his hand inside the greasy fast food bag. “We’re needed out at the festival, ASAP,” he said, unwrapping a burger and shoving almost half of it into his mouth.

“It’s gonna be a long night,” Randy complained.

Archie chewed his food quickly and nodded.

“I’ll get our gear ready; Clarence is on his way in.”

“We’ll roll when he gets here,” Archie agreed, shoving French fries in his mouth.

“You’re welcome!” Randy teased as he spilled the contents of the bag out onto the counter top and began wolfing down his own dinner.

“We got five minutes, you better savor it,” Archie said.

***

Lulu’s was getting ready to close up so Ruth could run the sandwich trays over to her cousin Patrick’s house. She really wanted to visit a little while, but it was getting late and she knew Lana was an emotional train wreck; she was also concerned Casey hadn’t called her since she got home from the Fall Festival. Her daughter texted her once, saying she was home, but hadn’t had any more contact with Ruth. Richard sat at the bar nursing a beer, the awkward tension told her he was going to try to make a pass at her. She stood in the kitchen and waited for her cook, Billy, to accompany her to the bar.

“That guy bothering you?” Billy asked, he was in his mid-twenties, a total stoner type, but was always respectful to Ruth and escorted her to her car after closing time every time they worked together. ”Not really, I’m more concerned about Casey tonight.”

“I told you before, I’ll take her out anytime.”

Ruth laughed, “She’s a tough cookie.”

“I can dig that.”

“Come on, let’s shut her down for the night. I still have to swing by Patrick’s house.”

“Can you tell him how sorry I am?” Billy asked.

Ruth smiled and patted his shoulder, “She’d eat you alive!”

Billy laughed then went back to the time clock on the wall and slid his time card.

“Do you need me to walk you out?”

Ruth glanced through the order window into the bar to see Richard hadn’t moved.

“I’d appreciate it. I just don’t want any awkwardness, so let’s pretend we’re in a hurry.”

“You got it, Ruth,” he answered and followed her out of the kitchen, pushing a cart loaded with food she intended to give to her cousin Patrick.

“Hey, are you kickin’ me out?” Richard said.

“I’m afraid so. We’re open regular hours tomorrow, though, so you can stay as long as you’d like.”

“Are you workin’?”

“No. I’m attending my nephew’s memorial service.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

She sighed and grabbed her coat from behind the bar.

“Well, we better be on our way,” Ruth said and moved toward the door.

“Need any help with getting the food into your car?”

“Oh, sure. That would be nice,” she answered and Billy rolled his eyes as Richard the water man went to hold the door open.

They pushed the cart used to unload cases of booze from trucks out onto the sidewalk; her car was right out front beneath a street light. Billy and Richard assisted in loading the back seat of her car before Billy stood awkwardly. ”Go push the cart back inside, then lock the door,” Ruth instructed, handing him the key to Lulu’s.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

They watched Billy go, his long blond hair was tied in a braid down his back to keep it from getting in anyone’s food, he wore cargo pants and a Cheech and Chong shirt.

“He’s a real winner,” Richard commented when the young man was far enough away not to overhear him.

“He’s a really nice kid,” she said.

“Yeah, but look at his girly hair.”

“If you are just gonna talk shit, you can do it somewhere else.”

“Oh, my apologies, I was only joking.”

“To be honest, I’m not in the mood for such jokes.”

“You’re right, I was being an asshole.”

“Let me just ask you a question,” Ruth said.

“Alright.”

“Did you sit in the bar half the night expecting something from me?”

“Ruth, come on.”

“Don’t patronize me, I’m a grown woman and I know the look on a man’s face when he’s looking for a revenge-lay.”

Richard was speechless, he would never admit she hit the nail on the head and had to think of a way of not seeming like such a creep.

“Actually, I was just lonely and had nowhere to go.”

Ruth didn’t respond. She just turned her back to him and walked to her car, then paused when she got to her driver’s side door.

“Listen, I’ve got a lot on my mind. I just wanted to make it perfectly clear we can be friends but nothing more, water man.”

He bit his tongue, his mind cycling through an array of vulgar insults, but he held them back. Word would get around real quick if he demeaned her after getting shot down.

“A friend is all I was looking for tonight, don’t get it twisted, Ruth.”

She opened her mouth to speak when a commotion at the town square down the street drew their attention. The fire department had shown up, several sheriff cruisers also arrived, all wasting no time.

“What’s going on?” Billy asked as he returned from locking up the restaurant.

“Looks like trouble,” Richard responded, forgetting the tension between him and Ruth for a moment.

Ruth pulled out her cell phone; her anxiety over not hearing from her daughter had reached its limit. She dialed the phone and waited while it rang and rang, only to be answered by Casey’s voice mail message. Ruth hung up the phone; the look on her face was obvious.

“You still can’t get a hold of Casey?” Billy asked.

“No,” she replied.

Richard felt like even more of an ass, but took the opportunity to redeem himself.

“I can deliver the food if you need to check in on her.”

Ruth contemplated it and finally agreed. Richard parked his car beside Ruth’s and they transferred the food trays into his back seat.

“Richard, forgive me for being such a bitch a while ago,” she said.

“Don’t you worry at all. I understand,” he said.

“I really appreciate you stepping in to help me out.”

“Don’t mention it,” he grinned. “I’ll drive these over to Patrick.”

The water man drove away, leaving Ruth and Billy on the curb.

“I was gonna walk home, but I can go with you to help look for Casey?” he offered.

“Would you really?”

“Of course.”

“Hop in. Hopefully she’s just sleeping, but it’s only nine o’ clock. She’s usually a night owl.”

“That does seem unusual,” Billy agreed as he climbed into the passenger seat.

Ruth drove slowly down the street, passing the Fall Festival; it appeared to be wrapping up.

“It’s a little early, I thought it would still be in full swing.”

“Why are all those cops here?” Billy asked nervously.

“I hope there wasn’t an accident or something, this town has been through hell,” she spoke and he could hear her voice shake. He put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed, she was always like a motherly figure to him and it hurt to see her so upset, but in true Ruth fashion she hadn’t taken off any work, leaving her physically and mentally exhausted. The memorial service would be the first day she requested off in almost two years. She came to a stop as Ms. Clark walked down the sidewalk, accompanying parents and children to their car.

“What’s going on?” Ruth called out the window and Ms. Clark ran over and leaned in the window. “There’s been some kind of emergency. Sheriff Reynolds wants everyone to go home and wait for further news.”

“Emergency?” Ruth asked, the word sent a chill up her spine.

“I’ve got to go check on my daughter.”

“Please take care; hopefully it’s just another Halloween prank,” Ms. Clark said in frustration.

Detective Petrucci was reclined in a soft chair a nurse dragged into the room for him, snoring softly as his body entered a deep sleep. The jingling of his cell phone ringing awoke him, his eyes burned and he checked his chin for drool before answering it. He held the phone away from his ear for a moment because the static was overbearing.

“Hello?” he yelled into the receiver. “I can’t hear you.”

The sound of rushing wind and screams filled his ear. He hung up the phone and immediately checked the caller ID, it was Warden Andrew. He sat confused for a moment before dialing the warden back. All he got was a busy signal and instantly directed to leave a voicemail message. It didn’t sit right with him, the sleep he was only minutes before enveloped in was quickly dashed away. David sat forward and dialed the game warden again, only to have his call go once more to the message system. He looked over to Diana, who was still in a medicated slumber. She hadn’t awoken since the nightmare which she didn’t describe, she only ate a bit of soup and fell back asleep. He scrolled through his contacts to find Deputy Thomas Pardon’s phone number. He gave Tommy a call, hoping his instincts were wrong and nothing terrible was going down with Brush Mill.

Chapter Seventeen

The minute Tommy stepped on scene his gut dropped; Sheriff Reynolds had a concerned look on his face, making his deputy feel even more troubled. Ms. Clark and a few volunteers were clearing out the Fall Festival and storing stuff away quickly. His phone rang and he answered it, hoping it was Rena. After seeing everyone in a panic, he was beginning to worry about his girlfriend alone in her apartment. He knew she could call her cameraman, Paul, but he was more than likely out with some floozy and wouldn’t be able to run to her aid if she needed it. The voice on the other end was familiar, yet sounded like he just woke up. Detective Petrucci relayed his information about the odd phone call he’d received from the game warden and it made Tommy’s already twisted stomach feel like it was simultaneously being kicked by a pair of steel toe work boots. His face went pale and the sheriff knew some other shit was now going to be thrown on top of everything else they were dealing with, all while trying to appear calm to the public until they were certain these calls weren’t a bunch of horse shit. His mind went to Russell and he wanted to punch a wall. The old man must have drunk himself to death this time.

“Get on the horn with Jennifer and Robert, out there at Russell’s place. Also, call Miguel and the meat wagon.”

“Sheriff, that was Detective Petrucci.”

“And?”

“He just received a call from Warden Andrew, he couldn’t hear anything but screaming and the phone hung up,” Tommy said.

“What the hell is going on tonight?”

“I have no idea; Halloween around here ain’t usually this exciting,” Tommy answered sarcastically.

***

Martin pulled through the wrought iron gates of Eternal Peace Cemetery and stopped; there were lights on in the windows of the mortuary building. He turned to the opened sliding glass window and said, “We’re getting these people out of here before the shit hits the fan.”

“Hurry the hell up, those green eyed bastards are already at the gate,” Charlie screamed.

Martin laid on his horn, its blaring echoed off the stone statues and tombstones like a dinner bell. The hunters screeched in return and ran for the truck. The door opened and the old grave digger stepped outside, he had a shotgun at his side. He leveled the gun at the hood of the truck and stood firm.

“Get the hell out of there!” Cathy cried.

The old man seemed a little confused by hearing a grown woman screaming at him, when he obviously expected some kind of Halloween prank by local teens.

“Get out!” Charlie reiterated. “NOW!”

Martin looked into his rearview mirror to see the eye shine of the creatures coming for them, leaping from the top of mausoleums and scrambling over ancient gravestones.

“They’re coming!” Andrew shouted and raised his own pistol.

Catherine could see the grave digger, shielding his eyes from the headlights and staring out into the cemetery. He stumbled backwards into the mortuary and slammed the door.

“We warned him. We gotta make it to the square; the Fall Festival is there, all those kids!” Cathy said, the realization of the small town being ravaged by hungry monsters was too much, especially when she thought of the children.

Shrieking, followed by Charles and Andrew firing their guns, left her terrified as Martin spun the truck around to exit the cemetery and head into the heart of Brush Mill. Catherine went cold when they caught a glimpse of droves of green orbs, coming from the bushes on the roadside and descending from the trees, lithe, pale bodies creeping across the black top in front of them and leaping into the darkness of the brush. There had to be dozens of them, surrounding the cemetery and making their way into the outer limits of the city. Something impacted the side of the truck, causing the dogs to be driven mad. Elroy scrambled over Cathy protectively, snarling and growling at the window as a creature clung to the door and attempted to break the glass separating it from its meal. A resounding boom echoed in the cab of the truck, leaving her ears ringing. The dogs whined, but retreated and allowed Catherine to sit up in the seat. She could only guess Charles dislodged the monster with a blast from his rifle. She thought of them in the open bed of the truck, how horrified they must have felt. She glanced back to see Andrew sitting up, his gun ready, glancing to each side of the road, expecting to be attacked once more, at any moment.

Between the warden and the military veteran was a large, military duffle bag containing all of Charlie’s home arsenal, as well as the three guns Martin owned, and a few other weapons. After watching the hunters take bullet after bullet and rise once more to continue chasing them, it made Charlie wonder if they had enough ammo to withstand the assault, until he remembered something he helped his friend make one summer, something they both could be thrown in jail for. Martin kept the truck at top speed, but they came running alongside it and behind it without showing any signs of slowing down, and the injured didn’t stay down long. Charles recalled Martin telling his story, describing the battle his people waged with the cannibal spirits; it took complete destruction of the body to keep them from rising. He looked over to the game warden; his arm was bundled in a blood-soaked sweater, and a belt kept him from bleeding out in the back of Martin’s truck. They wouldn’t be enough; they had to make it into town. Andrew had dialed his phone once, but hadn’t lifted it again after having the green eyed demons following them relentlessly; the old man hoped he got through to someone and the cavalry of Brush Mill was assembling. He was flung backwards against the cab of the truck suddenly, the truck slid to the side, throwing Andrew against him. Charles held onto the warden as they slammed against the wheel well of the tire and bounced back to the center of the bed. The dogs were nearly rabid inside, growling and barking as the truck came to a stop. Red and white lights shone in the distance as he sat up, lifting his rifle. A patrol car was in the middle of the street, swarmed in the pallid-skinned creatures.

***

The deputies sat in their patrol car in Russell’s driveway, waiting for backup to arrive and Miguel to come and determine the cause of death, even though it seemed quite obvious.

“I’ve never seen anything like that,” Robert spoke.

“Neither have I. My dad assured me working out here in the sticks would be a breeze,” Jennifer said.

“So much for that. This is a Halloween I’ll never forget.”

“Did you hear that?” Robert sat forward in the seat and rolled the window down. “Listen.”

In the distance somewhere, the faint sound of gunshots sounded. “More of them.”

“What’s going on?” she asked.

He could hear the fear creeping into her voice, they had been on patrol together almost daily for three years and he couldn’t remember her ever sounding so spooked. Robert grabbed the radio and put out a call, a warning to those closer to Brush Mill, something strange was going down.

***

The Festival was nearly empty, but for the volunteers staying to wrap things up and secure the donation boxes in the back of a patrol car. Ms. Clark was running around, desperately trying to be certain none of her students were still around. She’d sent Jarred and Eric home while the other pranksters were driven back to their houses. Sheriff Reynolds didn’t want them out in the dark seeking new places to cause trouble. He still wasn’t even sure what was coming, but from reports, there had been dozens of gun shots and at least one corpse he knew of, lying on the floor of a trailer on the outskirts of town.

“Hurry it up!” he ordered.

“I got units heading out to Russell’s place and the fire crew just arrived. They’re ready for your command.”

“Station them here for now, until we know the location of those shots.”

“Three cars are patrolling now, each took different roads leading out of town, another two are keeping an eye on the streets, making sure parents and children are safely in their homes.”

“Good job, Tommy.”

Detective Petrucci jogged up from the parking lot, his face serious, and his demeanor said he was ready for a fight.

“I came to help in any way I can,” he said.

“Thank you, David,” Tommy said.

“We’re still waiting on reports of exactly what the hell we’re dealing with,” Reynolds said, filling the state detective in on the situation.

Tommy stepped away for a minute to make a call; he wanted to warn Rena but was concerned she’d head out looking for leads, which was something he didn’t want amidst the chaos.

“Rena, listen carefully. We have a situation going on, we don’t really know what it is yet, but I just wanted to tell you to stay locked in your apartment.”

“What’s wrong?”

“We haven’t a clue yet, it looks like Russell is dead and there are reports of shots being fired out in the sticks.”

“Shots fired? Did someone murder Russell?”

“We’re not sure yet, please, promise me you’ll stay a civilian tonight. The papers can wait until morning, when we know it’s safe to be out.”

“Ok,” she responded.

“I mean it!” Tommy said.

“I said ok, Tommy.”

The phone clicked as she hung up on him. He wanted to scream. He knew too well she wouldn’t miss the opportunity to catch the drama unfolding.

Sheriff Reynolds came to his side and whispered, “You better tell her to stay put.”

Tommy turned to face his superior, not knowing how to respond.

“Don’t act shocked, everyone knows you’re banging the reporter girl. I won’t chew you out for it now, but I’m warning you, she better stay out of our way.”

Tommy nodded, “Yes, Sheriff.”

“Good.”

***

Paul stumbled out his apartment door, following his final guest out into the dark.

“Killer Halloween party,” she said with a knowing grin. “Too bad it has to end.”

“The party doesn’t have to stop.” He flirted and pulled the young blonde dressed as Alice from Alice in Wonderland toward him.

“There were a few hicks here, though.”

“Just doing my community a favor. Inviting the guys from the strip club was the least I could do.”

She giggled and ran her finger down his chest, “You said I was the best dancer and I deserved some kind of award.”

“That’s right, honey! Best booty this side of the Mississippi!”

She giggled and grabbed him by the fake stethoscope he had around his neck, over the scrubs he wore, with a name tag proclaiming him to be ’Dr. Love’.

“Come pay up, Doc.”

“You may need an examination before you are rewarded; I give free mammograms, if you’re interested.”

The platinum blond dancer cackled and dragged him back inside.

Dale sat in the parking lot. He drank way too much at the cameraman’s party. He hoped Amber was still busy at the Fall Festival so he could sneak into the house without any fighting. He loved her but she just didn’t understand after a hard day’s work, sometimes a man needed to go out with the guys and blow off a little steam. He sighed as the chubby brunette he met in Paul’s apartment toyed with his belt buckle.

“Can’t you stay a little while longer?” she asked.

“I got to be getting home, sorry.”

“We can make this a quickie, if you want?”

He contemplated her proposal; it wouldn’t be the first time he cheated on Amber, but he promised the last time he would change.

“I don’t know about that.”

“Come on,” she whispered and started unbuttoning the white blouse she wore with her nurse costume. “You told me how you helped hunt down the monster. I think you deserve something for being a hero.”

He watched her open her shirt, revealing her hefty breasts contained in a black, lace bra. He swallowed hard and fought the urge to touch her. “Don’t be a party pooper,” she teased.

“I’m not, just thinking.”

“About?”

“I have a lady at home,” he finally said.

Rachel pulled her shirt back together and began buttoning it back up.

“Wait!” he said.

“Nope. I don’t think so.”

“Why not? You were just ready to go.”

“I’m not a home wrecker, besides, I seem to remember you telling me you were single.”

“Tonight I can be.”

She looked at him, speechless for a moment, before throwing his car door open, “PIG!”

He watched her strut away, disappointment filled him but it was followed by relief, at least he wouldn’t have to lie to Amber about meeting any women. Now, if he could just make it into the bathroom without her bitching him out about smelling like liquor, he’d be just fine. He turned the key to his ignition and his stomach dropped, the engine wouldn’t turn over. He got out and popped the hood; he probably just needed a jump to get it to start. He looked around the emptying parking lot and waved over two obviously inebriated men.

“Think you could give me a hand?”

“What’s the trouble?”

“I need a jump start.”

The one who seemed less drunk went to his car and started it up, then drove it around beside Dale’s. He rummaged through the trunk until he located a tangled set of jumper cables, then held them out to Dale.

He hooked them up and hopped back in his car, the strangers tried their best, but the battery didn’t respond.

“FUCK!” Dale cursed.

“Sorry, man,” one partier said out the window before they drove off into the night.

His only option was to walk home, which would easily be over half an hour. He lifted his cell phone and contemplated his line of bull shit before calling his wife; he’d never hear the end of it. Dale stepped out of his car and locked the door, before slamming it shut. He decided he would just say he had car trouble on his way home from the bar and had to stop in the apartment complex parking lot, and since the car wouldn’t start, he walked home. It seemed simple, but Amber was no push-over, he was certain he’d be doing housework for months to make up for this Halloween nonsense.

Chapter Eighteen

Charlie opened the duffle bag, Martin brought along a semi-automatic rifle they enjoyed firing during weekend target practice trips to the mountains, among a few other things. The old man grabbed the gun and stood, he fired over the roof of the truck, each time his quivering finger squeezed the trigger, another round was sent into the flesh of the hunters assaulting the patrol car, some fell away onto the road, while others retreated into the darkness of the trees lining the street. Charles halted and listened, glass shattering and screams indicated the monsters had found their way inside. Secondary fire erupted from the cruiser, the officers were fighting back. A screeching hunter escaped the cruiser as an arm came out the window, sending bullets chasing after it.  Charles ducked down in the truck bed as rounds ricocheted off of a speed limit sign and zinged past him. He counted nine shots before they were silenced and the creatures resumed their assault on the car.

“Get out of here, just drive!” Charles screamed, his ears left ringing from firing the high caliber rifle.

“Be ready to shoot,” Martin ordered the two men in the back of the truck.

“No, we can’t make it through there,” Cathy screamed and grabbed Martin by the arm. He looked back over his shoulder at Charles, who had his face stuck in the opening.

“Did you bring the dragon?”

“Yes, are you sure you can handle it?”

“GODDAMN RIGHT I CAN!”

Andrew watched the veteran open the arsenal bag and pull out something the game warden wasn’t so sure would be legal to own, but he didn’t protest in the least. The homemade flamethrower looked heavy, yet the old man wielded it easily. Charlie climbed out of the bed of the truck and approached the swarmed police car.

“I’ll cover you,” Martin spoke and readied his gun out the truck window.

Charles hoped his luck wouldn’t run out, and the homemade weapon would ignite quickly. They put it together at Martin’s house one Sunday and only took it out once to fire it, the damn thing nearly set the trees on fire and earned the nickname, the dragon. He aimed the nozzle at the pale-skinned monsters, their claws dripped blood. He knew he was probably too late, it enraged him enough to put the thoughts of blowing himself up out of his mind. It hung on his shoulders like a backpack, it was fashioned after models used in the late forties by the military. He twisted a handle atop his nozzle to release the flammable fluids and watched the dragon come to life. Its fiery breath spilled over the hunters who were now preparing to come for Charlie, their bodies became consumed in flames; it ate through them like dry firewood in a matter of seconds. A handful fled the flames to retreat into the cool, damp forest. Charlie eased the handle back and the dragon’s fire died. Victorious shouting came from the driver’s side window of Running River’s truck. Charlie didn’t turn his back on the scene, but walked backwards with the dragon aimed out before him, until he reached the truck.

***

Eternal Peace Mortuary rested in the center of the Brush Mill burial grounds of the same name, it usually wasn’t open past six in the evening but under the circumstances the owner, Connie, didn’t have the heart to turn away the relatives of the four slaughtered young men. She waited patiently while Kenneth and Rosemarie Dent, the parents of Jeremiah, and Sharon Lawson, Alex’s mother, arranged vases of flowers and placed portraits on ivory pedestals for the memorial services being held the following day. Connie was in charge of the interment of the remains, as well; when the county coroner arrived with the meager pieces of the corpses after his investigation, she put them in the cold room. She understood why the parents chose to have a memorial service quickly; looking at them she could tell they just wanted it all over with. Her right hand man, Justin Brooks, sat beside the door to the chapel, on guard as always on Halloween for the usual groups of teens looking to drink and hold séances on the hallowed earth.

“Patrick and Lana are providing the food. Pat said he’d bring it over in the morning. Looks like everything on the list is complete.” Sharon spoke to Ken and Rosemarie, they both remained silent, their faces still ragged and bearing the look of people only wishing they were in the throes of some shared nightmare. She’d worked nonstop since their arrival that evening, to make sure everything was ready for the memorial service. Justin whispered to Connie how odd she acted, as if she wasn’t burying her own son, but Connie had seen it before. Sharon kept herself busy, to keep her mind off of the truth. The gut wrenching knowledge that a few pieces of her son, and a handful of bones, were the only things recovered of him after two days of searching, not even a full skeleton was brought back to fill the oak coffins purchased by the mayor himself for the boys. Halloween should have been a night the group of parents would stay up late, waiting for their children to return home before going to sleep but not this year. It was spent preparing to lay their sons down forever. Sharon had also lost her estranged husband. The newspaper already ran an article about him, Connie was certain Sharon read it, everyone in town had. She wondered if somewhere in Sharron’s heart she would miss him, too.

“Will Larry be laid to rest here, as well?” Connie asked. “It hasn’t been completely confirmed.”

“I’ve been trying to contact his brother. We can honor him here tomorrow, yet I’m not certain where he will end up.”

Connie nodded, “Are you happy with the arrangements we’ve provided?”

“Yes,” Kenneth spoke up and put his hand on his wife’s shoulder as she broke down once more. “Under the circumstances, you’ve done wonderfully.”

“If you’re satisfied, then we can all retire for the night and be back here early tomorrow,” Connie offered.

Kenneth and Rosemarie agreed but Sharon stood motionless, her eyes fixed on the picture of her son. She’d chosen his senior picture, only taken a month before. He was handsome; his eyes held a spark of mischief, yet stubble above his tight-lipped smile spoke of him entering manhood. She recalled arguing with him over whether or not he’d shave the stubble on his chin and he laughed and told her he planned on growing a beard like grizzly Adams. The way he smirked, wrinkling the corners of his eyes, he resembled Larry so much. When he grabbed a glass of juice and ran out the door to his friend’s car, she wept. She wondered if the disappointment she felt over Larry choosing alcohol over their son was something Alex felt, too, after so many years it still hurt her and pissed her off.

“Sharon?” Connie asked softly.

Tears ran down Sharon’s cheeks, her mask of strength was crumbling.

“You’re right. It’s time to go home,” Sharon said and wiped her eyes.

Headlights lit the room from outside and honking put them on edge.

“Damn kids!” Justin cursed and stepped to a coat closet beside the exit door of the funeral home. He stomped back out, armed with a shotgun. Connie settled the parents, “He usually has to scare away troublemakers on Halloween, just take a seat.”

The grieving parents sat among the cushioned pews and waited as the grave digger stepped outside. Muffled shouts followed, only a handful of seconds passed, yet it was unnervingly long.

“What’s going on?”

“It’s ok, Rose, probably just a group of teens looking to party and prank people.”

“That’s all we should be worrying about tonight,” Sharon said bitterly, “staying up to make sure our kids weren’t in car accidents or arrested for causing trouble, not this…” she motioned to the ivory pedestals, the photographs representing the once very alive children they had, the boys who played football, got into fights, and drank a little on the weekends. Rosemarie burst into tears as Sharon’s words tore the wound in her heart wide open.

“You’re right, Sharon, but let’s not talk about it anymore tonight,” Ken said. “Rose, we’re gonna head home and I’ll make you some tea before bed, ok, baby?”

His wife continued to wail while Connie stared over at the door as she wondered who the hell came to Eternal Peace, and what kind of problems Justin was having. An engine roared, there was a squealing, she thought it might be brakes until it became clear it was something else entirely. No, it hadn’t come from whoever was parked outside, it was shrieking like some kind of animal. She stood still and listened; were they out there sacrificing some poor dog or cat, maybe performing some kind of satanic ritual when Justin confronted them? A gunshot stole her breath and the grave digger came running back inside. He slammed the door behind him and locked all three locks available, but turned frantically.

“What the hell is going on?”

“There’s something out there!” he explained as he grabbed the nearest pew to push against the door.

“What’s out there?” she asked again.

“I, I don’t know, some kind of…things.”

“Things?” Sharon asked.

Justin nodded and continued to look around the room.

A long scratching at the door sent him running to the staircase leading up to Connie’s private living quarters. “Get your asses up here!”

“What are you talking about?” Rose asked.

“Get up stairs, goddamnit, and lock yourselves in,” the grounds man ordered.

***

Paul was in his underwear, his date’s naked body danced before him.

“Give me the VIP treatment,” he teased.

“That’s just what I plan on doin’,” she smiled back over her shoulder.

He reached out to grab her bare ass, “The bouncer won’t toss me for this, will he?”

“Not if you’re a good boy, Doc,” she giggled.

His phone rang on the dresser; he jumped at the volume of the ringtone.

“Oops, sorry. I had it turned up to eleven because we were in the club and I needed to be able to hear it.”

He stood up and walked quickly over to silence it. The caller ID said it was Rena, he knew it had to be important; this was her night out with her boy toy deputy.

“Shit!”

“Go on and answer it if you have to.”

“Sorry, babe. I gotta take this,” he answered.

The dancer sat in the chair he’d previously occupied and leaned over to fish a cigarette out of her host’s pant pocket. She lit it up and rolled her eyes, thinking he was probably answering to his wife or girlfriend.

“Get your damn clothes on, Paul,” Rena ordered impatiently.

“What’s goin’ on?” he asked, opening his dresser drawer to retrieve a pair of pants and t-shirt.

“There’s some crazy shit goin’ down. I just got a call about shots being fired and possibly a dead body,” she answered.

“I’ll be at your place in fifteen minutes,” he said and hung up the phone.

Paul turned back to the waiting stripper, who was already pulling her costume back on.

“Sorry, Honey, but duty calls.”

“I’ve heard that before,” she said.

“Do you have a way home?”

“Yes, I’ll call my roommate.”

“Maybe we can rekindle this flame another night?”

“Don’t count on it, Doc,” she answered and let herself out while he was busy grabbing his camera bag and the keys to his van.

He glanced out into the parking lot as he locked the door; it was empty but for the dancer making her way to the street, laughing about him on her cell phone.

“Your loss,” he said to the night, knowing she wouldn’t hear him.

* * *

Johnny let the young man who came to his door do the driving. His eyesight had gone downhill, especially after dark, and he wanted to live long enough to show his grandson he hadn’t abandoned him to fight alone.

“I knew there was trouble when I saw Martin at your place, especially after the aspens got cut down,” Alvin admitted.

“There’s only a few who heed the warning, surprisingly less of our own people than the boys down the mountain,” his brother, Elan, added from the back seat of the car.

“Young people these days, they don’t respect any traditions,” Johnny said.

“Is that why Marty and his father went to live in the city?”

“I suppose,” the old man answered.

“Jim’s sister chose the same thing,” Alvin said, glancing to the rearview at his friend, who sat silent.

“They are running from being looked at like us but only find they get it worse out there,” he finally answered.

“I know my son did, but he never wanted to confess it to me, it would have been like admitting he was wrong. He was too much like his mother.”

“Why did he go down there?” Alvin asked the old man, who had been his closest neighbor his whole life.

“He wanted to open an auto repair shop but had to turn it into a trinket shop. They never took him seriously, just wanted someone to tell them ghost stories and heal them with natural medicine.”

“I’m sure they asked him stupid shit, like could he shape shift and did he talk to animals and all that garbage, too,” Jim said.

“I’m sure they did, but he never would admit to the extent of it,” Johnny answered. “Why he would turn his back on the people? Those who know the sacred things only to become a cliché to the others, I’ll never understand.”

“Won’t this just make them worse?” Alvin asked, “To know the truth…”

“I’m certain it will, for those who live through it,” Johnny spoke. “Some will look to us like deities while others will seek to blame us, just as they did before.”

“We’re going to be a few hours behind him; I hope your grandson can hold his own,” Elan said.

“He’s from my blood, he’ll do just fine,” Johnny said with determination.

They sped into the outlying neighborhoods, chasing the pale figures who made it before them. The houses were decorated for Halloween, streetlights cast yellow orbs onto the cold sidewalks, and all the jack ‘o lanterns had long since burned out. Catherine was thankful the streets were empty, no children were milling about, the festival had been a blessing.

“What the hell are we going to do now?” she asked.

“Raise our army,” Martin answered and began honking his horn.

Catherine lifted her cell phone and began dialing when a few doors came open to the ruckus being raised as the truck crawled down the street.

“I’m calling the sheriff again,” she said, as Martin brought the truck to a stop.

A muscular older gentleman came out onto his porch, shirtless even in the cold autumn wind. He lifted his hands in askance and shook his head.

“Get ready! We need to fight them!” Charlie started screaming, yet Running River knew how insane they must have appeared.

The man came across his lawn, grabbing a rake resting against a tree and held it out threateningly.

“Get the hell out of here, ya drunks!”

“We’re not drunk! There are things coming to eat you and your family!” Charles hollered over the horn and the dogs coming to life at the sight of the man and his impromptu weapon.

He lowered the rake and stared into the bed of the truck, “Warden, is that you?”

Elroy and Sky bared their teeth and growled, their barking intensified as the operator on the other end of the line answered. Cathy couldn’t hear the woman, but she began screaming into the phone to come to the houses on Richford Street. Elroy forced his head out the small window behind them and snarled as a blur of falling figures landed on the shirtless neighbor, claws and fangs ready to rend flesh. They swarmed over him in seconds, tearing and biting into him, opening a gaping hole in his throat before Andrew and Charlie could open fire on them. The gun shots echoed up the empty street, and dark houses soon lit from the inside. Sirens rang out from a nearby street and Catherine breathed a sigh of relief. The sheriff already had his men on patrol; the quiet neighborhoods might stand a chance against the invading tribe of hungry creatures.

Chapter Nineteen

Andrew grabbed a pistol from Martin and Charlie’s duffle bag and opened fire, but the creatures had already fled into the darkness of a neighboring house, their eyes, the haunting green illumination, was all he could see as they slipped away. Martin stepped out of the truck to try to help the man but he was bleeding out. Red and blue lights flashed as a cruiser approached.

“Get your hands in the air!” a deputy shouted, leaping from the car as it came to a squealing halt.

“It wasn’t me!” Martin tried to explain, but the officers came at him with their guns drawn.

“Put your fuckin’ hands in the air!”

“STOP!” Cathy cried from the passenger seat.

The patrol men seemed antsy, on edge, and ready to kill anyone causing violence in the sleepy neighborhood.

“Take it easy, gentlemen,” Charles spoke as the officers approached.

“Get an ambulance out here!”

The shirtless man was clearly dead, his blood spilled out in the yellowed grass beneath him.

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything. I was trying to help him.”

“What are you all doing?” the second deputy asked as he approached the truck, loaded down with people, dogs, and guns.

“The town is under attack,” Martin said.

“What in God’s name are you talking about?” A screech came from the tops of the leaf-bare trees, drawing the deputy’s attention. Green orbs, dozens and dozens, could be seen beyond the street lights and in the distance, creeping forward.

“Get on your radio and tell the sheriff to get his men ready. Death has come to Brush Mill,” Martin spoke.

A scream, a very human wailing, rang out from up the street and soon gun shots followed it. Chaos began to erupt as houses came under attack. The deputy looked to Martin, who stood still, his eyes filled with fear. He grabbed the radio attached to his bulletproof vest and made the call they were waiting for.

Reynolds received the frantic call for backup and ordered his other patrols out to Richford Street. There weren’t many to send. The town was small, with a population of less than eight-thousand people. The sheriff and his handful of deputies had no idea what awaited them.

“What the hell is going on here?” Tommy asked.

“I’m not sure,” Reynolds whispered.

“Sheriff, are you sure a cougar was responsible for those killings?” Detective Petrucci asked.

“I can’t say for certain, anymore,” Reynolds answered then turned to Ms. Clark and a handful of other volunteers.

“Wrap it up, you’re all going home.”

“Almost finished,” she responded.

“I don’t think you understand. There’s a situation going on, more than just stupid kids causing trouble. I want you all to get out of here.”

She nodded and hurried back to gather the last of the people helping with the festival cleanup.

“Get the med crew over here, we need them out on Richford, there’s reports of serious injuries,” the radio on Reynolds’ hip sounded.

He looked to Tommy and David, a chill ran through him. “We have to get to the bottom of this shit.”

“We’re doing all we can. You have all your deputies out on patrol, backup heading for Russell’s place, and the med crew ready for disaster.”

“The mayor has yet to call me. When he finds out about this, I’m gonna be shit-canned.”

“Screw him, let his ass come out here and get his hands dirty,” Tommy cursed.

****

She ran her hand through her short black hair and pulled a sweater over her head. The festival had left her with a deep sense of loneliness she had refused to let seep in for a long time. Her phone was still charging after the battery died. She hoped her mother wouldn’t be pissed if she tried to call. Casey stepped out from the window of her second story bedroom and sat on the weathered roof. From her sweater pocket she pulled out a joint her mother’s employee, Billy, had snuck to her earlier in the evening, before she headed out to the festival and felt the gazes of the rural town folk on her, reminding her she would never fit in among them. Casey fished a lighter out of the pocket of her pants and lit the joint, the first drag making her cough until her eyes grew teary. Her throat and lungs burned, but she continued to smoke it, letting it ease her back into not caring about what anyone thought of her. She dreamed of moving to a big city to attend college, to be among open-minded people, but she knew it would tear Ruth’s heart out. Shelley was the only friend she had, and it hurt that they had to sneak around just to talk or hang out. Since Shelley was pregnant, Casey worried her only friend would be locked away in her room. She inhaled another drag and held it in her lungs, her extremities were starting to feel fuzzy and she giggled. She quieted when the neighbors back porch light came on, the last thing she needed was to have the cops called on her for smoking weed. Casey scooted backwards until she met the wall behind her, but had to waft the pungent smoke away before it found its way into her bedroom. She reached over and slid the window shut to keep her mother from complaining about the smell of skunk in the house. The window fell harder than she anticipated and slammed into the sill. She cursed quietly as she nearly dropped the lit joint into her lap. The neighbor’s porch light went out and the surroundings were dark once more. She exhaled big plumes of smoke into the black sky above her, making her own clouds over the face of the blood moon, and felt the resentment of her life being expelled with it. She could hold on, she was tough, she would spit back in their faces one day. It was the mantra she repeated to herself almost daily, but every now and then it failed to harden her resolve, those times she chased the voice of depression away with pot and alcohol. A chiming echoed softly and for a moment she wondered if it was real at all, until she remembered their house phone line in her mom’s bedroom across the hall, Ruth must have tried calling her cell phone and since she got no answer, tried calling their home phone instead.

“Shit.”

Casey stood on numb legs and placed her hands against the window to try to push it back up. The window didn’t budge, she stepped back, pushed the sleeves of her sweater up, and tried again but still she couldn’t get the window up. She glanced around, even if she managed to climb down to the ground in her buzzed state, she would be locked out. Casey put her hands over her face in frustration. The phone continued to ring inside the house, reminding her of Ruth and how frightened she must be not being able to get a hold of Casey.

“Halloween is the worst,” Casey spoke to herself, though it didn’t seem like something a Goth girl would say, but she had her reasons.

Her mother knew how hard her daughter’s life was in the small town, dressing the way she did. Casey was beaten up on Halloween when she was thirteen, and accused of being a Satanist, it was the last time her mother let her go out on her own to trick or treat. Casey didn’t care much to go out at all for a long time after the incident. She never told Ruth, but her cousin, Leon, avenged her two weeks later, and beat the hell out of the three boys responsible. He ran in a different crowd, but refused to let Casey be abused. She thought of him and her heart broke, she wept and beat the window in frustration. A screeching silenced her, freezing her in her actions. Casey turned to stare into her neighbor’s yard, everything was dark but the hunter’s moon spilled golden light down on the dormant grass. She couldn’t recall ever hearing such a sound, even in her childhood when she’d go on summer camping trips with her cousin and his father Patrick. She held her breath and pressed herself against the roof when she could see figures creeping through her neighbor’s yard. They were low to the ground, on all fours, yet had very human-like heads. For a split second she wondered if Billy confused her order of a joint rolled with regular marijuana, with something spiked with LSD. The silhouettes stopped in the moonlight to sniff the air and terror filled her as she wondered if they could smell her hiding on her own rooftop. All of the houses around were built in the same fashion as hers, two story, older models, with bedroom windows peering out over the roof. Her eyes fell on the small attic access window of the Henderson house next door, and she remembered her house had one, too. A shrieking came and three more of the creatures came over the back fence from the alleyway Shelley always used to sneak over to see Casey. She stayed low and crawled over, looking up at the small eave over her window, above it was the tiny access grate to the attic, it was her only way of hiding from the unknown figures making their way through Miriam Henderson’s back yard. As she stood, her eyes risked a glance into the yard of her neighbor on the other side of her house. She nearly screamed to see the things were inspecting the back door, peering into the darkness of what would have been their kitchen. Casey jumped up and grabbed the eave, her fingers gripped the rough shingles and the decaying trim her mother had painted a chocolate brown when she was just a little girl. She was lithe and naturally thin, her arms were still equipped with the muscles of an active youth, and had yet to sag with her lazy teenage years. She had no choice but to pull herself up onto the eave, her boots bumped against the windowpane and her heart stuttered. With every ounce of her strength, she pulled herself up and balanced on her forearms as her feet climbed up behind her. Casey could feel the shingles like sandpaper under her sweater, if it had been a warm night and her skin wasn’t wrapped in the thick cotton sweatshirt with a skull decorating the chest, she would have torn gashes in her soft skin. She was shaking when she managed to get herself over the edge and in position just below the attic access grate. It was broken when Casey and her mother moved in; allowing a family of birds to roost in their attic, causing them both to believe the place was haunted for weeks. Ruth pushed the grate back into place and secured it with a few screws, Casey hoped she could force her way inside. A thud beneath her and a chuffing noise raised her hackles and she panicked. When she stood on the eave the grate was face-level, so Casey pulled her sweater down over her fists and beat the flimsy grate until it pushed inward. A high-pitched wailing signaled to her the creature was coming for her. She stuck her arms into the hole and lifted herself up and through. She fell into the dusty attic just as a pale face glared in at her. Its eyes glowed bright green, it reminded her of seeing animals in the dark, and how their eyes caught the moonlight and reflected back at her. She was significantly smaller than the gangly-framed hunter that forced its head in, then pulled it back out before forcing one arm in, its clawed hand swiping at her as she got to her feet to run for the small door and set of retractable steps. Casey stood over the exit, and kicked it down. She looked back at the monster, whose body was contorting and stretching as if its bones were pulling from their sockets, its frame pulling out, long and thin. She was terrified and disgusted as she took the wooden steps two at a time. She landed on the carpet and instantly turned to fling the steps back up. She secured the door, but there was no lock, there never was, it was something that always freaked her out. She would often dream up nightmares of serial killers sneaking into their house by the dead of night through the rickety attic door, but now, now the nightmare was real and the thing pursuing her was more horrid than anything her sleeping brain could ever conjure. The wailing of the beast through the ceiling rattled her, it sounded painful and dismayed by her escape. She rushed to her bedroom and yanked her cell phone from the cord attached to the wall before fleeing down the staircase to the first floor of their small house. She was crossing the living room floor when a bang above her told her the monster had found its way in. Where was her mother? The thought worried her as she made it to the front door. Her hands felt like Jell-O as she unlocked it and pulled it open, she set one foot on the front porch when she noticed the sirens, and outside, eyes of green light met her. Casey froze, the neighborhood was decorated for Halloween; houses sported giant spider webs made of rope, jack ‘o lanterns, fake witches, and vampires. It all seemed hokey days before, but now true horror crept among those drugstore decorations. Lights came on in houses across the street and a cry shattered the hesitation both Casey and the creatures maintained for a moment; they went mad and swarmed every house and vehicle, in groups. The way their gaze focused on her, she knew they were hunting. A second cry came and the pounding of footsteps on concrete. In the warm streetlights she recognized the prey; the white-fleshed beasts sprinted after him. Dale was alone and would soon fill their emaciated stomachs with his flesh. Casey retreated back inside, hoping she could hide or fight, knowing her chances were far better against only one of the hunters of Halloween.

***

Richard the water man bit his tongue as he drove away, hoping the humiliation wasn’t apparent in his face. He knew where Patrick and Lana lived, because their house was on the same street as his. He remembered their boy used to walk home from school right in front of his house, but the last two years the young man drove instead. Richard didn’t get much time off and would usually be taking a short nap when the old truck rumbled by, shaking him from his sleep. He couldn’t count how many times it was out in Pat’s front driveway with the hood up, he couldn’t believe the boy’s parents even agreed to let him drive it up the mountain. It must haunt them now. The food trays in the back of Richard’s vehicle smelled delicious. If it wasn’t for such a somber occasion, he’d stick his hand in one and grab a little snack for later. Ruth couldn’t say a word after treating him the way she did, at least he thought not. He rolled down Mission Avenue and hung a left on Oak. All the houses and businesses were done up for the season, some were decorated with gory Halloween scenes, while others bore a splash of fall colors and wooden turkeys staked in the front yards. It surprised him such lawn ornaments survived Halloween night, but he figured with most everyone at the festival, those yards were safe. He passed a figure on the roadside; glancing up in the rearview mirror it appeared to be Dale ducking into a side alleyway bisecting the neighborhoods, without being seen. Richard shook his head and muttered “asshole” under his breath. He hadn’t met anyone who truly liked the man besides his wife, Amber, and after the rumors he heard down around the bars, it was a miracle she hadn’t castrated Dale by then. It was an eerie feeling to drive through empty neighborhoods on Halloween night. Usually the stragglers left over from the candy hauls and toilet papering squads were still scurrying about between the shadows of the houses. A silhouette ducked behind a low fence and he smirked.

“I guess I was wrong,” he said to himself inside the car as he slowed a bit in preparation to park at Patrick’s house on his way home. Something hit the back of his car, startling him and pushing him to the brink of becoming a mouthy asshole again. He tried to calm himself, knowing some kids probably ran across the street behind him and gave his ride a thump, just to scare him. A shadow moved from the top of one low-hanging tree to another and he squinted out the window, a thud on the roof of his car lit his fuse.

“You little fuckers better not be throwing shit on my car!” he shouted and began rolling his window down in order to give some teenager a good ass-chewing. He leaned out the window and spat, ready to unload a whole evening’s worth of pent up aggression on some pimply-faced bastard.

Burning pain tore through his skull, he opened his mouth to say something, anything, to scream, to cuss, to whimper; nothing but a long string of bloody drool came running from the corner of his chapped lips. The agony driving into his head multiplied as whatever holding him there stiff, with a gaping mouth, was withdrawn, wrenched free. Richard’s eyes saw green lights, set in white faces, before everything went black.

****

“Did you try your home phone?” Billy asked.

“She never answers that thing, but here,” Ruth said, handing him her phone while she drove. “Give it a ring.”

“Sure, Ruth.” Billy smiled and held the phone out in front of his face, thumbing through her contacts list to find her house line. Internally, he hoped Casey hadn’t gotten too messed up off the present he gave her and if she did, hopefully she’d never admit to Ruth where the hell she got it from. He held the phone to his ear and listened to it ring and ring, with no answer.

“Sorry, she’s not answering.”

“We’re almost there anyway.”

“OK,” he spoke and set her phone down in the center console of the car.

“What are we gonna do if she’s not there?” Ruth asked, her voice trembled.

“She’ll be there,” he reassured his boss. “She probably fell asleep or something. She’s ok.”

Ruth nodded and looked to Billy. He was a nice kid, for being such a pot head.

Ruth was going the speed limit, knowing the deputies were out in full force for the holiday. Her heart pounded in her chest as they approached the intersection she needed to head south on in order to get home, a line of small lights on the other side of the red light, in the darkened middle school soccer field, seemed out of place.

“What’s that?” Billy asked, as if he read her mind.

“I have no idea,” she said.

The pale green balls drifted back, she counted six in all, and none of them could have been higher than the roof of her car.

“I’ve never seen anything like that,” he said.

“Probably some kids out with their glow sticks or something, trying to scare people,” she suggested and he nodded and laughed. “You’re right, it’s Halloween after all.”

“I bet Connie, out at the mortuary, really gets hell this time of the year,” Ruth added.

“I would guarantee it.”

The light changed and she made her turn. Billy’s eyes still searched the field as they drove by, but he didn’t see the lights anymore, it was like they disappeared into the tall hedges surrounding the school grounds. He laughed to himself and remembered when he was young how he and his friends egged the whole school one Halloween. Ruth looked over each shoulder and when she didn’t see a single police car she pressed her foot on the gas, pushing the car to move faster. With each passing minute she hadn’t heard from Casey, she felt something gnawing at her gut, there was something wrong. The lower-class neighborhood came into sight and she slowed to make her turn. Billy gasped, drawing her attention to his side of the car just in time to see small green lights and a figure leaping from the side of the road, it landed on the hood of her car. She screamed as she stared into the face of the attacker, it was no child or adult, its face and body could not possibly be a costume. Its hide was a grey-white color, its ribs jutted painfully out under its skin, and its face, like nothing she’d ever seen, gaunt and twisted, eyes of green, and a mouth full of black razors. She leaned back in her seat, unaware for a moment her car was still moving as the creature screeched and beat the windshield, drool slid from its mouth as it cried out. Ruth gunned it and spun the wheel, carrying the creature along with them into the neighborhood. She hit the brakes and sent it flying, flailing its long, gangly arms as it lurched backwards; it lost its balance and tumbled onto the street. She hit the gas once more, but the lithe thing had already rolled onto its hands and feet and as the car bore down on it, it jumped to the sidewalk and ran into the yard of a house.

“What the fuck was that?” Billy asked.

Sirens wailed in the distance, gun shots echoed, as she turned to her passenger. “We’re getting Casey, then we’re getting the hell out of here!”

He nodded in response, the shock still obvious on his face. Ruth sped down the street, her house was nearly at the end of the row of identical homes, all decked out for Halloween. Her heart sank when her headlights fell on a moving mass in the distance, she let her car creep forward to see four of the creatures had someone on the street, tearing his insides out with their sharp claws and feasting ravenously on them.

“I recognize that guy,” Billy spoke. “That’s Shelley’s stepdad.”

Ruth went cold, Dale was already quite dead, and it made her frantic to find her daughter.

“How are we going to get around this?”

“Drive on the sidewalk, this isn’t a time to be thinking about traffic laws!”

“They’ll follow us!” Ruth answered.

“Run the fuckers over!” he insisted.

Ruth looked to him, the desperation in his eyes. She knew hers must have looked the same. She swallowed and took a deep breath, then nodded.

Chapter Twenty

Amber and Shelley rushed to gather their things after the sheriff ordered every volunteer to go home. Amber was confused when the first announcement was made for everyone to vacate the town square. Ms. Clark spoke calmly, but hinted at reported trouble on the outskirts of Brush Mill. Everyone figured it must have been out of precaution Sheriff Reynolds was shutting the festival down almost an hour early, but now Amber wondered if it wasn’t an even bigger problem than Halloween parties getting out of hand as the deputies left in pairs, their cars speeding away from the festival grounds. She lost her daughter for a moment in the crowd. Fear surged through her until she located Shelley beside of one of the booths, vomiting until her stomach was empty, culminating in a series of dry-heaves.

“My god! What’s wrong with you?” Amber asked her daughter.

“I just feel sick,” Shelley answered weakly.

“You’ve been doing this for days. Look at you, you’re white as a sheet.”

“I’ll be ok, just take me home.”

“Alright, come on, sweetie.”

It had been a long time since her mother was so gentle with her. Amber took her daughter by the arm and helped her across the town square as the last of the volunteers made their way to their cars. They walked past the sheriff and his deputy, who were whispering heatedly between themselves. Amber had a terrible feeling in her gut, there was something really bad taking place in her hometown. Shelley stopped,  dropped to her knees, and wretched again onto the concrete.

“Help! My daughter, she’s so sick!” Amber called over to two of the paramedics loading up a fire station truck and getting ready to head out.

“Let me take a look at her,” Archie said as he approached.

He pulled a small flashlight from his pocket and used it to look into Shelley’s eyes as he asked her a series of questions.

“Have you had enough to drink today?”

“She was eating and drinking all day when she was with me, but for days she acted like she felt sick,” Amber answered for her daughter.

“Where does your stomach hurt?” he asked.

Shelley moaned in reply and held her abdomen.

“I would take her to the ER. You don’t want it to be her appendix, it would be very serious.”

“Oh, my goodness. I didn’t think of that,” Amber said.

“We can give you a lift over there if you want?” Archie asked.

“Yes, please.”

Shelley felt as if she might pass out, not from the nausea she was experiencing, but from being taken to a doctor, and more than likely having to admit she knew the reason why she felt so ill.

“I just want to go home.”

“No way,” Amber said. “You heard him, you could have something very serious wrong with you. We’re getting you looked at tonight.”

Shelley nearly wept, the moment of truth was coming, she felt like a prisoner on death row.

Her mother was fawning over her, telling her how sorry she was for being too busy to realize Shelley had been really sick, but all she could think of was what her mother would be saying in a couple hours, after she learned she was going to be a grandmother.

****

The mayor sat in his recliner, his feet propped up and a glass of brandy in his hand. Halloween was a ridiculous holiday to him, and he always kept his front gate at the end of his driveway locked. He made sure his wife kept the front porch light off, too, in an effort to keep any stray kids from thinking they could stop by for a bag of candy. His nerves were on edge for three days due to the delicate business of handling the tragedy on the mountain with tact. It was over now and he could go back to enjoying the cushy parts of his job. He made a mental note to get in touch with his golfing buddies to schedule a round or two, and called for his wife to bring him another drink. The urge to smoke a cigar was too overpowering, so he stood and walked over to retrieve one from the top drawer of his oak desk. His wife, Melanie, usually complained about him enjoying his cigars in the house, so he tied his house coat and stepped out onto the balcony overlooking his sprawling front yard. The hedges were going dormant for the fall and winter but his grass still looked phenomenal by the light of day, the winter rye his gardener suggested really made all the difference. He lit his stogie and stood proudly with a glass of brandy in his opposite hand, as the autumn wind blew through his graying hair. It was times like this he felt like a king, looking out at the neighboring houses and the country club sitting right on the private golf course. The moon was swollen and orange, like a jack-o-lantern, casting a glow down on his property. Shadows at his front gate caught his attention, he cursed and sat his cigar in an ornate ashtray his wife had custom carved for him and stepped inside.

“Mel, please call for Allan and have him dial up security. Looks like some kids escaped the stupid Fall Festival in favor of causing trouble!”

His wife came through the door, brushing her long, auburn hair. “Those kinds of people never learn.”

She left the room, calling out to their butler, Allan Morris. Mr. Morris had worked for the last four mayors as personal servant and housekeeper. He was loyal to his masters and usually dealt with teenagers on Halloween without mercy. Allan came quickly up the stairs and, upon hearing there was trouble afoot, he went to the phone to do as he was told. It was a quick call, a conversation of only seconds with the guard in the country club, before he slammed the phone into the receiver and stepped out into the yard himself.

“Security is supposed to patrol all night. What are they being paid for if they’re just sitting on their asses?” Melanie complained.

“Don’t fret, dear. This will all be resolved quickly,” the mayor spoke and came in close for a kiss.

She turned her head and only presented her cheek while holding her nose pinched between two fingers, “Cigars?” she asked with a nasally voice.

“Yes, darling. My apologies.”

A shrill cry came from outside, Mayor Barton jumped and spun around. His wife pushed him from behind, urging him to react. “What was that?”

“Stay here. I’ll go take a look.”

He walked hesitantly over to the balcony door and parted the curtain on the glass to look out into the fall night. He couldn’t see anything from his vantage point, so he opened the door slowly and stepped out into the air. A different cry all together came from beneath the balcony on the front steps of his house, a very human scream, one filled with terror and agony. Mayor Barton hurried back inside to find his wife waiting; by the look on her face she, too, had clearly heard the cries.

“Was that Allan?”

The mayor nodded and held his finger to his lips.  A feeling crept up his spine, the sense of someone watching him. He turned back to the door, his hand fell on the knob, and it shook as he locked the door handle. The feeling grew in intensity. Someone was there, just beyond the thin pane of glass. He stuck his hand out and behind him quietly; his wife protested but he continued in his movement. His finger pushed the curtain aside again, just an inch, and on the other side was a glowing green orb. He stared at it for the span of a heartbeat, until it was eclipsed with a pale lid; he realized then it was an eye. He fell back as the shriek he heard only moments before resounded again, only much louder. Melanie ran out the door as the glass was broken, a long thin arm forced its way inside. It was the appendage of nothing he’d ever seen, and tipped with dirty claws. The flesh of the hand was stained and spattered with dark crimson. Mayor Barton rolled onto his knees and pushed himself to his feet as the door gave away beneath the enraged movements of the thing beyond it. He wasn’t accustomed to running, much less in a pair of wool-lined house slippers. His foot contacted the glossy tile of the wide hallway and slipped out from under him. The mayor went down onto his stomach, strangling the rising screams from his throat. Footsteps behind him, racing across the floor of his study, urged him up onto his hands and knees but before he could get onto his feet, something pounced onto his back, forcing him back down. Pain erupted in his shoulder, tearing, burning pain. He screamed with what little breath he had left in his chest.

***

Melanie crept from the bedroom and down the hallway, seeking an escape down the long staircase, as gurgling whimpers echoed off the marble tile. She stood flat against the cold wall and dared to see the source of it. A being sat on her husband’s back; it looked like a bony corpse. Its mouth hovered over Barton’s skull and opened unnaturally wide, like a serpent, as it prepared to sink its fangs into the mayor. Melanie pulled her head back, her vision blurred as her brain threatened to lose consciousness.  A wet crunching silenced the whining; Melanie knew her husband was dead. She put her hand over her mouth as screams came welling up from within her. She spun back around and went back to the master bedroom, trembling as she lifted the phone to call the police station. Her trembling finger was pointed, ready to dial, when a chuffing behind her told her she was far too late. Her body refused to face the thing who broke through the balcony door, the intruder no doubt had already killed her husband and began consuming him. A low growl rattled in the sunken chest of the beast at the doorway. She punched the numbers, but as the voice on the other end spoke she was knocked to the floor, boney knees held her down and she screamed, it’s all she could think to do. Her head was roughly yanked back by her hair, strangling her cries back in her throat. The stench of her attacker was like a rotting corpse and clotted blood. She was a nurse once, and never forgot those scents, how they lingered on her tongue. She gagged from smelling it and the awkward angle her head was held at. Long, spindly fingers wrapped around her face, jagged nails sunk into her cheek, and then intense pressure. An excruciating pain burned in her neck as the beast twisted her head to one side; though she prayed to die, the motion didn’t end her life completely. Her release wasn’t granted until the hunter continued to wrench her head around and her chin touched the back of her shoulder blade.

Charlie crawled beneath a hedge, his dog came to lay beside him. In his mind, he fought the flashbacks every time he heard someone screaming. Those demons he carried, they wouldn’t die easy, even after so many years of thinking he’d be ok. He positioned himself in the darkness, watching, waiting, knowing what he was born to do. In the service he had spent years as a sniper, putting men down from distances most would claim impossible. He struggled to bury those memories, the faces of men who never knew how fast a bullet could end their life. He readied himself at the shrieking echoing down the street. After the initial wave of people running into their yards at the commotion outside, it had grown quiet, the citizens were warning each other by phone to stay hidden. The sickly shape of a creature crawled over the top of a single story house, its body outlined against the burnt-orange moon. It was inspecting the chimney, looking for any way to get in. Charlie laid his face along the stock of his rifle, his eye lined up his shot down the sight. He squeezed the trigger and a fine mist replaced the head of the intruder. The shot made his ears ring. A round of wailing filled the autumn night and four more hunters came to the corpse of their fallen brother. Something warm dripped onto Charlie’s hand through the thorny hedge. Elroy whined beside him. The smell invading his nose told him he was found out before the monster even opened its blackened mouth to signal the others. He should have figured the report from the rifle would draw them in. He rolled onto his back to see a pale beast sitting in the arms of a tree above the hedge, its jagged fangs dripping blood and saliva. It made him think about Alex’s face, up in that pine tree on the mountain. The sense of dread he felt up there by Carver’s cabin hadn’t left him, the feeling of being hunted. The creature leapt into the hedge, coming for the old man and his dog. Its body broke through the dry, tangled branches, it slashed and clawed as it became wound up in the dormant shrub. Its weight hit him, but Charlie was ready, from his hip he pulled a pistol. The hungry hunter’s mouth opened, intent to take a chunk of the old man’s flesh but instead he force-fed it lead. The others were coming but halted at the resounding boom and the scent of death. They fled and the old man followed, his dog at his side.

****

Casey crossed her living room just as the hunter upstairs broke through the attic door. She could hear it sniffing the air, breathing in her scent and following it down to the first floor. It shrieked, but she didn’t stop to look at it as it leapt down the stairs. She ducked into the bathroom beside the kitchen and locked the door. She held her cell phone out before her, feeling foolish at the amount of missed calls from her mother. She dialed the phone, hoping Ruth was safe somewhere far away from their neighborhood. The phone was answered, but all she could hear was the sound of Ruth’s voice and another, a male, screaming, and the sound of smashing and breaking glass.

“MOM?” she cried into the phone.

There was a commotion on the other end of the phone, then shouting and a single sentence, before the phone went dead.

“I’m coming for you, baby!”

The bathroom door rattled, on the opposite side a long scratching sounded, sending Casey jumping into the bathtub. She held her arms over her chest and screamed; it didn’t matter anymore if she remained quiet, it could smell her there, and knew it had her cornered. The door was made of thin pieces of fake wood. It couldn’t hold the ravenous humanoid back very long. Casey stuffed her phone into her sweater pocket and searched for any weapon she could use to defend herself. The sink was cluttered with makeup, deodorant, and decorative candles her mother refused to light. Her eyes fell on a can of aerosol hairspray, she grabbed it, tested it by spraying it into the air. She pulled her lighter out of her pocket and prepared for a battle, it would mean escaping or being eaten alive.

****

Ruth and Billy braced themselves as they prepared to ram the feeding frenzy. She only hoped Dale was already dead. As the headlights lit up the pack of hunters, they turned their greedy faces to the light, snarling as chunks of flesh hung from their teeth. Her car was moving at high speed when her phone rang, Billy picked it up.

“It’s Casey.”

He hit the button to answer the call a second before they impacted the blood-soaked monsters. They screamed as one of the sallow-skinned creatures rolled up onto the hood, shattering the glass. Ruth hit the brakes and threw the car in reverse, seeking to annihilate the pack before they crawled away into the darkness. The car jumped as it crushed those not lucky enough to get away. Billy forced the broken body of the beast from the hole in the windshield as Ruth screamed down into her phone, praying her daughter got her message, she wouldn’t give up until Casey was reunited with her.

****

Sheriff Reynolds and Tommy were on their way to the sheriff’s cruiser, detective Petrucci followed them. He was reaching for the door handle when Tommy stopped them.

“What the hell is that?”

The state detective drew his pistol, readying himself for a confrontation. Tommy pointed to a copse of trees a few streets away, where the neighborhood park stood. The boughs were filled with green orbs, unnaturally bright, and completely out of place in the community he’d grown up in.

“Those green lights?” Petrucci asked.

“Yes, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Fire flies?” the detective suggested.

“Nope, that’s eye shine,” the sheriff answered, his voice a mixture of confusion and fear.

The green orbs began to disperse, darting through the trees, some moving down to ground level in a matter of seconds.

“It wasn’t a damn cat that killed those boys,” Tommy spoke the thought plaguing all three of their minds. “I’m sure of it now. Those things are responsible for it, and all the chaos tonight.”

“Whatever the hell they are, they aren’t welcome here,” Sheriff Reynolds said and popped his trunk.

He pulled out two shot guns and handed them to his deputy and the detective.  “Let’s go welcome them to Brush Mill.”

Chapter Twenty-One

She stood firm and waited as the door broke into splinters beneath the claws of the creature. It stuck its head through a large hole, snapping its teeth at her. Casey was frozen for a moment as she stared into its face, a living monster, seeking to rip the flesh from her bones. She lifted the hairspray can and flicked her lighter open; it became a miniature blow torch in her trembling hands. She sprayed the flammable liquid through the flickering flame and sent a burst of fire into the gaping maw of the creature. It withdrew from the door, shrieking and wailing. She held her only weapon out in front of herself, ready to let it have another taste of the acrid hairspray napalm. It came back, enraged by being denied its meal. It forced its long arm through the broken door and swiped at her with its filthy claws.

****

Rena climbed into the passenger seat of the van beside Paul.

“Where are we headed?” he asked.

“Let’s just cruise around, there’s supposed to be deputies on patrol everywhere. We can get a few shots of them and wait for some action to…” she paused in mid-sentence when the sound of gunshots erupted in the distance. “There, we’re going there.”

He nodded and whipped the news van around, then headed in the direction of a neighborhood not far away.

“Did your source say how dangerous this was going to be?” he asked, speeding through a yellow light.

“Not entirely, but I’m thinking it could get pretty nasty out here tonight.”

“What makes you say that?” he prodded for more information.

“He made me promise to stay in my apartment tonight.”

“Nice going.”

“What does that mean?”

“If you want to keep this guy around, breaking your promises to him ain’t gonna help.”

“Ok, I’m not taking relationship advice from you, Mr. Strip Club.”

“Ouch!”

“Besides, he knows my job is very important to me, so he’ll just have to forgive me.”

“Whatever you say, but I’m pretty sure this is gonna be a deal breaker.”

Rena ran her hand through her hair and ignored her partner’s advice, she knew he meant well, but she wasn’t in the mood for any lectures. There was a story out there amidst the homes decorated with orange and black, and she was going to find it.

She was flung forward and forced back against her seat by her seat belt as Paul stomped on the brakes. He cut the wheel on the van and they veered into the oncoming traffic lane, luckily it was empty. He came to a stop and looked over to her, “Are you ok?”

“Yes, but what the hell was that about?”

“You didn’t see it?”

“See what?”

“In the yard back there?”

“NO, PAUL!”

“There was someone lying on the grass, they looked hurt.”

“Well, go back, maybe we can help them,” she said, flustered.

She was frightened by the erratic driving and near accident, but she pulled herself together. She needed footage of people in danger, police doing their job and, most importantly, the source of this mysterious threat. Paul turned the van around and crept up the street at a slower pace, looking out the window. He guided the van down a small side street to a house right off the main road. He held his hand up and motioned for Rena to stay put.

“Let me check this out first, ok?”

She nodded in frustration but let him do what he thought a gentlemen’s duty entailed. The headlights cast illumination out before them, but the figure was lying just beyond it. Her partner got out of the van and approached cautiously, she could hear him outside, asking the person if they were alright. He froze only feet from them, glanced back at Rena, and then down to the silhouette in the yellow grass. He ran back and jumped into the driver’s seat and locked the door behind him.

“We’re leaving.”

“No, no, wait.”

“NO, we’re not doing this.”

“What was wrong, Paul?”

“They weren’t alive. I’m sure of it.”

“How do you know, you didn’t even check for a pulse. We can’t leave someone needing help.”

“The guy was dead! His fuckin’ face was torn off.”

Rena was silent for a moment, “It could have been a Halloween décor…”

“That was no decoration or prank, ok?”

“We need footage.”

“NO, this is no ordinary town in trouble shit, Rena. That guy’s face was torn off. I know you think it’s our job, but my life comes first.”

She reached into the back of the van and grabbed his smallest handheld camera.

“I’m getting documentation of everything that’s going on. You sit here and cover me.”

“Rena! Please don’t.”

“This is my career, it’s not always pretty and positive, but this is what I do.” He threw his hands in the air. “At least let me get closer, maybe you can film from in here, where it’s safe.”

“Fine,” she agreed.

Paul put the van in drive and eased forward until his headlights spilled over the man in the yard of a dark house.

“Be careful,” he said as she rolled her window down.

Rena pressed the record button and used the zoom to get a better look at the corpse on the ground. Paul wasn’t exaggerating when he said the man was faceless, the skin from his hairline down to his collar bone had been torn away in a jagged sheet. The dead man’s mouth hung open in a silent scream of agony.

“My god,” she said softly.

“I wasn’t lying, it’s terrible. Maybe we should call the police?”

“Don’t touch your phone until we’re out of here. They’ll want to confiscate this video.”

Paul’s screaming confused her until he lifted his hand and pointed out beyond the headlights, pacing the edge of the illumination were four figures. They were barely visible to the reporter as they skirted the van. Their naked skin was obviously a white, grey color, their bodies vaguely human, yet they moved on all fours like an animal and their eyes shone a bright emerald glow.

“Hit your high beams!” she ordered.

Paul did as he was told; when the headlights blasted brighter the creatures were revealed, they bared their teeth, dripping with blood-tinged saliva. Her eyes widened and goosebumps rose on her arms, the sight before them couldn’t be real, monsters did not exist. The pack charged forward, violently shrieking. Behind them, lurking on the roof of a house, sat three more of the hunters.

“GO!” Rena screamed and Paul stepped on the gas, the van flew forward, scattering the creatures. Paul turned the van around in the front yard of the house under siege. As they drove onto Main Street there were people running out of their houses and businesses, frantically trying to escape the hordes of hungry beings pursuing them into the autumn night. Rena lifted the camera and recorded as people were pounced upon. Sirens wailed as a patrol car rolled up the street. Deputies leapt from the cruiser, opening fire on a gang of pallid-skinned beasts occupied with attacking an older man wearing a heavy coat and no shoes, as if he ran from his home without having time to put any on. More squad cars arrived in force, she knew every man, woman, and volunteer must have been called to duty. They drove past the hospital, an ambulance had crashed into the doors of the emergency room and the lithe beasts were charging through the automatic doors held open by the front end of the emergency vehicle. They crawled over the hood of it like white spiders, their eyes blazing with hunger.

“This isn’t happening,” Paul said.

Rena’s cell phone rang in her sweater pocket; she knew it had to be Tommy.

“Answer it.”

“No.”

“Why not, maybe he knows of a secure area or safe zone!”

“The story is out here,” she said.

“A story isn’t worth getting torn to pieces,” Paul replied.

Watching the helpless people in the streets of the small town being eaten alive drove his point home. Rena turned in her seat and nodded, then pulled her cell phone from her pocket and looked down at the screen. She had missed two calls from Tommy and a single text message was indicated in her notifications. She opened the message and tears wet her eyes.

“Stay hidden, find a weapon. I love you.”

“Let’s find somewhere and lock ourselves in. You have your footage, that’s enough,” Paul spoke as he exited Main Street and drove through a neighborhood. The decision was instantly regrettable, there were people in the street, fighting the creatures with shovels, some were armed but before they could deal any damage to the packs of hungry creatures they were taken down, their guns lying useless on the sidewalks. A car sped by, its windshield shattered and the older woman driver was screaming into her cell phone while her passenger held on for dear life.

“That was the manager of Lulu’s,” Rena said, turning in her seat to watch as Ruth’s car barreled through her own yard and skidded to a halt seconds before ramming into her front porch.

“Let’s go back and get her in the van!” Paul said.

“What?” Rena asked.

“We have to help someone, look at all these people dying around us!”

“Alright, we’ll see what we can do.”

Paul stopped the van, put it in reverse, and backed up to Ruth’s yard.

The car rested on the front walk, Ruth sat inside, honking her horn wildly.

“She’s just drawing more to her!” Paul said. Three hunters charged through the yard and crawled over the roof of the car. Ruth and Billy screamed as the hunters thrust their long arms through the broken windshield. They pulled the young man from the passenger seat and began slashing and biting him, his abdomen was torn open and his insides pulled out while he still fought for his life. Ruth opened her door to run, but it drew the attention of the ravenous pack. They stared at her with their green eyes, Billy’s blood covered their faces and claws.

Paul maneuvered the van up alongside Ruth’s car and rolled the passenger side window down.

“GET IN!” Rena cried and climbed around the seat to open the sliding door.

Ruth hurried inside and Rena pulled the door shut as one of the creatures came for the old barmaid.

“My daughter is inside,” Ruth spoke, breathing heavily. “I can’t leave her, PLEASE!”

Gun shots boomed from nearby and two of the creature’s heads exploded, a barking dog forced the third one off of Billy’s corpse. The hound growled and snarled, standing its ground with a strip of hair standing up down its spine. Rena looked in the rearview mirror to see the dark silhouette of a man; he held a rifle out before him, his dog returned to his side. Ruth cried happily, “It’s old Charlie!”

Charles came to Paul’s window, his eyes constantly roving and watching. Paul rolled down his window.

“What’s happening?” Paul blurted out.

“These things number nearly a hundred. They won’t die from simple wounds, even arms being cut off. You gotta demolish them, if you know what I mean,” Charlie said.

“Casey is in there!” Ruth cried, pointing to her house.

“I’ll get her out, you folks stay put.” They watched the old vet, clad in his tattered fatigues, as he moved stealthily up the front steps, his dog at his side.

Casey readied herself to let the thing have another face full of flaming hairspray, she could hear it moving around on the other side of the broken door, plotting how it could get its claws in her. It came back for her, wildly raging against the door, it gave way and she fired, this time her homemade flame thrower only hit its back as it tumbled into the bathroom. She jumped into the shower, fighting with her lighter and the nearly empty can of hairspray. The beast righted itself and stood between its prey and the doorway, its eyes in the incandescent light had a milky sheathe over them, almost as if it was blind, yet behind the membrane was a brilliant green glow, something she knew was not of her world, she could feel it in her soul. She yanked the shower curtain closed in an attempt to confuse it but the beast slashed at the thin plastic, tearing it from the rusted rod it hung from. Casey saw her chance and grabbed the end of the shower curtain rod and yanked it toward her, the metal pole fell down with a thump and she seized the opportunity before the monster could come in for a second attack. Casey gripped the rod and forced it forward like a lance; it struck the hunter in the center of its chest and forced it back against the wall. It writhed free and stepped out of the bathroom, waiting for her to come out. Casey walked slowly, holding her only weapon out before her, ready to wield it in any way necessary, whether to swing it or use it again to jab the beast in its abdomen. It waited for her in the living room, she swung the curtain rod and her attacker leapt onto the wall and scurried up it until it clung to the ceiling by its clawed hands and feet. She stepped back into the adjoining kitchen, never taking her eyes off the beast, hanging like an insect from the ceiling, calculating when it would pounce on her. Honking outside forced the beast to act; it pushed  itself off the ceiling and came flying through the air at Casey. She lifted the rod as the screeching carnivore was nearly on her. It lodged in the mouth of the shrieking creature, and sent its body tumbling at an awkward angle, Casey felt a crunch, a dry snapping reverberated up the pole and shook it out of her hands. She ran forward but a gangly hand caught her by the ankle. Casey fell onto her stomach, and cried out in dismay. She rolled over to try to kick the elongated fingers away from her pant leg. The hunter’s neck was obviously broken, yet it didn’t die, it didn’t give up its attempts at killing her. The door was kicked in and in the bright light of headlights stood a man; a dog came to his side. He, too, was a hunter but of a different kind. He lifted a rifle and fired, its report was deafening in the small living room. Casey held her eyes closed for a moment until a wet nose pressed against her cheek, a soft whine comforted her, and she looked to see the dog had come to stand over her protectively. The creature’s head had split like an over ripe jack-o-lantern and left a black, reeking pile on the floor.

“Let’s go, young lady,” the older man ordered and helped her to the doorway. He held her still for a moment, to get a good look at their surroundings, before leading her to a van parked on her front lawn. She crawled inside and into Ruth’s open arms.

“Get the hell out of here,” Charles said to Paul.

“Where should we go?” he asked.

“If I were you, I’d go to the sheriff’s station, the walls are concrete and there aren’t many windows, there’s bound to be plenty of weapons, too.”

“Thank you,” Rena said across from the passenger seat.

“Once enlisted, always enlisted,” Charlie answered.

Martin and Cathy helped Andrew into the cab of the truck after Charles went on what he called a hunting trip. Andrew was in bad shape after losing massive amounts of blood from the vicious wound in his arm. He trembled uncontrollably and Catherine worried he might go into full-blown shock.

“Get me to the hospital,” she said. “I can help Andrew better there, and others, I know there will be many more.”

Martin nodded, “I wanted to find a safe place for you both before I go hunting myself.”

Sky sat in Catherine’s lap while Andrew took up the seat between her and Running River. She had never known the owner of the trading post personally, but she had a feeling many had underestimated him.

“Thank you, Martin,” she said. “If it weren’t for you and Charles, we would have died on that hill.”

“We heard your gun shots and knew we couldn’t leave you behind,” he answered.

“What about the people at the cemetery?” she asked. “Do you think they are ok?”

“They had a solid place to hide in, and at least one gun, they had a better chance than many of these people do.”

She nodded sadly as they headed toward the hospital.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Archie was driving the transport truck, with Amber and Shelly sitting beside of him. Shelley moaned and held her stomach. He was on edge after the sudden bursts of chaos taking place in the small town; it wasn’t even big enough to have its own rescue helicopter, it just got its first movie theater a summer before and the grocery store had been there for over eighty years. It all seemed out of place in Brush Mill; violence, murder, fear, it unnerved him. He was trained in emergency situations, but honestly hadn’t seen anything like what was taking place. He sent out Clarence, Clara, and his other men to begin assisting people in the random attacks popping up all around him. He was driving the speed limit when something caught his eye, a white figure beside him, matching the pace of his truck. Archie turned his head in disbelief to see the thing outside of his window, the streetlights seemed to turn its white skin yellow with their glow. The creature was on all fours like a dog, but its body and hands were incredibly human. He stifled a startled scream and pushed the gas pedal to the floor.

“Why are you driving so fast?” Amber asked, terrified he might be recognizing some sign in her daughter signaling a bleak diagnosis.

“It’s following us!” he answered, confusing her further.

“What?”

The truck swerved as something leapt onto the driver’s side door. Amber screamed, finally laying eyes on the thing frightening the fire chief into driving like a mad man. The wind whipped its ragged strands of hair back as it opened its mouth of razors and cried hungrily at the humans inside the cab of the truck. The hospital was in sight, but the truck was at top speed  when Archie cut the wheel to make it into the parking lot. They hopped a curb and barreled up the emergency drop off lane leading directly into the Emergency Room doors, smashing into them and coming to a stop. Amber was dazed, her daughter unconscious beside her. Archie’s nose bled from the deployed airbag. He brought his hand up to his face and wiped the blood across the back of his sleeve.

“Are you ok?”

He looked over to the side of the truck to see the creature had been ripped in half when the truck crashed into the glass doors. Its upper torso was lodged between the truck and the wall, its arms still moved feebly for a moment, its eyes dimmed as it went still.  Shelley began to come around, her eyes struggled to focus. When she could see through the dizzying dark spots dancing in her vision, she watched as the hunter’s broken body began to decay. The creature’s sickly hide sloughed away to reveal a human skull, only its teeth had become those used for slaughter. Its bones disintegrated as they watched in disbelief. Archie motioned to Shelley’s door, “Out that side.”

Amber helped her daughter out of the truck and into the Emergency Room as a handful of nurses stood slack-jawed at the destruction they left behind. Wailing from beyond the wreckage turned Archie’s blood cold, it was inhuman and not at all any animal he’d ever heard. His gut told him the awful truth, the thing attacking their truck wasn’t alone, and now he’d led more to the hospital full of sick and injured people.

***

The gun shots made her jump, Julie knew it was a mistake to sneak back out after being ordered to go home, but she wanted to fit in. Eric put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it; she shifted away from his touch but laughed softly in order not to offend him. The ride over in his mom’s car was awkward enough, and she hoped it wouldn’t make him think he deserved any kind of affection for giving her a lift. She was dismayed no other girls came to the meeting spot behind the middle school, all she could distinguish in the dark besides Eric, who looked like a giant, was Troy, Anthony, and Joey. They were still cussing and pissed off at how the sheriff treated them after their stupid prank. Julie hoped Jarred would be there. She knew he liked her and was waiting to get the chance to talk to him, but the carnival was far too crowded and she worried the other guys would tease him incessantly.

“You got the goods?” Troy asked her.

“Yeah, right here,” she patted the messenger bag hanging over her shoulder.

“Well, let’s light ’em up!” Anthony said.

“There’s a ton of cops out tonight, are you sure this is a good idea?” Julie questioned.

“It’s Halloween, their out making sure no one is causing trouble,” Eric answered.

“You mean, like us,” Joey joked.

Julie’s apprehension grew with each minute they stood out in the dark; she really wished she had just stayed home. Guns shots echoed in the distance and she jumped.

“What the hell was that?” Eric asked.

“Don’t be a wuss, it was probably someone doing the same thing we are. Bust ’em out.”

Julie opened the satchel and pulled out a handful of bottle rockets she had stashed away since the previous Fourth of July. She handed them to Anthony and he whistled, turning them over in his hand.

“These are going to be fuckin’ awesome,” he said.

“Let’s get this party started!” Troy said.

They walked a ways down into a soccer field the physical education coaches used to make them jog around as kids. Julie hated those days. She wasn’t as popular then, and looked pretty homely. The view of her changed when she went to junior high and her body began to blossom, and of course her mom’s new job provided her with a trendier wardrobe, which helped her fit in more. Eric and Joey were leading the group into the dark field while she hung back beside Anthony and Troy; both looked her over with glances, making her a little more than uncomfortable. She was still dressed as a witch, her costume a little too sexy for the Halloween night marauding. Eric pulled a lighter out of his pocket and lit the fuse of the bottle rocket, sparks shot out the end as it flew into the sky, screaming and fiery, like a shooting star. The others shouted and began lighting theirs, too, their faces lit by the momentary glow of the fireworks showed a juvenile happiness. It made her smile, but Julie couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in her gut screaming she was making a big mistake. The hunter’s moon reminded her of Jarred,  dressed as a werewolf for the Fall Festival. She thought he looked cute in the furry get up, she wished again he was beside her. Her mind began making up excuses just to slip away from the boys hollering and sending more bottle rockets into the autumn sky, her house would only be a fifteen minute walk, if she hurried.

“Come on, Julie. Wanna light one?” Eric asked.

“No thanks, I’m actually kinda feeling a little sick.”

“What, are you starting your rag or something?” he asked with a hint of insensitivity in his voice.

“Actually, yes,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Well, if you want a ride, you’re gonna have to wait for a few.”

“No, that’s fine. I‘m just going to walk home.”

“Don’t be a party pooper,” Joey teased.

“I’m not, I just need to go home,” she said.

She turned to walk across the field and to her surprise, none of them stopped her, in fact she heard whispering and laughing behind her back. It only made her want to turn back around and punch Eric in the face. She knew he had other intentions after riding with him, he never said a word, but the cocky smile on his face told her she would more than likely end up groped by the big gorilla if she didn’t just make her own escape from the shenanigans. Bottle rockets sailed over her head, a little too close for comfort, and she dove to the ground, a chorus of laughter issued from the group behind her, like hyenas in the darkness.

“Fuckin’ assholes!” she shouted back and got to her feet.

Her knee felt raw and warm, she knew there would be a gash there, but she didn’t stop to inspect her leg, she just wanted as far away from them as she could get. Julie made her way for the middle school as her so-called friends fired off another round of fireworks into the sky. She turned back to give them the middle finger, but froze when she saw figures looming behind the young men who were laughing gleefully. She backed away as the flaming trails left from the bottle rockets died, leaving the field black once more. Green circles hovered for a moment, before advancing quickly toward the group. Julie wanted to scream, but fear stole her breath and sent her spinning on her heels and running for the buildings fifty yards away. It was silent for only seconds before screams replaced the raucous laughter echoing through the school she bore so many bad memories from. In those days, when she was too thin and dressed in hand-me-down clothes, sometimes she wished someone would hurt the boys who teased her incessantly, but now their cries turned her stomach into a knot of emotions.

After sending a few bottle rockets Julie’s way, Eric and Anthony hurried to light more. Joey and Troy joined in, and the sky was filled with sparks and streams of smoke. Their joy faded quickly when Eric was tackled to the ground. At first they all thought the sheriff and his men had come to put an end to their Halloween festivities, but when tooth and claw met their flesh it became clear they had drawn the attention of something else entirely. Eric screamed as the creature on his back sank its teeth into the side of his neck and removed a mouthful of his flesh. His blood spurted out in a geyser and a filthy hand came round the side of his head to grip his bottom jaw, intense pressure turned to pure agony as it was wrenched downward in a swift violent motion. Anthony tried to run; his feet pounded the earth as hard as his heart thumped in his chest. He could see Julie’s black silhouette fleeing toward the dark, empty buildings of Brush Mill Middle School. His breathing sounded frantic in his ears, for a moment he dared to hope he could escape. It was shattered, along with his spine, when the full weight of a creature impacted his back, sending him face-first into the dry, dormant grass. He skidded to a stop on his stomach and cheek. Searing pain accompanied a piercing of teeth into his scalp, his nerve endings left raw and screaming as it was peeled away slowly, with a shredding sound. A fist met his exposed skull and everything was nothing but darkness and pain. Joey didn’t have time to react to Eric’s attack, he was pounced upon and teeth tore his throat free, he stared into the green eyes of his killer as he bled out, knowing before he died he was going to be eaten. Troy lit a bottle rocket and sent it flying into the eye socket of the creature as it came for him, but it wasn’t enough to stop it as it slashed outward with claws like sharpened knives across his gut, he felt his innards spilling out warm, soaking into his jeans before the pain even registered in his brain.

Dead, they’re all dead! Julie thought frantically. She made it to the dark walkways of Brush Mill Middle School and kept running, her lungs burned and her side ached, but she knew she couldn’t stop. Red and blue lights caught her eye, reflected against the side of a building. She followed them to find an abandoned patrol car. Julie sobbed and made her way to the cruiser to find it dripping with blood, a deputy lying on the gravel-strewn black top of the parent parking lot. She stepped over him, seeing he was quite dead, with an opening torn into his abdomen, he was hollow inside, not a scrap of his internal organs left behind. A voice startled her until she realized it came from a radio inside the car. Julie hesitantly climbed into the blood-stained seat and grabbed the radio. She held it to her lips and pressed the button before speaking, calling out for anyone who could hear her.

***

Sheriff Reynolds, Tommy, and Detective Petrucci were met by a formidable pack of lithe bodied beings. At first glance they appeared human, but the color of their skin was more akin to something dead, and the eye shine they produced was otherworldly. They didn’t hesitate in opening fire on the creatures because they had no doubt they were the source of the catastrophes being reported all over Brush Mill. It made Reynolds’ blood run cold to think they had been creeping into the small town while the citizens celebrated at the Fall Festival, completely unaware of the danger approaching them. The creatures weren’t easily killed. It took more than a gut shot, or even blowing an arm off, to stop them, head shots seemed the most efficient. They knew the hunters were completely dead when their bodies began to rot away before them. The night was filled with sirens and gunshots, his town was under siege and he wouldn’t rest until every last one of the green-eyed bastards was dead. Tommy stopped to make a few frantic phone calls while his partners loaded up on ammunition, Rena didn’t answer, and it made him sick to his stomach to think she was in danger and more than likely by her own making.

“Let’s get going,” Sheriff Reynolds ordered.

Tommy nodded and sent one final text, hoping his girlfriend was safely hidden away in her apartment, though his gut told him she wasn’t. The radio inside of the cruiser crackled as a frightened voice came through, it was of a young woman, and she frantically called for help from a parking lot at the nearby middle school.

“Let’s get our asses over there and help her!” Detective Petrucci said.

Jennifer and Robert greeted the medical examiner. He was really just one of Connie’s assistants at the mortuary for many years, before studying and achieving his certificate. The tiny sheriff’s office called him out to scenes to collect corpses and, when needed, determine if their death came from suspicious circumstances. He held his title for eight years with only two suicides and a few unfortunate accidents. It wasn’t until the killings at Carver’s cabin he was really put to use. He arrived shortly after the first round of gun shots sounded, not far from Russell’s trailer house, on the outskirts of town. Miguel was in his fifties, bald, and his face always bore a look of disinterest whenever speaking to anyone. He was single but, unlike the sheriff, who seemed to attract a lot of women with his charm, Miguel seemed as though he could care less about having a relationship with anyone, whether it was with a woman or a man. As the meat wagon pulled into Russell’s driveway, Jen glanced over to her partner and smiled a knowing grin.

“Grandpa Munster is here,” he teased.

“I knew you were going to say that.”

They exited the vehicle and secured the scene with yellow tape, while Miguel surveyed the scene. While he worked they took a look around the perimeter of the trailer, taking pictures of Russell’s porch and the doors, both front and back. They were left damaged by forced entry and scrape marks.

The night swallowed the rural property; the moon crept up from behind the mountain, swollen and orange. She shuddered as autumn breezes blew a rotten stink into her nose.

“I just want this night to be over, it’s my day off but Tommy called me in,” Jennifer said as they watched Miguel work from the front door.

“Yeah, after what happened up on the mountain, I was told I’d be on tonight.”

“I think the rest of the crew is out at the festival, except two or three cars on street patrol.”

“The sheriff told me he had a handful of volunteers on streets, he assumed it would be quiet, maybe a few kids with eggs and toilet paper, but nothing else.”

“He thought wrong, I guess,” she replied, staring into the trailer as Miguel bagged the remains of who they figured was Russell Monroe.

“Those gun shots got you worried?”

“That, and what we’re lookin at here,” she admitted.

The radio inside the patrol car blared and Robert ran to listen in. Jennifer only caught snippets of the conversation, but by the way her partner moved, she knew it wasn’t good news he’d received.

“We need to get into town, there’s some kind of rioting going on down there.”

“Miguel? You ok working alone?”

“No need. I’m wrapping this up,” he responded and motioned to the fleshless corpse as he zipped it up in a body bag. The deputies stepped inside.

“Help me get him into the wagon and you’re free to go.”

“We’ll follow you into town.”

“I’ll take him down to Eternal Peace and get Justin to help me wheel him inside. I’ll get my report to your office as soon as possible, but this looks very similar to what happened out at the lake.”

“Do you really think this is a different mountain lion attack?”

“I’ve never heard of cougars kicking doors in to attack people,” he answered. “The others were out in the predators habitat, but this, this is just something I can’t explain.”

Robert felt his skin grow cold. He knew everyone heaved a collective sigh of relief thinking the boys at the cabin had been avenged, and the killing was over.

“We have to get moving,” Jen reminded him.

They tailed Miguel in the older model hearse he dubbed the meat wagon. Most people laughed when he told the name of his work vehicle, but he always said it without cracking a smile. The pair of cars didn’t heed any speed limits, the two deputies were on their way to assist with the violence erupting in the city and Miguel was in a rush to have Russell’s skeletal remains put on a steel table beneath a bright light.

“He kinda gives me the creeps,” Jen said.

“Miguel?”

“Yeah, grandpa Munster.”

“He’s weird, but harmless.”

“I believe that’s what people said about Jeffrey Dahmer, Ted Bundy, and Ed Gein,” she said.

“You’re right. He might like his job a little too much. Maybe enough to get friendly with the corpses!” Robert teased.

“GROSS!” Jennifer laughed and turned the wheel of the cruiser to follow the hearse down a back road.

“He’s taking the scenic route,” Robert observed.

“It’s usually faster to go this way and old Mr. Gein knows better than to take streets that will raise questions from the civilians out here.”

“Good point, though I doubt anyone’s out and about right now.”

The meat wagon had nearly made it to the entryway to Eternal Peace Cemetery, so Jennifer sped up and passed him with a single honk of her horn to say goodbye. He honked back and turned up the long driveway bisecting the graveyard and leading to the mortuary owned and operated by Connie Bailey.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Jennifer and Robert flew down the dark country road, trying to make it into the city to see what the chaotic calls were about. Her headlights lit up a squad car that seemed to have fishtailed but sat almost in the middle of the road. Robert nodded to her as she slowed to a stop and put the car in park. They exited the cruiser with their weapons drawn. He approached first, and instantly backed away.

“We got two dead deputies.”

“What?”

“They’re messed up pretty bad,” he said.

It gave Jennifer a strange feeling, standing out there in the dark, looking over the hood of a car, it didn’t appear to be badly damaged, yet its passengers were quite dead.

“What do you think we should do?” she asked.

“Call it in, see what the sheriff thinks,” Robert answered, his face was pale.

****

Miguel had worked there ever since Connie’s father, Vern, owned it, moving his way up from grounds-keeping assistant to morgue assistant to mortician and forensic investigator of Brush Mill. He knew in a big city he wouldn’t fare well finding work, but in Brush Mill he was the go-to guy for uncovering cause of death, and he was proud of it. His headlights played across the front door. As he passed by, he noticed the door stood open, but figured Connie was just helping her patrons out to their cars. He wound around the back to wait by the double receiving doors. He thought it was odd that, when he passed the front gate, a few cars stood out in the night until he recalled the clients and the reason they were there. He handled the remains of the boys along with Connie; there was really only a pile of bones and the skin of Alex’s face to bury. If it had been his child, Miguel would have opted for cremation and conserving their ashes in a decorative urn, but that was only his opinion.

****

Kenneth held his wife against him, the closet smelled of clothing that hadn’t been worn in years, stale body odor, and dust. Connie pointed them in the direction of her father’s old bedroom before retreating to her own; it had been an hour or more ago. An outburst of screaming cut through the wooden walls of the funeral home, distinctly female, it made Rose cringe as she cried into her husband’s shoulder. He could feel her body, in a state of sickening exhaustion, trembling in the dark confines of the closet. They still hadn’t seen the threat the grounds keeper, Justin, frantically warned them about and sent them all to hide in closets, under beds, or wherever their tired bodies could fit, waiting like a deadly game of hide and seek to see who gets found in the unlit rooms. Through the thin barrier of wood, Ken could hear muffled screaming, then shrill cries, the latter caused a hitch in his breath, it was no human sound. Rose sobbed quietly, terrified and confused. Their son was dead, left in pieces in a freezer, waiting for his burial and  she wondered if they’d be alive to see his memorial or if they’d soon join him on a mortician’s slab. A gunshot resounded in a quick boom, making Rosemarie jump and scream. Kenneth hushed her and tightened his hold on her as the commotion grew louder. The voice of the grounds keeper, filled with determination, taunted the unknown predator. “Come get some, ya bastards!”

****

Miguel had just stepped into the embalming room, his muscles tensed at how silent the place was. He went to the door across the room to begin his search for Justin, when screams held him there, with his hand on the cold door handle. Something wasn’t right, his intuition warned him to wait, if only for a moment, before entering the main halls of the funeral home. A gun shot, one he recognized as Justin’s old scatter gun from previous Halloweens, when he held its muzzle up to the sky and let it roar out warnings to people trying to trespass on the sacred grounds. Miguel turned back and hurried over to his work station. He pulled open a stainless steel drawer to search for anything he could wield in self-defense; it gleamed beneath a single desk lamp he left on earlier in the day. The bone saw had hardly seen any use, its teeth were like silvery points, sharp and light, a deadly close-quarters weapon if ever he’d seen one. He reached into his pocket, searching for his phone, only to remember he’d left it in the console of the meat wagon. There was a momentary internal struggle over whether he should just go back outside and call the police but he forced it away, worrying in the time of self preservation his boss, Connie, could be meeting the same end as the skeleton in the back of the hearse. He returned to the door and pressed his ear against it, listening for the sound of footsteps on the tiles beyond. Miguel heard nothing, but his instincts warned him Russell’s mysterious death was not the end of the blood he’d witness on Halloween night. He pulled the door open and stepped into the funeral home beyond. The lights were on downstairs, the doors to the viewing room stood open, both things he knew Connie would not do intentionally. She ran the mortuary like an efficient machine, every night securing all the doors, even those inside, and turning off the lights. It wasn’t a surprise to see it as if she had just fled, because the strange sounds and the gunfire coming from the top floor; it just reinforced the urge to stay as silent as possible until he was forced to defend himself or his employer. Miguel had always been disconnected from most people inhabiting the world around him, but in his heart, he held Connie in high regard, a secret he never let show in his facial expressions. The bottom of the stairs was right beside him and Justin’s voice echoed down them. Miguel gripped the saw and ascended the steps quickly and silently. He came to the top floor and froze as the double barrel shot gun was forced into his face.

“I almost fuckin’ killed you.”

Justin’s eyes looked wild and darker than normal, he was never a friendly man, but now he looked dangerous.  Miguel knew it was for good reason and it comforted him somewhat.

“Watch your step,” the grave digger warned as Miguel rounded the railing and found a pool of blood. It left a trail down the hallway, with obvious handprints, as someone fought while they were dragged into the dark. From the amount left behind, Miguel would guess the victim bled out quickly, ending their desperate fight to stay alive.

A smell permeated the air, beyond the coppery scent of blood, a pungent smell of rotten flesh, like opening the coffin of someone who’d been dead for ages and breathing in the ancient smell of putrefaction. Justin loaded his shot gun, looking down at Miguel’s hand, the bone saw. “That’s all you got?”

Miguel nodded.

“I got one of the fuckers, blew his brains out, but there’s two more.”

“Where’s Connie?” Miguel asked.

Justin pointed down at the trail of crimson and didn’t say a word. “It got her as she tried to run downstairs. There’s three parents of those boys up here, don’t kill anyone that looks human.”

“Will it be easy to tell the difference?” he asked.

“You won’t have any doubt,” Justin answered.

Miguel walked behind Justin as he stalked down the narrow hallway of the old funeral home’s living quarters. A sound drew them onward, around a corner, Miguel was under no delusions; with the amount of blood and the wet ripping noises, he knew Connie was gone. It filled him with a rage he could not contain; there in the black, surrounded by death, he let a dangerous side of himself free. Justin paused before Miguel, raising his gun. Moonlight came through a window overlooking the cemetery. Connie was torn open, her blonde hair was soaked in her own blood. She was wearing a light grey dress, it was Miguel’s favorite for the way it spilled over her round hips and accentuated how blue her eyes were. Justin opened fire and the shot took the top of the feeding monster’s head off.

“Got you, you piece off shit!” he cursed.

Miguel couldn’t focus on the dead creature; all his eyes could see was the look on Connie’s face. He raced over to slide his hand over her eyelids, slowly and softly, how many times did he dream of caressing her face while she lived, those fantasies would remain unrealized until the day he died.

“I’ll take care of you,” he promised her quietly. They had many conversations about revering the dead, respecting the sacred house in which the spirit once dwelt. He felt tears running down his cheeks; he would make sure her body was treated like a queen’s. A hiss came from above them, Justin cried out. Miguel looked back over his shoulder as a creature fell from the ceiling down onto his companion, knocking the scatter gun to the floor. It gripped Justin by his hair and wrenched his head backwards, opening its mouth impossibly wide, unhinging its jaw like a serpent, intent on biting his skull in half. Miguel charged, saw in hand, slashing the beast across the pallid face with the serrated edge. It rolled backwards and landed on all fours, snarling as the skin on the side of its face sagged open like the gill of a dead fish. The flesh beneath was black, its eyes glowed green, like the eye shine of an animal beneath the moon. Miguel glanced down at Justin, who crawled toward his gun. The creature leapt at him and he fell sideways. Justin spun and fired, hitting the beast in its shoulder, blowing its arm off. It tumbled and hit the wall, but recovered with an angry shriek. Justin didn’t have time to reload when the hunter attacked him with its only remaining arm flailing, while the wound where the other used to be spat black, clotted, blood out onto the floor. It slashed him across the chest, opening four long lacerations. Justin swung his gun like a club at the injured cheek of the creature’s face, it was knocked on to its back. Miguel looked to Connie’s lifeless body, her blood clinging to his clothes. The rage returned. He pushed Justin aside and sat on the monster’s chest, holding its good arm down with one knee. It snapped its jaws and snarled as he grabbed it by its oily hair and brought his other hand down, saw readied. The blade met the creature’s throat, in swift, strong motions. Miguel sawed through its neck and removed its head. Its eyes dimmed, but still held a spark of green light, he stood and held the head up for a minute before laying it on the floor and stomping it into a pile of black chunks beneath the heel of his dress shoe. Justin put his hand on Miguel’s shoulder, “What do we do now?”

“I’m going to put her somewhere safe,” Miguel motioned to Connie’s corpse.

“I’ll get the others. I’m thinking we should secure this place, keep hidden.”

The medical examiner agreed, “That’s probably the best, how do we know how many more of those things are out there?”

Miguel gently wrapped Connie in a blanket he found in a bedroom beside where she lay dead, and carried her down to the freezer; it had a steel door and a lock. Connie would not be defiled any further.

***

Andrew laid his head back on the seat as they drove, regret leaving him hollow inside. Cathy put her hand in his; his other was still wrapped tightly. She knew he was in a bad situation after losing so much blood. The streets were oddly vacant, Martin noticed it, too. The remnants from an initial onslaught were apparent, but he no longer saw packs roaming the shadows.

“Where the hell did they go?”

“Maybe they ate enough to be satisfied?”

“No, the legends say they are never satisfied. The spirit possessing them is kin to the Wendigo, and the hunger can never be satiated.”

“Where would they go then?”

Martin didn’t reply but he knew in his heart the answer; the hospital, a bright shining beacon, a dinner bell. It was a buffet of endless amounts of flesh, weak and dying people, with only a handful of nurses, doctors, and security guards to defend them.

He slowed down when he saw Charlie and Elroy pop out of an alleyway. The old man carried a rifle and a pistol hung on each of his hips. After the first battle on Richford Street, they realized a head shot was sufficient to take the bastards out. He took his dog out on a mission, leaving the dragon behind with Martin, in the truck. Martin knew the old man was an efficient killer, it was in his blood as a soldier, but he didn’t dare hope Charlie had already wiped out the hordes of hungry beasts. He hailed the veteran with a honk of his horn and Charlie led his dog back to Martin’s truck.

“Where did they all go?”

“Elroy’s been tracking them. I suspect they’re heading to the hospital,” Charlie answered gravely.

“No,” Cathy said. Her mind recalled the three floor building, knowing it would certainly be packed with people after the attacks in the neighborhoods.

“Most of the residents now are holed up in their houses after the sonsabitches came through like a flesh-eating wave,” Charles said. “The hospital is filled with easy pickin’s.”

“That’s where we’re going then.” Martin looked over to Cathy. “We’ll leave you somewhere safe, Andrew can’t fight, and I can’t promise to keep you alive.”

She nodded sadly. “I’m not sure how long he can hold on after the bite, I was hoping to work on him there.”

“I just told some folks to head to the sheriff’s station, it’s a solid building with guns, and I’m sure they have an emergency medical pack there,” Charlie suggested.

“Take us there, please,” she spoke.

***

They arrived to find Julie hiding inside a patrol car, a single hunter sat on its hood, beating the windshield. Detective Petrucci stepped out of the back of the cruiser, his handgun pointed at the creature’s face as it bared its fangs, its eyes glowing with unending hunger. A chorus of piercing shrieks sounded in the distance. They were unlike the cries of the hunters in battle, it was more like calling out or signaling. He pulled the trigger while the creature was occupied listening to the calls. Its head exploded in a shower of black, stinking pieces. Sheriff Reynolds and Tommy emerged, and walked toward the car. Julie opened the door, weeping and terrified.

“What are you doing out here?”

“They’re all dead,” she cried.

“Who?”

“My friends.”

“Come on with us, you’re safe now,” Tommy said.

“Did you guys see that, hear that?” David asked.

“Yeah, it sounded like a whole group of them, like a pack of hungry wolves.”

“What do you think it meant?” the detective asked.

“I’m not sure, hopefully a call to retreat,” Sheriff Reynolds said.

“Or a call to assemble,” David speculated.

“We’re gonna need more than what we have in the trunk,” Tommy said.

“Put out the call to all cars, we’ll meet at the station for reinforcements, then, if the bastards want war we’ll give it to them.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Archie ran into the emergency room, it was crowded with people. His med team was there after hauling in an ambulance filled to the max with the victims of the Halloween attack.

Clarence met him. “Are you ok?” he asked of the crash.

“We’re fine, but we gotta move these people back beyond those security doors,” he pointed to the area behind the triage.

“Those bastards are gonna get in through the door.”

Clarence realized the truth in his words immediately and turned around to give orders to everyone there. Amber held Shelley close to her and was rushed along with the crowds of people beyond a set of steel doors which wouldn’t open unless the hospital staff pressed a button from the check-in desk.

He knew the doors couldn’t hold the creatures back forever, especially with the other exits and windows becoming entry ways for the lithe hunters, but they had no choice. Many of the patients here wouldn’t be able to stand and run, and there weren’t enough able-bodied people to carry them all out. They had to fight and defend the weak.

“How many security men are working tonight?” he asked a head nurse.

“We only have two.”

“How many other exits?”

“Two more, and roof access for helicopters from other counties.”

“Put the word out, every door and window must be shut and locked, all curtains drawn.”

She nodded and ran to delegate the orders. A familiar shrieking came from the opposite side of the emergency room security door. They were there, and Archie knew if they got inside it would be a bloodbath.

***

Johnny and the three young men riding with him came into town to find the aftermath of the first wave of killings.

“Where do we begin?” Alvin asked.

“Where the most blood is being spilt,” the old man answered.

“How will we find it?”

The old man rolled down the car window and answered, “Just listen.”

The car came to a stop beside a small, single cab truck with a broken windshield. Johnny studied the crimson trail leading from the hood down to the sidewalk. It reminded him of the stories his own grandfather told him while going hunting and sitting by a fire in the dark, about the original group cursed with eternal hunger. Even when he was older, and had hunted by himself, he never forgot them. It was said the tribe sent their bravest out to survey the village down the mountain after killing a lone hunter out in the forest and realizing its significance. The men found children torn open and hollowed out, women stripped of their skin, still alive and weeping. The snow was red with the blood of over thirty men, women, and children. It was then Running River’s people came to kill the hunters, and rescue the last survivors. Those left alive looked at their saviors as nothing more than the same killers who claimed so many of their people; it was an open wound. Over the generations, the story became nothing more than a myth to the people of the budding settlement renamed Brush Mill from its original name of Carver’s Mill. Slowly, the truth was forgotten, but the resentment of Johnny’s people lived on through the years. A shrill keening met his ears, a sound much like the cries of starving animals. He looked to his companions and nodded, “They are still here.”

The car rolled slowly forward, those inside prepared themselves for battle. Johnny threw his hand up and they came to a stop once more, he nodded his head to a liquor store.

“We’re gonna need more than what we have here.”

***

Paul pulled up to the front door of the sheriff’s station and put the van in park, but left it running.

“I’m going to check it out. If any shit goes down, just get the hell out of here.”

Rena nodded and, as he crept through the front doors, she slid into the driver’s seat. Ruth held her daughter in the back seat, and prayed silently this would become a stronghold for them to wait the rest of the night out.

Paul walked through the glass double doors and was met by a brick wall fitted with a bullet proof glass window and a waiting area. He smiled as he looked down at the dissolving corpse of one of the creatures. It would definitely be a secure place, if he could find a way to get into the main office beyond the glass. He walked over and pressed his face to the glass, staring beyond the barrier, knowing someone was there, or there wouldn’t have been a dead creature in the lobby. A shadow passed behind a large wooden desk.

“Hello?” he risked calling out.

A woman rose, shaking, and came to the window. “You’re lucky you said something, I was about to come out the door and put a bullet in your head.”

The dispatcher came to open the security door and Paul halted her. “Wait, I have three women with me, please let me get them.”

“Make it quick!” she ordered.

***

Tommy rode shot gun beside the sheriff, while Detective Petrucci sat in the back with the young lady they pulled from the patrol car.

“Brush Mill has a population of less than nine thousand people. We only had six cars out here, that’s all we had, including our volunteer patrol. I haven’t heard from any of them, the radio has been dead since the call about Richford.”

“What’s the plan, boss?”

“Gather more rounds and track these fuckers down,” Reynolds answered.

“How is she?” Tommy looked into the rearview at the state detective and Julie.

“She’ll be ok,” he answered.

A voice came across the radio. Sheriff Reynolds recognized Jennifer’s voice.

“This is car twelve, awaiting orders. Sheriff, are you out there?”

It was an informal way to hail him, but he wouldn’t reprimand her for it. The time for protocol had passed when Richford Street came under attack.

“I’m here,” he spoke into the radio.

“We have a wrecked cruiser out here on the old cemetery road, no survivors…it’s very strange,” she responded.

“Meet at the station, be ready for anything, and use deadly force if confronted with violence.”

“Violence? From citizens?”

“No, believe me, you’ll know if you see it.”

“Ten-four,” Jennifer answered.

***

They pulled into the parking lot at the sheriff’s station to find the local news van nearly blocking the front doors. Tommy shook his head in frustration. He knew Rena didn’t stay in her apartment. Headlights shone behind the cruiser and detective Petrucci turned to look out the back window.

“We got civilians behind us.”

They came to a stop as Martin’s truck parked beside them.

“The game warden has been hurt badly, we got a nurse in here, too,” he said to Tommy out the window.

“Why didn’t you take them to the hospital?”

“Because it’s under attack!” Charlie said from the back of the truck. “That’s why you don’t see those things around right now, they’re all heading that way, at least what’s left of them.”

“I’ll call in assistance from the state or feds,” Detective Petrucci said.

“You don’t understand, we don’t have time to wait,” Running River said. “We need to kill the rest of them by dawn, so I can send them back to where they belong.”

“That’s only a few hours,” Reynolds worried.

“Exactly, we don’t have time to wait for backup. We gotta deal with this right now!” Charlie said.

They carried Warden Andrew through the security door, Cathy rushed along behind them.

“I’ll grab the med pack, you guys stock up on ammo and guns, let’s move!” Sheriff Reynolds said.

Paul stuck his head out of a cell door, fear on his face until he realized the commotion came from the sheriff and his men.

“Where’s Rena?” Tommy asked.

She came out of the cell, her face red with a mixture of embarrassment and frustration.

“I know you’re gonna be angry with me.”

“I don’t have time to be angry,” he kissed her and looked in her eyes, “but you better stay put this time, ok?”

She nodded and embraced him. “Be careful, please.”

“I will. Help Cathy with Warden Andrew, and watch over the girl.”

Julie was brought into the holding cell, it had no windows and a solid steel door, Charles was right about the security of it.

Cathy had Andrew lain in the bed in the corner. She unwrapped his wound and cringed, muscles were shredded, a large chunk of his flesh was missing, consumed. The damage was too great and she knew if he didn’t see a doctor soon, he’d more than likely lose his arm from the elbow down. The tourniquet had luckily kept him from losing too much blood and dying in the bed of Martin’s truck. Rena opened the med pack and began handing Cathy fresh wrappings to dress the warden’s wound. Julie sat on the cold concrete floor. She put her head in her hands, trying to block out the chaos around her, but all she could hear were fireworks and screams. The dispatcher, Priscilla, came to join them. Her face was blank, complete shock gripped her. She would never forget killing the thing in the waiting area. She’d never get the vision out of her mind of watching a group of them charge across the parking lot beyond the door, the terror she felt when she realized she was alone. Priscilla was young, barely on the job three months. Sheila warned her when she came in to relieve her, Halloween night would be a little busier than usual, but she never would have dreamed anything like this. Priscilla wondered, then, if the older woman had made it home, if she was still alive, if she’d be in the next day to gossip with. Something in Priscilla’s gut told her she’d never see Sheila again. She looked to the game warden, the nurse holding his arm together. The blood, it seemed too much. Priscilla sat on the cold floor, silent and shaking.

***

Archie and a group of men waited, listening to the screeching cries beyond the entrance to the ER. He waited to hear from the security and nurses to be certain all doors and windows were secured. The building was one of the oldest buildings in town, but had recently been remodeled. Included in those upgrades was the new emergency room, which didn’t allow anyone through unless they were buzzed in. Unfortunately, the construction crews added the convenience of automatic sliding doors, which were harder to secure than the old fashioned doors, leaving him wary. Archie gripped a radio in his hand, his heart stuttering when a frantic call came through; a nurse was screaming, the creatures had already gotten in.

“Get these people to any safe places we can!” he ordered.

***

Amber held Shelley close to her and led her to a corner with fewer people in it. She sat her daughter down in a chair and searched for a doctor or a nurse, anyone who could take a look at Shelley. She was frantic, knowing at any moment their hiding place could be discovered and those creatures could storm in on the crowd of injured and weak people. A nurse went rushing by and Amber grabbed her arm, “Please, there’s something wrong with my daughter, could you please check on her.”

“Ma’am, right now, unless she’s in serious distress, we were told to have you all hide in the rooms and lock the doors.”

“What?”

“This area won’t be safe soon, please just follow our instructions.”

A handful of other hospital staff came and began herding the groups of people into the tiny rooms lining the hallway. One by one, they were filled to the maximum with civilians and the lights were turned off. The nurses instructed everyone to stay calm and quiet, and to leave the doors locked until the announcement was made it was safe to emerge. Amber hugged her daughter in the black room, it was silent but for the startled breathing of those who hoped the hiding place would remain secure. Shelley thought about her childhood with her mother, it wasn’t all so bad; in fact, it had only gotten rough since her mom met her stepfather.

“I haven’t heard from him in hours. I don’t think he made it.” Amber wept into her daughter’s hair. Shelley knew she was referring to Dale, and her gut knotted, knowing there was truth in her mother’s words. She cried, too, knowing how much her mother loved Dale, even when he acted like an idiot. She was reminded of Leon, how he’d never get the chance to prove himself as a dad. Her heart was broken, and it hurt her too much to keep it from Amber. She couldn’t hold her secret in anymore.

“Mom, I’m not sick. I’m pregnant,” she whispered. “One of the boys who was killed, Leon, he would have been the father.”

Amber was silent, Shelley waited for the anger to rise, the hurtful words to jump from her mother’s mouth, but they didn’t come, she only held her daughter tighter and whispered, “I love you. I’m so sorry.”

A pounding at the door startled them. What followed was a high-pitched shrieking that raised the hair on Amber’s neck. She gripped Shelley closer; the need to protect her daughter consumed her, and now her unborn grandchild growing there in the young woman’s womb, it made Amber frantic. She stiffened as the door rattled on its hinges; she knew it wouldn’t hold long against the thing on the other side. The thin crack beneath the door filled with shadow as something came creeping through the minuscule space, long, thin fingers, pulling themselves outward. Yellowed claws, crusted with filth, scratched at the white tile floor. The tiny room erupted as its occupants hurried away from the intruders reaching fingers. Shelley held her hand over her mouth and cried out, muffling it only slightly. Amber released her daughter and forced her back against the crowd of trembling people. Amber lifted a stainless steel trash can and brought it down on the groping digits of the creature, it wailed angrily, then withdrew its stretched out fingers. There was a moment of silence before the door was assaulted once more, this time bowing inward, its hinges barely keeping the creatures as bay. Amber positioned herself in front of her only child, prepared to fight to the death to protect her. The door gave way and in the shining white hallway lights stood a hunched figure, its sickly white skin and sunken abdomen were horrible, its gaping maw hung open in a ravenous grin. Amber could hear her daughter behind her, terror-filled and confused. She lifted her fists, they were all she had left to protect them, and readied herself to fight. A stifled cry drew the beast’s attention; it leapt back out of sight. Amber trembled when she heard a shrill screaming, a woman; she knew it was more than likely one of the nurses who hid the citizens in safe rooms. Amber hurried forward and pushed the battered door back up and motioned for two men to assist her, they positioned it in place and she held it there long enough for them to drag a cabinet in front of it.

“This will only hold them back so long,” she said out loud.

Amber looked back to Shelley, her face was white, a sheen of sweat glistened on her brow. Her hand held her abdomen protectively. Amber had never felt such fear in all her life.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Her body felt as if it floated above the cold, black forest soil. She was on her back as blood ran from her neck. The crushing weight of the cat was removed and her lungs struggled to breathe. Fear, pure terror, filled her but not from the attack, it was from the sight of what was looking down on her. The eyes, milky white with a hint of a green pulse, opened in the bark of the trees. The outline of crooked bodies could hardly be discerned, wrapped about the highest reaches of the trunks and branches. More and more popped open and watched her as her partner frantically held the wound on the side of her neck and screamed for help. The cries morphed into long, drawn-out shrieking, no longer the voice of David Petrucci, her long time partner and mentor. Her eyes fluttered and came open to her dimly lit hospital room. The shrieking was soon accompanied by screaming, the wailing of torturous pain. Diana sat forward, her head spun as she tried to shake the groggy feeling left behind from the pain medication she was on. Her neck itched at the site of the stitches holding the bite mark inflicted by the cougar together. She was confused, but her instincts told her something was very wrong. She slid her legs over the side of her bed and put her feet on the tile floor, she stood, unsure if her unsteady legs would carry her to the door fast enough. Diana stopped at the doorway and pulled it open an inch, listening as someone began screaming again, a male voice cried out for help. She trembled as he fell silent and the sounds of a struggle ensued. Diana closed her door as quietly as she could, muffling the sounds of the poor man in the room down the hall. Diana went to a cupboard in the restroom, the nurse told her that was where her clothes were kept. She hoped they placed her sidearm in there, too, but she didn’t hold her breath, thinking the hospital more than likely had it locked away somewhere for the safety of everyone in the building. Her body felt stiff from laying in bed, but she managed to pull on her pants and a t-shirt David had brought for her from the overnight bag she packed when they were given the assignment in Brush Mill. Her assumption about her gun was correct; it was not left with her other personal effects. Disheartened, she went back into her room to search for anything to defend herself with. The moonlight glowed in the window. From its position in the sky, she could tell it had to be drawing near dawn. She went to look out on the parking lot below and halted at the sight of beings leaping from the tops of cars, their sickly skin and ragged appearance made her hope it was only another nightmare, but the steady pounding of her heart in her chest, and the building pain in her injuries told her she was awake, it was all real. A silhouette shrouded the moonlight, a face pressed against the windowpane, a ghastly countenance with eyes burning green, the same eyes that watched her as the cougar attempted to end her life. Diana stumbled backwards as the creature beat at the window and cried out hungrily. Its ribs were shrunken in under its tight skin, with the grace of a spider, it clung to the wall outside. It was signaling to its kind that, there, beyond the window, was what they sought; its mouth salivated as it stared in at the injured detective. She hurried to the door, but the sounds on the other side told her the hospital was already being overrun by the creatures. Shattering glass brought her attention back to the beast crawling over the shards. Diana grabbed a wooden chair beside her and weakly lifted it to use as a shield against the claws and teeth of the predator. It paced back and forth, slashing at her. Her arms trembled as she tried to bat them away. It jumped as Diana lifted her only weapon, breaking the chair into pieces as it came down, raking its claws across Diana’s chest. A burning pain stole her breath as she fell under the attacker. The creature was on her; it gripped the sides of her head and drew its opened jaws closer and closer to her face as she tried to force it back with one hand. Her other hand fumbled with a broken piece of wood and brought it up to pound the creature in the side of the head. It tumbled away, but rolled and found its footing. In the span of a handful of seconds it launched itself at her again. Diana brought the splintered chair leg up and impaled the hunter as it impacted her. It didn’t die, but became enraged at the injury it sustained, raking its jagged claws across her cheek. She got her feet under it and forced it backwards. The beast crawled toward her, jaws snapping, as she located another piece of the chair, she swung it over its head, dazing it long enough for her to get onto her knees and continue to club its skull until it caved in. She wildly beat the predator’s head until it was an unrecognizable pile on the hospital floor. It reeked of decay as its body began to break down. Diana vomited beside its body as it melted into a grotesque pool. She rose to her feet as a commotion in the parking lot brought a flicker of hope to her heart. Gun shots and endless cries of savagery. She risked a glance, a patrol car drove among the hordes of monsters, two shadows hung out the windows, mowing down the pale-skinned hunters. A truck and a second patrol car came in behind them only minutes later, the cavalry had arrived.

***

Diana knew her gun had to be locked inside of the nursing station across the hall; it wasn’t like any Hollywood movie, where an injured cop would awaken from injuries to find their gun belt hanging on a chair beside their bed. She just hoped she could make it there and get the door open before more of the beasts found her, the first one was strong and vicious, its death didn’t come easily, and she would have to rely on her will to survive to get her through the ordeal. She spun back around and kicked aside a few decaying elongated fingers and picked up her makeshift club. Diana gripped it in her hand and readied herself.

***

They came into the hospital parking lot with their guns ready, Martin and Charlie followed close behind in Martin’s truck. The parking lot was overrun with the packs of hunters as Sheriff Reynolds whipped the cruiser into the fray. His partners hung out the windows, armed with rifles, and began blowing the creatures to pieces.

“AIM FOR THE HEAD!”

Behind them Charlie opened fire on a large number of the beasts; they leapt from cars and screeched as they fell. Martin’s heart raced, as he looked to the hospital, its walls crawled with the ancient cannibals. He brought the truck to a stop, the dogs were going insane between them, barking and snarling as the creatures retreated for the hospital. A second cruiser joined them; a young man stepped from the passenger side door, his pistol firing rapidly. Charlie watched as one of the green-eyed bastards jumped from a parked car and knocked the young officer to the ground, its jaws were on his throat in an instant. Charlie felt a cold surge of fear; he was their first casualty in the battle of Brush Mill Medical Center.

Jennifer screamed as Robert was knocked to the ground, momentarily shocked to see what was sitting on his chest and ripping his throat out in a vicious bite. She understood then what happened to Russell Monroe and his dog Rosco. Jennifer grabbed the shotgun resting between them, as it turned its hungry gaze on her. She lifted the gun in her trembling hands and pulled the trigger. The painful ringing in her ears drowned out the sound of her own cries. Flames lit the darkness beyond the cruiser in a roar, Jennifer hesitated until she realized it was a flamethrower, its wielder running into the fray as creatures bore down on her car. The creatures fell, engulfed in fiery blasts, as her savior rounded the front end of her vehicle. She opened the door, holding the shot gun out and scanning her surroundings.

“Get to the truck!” the old man ordered.

She paused at his voice; it was Charles, an older gentleman who assisted her in a runaway case a few years before. In the blaze of the flamethrower she could imagine him much younger, as a soldier. It gave her the strength to carry on. Jennifer pumped the shot gun and fired as a hunter came for them. Its head disappeared into a mist of black, fetid blood and fragments of skull.

***

A beat up car sped into the parking lot. Four men exited the vehicle and provided cover for the young deputy and Charlie by tossing Molotov cocktails, dispersing the creatures edging in on them before jumping back inside and using the station wagon as a battering ram to slam a group of hunters into the parked cars behind them. The bloody demolition derby lasted a few moments, scattering the hungry ones, forcing them to retreat a bit before the station wagon became pinned between a car and a low concrete wall ringing a leaf-bare tree. Johnny and his boys climbed out of the car and ran to join the last army left in Brush Mill. They made it to the team of fighters who were fending off the hordes of creatures who’d returned to the battle when the car became immobilized. Martin stared at the old man for a moment, his grandfather nodded and returned to firing his pistol.

***

Archie heard the war raging outside, and the cries of the patients and nurses as the beasts within the hospital continued their attack.

“Fight with anything you have!” he ordered and grabbed a fire extinguisher from the wall.

He strode down the hallway and through a set of double doors, toward the sounds of struggling. A nurse lay in the hallway, the creature on her chest had her face in its mouth, its jaws closed as it wrenched its head to the side, tearing the skin and flesh away. Archie ran forward, swinging the heavy fire extinguisher down onto the back of the monster’s head. It tumbled off the dead woman and scurried around a corner, with Archie chasing after it. He came to a stop when he was confronted by a group of three more. Blood dripped from their maws and the hallway was riddled with dead patients the creatures had dragged from their beds and tore open in a frenzy.  Archie raised the fire extinguisher, pulled the pin out of it, and fired it instead of using it as a bludgeoning device. The creatures scattered but came for him, he ran straight ahead to an opening elevator. The silver door slid open to reveal a security guard inside on the floor, his head was completely torn from his body, his abdomen was ripped open, but his nightstick was still clenched in his hand as if he fought until the end. The creatures came from hallways on each side of him, blocking any escape, forcing him to step into the carnage left behind in the elevator. Archie yanked the nightstick free from the dead man’s hand and swung it at the hungry creatures as he pounded the button to close the elevator door. He pressed the button for the second floor, hoping he could find some place to regroup. He tensed when something dripped on his shoulder; he looked at it to see a circle of bloody saliva. He was instantly aware he was not alone in the elevator. Whatever was feeding on the security guard was still there, and was cunning enough to cling to the ceiling.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Diana crouched down and slunk across the hallway, while two of the creatures played tug-o-war with the innards of an elderly patient. She reached the nurses’ station and rounded the counter; behind the desk was an office door. Diana gently turned the door handle, luckily it was unlocked, and she slipped inside and closed the door behind her. She crawled across the floor, avoiding the window looking out to the main hallway and came to a stop. A nurse was hiding under her desk, her name tag read Juanita. She was young, with dark hair, and sat gripping the small crucifix hanging on a gold chain around her neck. Diana held her finger up to her lips and came close to whisper in Juanita’s ear.

“I’m a detective, my gun must be locked up somewhere, do you know where it is and do you have a key?”

Juanita nodded and pointed up to a cabinet on the wall, but remained under the desk, then she reached up and opened a desk drawer and fished around blindly until she retrieved a set of keys, her hands shaking as she rifled through them and handed the correct key to Diana. The young detective stood, stuck the key in the lock, and opened the door. Her hand gun and extra clip were sealed in a plastic bag with her name and patient ID number written on it. She tore the bag open and gripped the pistol in her hand, she felt better knowing she wouldn’t be forced to use broken chair legs to defend herself. She knelt beside Juanita again and whispered, “Are you comin’ with me?”

“No, I’m staying here,” the nurse answered.

Diana knew there was no way Juanita would be able to handle the pressure of running and fighting by the look on her face, and the nurse was relatively well hidden, so Diana nodded and crawled back over to the door. She looked back over her shoulder one last time to see Juanita’s shape beneath the desk, her voice a soft whisper as she continued to pray. Diana exited the office quickly and quietly, in an attempt to keep Juanita’s hiding place a secret from the hunters, and then rose to her feet. Those fighting over the elderly patient’s remains took note of her presence and came for her, charging on all fours, their nails tapping against the tile as they powered toward her. She lifted her 9mm and took them both out with single shots to their heads, their bodies tumbled and skidded to a stop, leaving a mess of black blood behind them and pooling around their shattered skulls. In the bright white light of the hallways, she could see them begin to decay before turning back to go kill as many as she could. The report of her pistol brought them her way but she didn’t flinch, instead, she aimed and fired at them one by one, leaving them rotting on the once pristine white tile of Brush Mill Medical Center. At the end of the hallway the elevator opened. The shining doors slid away to reveal a man standing, swinging a nightstick over his shoulder at a creature hanging on him, its talons were sunk in his skin. Diana recognized him; he was one of the paramedics who treated her after the cougar attack. She ran forward, lifting her gun and pointing it; she couldn’t get a good shot at the hunter, who now had its mouth at the side of the fire chief’s neck, biting into him. Archie cried out as the monster removed a hefty mouthful of flesh, his blood spurted out and his eyes grew wide with fear.

“Turn to the side. I can’t get a good shot!” Diana screamed as she came to a stop, trying to aim her pistol.

The creature opened its mouth and bit into the side of Archie’s head, he screamed as his skull began to fracture in its powerful jaws.

“Shoot me!” he screamed.

Diana shook her head, but as the monster continued to squeeze its mouth closed, she could see Archie’s eyes pleading with her, she could only imagine the pain he was feeling. His mouth hung open and blood ran down onto his uniform shirt. Pity filled her and she raised the gun, screaming, and pulled the trigger, blasting a hole through the monster’s right eye. Archie’s body slumped to his knees as the hunter fell dead, the back of its head decimated with the exiting bullet. Diana jumped as the second elevator came open; cautiously she stepped inside, inspecting the ceiling of the small silvery box before hitting the button to take her to the ground level.

***

Rena held Julie’s hand. The girl was in shock and wouldn’t speak. The dispatcher was in much the same state, only staring at the floor. The game warden lay on the bed, his wound wrapped in clean bandages. Catherine ran her fingers through his hair and told him to rest. The hour was drawing near dawn, none of them had slept at all, and she doubted they would be able to fully for many nights to come. She thought of Tommy, his smile, the way he held her in his arms, his last text message to her; he used the three words she always feared before, I love you, only this time they didn’t fill her with dread but gave her hope. She stood and walked over to Paul, “Hand me the van keys.”

“Oh, hell no. Tommy told you to stay put.”

“Give me the keys, Paul.”

“I can’t do that, Rena.”

“And I can’t let him do this alone, give me the keys!”

Paul reached into his pocket and pulled out the keys to his van. “I’ll give you the keys, but I’m comin’ with you.”

“You don’t have to…”

“We’re wasting time,” he interrupted her.

***

Martin opened fire on the pack of hunters as they grew in numbers, shrieking at the mounds of their dead kin. Charlie went ahead with Jennifer and David to blast the bastards clinging to the walls of the hospital and trying to break through the windows. Sheriff Reynolds popped his trunk open and was handing the men fresh ammunition. They were making decent headway, but the creatures just kept coming.

“Make your shots count!” Reynolds cried.

Charlie cleaned the wall of all of the hunters, leaving their charred remains behind in mounds of disintegrating ashes. Jennifer and David held their ground, but were running out of firepower. Jennifer had already emptied the pump shotgun and now held her pistol out, firing it into the creatures as they dared to come forward. David emptied two clips into the army of carnivores but he, too, worried if it would be enough. They were steadily closing in on both groups fighting to liberate the hospital and anyone left alive inside of it.

Tommy was a good shot, but he knew they wouldn’t outlast the quick-moving attackers. They were lithe and agile, ducking and spinning away from bullets. He estimated for every five shots he fired, only one of them hit its mark.

“We can’t outlast them,” he screamed.

“We have to!” the sheriff answered.

***

Headlights blinded the team, a horn blared. A van came speeding into the battle wildly, running down the beasts steadily surrounding the patrol car and truck. The creatures backed away as the driver wielded the cargo van as a deadly weapon. Tommy felt a jolt of fear run through him when he realized who was driving. “Rena!” he shouted as a creature leapt onto the hood and beat the windshield violently. The sky was turning violet, and still there were a good number of the hunters left, they began to regroup when the van skidded over a median and became high centered. It roared as Rena tried to get the van to move. The dragon spit its last fiery breath as its tank emptied, leaving Charlie, Jennifer, and David to use what was left of their ammunition to stay alive.

***

The hunters shrieked, as if a call to battle was sounded, it would be their final strike. Their numbers were cut to a mere handful, yet the green fire behind their eyes burned with the bright intensity of an animal gathering the last of its strength to kill an opponent. They charged as the bullets were unleashed. Elan and Alvin fell beneath the ravenous maws of the creatures, their wounds took their lives, yet Johnny refused to let the beasts swallow a single bite of their flesh. He took the beasts down with the lead his pistol fired. Jennifer screamed as she fell under one who leapt from behind them and sailed over Charlie’s head. It landed on her, slashing her back open with its claws like razors. Martin expended the last bullet in his gun, killing it before it could tear her in half. He rushed to the bed of the truck and grabbed the duffle bag, it only had one six shot revolver left in it. His fingers wrapped around its wooden grip when something hit him from behind, there was sudden pain in his shoulder and the stench of death filled his nose. His dog fought to get her head through the crack in the sliding glass window; she came crawling through the tight space and to her master’s defense. Snarling and biting the creature by the throat as it dragged a mouthful of flesh away from Martin’s shoulder and back. Sky tumbled and rolled with the hunter, her jaws locked in a death grip on its neck. They tumbled across the black top as the beast clawed at the dog’s back, opening deep wounds, spilling blood out into her soft coat. A boom ended the brawl, and the hunter’s head exploded from a shot from the hefty old gun Johnny carried. Martin came to his faithful dog’s side, she was hurt badly, but he knew by the strength of her wagging tail as he lifted her into his arms she would live.

All around them the men were dealing head shots to the last of the remaining creatures. A few fled, but Charlie released Elroy, who tracked them quickly to the tree tops at the side of the road. Sheriff Reynolds, Charles, and Tommy blasted them from the boughs and pumped them full of a few more shots.

“Let’s sweep the hospital.”

***

The emergency room was piled with dead creatures. Detective Diana Tenser emptied one clip and nearly a second in the process of liberating the hospital. David came through the doors and embraced his partner. She held him as tears ran down her cheeks, she thought for a moment about the advice she had given him right before the cougar nearly killed her, it wasn’t too late for either of them to make a new start. Charles led Elroy through the building, but there were only corpses left behind, both human and beast. He stood looking out over the city from the roof of Brush Mill Medical. Below him, a ceremony was taking place, one of ancient origin. As dawn’s pink light tinged the horizon, the song of Running River’s people echoed through the now peaceful streets. The scent of burning sage filled the air, and a veil of green mist seemed to float away on the wind. The spirits of the hungry ones were once again being banished to the land beyond. There were many days after Charlie’s last tour of duty he wished he would die, just lie down and never wake up, but he kept on living. He understood why, now; it wasn’t his time and his service hadn’t been fulfilled yet. He put his hand on Elroy’s head, stroked his slick fur, and watched the liberation of Brush Mill.

***

Miguel peered out the mortuary window across the cemetery grounds as the sun began to rise. He expected to see hordes of monsters out there, ready to break the door down, but it was empty and a peace seemed to settle over him. The sky held a hint of bright green for a moment, and then it was dashed away and replaced with the bright light of the rising sun. He turned his back on the scene and went to his work station. He had a promise to fulfill to Connie and in his heart, he knew there would be many more coming into his care in a matter of hours. It saddened him, but he steeled himself once more. He would perform his job with the utmost respect for the dead and send them on to the world beyond. He just hoped they stayed there this time.

THE END.

About the Author(s)

Michelle Garza and Melissa Lason are better known as the Sisters of Slaughter for their work in the horror genre. They have been published by Thunderstorm books, Sinister Grin Press, Death’s Head Press and Bloodshot Books. Their debut novel, Mayan Blue, was nominated for a Bram Stoker Award.  They can also be found in the apocalyptic anthology, “And Hell Followed”. They worked on Silverwood: The Door with Brian Keene, Richard Chizmar, Stephen Kozeniewski and Tony Valenzuela which was launched in October 2018 through Serialbox.

Table of Contents

- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty - One
- Chapter Twenty - Two
- Chapter Twenty - Three
- Chapter Twenty - Four
- Chapter Twenty - Five
- Chapter Twenty - Six