Werewolves Of The Wild West 2g5u1p

WEREWOLVES IN THE WILD WEST

MONICA MUNIZ

TABLE OF CONTENTS

WEREWOLF IN THE WILD WEST BIGFOOT CREEK COYOTE GIRL DEADWOLF GHOST PLAYER

It was another stiflingly hot day in Three Rivers, the sun beating down upon the unsheltered town mercilessly. The chime of the church toll echoed mercilessly across the canyon, the noise both a warning and a blessing, depending on who was within earshot. Or what is in earshot, the good Pastor thought, looking nervously into the dusty village, his wise brown irises seeking out signs of those who did not belong. From his vantage point atop the chapel’s whitewashed steps, he could fully see the haphazard forms of the main street. Bodies moved about in various stages of the day. From there, August could see Lou’s Tavern and the Achy Horse Saloon. They were not meant to be open at that hour on a Sunday morning but that did not stop the nefarious owners from beginning their long-documented competition of taunting the sheriff. The lawman was conspicuously absent that morning, undoubtedly sleeping off whatever he had drunk at the brothel, his wife letting him sleep before feeding him rat poisoned coffee for breakfast. The red and white barber pole twirled, despite the early hour but August suspected that was because Old Charlie Mandel had forsaken it rather than he was preparing for shaves and trimmings. Anita Barker opened the General Store hurriedly as though she feared to be caught outside or at work on God’s day but August paid her or anyone else little mind. His thoughts were elsewhere and rightfully so. He was playing a very dangerous game, one that was apt to explode in his face at any moment. It was not hard for August Succar to note who was part of Three Rivers and who was desperately out of place. He had lived in the town long enough to filter the god-fearing men from the lawless mayhem seekers, not unlike the one who stood before August at that moment. Billy Braxton was unnerving enough to see from a distance with his oddly colored hair, straggly and unwashed, barely kept beneath a ten-gallon hat too big for his head. It seemed that every time the holy man had set eyes upon the yellow-toothed man, he wore the same filthy vest and stained shirt. His attention was fixed angrily on the reverend now and August wished it were not. “Dang it, Reverend, yer gun send them wolves a flurry if y’aint stop with that racket!” Bill Braxton growled, spitting tobacco from between his teeth. “This

ain’t the first time I’m tellin’ ya but it best be the last!” August opened his mouth to placate the bounty hunter but before he could, a flash of blonde hair told him that he had been saved again. “Isn’t it time for services, darling?” Annabelle appeared at his side, casting Bill a wary but small smile. “Yes, my dear, it is,” he replied, managing a small smile. “Is there a problem, Auggie?” “No, ma’am, no there ain’t,” Bill cooed, grinning a near-toothless grimace at the pastor’s pretty wife. He all but batted his eyes. “In fact, I was mere warning the good Reverend about what lies beyond the canyon. Ain’t we agreed to stop with the danged church bells?” Billy had no eyes for August now that Annabelle was present, saliva almost dripping from the corners of his mouth as he leered at the shapely blonde who had no business being the wife of a holy man. Her figure alone turned moral men to savage beasts, a fact which had not escaped the young pastor who had always been reluctant about relocating his wife to various parts of the untamed country. “Oh, but how will the villagers know when there is a call to prayer if not for the bells?” Annabelle sighed, eying her husband through her peripheral vision with wide, innocent blue eyes. “The villagers know well enough when it’s time to pray,” Billy insisted, scowling slightly now that he was being contradicted and by a woman no less. “It’s the damned beasts that are my concern.” Annabelle smiled thinly. “Surely you don’t believe in such fairy tales, do you, Mr. Braxton?” Annabelle purred demurely. August felt an uncomfortable yet familiar stab of envy as his wife sashayed closer to the lawless man and placed a hand delicately on his arm. “Werewolves and whatnot?” Billy’s own eyes widened at the unexpected touch, a sly, stupid grin forming on his face again.

“Why, yes I do ma’am!” he sputtered as August turned away, unable to watch his wife waste unwarranted attention on such a brutish man. “I have seen these monsters firsthand.” The parishioners turned to stare expectantly at the reverend, eager for the services to start, the heat and dust of the Montana landscape brushing through the open doors of the church. “Sermons should commence,” August told the duo but Annabelle’s eyes did not stray away from Billy as though she was enthralled by every word he spoke. “You don’t say!” she breathed. August gritted his teeth and made his way toward the pulpit, trying desperately to ignore the feelings of jealousy as he opened the hymn book before him, calling the congregation to order. We cannot stay here, he thought, not for the first time. The west is far too wild for the likes of me and Annabelle. Yet he knew they could not simply pick up and leave, not yet. Clearing his throat, August began his sermon.

~ ~ ~

The last of the churchgoers left, each one urging the young pastor to them at their homes over the next week. August promised to make his rounds as he always did but he was grateful for the emptiness of the building when the last soul departed. He turned to his wife with a frown and Annabelle sighed. “I won’t hear it, Auggie,” she told him, rising from the pew to gather her skirts. Her honey-blonde braid slipped over the ruffled shoulder of her Sunday dress, the tresses gleaming against the yellow of her gown. “I haven’t said a word,” he grumbled, following after her as she retreated into

the apse and away from the front of the church. “Nor do you need to say a word,” she retorted firmly, casting a glance over her shoulder, the straps of her bonnet had come loose but Annabelle did not seem to notice as she cast him a look of partial daring. “I can read the expression on your face.” “You cannot fault me,” August insisted, waiting as Annabelle located a key from the sash of her dress, pausing before a solid arched door. His wife gazed about, a worried look upon her face. “I will fault you for not believing my intentions are pure and true,” she replied staunchly. “You think I have any interest in that outlaw brute?” “I could not say,” August muttered but he felt the heat of embarrassment touch his cheeks as he gazed at the floor. “Couldn’t you?” Annabelle snapped. “Did it not occur to you that I might not want him to suspect what it is we’re doing here? I see the way he looks at you, Auggie. He will not stop about the church bells.” August opened his mouth to protest but he immediately realized that there was no argument to be made. “If you insist on doing this, we must be more careful. These bounty hunters are among us now,” Annabelle continue, a slight exasperation coloring her face. “Not to attend service, that much is clear,” August sighed, offering her a wan smile of apology. “Perhaps not but until the town is rid of them, we have no choice but to ensure they don’t look to us with even a glimmer of doubt.” August exhaled and stepped closer, pulling his beautiful wife into his arms. He stared down at her face adoringly. “It is God’s miracle that I lived as long as I did without you.” Annabelle’s face softened and she cocked her head back to meet his gaze.

“Perhaps you were less foolhardy before we were wed,” she tittered, permitting the reverend to place a soft kiss upon her lips. “Come now,” she sighed, pulling back to put the key in the lock. “Our guests must be starving.” August’s neck stiffened slightly as Annabelle opened the door and they drew back with some wary anticipation. Sprawled along the floor of the church cupboard were three dirty men, their eyes gleaming in the darkness. “Good grief,” Annabelle sighed, hurrying inside. “Have you run short of kerosene already?” “No, ma’am,” the one named Lester replied, his voice slightly scratchy as though he had not spoken in a long while. “We much prefer the dark is all.” Annabelle and August exchanged a quick look before turning their attention back to them. “Services have concluded and we have locked the chapel doors. You’re free to move about now without fear.” “Did you ring the bells as a warning today?” Carmen asked, his hazy eyes darting between the pair mistrustingly. “It scares off the others, you know?” “Yes,” August said. “There’s a bounty hunter lurking about. One by the name of Billy Braxton.” The men looked to one another, unspeaking but the concern in their faces was obvious. “Do you know him?” August pressed when they did not speak. “By reputation,” Edward confessed “He takes great pride in bringing our heads to mount.” Annabelle balked.

“We’ll have no talk of such things,” she told them promptly. “You stretch your legs now and I’ll see to a hot meal for you. You’ll be reunited with your...” She frowned as she tried to think of the word. “Friends in no time,” she concluded, looking relieved. “Our pack, ma’am,” Lester offered, sensing her discomfort. “Us wolves run about in packs.” “Your pack then,” Annabelle breathed, turning away. They did not read the look on her face but August saw the worry piercing her features. “We will return shortly,” August promised, hurrying after his wife. Unspeaking, they made their way through the back corridor until they found themselves in their adjacent residence. It was only when the door had closed in their wake that Annabelle spoke her mind. “We must get them out of here soon, Auggie,” she said as she busied herself in the kitchen. “The moon will be full in a matter of days and God only knows what will happen to them when that occurs.” August knew precisely what would happen. They had seen it before in Wyoming. The moon would bring about their full animal instincts and the couple would not be safe, even as their protectors. It could not be helped. The beasts would be subjected to their most primal nature and nothing could be done to stop it. “We will see them reunited with their pack by then,” August said with far more confidence than he had any business feeling. This was a first for him, harboring he elusive and well-hunted wolves but after the savagery that he and Annabelle had witnessed in Wyoming, he knew he could not watch any more death. God forbade the torture of any living creature and August was determined to protect the beasts, terrifying as they were. They cannot be faulted for what God made them. They are His creatures just as we are and it is in my power to protect them. He shuddered to think of what might become of him if Billy Braxton or any of

the other bounty hunters discovered what he and Annabelle were doing but he shoved the thought aside. His wife would not tell and neither would the wolves. He had been careful thus far and in a few days, the pack would be reed and out of his church. He watched as Annabelle fussed about the kitchen, preparing soup and sandwiches for their bedraggled stowaways. His heart filled with tenderness that he had found such a kind woman. I truly would be lost without her. “Let me take the tray,” he told Annabelle as she loaded up the silver platter but before he could reach for it, there was a knock at the front door. Panicked, the couple looked to one another. “Leave it,” Annabelle hissed, snatching up the tray and moving back toward the church. “Give me a moment to make myself scarce.” Another loud knock reverberated through the house and August knew he had no choice but to let her get out of view before their unexpected visitor caught sight of the food prepared for three hungry animals. August did not like the idea of Annabelle going alone but she was gone before he could argue or suggest they trade places, leaving him to rush to answer the door. “Oh thank Heavens, Reverend!” Patty LaChance cried, hand to heart in dramatic fashion. “I had worried some terrible fate had befallen you!” The baker’s wife all but threw herself inside the door, her eyes trailing suspiciously about the house as August stifled a groan. “Why would you think that?” he asked dryly. “I only just saw you during service.” “Indeed!” Patty agreed, her nose wrinkling to sniff the air. “Which is why I thought it so odd when the doors were locked to the church. What, will those wolves running amok...I didn’t know quite what to think!” She paused. “Where is Mrs. Succar?”

“Annabelle is praying,” August replied, thinking quickly. “It is her later father’s birthday today and she wanted some peace to pray for him. That is why the church is locked.” Patty’s eyebrows raised and a slight look of contrition crossed over her face. “Oh...I see. Have I interrupted your luncheon?” “We have just finished,” August replied, steering her toward the door. “Was there something you needed from the church?” “I thought I left my parasol but I realize now that I never brought it to church,” Patty chuckled, her neck still craning to look behind like she intended to catch a juicy piece of gossip to reiterate at afternoon tea. “All’s well that ends well,” August said, almost shoving the busybody onto the stoop. “Good day, Mrs. LaChance.” “Good day—” A shrill scream pierced through the air, causing the pair to turn in unison. People ran, flailing their arms in a near-comical fashion as they dove for cover. “What in God’s name is happening?” Patty demanded, backing away from the center of town where the commotion appeared to be occurring. “THE WOLVES!” someone screamed. “THE WOLVES HAVE COME!” August froze where he stood, trying to make sense of what he was hearing. “They have a woman!” someone else cried out. “The pastor’s wife!” The words were enough to spring August into action. Without wasting a moment, he spun about and bounded toward the rectory door, throwing it open. He did not bother to look behind him, terror engulfing his soul as he realized that the hallway was empty and there was no sign of Annabelle. In front of the open cupboard, the tray lay, dishes in pieces, soup spilled about. Brazen mice nibbled upon the forsaken sandwiches, barely moving from August’s path, sensing that he was not there for them.

More dread overwhelmed him as he made way to the pulpit, his jaw slacked to realize that the front of the church was open. The wolves had indeed vanished with his wife in their midst. “Oh dear God,” August whispered. “What have I done?” But the answer was devastatingly clear. He had permitted a foxes into the hen house and they had made off with his most prized possession.

~ ~ ~

“How could this happen?” Billy growled, pacing between the pews. “How were they able to enter if the church was locked?” August refused to answer, his eyes trained on the floor before him. Half the town had gathered among the benches, trying to make sense of why they had come for Annabelle Succar and not simply devoured her as they tended to do with humans. “It’s not a full moon,” Charles Bowman grumbled. “And it’s broad daylight! What business do they have here?” All eyes turned suspiciously toward August again. “What ain’t you tellin’ us, Reverend?” Billy demanded, ambling closer to the pastor, his eyes glowing maliciously. “Have you been hiding wolves?” “Shame on you!” To August’s shock, it was Patty LaChance who spoke on his behalf. “Sit yourself down man before God strikes you dead for such blasphemy.” August cast her a grateful look but he was not sure if Patty believed in his innocence. The woman was a gossip, not a warmonger. She did not want to see a man of God hurt, especially not in His house.

“There is more to this than what the good Reverend has said,” Billy insisted but to August’s relief, he backed away and continued to pace. “We’ll head for the woods,” the shoemaker announced, rising from his spot to nod at his four sons. Each of the men also stood, picking up their weapons from their sides and marching toward the door. “You needn’t worry, Pastor. We’ll find Mrs. Succar and bring her home before those animals have their way with her.” The words sent shivers of revulsion through August’s body, the image of his wife bloodied and lifeless etched in his mind until he thought he might vomit. “We’ll look into the canyon,” Butch Vernon announced, following Willy Thompson’s lead and ushering his own boys out of the church. One by one, the parishioners gathered their sons and determined their own area to hunt out the escaped wolves until there was no one but Patty and Billy Braxton remaining in the building. “You should get home to your husband now, Mrs. LaChance,” Billy muttered to the woman. “The pastor and I have much to discuss.” “I daresay that you are avoiding your duty,” Patty huffed at him, causing Billy to blink and glower. “Come again?” “Half the town is out doing your very job while you take sanctuary in the church. For shame, Billy Braxton. What a true slap to your face it will be if Will Thompson ends up with a wolf head on his wall. Can you imagine the headlines? ‘Shoemaker Bests Outlaw’!” She chortled mirthlessly and Billy’s eyes darkened. “That man ain’t gonna get no wolf.” “Nor are you if you continue hiding out in the chapel, are you?” Patty shot back. August watched the exchange with horrified awe. He was unsure if Billy Braxton would shoot a woman but gauging by the ire in his eyes, the pastor was unsure he could discount the notion.

“Woman, you got some mouth on ya!” Billy hissed but to August’s shock, he adjusted he rifle on his shoulder and spun away from them. “This ain’t done, Pastor.” He stormed from the church. “You cannot stay, Reverend,” Patty said the moment the bounty hunter was out of earshot. “He’ll be back and this time he will not go without a fight.” August threw up his hands in despair. “I have to find my wife!” he choked. “But where could they have taken her?” “I would not know,” Patty replied urgently. “But I do know that if you stay here, Billy Braxton will come back and shake the truth out of you.” “What truth is that?” August eyed her warily. “I am no fool, Pastor. I saw the tray and lamps in the storage cupboard. You were hiding the wolves.” August opened his mouth to deny it but Patty held up a hand to stop him. “Do not,” she said, frowning. “I will not do anything to hinder your escape but you must go now before the townsfolk return with their torches and pitchforks for you. You allowed for the beasts to take refuge in our town. That is unforgivable.” He thought about protesting but he knew it was futile. He had been caught but that was the least of his concerns. Finding Annabelle was all that mattered to August. If he never again saw Three Rivers, it would be just fine with him.

~ ~ ~

“Ya sure about this, Pastor?” Old Gerry wanted to know but he did not stop himself from handing off the shotgun without waiting for an answer. “I am certain,” August replied grimly, taking the weapon and staring at it with determination. “My wife is out there.” “Ya know how to use that?” Old Gerry demanded but August had already moved toward the door of the shop. “Pastor, ain’t regular bullets gonna fell no werewolf!” August had already known that of course. Only a bullet forged of pure silver would kill a werewolf but August did not want to kill anyone. He only wanted his wife returned to him safely. A regular bullet would buy him time if need be but he hoped in his heart that he would not be forced to use violence. Outside, the afternoon turned the landscape hazy. The men had not returned from their search and for that August was thankful. He had no doubt that what Patty had said was true. When they returned and Billy Braxton got into their ears, he would be deemed a traitor to his kind and strung up in the village square. He needed to put as much distance between himself and Three Rivers as he could before that occurred. He marched through the main street, head held high as he wracked his brain for any information he might have gleaned from the werewolves. They had not spoken a great deal over the past days since August had found them, wounded and dazed on the edge of town. Annabelle had warned against harboring them but he had convinced her that God had put them on his path to see them to safety. “They are God’s creatures too, darling,” he told her and despite her pleas to the contrary, they had seen them back to the church. They seemed like normal men, down on their luck and for a time, August had almost forgotten what they were. They spoke of returning to the others they had lost along the way. The bounty hunters had caught onto their trail and run them out of hiding in the depth of the canyon. They must be regrouping in the canyon, August realized, a spark of hope seizing his chest. From the stable, he saddled his lone horse, forsaking the buggy and urged the gelding toward the spot he had first found the trio of men.

Hold fast, my love. I am coming for you, he promised as he dug his heels into the ribs of the horse, causing the animal to ride faster. Dusk settled over the horizon and by the time he reached the edge of the clearing, August took comfort in the impending nightfall. By some luck he did not dare question, he had not encountered a single soul on his journey as of yet but as he and Bishop delved deeper into the woods leading into the canyon, the horse began to snort nervously. He backed up but August stayed on him, murmuring coaxingly into the horse’s ear. “There, boy. Keep going. Annabelle’s just that way, isn’t she?” Bishop snorted again but did as he was instructed, giving August another pang of faith. If there was true danger ahead, kind words would not be enough to keep the equine on course. Darkness fell entirely and August was forced to stop. He reached into the side saddle and withdrew a lamp from within but even with it lit, the trees were far too dense and thick for him to see barely beyond his face. He knew he had little choice but to set up camp for the night and continue his search when dawn broke. Frustrated, August dismounted and secured Bishop to a tree. He needed to find a water source to feed the horse before making a fire and bed among the foliage. “Stay, boy,” he ordered the horse unnecessarily. Bishop was not going anywhere, tethered to the tree. Slowly, laboriously, August moved through the brush, the lantern held high as he tried to orient himself. The map he had brought along did him no good here in this wild part of Three Rivers—assuming that he was still within the county lines. I will find my wife and we will leave the west. We will head East where there are cities and roads and civilized folk. Yet even as he thought it, he knew he would not. Once he found his wife, if he found his wife, his calling was in the west, catering to the godless. There were enough pastors in the east with their anointed churches and extravagant vestry. No, God needed him in the wild part of the country, spreading the good word

and saving the nation from sin. August simply need to be more careful about whom he trusted in the future, contrary as that was to his nature. The sudden sound of thrashing in the brush caused him to turn and spin but when he looked, he had only scared a fox who scurried off. The sound of a rumbling stream met his ears now and excitedly, August knew he had found his water source. He rushed back to Bishop and untied the horse, leading him forward for a drink. As the horse watered himself, August started a fire, his heart heavy and sad. This would be the first night he had been without Annabelle since their wedding, ten years prior. The feeling of desolation only grew as the blackness around them grew heavier. Tired August was not yet he could not ignore that the day’s events had worn heavily on his soul and before he realized it, he had fallen into a deep, uneasy slumber with dreams of his wife causing him to stir restlessly. In one such nightmare, he chanced upon Annabelle, strung from a tree, her limbs extended in every direction. Dancing below her in a ritualistic circle was a pack of wolves, their tongues lolling as they leapt and nipped at her pale flesh. “No! Stop!” August yelled out but as he tried to reach his wife, he saw that he, too, was bound in the same fashion to a tree. “This is your doing, Reverend,” the wolves hissed, their voices one, the sound demonic. “You brought this upon yourself.” “NO!” His eyes flew open and blackness remained around him. The fire had almost fully died out as August sat up, wiping at the beads of sweat on his forehead. She is still alive. I can feel it in my bones, he thought as he sought more kindling for the fire but as the flames licked up into the air, August suddenly realized that something was missing. Bishop had run off into the eve, taking his satchel and supplies with him.

~ ~ ~

“BISHOP!” August hissed, his voice growing hoarse from the endless calls. “Come here at once!” Not a rustle nor peep could be heard as the night took on a grayer tinge. August had been walking for hours and he no longer knew where he was. He would have returned to town despite the danger he faced if only he knew what direction to take. I have ed that very tree at least three times, he thought, pausing to rub his gritty eyes. He knew it was only a matter of time before he was too tired to carry on. From there, he would fall victim to starvation, and then exposure. It would be a long, agonizing death, particularly in the summer months where the cold would not claim him quickly. “Bishop please!” he cried out, falling to his knees and clasping his hands together. “God, why have you forsaken me?” He knew it had only been a night but he was worldly enough to realize that without food or supplies, his days were numbered. Wherever he was, there was not a soul to help him. “God, I have been your faithful servant. I have preached to the lost souls, comforted the bereaved, sheltered the forgotten. I do not question your plan, oh Lord but I beg of you to spare my wife. Please, God, let Annabelle live a full and happy life.” The sound of a twig snapping made August jump and he whipped his half-risen body toward the bush behind him. A low growl met his ears and with the gray of dawn approaching, the outline of three panting wolves appeared from the shrubbery. The biggest one bowed his head, fangs exposed as August scoured the area for his shotgun. The weapon was just out of reach and he dared not move, lest the

animal take it as a sign of aggression. “I don’t want any trouble,” August told the beast, noting its monstrous size. This was no ordinary lupine, nor were his companions who moved to form a circle around him. “I’m looking for my wife and I’ll be on my way.” Another snarl resonated through the trees and the horrible dream came rushing back into August’s mind. He closed his eyes, knowing that the end was nigh and a part of him was grateful that he would not have to wait for the elements to see him through a long death. Inch by inch, August felt the pack grow closer, a gentle breeze snaking down his neck, the breath of the leader behind him. “You can open your eyes, Pastor. We aren’t going to kill you.” August’s lids sprung open and he looked at the familiar faces before him. Anger surged through him as he recognized the men he had hidden in his church. “You scoundrels!” he hissed, advancing on Lester to pummel him with furious fists. “Where is my wife? What have you done with her?” Surprise colored their faces and Lester stepped out of the way, shaking his shaggy, filthy head of hair to gape at August. “She’s fine, Reverend. She’s perfectly safe.” Glowering, August stared at Lester, waiting for him to dictate the of her release but when he spoke again, the words stunned the holy man. “We came back to the church after the men cleared town but you were nowhere to be found,” Lester explained. “I see now that you have been on the search for us.” “Did you think I would sit on my haunches, waiting for word that they had found the mangled corpse of my bride?” August fired back. “Here I am. Do with me what you will but you must let Annabelle go.” Edward snorted loudly.

“Is something amusing?” August whiplashed, his fear forsaken in his rage. “You have kidnapped my wife after I have shown you nothing but kindness and charity!” “You damned fool,” Carmen barked as Lester gave him a warning look. “We saved your wife’s life!” Confusion overwhelmed August but he did not believe the wolf. “You are demon spawn,” he spat. “I won’t let you twist the truth. Where is Annabelle?” “I am here, darling.” The sound of his wife’s voice spun August about and he blinked in elation as Annabelle stepped from the brush, unscathed and beautiful as he ed. He rushed toward her, cupping her fair face with his open palms. “You’re well!” he choked, emotion catching his voice. “I was terribly worried.” Annabelle offered him a warm smiled, permitting his lips to touch hers before she spoke. “They speak the truth, Auggie. They saved me from a fate worse than death,” Annabelle said. “H-how?” August barely sputtered. “From what?” “Billy Braxton,” the wolves chorused in unison. More bewilderment washed over August as he tried to make sense of what he was being told. He did not want to believe the beasts but his wife left him no choice but to hear them out. “Billy Braxton is a bounty hunter,” August reminded her, eying the others warily. “What would he possibly want with you?” There was an uncomfortable quiet as the males looked away but Annabelle met his eyes evenly. “He wants the kinds of things that men want with comely women,” she replied flatly. “And he’s quite adept at taking it.”

Shocked and disgusted, August dropped his hands and gaped at the wolves. “Is that what you’ve told her to save yourselves?” he demanded, aghast at such a putrid tale. “It is the truth,” Lester said quietly. “It is one of the reasons that Billy Braxton hunts us so intently. We once ran him off in the middle of such an assault and he has never forgotten it. He leaves a trail of broken women in his wake, from Helena to Calgary. You can ask about if you like but you aren’t apt to find anyone willing to tell the tale of his horrors.” There was sincerity in the werewolf’s words and as he thought about it, August realized that there must be some truth to what he was saying. Why else would they risk taking Annabelle in the middle of the day? They have not harmed her and are willing to let us go now. They were trying to protect us. Shame overwhelmed August and he looked contritely at the pack. “Forgive me,” he choked. “I have judged when I had no business doing so.” “You had no reason to think anything but the worst of us,” Carmen interjected magnanimously. “We would have thought the same, I’m sure.” “After the kindness you bestowed upon us, we would never hurt you, Reverend. We owe you a debt.” “No,” August replied, wrapping his arm around his wife’s waist and drawing her close. Annabelle relaxed in his arms. “Come along, darling,” he sighed. “We will have to make a new life now, somewhere away from Three Rivers.” “You could come with us,” Edward piped up as though it was a thought he had properly entertained. “Come again?” August and Annabelle looked at him in disbelief but the others nodded in agreement.

“We travel often and mostly manage to avoid the bounty hunters. Why don’t you come along with us?” The couple exchanged a glance and tittered with embarrassment. “It...well...” August fumbled, trying to find the right way to decline the preposterous offer. “You are unbaptized, unholy,” Annabelle said pointedly and August balked. His head jerked up and he looked to the wolves to determine their reactions. As he had predicted, they were not impressed with her characterization. “We did not burst into flames in the church,” Carmen grumbled. “And we could be baptized—if we had a pastor to baptize us,” Edward added. Again, Annabelle and August gaped at one another, the unexpected turn of events stunning them into silence. “Why don’t we give them a moment to discuss it?” Lester said, pulling his companions away from the pair. “We have given them a lot to contemplate.” The others followed him back into the brush, further confirming what August had already thought. They were truly in no danger from the beasts. “What say you, my love?” August asked slowly, wondering if this was something that could sincerely be done. Annabelle’s rosebud lips parted and she stared at him, shaking her head. “We will be as safe as we could ever hope to be among them,” Annabelle said slowly. “And they are willing to be converted. Did you not say that God put them on your path for a reason? Perhaps this is the reason.” August blinked, realizing that his wife was right! Dear Lord, thank you for keeping my wife safe and placing us in the lives of these lost souls. I will shepherd them as you intended. “Well?” Annabelle urged when he did not immediately speak. “What say you?” “I say we lead these heathens onto a righteous path and find their pack,” he said

slowly. “Truly?” Annabelle sighed, bowing her head against August’s chest happily. “Yes,” he replied, exhaling. He suddenly felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders as his calling came through from the heavens once more. “Then we will find Billy Braxton where we will string him from the highest tree we can find and stone him to death.”

BIGFOOT CREEK

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STEVE WELLS

Chapter One “Here, in the heart of these unexplored woods deep in the Adirondack Mountains of New York State, lives a creature that few have seen, and even fewer have lived to tell about.” Over her radio headset, Cindy heard Jason laughing. “Max does know that we’re, like, twenty minutes away from the nearest McDonalds here, right? It ain’t exactly no man’s land up here.” “Shh,” Cindy hissed back at him. “The narrator of the show is supposed to make it sound mysterious for the audience. Max is just playing his part.” “I’m just saying,” Jason’s voice answered her. “We’re getting paid to do a TV show about finding Big Foot. There’s only so much serious you can put into this, you know?” “Pipe down, both of you,” Erin barked at them. Cindy winced even though it was only a voice in her ear. Erin was mean. “ we’re on camera, all right?” Well, sort of on camera, Cindy wanted to argue. The cameras set up on their headgear would record anything they saw, but it didn’t record them. Unless they were all together in a group, and then they could record each other. Jason had already offered to go off into the bushes with her and record something a little X-rated, but she’d turned him down. A few more nights of this nonsense, though, and she might accept his blatant offer of sex just to have something to do.

She slapped at her leg, wishing she’d put on more bug spray this morning. The mosquitos were nasty. It didn’t help that she had on her pair of khaki shorts that went just to the bottom of her ass and a sleeveless white t-shirt under a pocket vest. Cute, yes. Protected from the elements...not so much. Her hair was damp from perspiration and in her eyes again. Even the evenings up here at the base of Azure Mountain were humid this time of year. She should know. She grew up in Lake Placid, just a couple dozen miles from where she was standing right now. Which was also how she knew there was no Big Foot in these woods. Max continued narrating for the cameras as if he hadn’t heard them pegging fun at him. “This elusive animal, this creature of rare magnificence, has eluded our cameras for two days now. With tensions mounting, we’re all left to wonder. Are we the ones being stalked?” What? Cindy thought he might have gone a little too far with that last bit there. Sure, the network was hammering them to add some spice to this reality show concept of theirs. Sure, they were all feeling like it was one big joke. That didn’t mean it was time to start acting like this was some idiotic made for TV movie where the cheesy monster was going to jump out from behind a bush and start killing the helpless college girl... Beside her, the bushes shook. She stopped in her tracks. There was no wind. It must be some kind of animal rustling through the undergrowth. A raccoon, maybe, or God forbid a skunk. Whatever it was she knew better than to try disturbing an animal in the wild. They got predatory and angry if you stepped into their territory by mistake. “Five of us have made this trip into the unknown,” Max was saying. The bush shook again. Cindy took a step back. “How many of us will live to tell the tale?”

Now the thing moving in there behind the leaves growled, and it wasn’t a raccoon. Cindy reached for the mike button on the wireless transmitter hooked onto her belt. “Uh, guys? Um. There’s something...” The thing exploded from out of the bushes and leapt at her with its arms spread wide. All she saw was a glimpse of a hairy face and red eyes with blood dripping from its fangs and then it was on her, pawing at her and growling and holding her down on the ground. And feeling up under her shirt. She screamed, and kicked, and...wait. That hand was getting awfully touchyfeely. Cindy yelped, and slapped at the cheap department store Halloween mask over and over, pushing away from Jason as he tried his best to undo the front clasp on her bra. “You jerk!” she shouted at him. “You...you...bastard!” Jason was rolled up on the ground laughing now, the mask off his face and gripped tight in one hand. He shook it in her direction, mimicking his growling sounds from earlier, and then breaking off into hysterical laughter again. Cindy tugged her shirt back down and held her arms across her chest, glaring and trying not to cry. “That is not funny!” “Says you!” Jason’s dark skin glistened with sweat. His teeth flashed white in his smile. “Oh, damn, that was like the funniest thing I’ve ever seen! Rawr, rawr!” Cindy got up on her feet and kicked at the ground, intentionally spraying him with dirt and pebbles. Then she stalked off in the direction of their camp. “Hey, ow!” he called after her. “No need for that. It was just a joke. Come on, Cinderella, don’t be like that. Cindy!” She didn’t stop. She’d had enough of this whole thing. She’d only agreed to participate in this stupid reality show because she needed the two hundred dollars they were going to pay each of them for just four days’ work. And, sure, there was only two days and two nights left of filming, but she’d had it. The

bugs, the sleeping together with everyone, the lack of privacy, all of it was eating at her. Max could keep his two hundred bucks. When she got back to camp she was so out of here. The other four could take this abuse. Stalking her way back to the trails that led to their campsite, Cindy finally allowed herself to be honest. At least in her own mind. The reason she wanted to leave had nothing to do with the mosquitos or sharing two nasty port-a-potties with everyone else. It was what had just happened back there, with Jason, and the memories it dragged up. Whatever. She was still leaving. Of course, the sun would be down in another hour which would mean walking out to the trailhead parking by herself in the dark... She swore silently to herself. Fine. She would stay one more night and then head out in the morning. She could always go and visit her family in Lake Placid. After all, home was where they had to take you in when you were broke, right? Chapter Two The fire was blazing high inside the ring of stones they had set out on the first night here. Of course, the firewood had been stacked up before filming even started. Just like the supplies they had on hand to cook with and everything else. The show was fake on so many fronts. They weren’t out here trying to survive on their own while they tracked down the elusive Big Foot. They had everything they needed to live comfortably. Tents. Sleeping bags. There was even a generator hooked up to power a radio and a microwave and a fridge full of cold sodas and beer. None of that ever made it on camera, of course. Right now, they were all sitting down on logs around the fire pit, talking to each other and laughing and eating bowls of stew that had come out of Hormel cans. Cindy hadn’t taken two bites of hers. Not that she didn’t love stewed meat and potatoes. This had been the kind of food she grew up on back home. She just didn’t have much appetite. Staring into the flames, she waited for the right moment to tell everyone she was leaving the show. Darkness pressed in all around them. Overhead, the stars winked at them

through the trees. Sounds of birds and insects drifted sporadically through the woods. It should have been a peaceful setting. To Cindy, it felt like nature was closing in around her. “Hey, Cinderella,” Jason teased, using his new nickname for her. He swung his monster mask around one finger before rolling it up and stuffing it into a back pocket. “You still steamed about that joke? Never seen a girl scream so loud!” She bit her lip and very carefully set her bowl aside. “Max, will you please tell Jason...” Looking around them, she realized Max wasn’t here. Neither was Jose, the fifth member of their little reality show. It was just her, and Jason, and Erin. The cameras set up around the campfire to catch everything didn’t count. They were just blank electronic eyes. Before she could ask the obvious question, Jason shrugged. “Dunno. They haven’t come in for dinner yet. Figured you noticed but I guess you was too busy being scared by the master!” He held his hands up, fingers hooked into claws, like he was some damned boogie man. “Shut up,” Cindy muttered, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. In spite of the fire, she felt cold. Erin blew out a slow breath. “Well, I’m bored. Hey. Why don’t we tell ghost stories?” Cindy froze. No. No, no, no. “Yes!” Jason almost squealed. “Ok. I start, I start. In a house on the end of a dead end street, lived an old man. Nobody knew where the man came from. Nobody knew how long he’d lived in town. He was just always there, you know? Then one day, the man’s phone rang. He stared at it because no one ever called him. No one ever came to his house. No one even ed he was alive, it felt like.” Erin watched him, wide-eyed, as he spun the tale, his hands waving in the air for emphasis. Cindy hugged herself tighter and wondered where the other

of their group were. “So the old man,” Jason said, “goes and picks up the phone. It’s one of those old phones, connected to the wall by a cord, with a heavy handle. He picked it up and held it to his ear. ‘Hello?’ he said.” Jason changed his voice to sound like an old man’s, all squeaky and rough. “No one answered him. ‘Who’s there?’ he said. ‘Who is it?’ Still, no one answered. Then, he heard all this static on the line. In the static, he hears a voice.” He paused, and in spite of herself, Cindy looked up, waiting for what would come next. “The voice on the phone says to him, ‘You’re dead.’ The old man slams the phone down as hard as he can. ‘Kids,’ he grumbled, turning to walk away. Only, when he did, he stumbled on the phone cord. Picking it up he sees that the cord is cut. There’s no way anyone could have called him on the phone.” Erin was smiling now, totally into the story. Cindy closed her eyes again. In a hushed voice, Jason finished his story. “Then the old man looked over at his favorite chair and saw himself sitting there. His skin was all dried up. His hair was long and white. His clothes sagged on his bones. It was him, and he was dead. The voice on the phone hadn’t been a warning. It had been the truth!” He jumped up on the last word, and Erin screamed, and then laughed, beating her hands against Jason’s arm. “That was awesome! Okay, my turn.” “I’m going to my tent,” Cindy said abruptly, standing up and stepping away from the fire’s glow. “Hey, Cinderella,” Jason said. “It was just a story, princess. No need to get all bent outta shape.” “Right.” She spun around him, her hands in fists, standing right at the edge of the firelight. “You want a story? I’ll tell you a story. Once upon a time there

was a girl named Cindy. When she was sixteen, her boyfriend told her she was the most special girl in the world. Then he took her in his car to a back road and raped her. The next day, he found a new girlfriend and told her that she was the most important girl in the world. The end.” Cindy and Erin stared at her, mouths open, not sure what to say. “Uh, that a true story?” Jason muttered. Erin hit him again on the arm, a lot harder this time. “Shut up. Cindy, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Shifting from foot to foot, Cindy tried to hold onto her anger, but she couldn’t. This was why Jason’s playful attack in the woods earlier had set her off. This was why she just didn’t want to be out here anymore. This was why she hadn’t been able to hold down a job, or keep a boyfriend, or do anything with her life even now that she was graduated from college. And... “That’s why I’m leaving tomorrow,” she told them. “I’m done with this. I’m out. Tell Max when he shows up that I’m—” “Tell Max what?” he said, stepping into the firelight from the other side. Jason and Erin both looked up in surprise. None of them had heard him coming. “I’m leaving tomorrow,” Cindy repeated for him. Max was drop dead gorgeous, with his wavy blonde hair and his deep blue eyes, and he was smart too, and semi-successful in the world of television programming. This wasn’t his first reality show. All of that made it hard for Erin to want to disappoint him, but she really couldn’t stay here any longer. He nodded as if somehow he understood. “I’m sorry to hear that, but right now we’ve got a bigger problem.” He looked at each of them in turn. “Have any of you seen Jose?” They hadn’t, and as they all looked over at his empty tent one by one, they understood what that meant. He could be in serious trouble. Nobody stayed out after dark in these woods. It was one of Max’s rules. Jose wasn’t back yet. Cindy stuffed her hands into her pockets and tried not to

feel like the woods were full of eyes, staring her down. Chapter Three Flashlights cut through the darkness as their headset gear recorded everything around them. There wasn’t much to see. Just the dark, and each other. They were walking fifty paces away from each other in a straight line. Far enough away that they each had their own ground to cover, close enough that they could still see each other’s flashlights and know where everyone was. “Jose!” Jason called out. Erin echoed it further down the line to Cindy’s right. The decision to search for him had been an easy one. Now, standing here in the dark and watching trees loom up out of the moon shadows, Cindy damned herself for not sticking to her original plan and leaving right away, sunset or no. This was just like where her teenage boyfriend had driven her and then used her. The dirt road he’d picked had been in the middle of nowhere, trees all around, nothing and no one to hear her scream. She heard her breathing coming quick and short, and she forced herself to calm down. This was just what she needed. Her panic attack would become b-roll for the TV show, and careful editing would make it look like she was terrified of the Big Foot lumbering after them through the woods. “Anything?” Max’s voice spoke in her ear, making her jump. She keyed her mike button and answered after Jason and Erin. “Nothing.” “We should go back, man,” Jason said, his voice crackly with static. The equipment didn’t work so good once the sun went down. “If Jose is out here he ain’t answering and that means he’s either gone, or he’s...you know.” “Shut up, Jason,” Erin told him. “What if he’s hurt and he needs our help? Would you want us to leave you out here with a broken leg?” “I wouldn’t be out here...wait, what’s that?” Cindy stopped in her tracks, listening for every little sound around them.

“What?” Max asked. “I don’t hear anything.” “Thought I heard...” Jason trailed off. “Nothing. Just nothing. Come on, can’t we take this back to camp? We’ll have better luck trying to find him in the—” A strangled sound was the end of that sentence. To Cindy’s right, she saw Jason’s flashlight swing around wildly and then go out. “Jason?” Max called. “Jason, hold on. I’m coming to you.” Cindy stood there, flashlight pointed at where she knew Jason had been just a moment ago, biting down hard on one knuckle as Max raced past her. She heard the branches breaking underfoot as he ran, and then he was kneeling down on the ground. “It’s okay,” she heard him say, his voice in her headset providing an echo. “He just tripped in a hole. He’s fine.” Her heart started beating again and Cindy stumbled forward a few steps to lean against the nearest tree. This was crazy. There were no monsters in this woods. There were no monsters here. Then where was Jose? And, why was she so scared? She swallowed back the lump in her throat and told herself to put on her big girl panties and just get on with it. Whether they found Jose or not, she was leaving. Tomorrow. At first light. When she stood up, her flashlight beam fell on a heap of something further on, laying across the path. The tatters of a purple windbreaker flapped in a breeze that had stirred itself up as night fell and the temperature had dropped. The way her hand was shaking, the light wavered everywhere, but it didn’t matter. She knew that windbreaker. She knew that face, even with part of it slashed to ribbons. “Found him,” she croaked, her voice barely above a whisper. Everyone else was talking, and there was no way they heard her until she cleared her throat and

shouted. “I found him!”

***

They couldn’t bring Jose back to camp like this, and they couldn’t leave him out here to attract animals. Nature wasn’t kind to dead things. It tended to treat them like food. Max told the rest of them to stay there with...the body, and he was going back to camp to get a tarp or something to at least cover him up. “This is whacked, man,” Jason kept saying. “Just totally freaking whacked!” They all had their backs to what was left of Jose. None of them could stomach looking at him for very long. Bad enough that his body had been torn apart, but now they were left to wonder what had done that to him. Cindy kept telling herself there were no such things as monsters, but deep down she knew better. Her boyfriend had been a monster all those years ago. He’d left her emotionally scarred and her body ravaged. Monsters existed. One of them had killed Jose. “Maybe it was a bear,” Erin suggested. It was the first time she’d spoken since catching a glimpse of Jose’s face. She always had a smart comment or a cutting remark to make. Not now. “Yeah, yeah that’s right,” Jason agreed. “A bear. Had to be a bear. Big old bear.” “It wasn’t a bear,” Cindy told them. “Oh really?” Erin said, her voice shaking and her hands holding her flashlight in a white-knuckled grip. “And how do you know this couldn’t be a bear?” “Because bears don’t usually attack humans,” Cindy pointed out. “When they do, they eat what they kill.”

Jose’s body was torn up, sure, but it wasn’t eaten. As Cindy tried not to gag at that thought, Jason snorted. “Listen to Forest Ranger Cindy over there.” “I grew up in Northern New York,” she told them. “I know about these things.” Their conversation was cut short when Max radioed to them. “Guys, I’m going to check the recording from Jose’s camera, okay? You guys all right to stay out there a little longer?” “Can you do that when we get back to camp?” Erin asked him. “It won’t take me long,” Max said. “Just got to pull up the video feed.” Jason pursed his lips and keyed his own mike. “What if we don’t want to stay out here, boss.” “Hmm,” Max said. “Interesting.” Jason looked over at Erin and Cindy, arching an eyebrow. “Uh, what’s interesting, Max?” “Oh no.” Max’s voice was strained. “Oh, damn it, no. Guys, get out of there! Get back to camp now. Run!” Cindy tensed up, flashing her light all around them, just like the other two. “What is it?” she asked. “I don’t see anything. It’s just all black out here.” “On Jose’s camera!” Max was shouting. “It’s on his damned camera it’s right there in front of him oh damn it damn it damn it! You guys have to run. Right now!” “Screw this,” Jason said. He didn’t wait for Erin and Cindy. He took off into the night, flashlight waving back and forth as he ran as fast as he could. Cindy keyed her radio again. “What’s on his camera, Max. What did this to him?” “It’s the damned Big Foot!”

Erin began babbling to herself, shaking her head over and over, her feet skipping back and forth until she broke into a run, following after Jason more or less in the direction that he had gone. That left Cindy alone, in the dark, with Jose’s dead body. She took a step forward, and then another, following the beam of her flashlight. She knew which way the camp was from here, but in the dark, every direction looked the same. Was she sure it was this way? Hadn’t Jason and Erin gone that way, over there? Another step, and another, and then she thought she saw a tree she ed and there was the path and all she had to do was follow it, she told herself. Everything was going to be all right. The huge shadow loomed up in front of her, pitch black even in the direct glow of the LED light in her hand. The monster swiped at her, one arm knocking her light away into the woods, the other reaching out for her. Eyes that glowed a dim green in the moonlight glared down at her. Big Foot. The monster was real. Cindy turned and ran. Chapter Four She was blind. The only light she had was from the crescent moon. Not only that, but she was lost. The direction to the camp had been obvious until she had panicked and fled from the beast that had appeared out of nowhere. There had been hair all over its body, and she was sure that hand had claws on it when it swiped at her. Damn. Damn, damn, damn. She had to get out of here. She had to get back to camp, and...and out of these woods. Were there any firearms in the camp? She didn’t . Wait. Max would know. “Max?” she called over her radio. “Max, are you there?”

Silence. “Jason? Erin?” Silence again. Cindy stopped where she was, and turned all around her. Trees. Nothing but trees and darkness. She was so screwed. “Help me...” said a quiet voice in her ear. On the radio, she could hear someone crying. Whoever it was had keyed their mike and now they had it open without realizing it. “He’s gonna get me. He’s gonna get me. Oh man, oh man, he’s right there. Right there!” After a moment, she recognized who it was. “Jason?” she tried. “Jason, can you hear me?” She tried keying her microphone over and over, but his was still open and she wouldn’t be able to say anything until he shut his radio off. “Help me...” Cindy wanted to run to him. She wanted to find him and...and help him, but there was no way for her to know where he was. All she could do was listen. “Please don’t. Oh, man, please don’t...” She fell down to her knees, curling her arms around herself, hoping against hope that one of the others would find him in time. Erin. Max. Somebody help him! Then the screaming started. It was a long time before it stopped. Cindy stood up, slowly, and wiped the tears from her eyes. Jason was dead. Jose was dead. She had to get out of these woods. She had to pick a direction and move. So she did. She started off down the slope of a hill, hands held up in front of her so that she wouldn’t run into any low-hanging branches, and she walked. She

figured Azure Mountain was somewhere behind her, and if she was headed down, then she must be headed away from there, which could mean the way out or it could mean a straight line right into nearby McCavanaugh Pond, for all she knew. Either way, it was better than just sitting there, waiting to be the next victim. “Cindy?” Max’s voice came over the radio. “Are you there?” She had never been so happy to hear anyone’s voice in all her life. Jason’s radio must have been broken during the attack and now the airwaves were theirs again. “Max! Yes, I’m here. I don’t know where I am. I’m lost. I dropped my flashlight when that thing...” “You saw the creature?” Max blurted out. “Are you all right? Did it hurt you?” “No, I’m fine. I mean, I’m not fine because I’m scared out of my mind and I don’t’ know where I am but it didn’t hurt me. It tried, but all it did was knock my flashlight away.” “Okay,” he said to her. “Stay where you are. I’m coming to you.” “Wait, how...?” “Cindy, I turned off Erin’s radio. I don’t...there’s more going on here than I thought there was. I don’t think this is a Big Foot attacking us.” She slowed, and then stopped, wrapping an arm around a big pine tree as if that would protect her from the dangers of these woods. “What do you mean, Max? I saw the thing. It was a beast!” “I know what you saw. Listen, when Jason scared you with that mask? I think that’s what this is. It’s someone in a suit. We have a killer among us.” Her head began to spin. None of this made any sense. “You think Erin is trying to kill us all?” “Yes. I looked at the video recordings again and...well, you’d have to see it to understand but just don’t trust Erin. Okay? Wait where you are. I’m coming to you.”

“How are you going to find me?” she asked. “Each of the radio headsets has a GPS in it.” His voice sounded tense in her ear. “I’m tracking you now.” GPS? “Then why didn’t you use that to find Jose?” she asked him. “I did. That’s how I knew where to start looking. I’m almost to you. Stay there.” Cindy had a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach. This wasn’t right. None of this was right. How come Max hadn’t said anything about the GPS units before? And...how did he know about Jason scaring her with that mask? Her eyes went wide as a flashlight beam split through the night and a figure ran at her through the trees. She stumbled, tripping over her own two feet, falling to the ground and throwing up an arm defensively. A hairy face glared down at her, red dripping from its fangs. She screamed. In the next instant, she recognized the mask that Jason had used to scare her earlier. It was being held up by someone. It was hard to see in the glare of the LED light, but she could make out a silhouette. A shadowy figure that stopped, breathing heavily, menacing in its silence. It was a woman’s figure. Not Max. Erin. “You,” Cindy said in a voice that was tight with emotion. “It was you! You killed Jason!” “What?” Erin said, her voice pitched high. “You’re insane. Stay away from me. Stay back or so help me God I’ll kill you!” “Just like you killed Jason!” Erin took a hard step toward her, and Cindy scooted backward along the ground, trying to keep distance between them. “I didn’t kill anyone,” Erin shouted. “I did not!”

“Then how come you have Jason’s mask? He kept that damned thing with him. You must have taken it from him!” It all fit. Max had been so sure that someone, a person, was targeting them and killing them. She had just listened to Jason being murdered. The killer would have been the last one to see him, and now here stood Erin with that mask. Her hand fell on a rock. It fit easily into her palm. As she got to her knees, and then up on her feet, she picked the stone up. It wasn’t much protection, not against a cold-blooded killer who had already killed two men, but it was better than nothing. Erin took another step forward. “I,” she insisted, “did not kill anyone. Jason was already dead when I found him. I heard him being killed, just like you did.” “No,” Cindy said, certain of her guess now. “You killed him. You’ve got his blood on your cheek!” In the backsplash from her own flashlight, a red smear was visible on Erin’s cheek. She lifted a hand and wiped at it, without taking her eyes off Cindy. Then she lifted both hands up, like she wanted to make peace, and took a step toward Cindy. “Look, I—” She never got the chance to finish what she was going to say. Out of the shadows, through the night, a huge thing with hair and claws came roaring. It wrapped its arms around Erin and plunged into the brush with her. Erin’s scream broke off so suddenly that the silence was deafening. From Cindy’s hand, the rock dropped, and rolled away. Chapter Five It was several long moments later before Cindy could convince her body to run. Erin’s flashlight had fallen out of her hands when the creature had taken her. So had Jason’s mask. Cindy left the mask, but she took the flashlight. Now she felt like she had a fighting chance. She could see where she was

going. The trail was right up ahead, she thought, and she kept running until she found it. Now...which way? She flashed her light left, and then right— Not two dozen yards down that way, a thing with matted black fur and a thick neck and a face like a science experiment gone wrong stared at her. Its eyes glowed green. The heavy arms shook back and forth, claws scraping at the ground. Cindy screamed and ran. She could hear the thing coming after her, crashing through the forest. She did her best to run between trees that were too tightly spaced for the thing to follow her but somehow she doubted that it mattered. She imagined the creature cracking its way through trees as big around as Greek columns and still pursuing her. What she could hear behind her proved her right. The beast was still on her trail. Out of breath, panicking and too frightened to think straight, she finally ed her radio and Max. Where was he? “Max. Max! Help me. Oh, dear God, help me! It’s here. It’s after me and I don’t know what to do. Help me!” She took a sharp turn to the right, hoping to fool the creature. Did it work? No. A quick look over her shoulder and she saw the massive shadow of it running wildly at her. So she ran faster. When Max did answer her she nearly jumped out of her skin. “Cindy! I’m on my way. I’m coming!” Another right turn. Then a left. Then her feet were splashing in water and she knew she’d found the river and if she followed it then it would lead her to a road and maybe she’d have a chance of finding a car driving even at this late hour, in this part of the world that nobody came to unless they were stupid...or getting paid... Two steps later she could feel its hot breath on her neck and she didn’t dare turn around because all she had to defend herself with was a flashlight. She screamed, and her feet splashed in the shallow water, and the thing behind her

roared so loudly that her ears rang. “Cindy,” Max’s voice called to her. She fumbled for the microphone button but she was too scared and her fingers kept missing. “Cindy.” She gave up trying and ran. “Cindy. Stop running.” With a sharp intake of breath, she realized she could hear his voice in her ear through the radio, and from behind her as well. When she turned around, her feet crossed over themselves, and she fell on her ass hard enough to see stars. The creature stopped chasing her. It stood there, impossible and yet real, and then it reached up with both hands and yanked on its misshapen skull. Its head came off. Or rather, the mask did. Smiling down at her, Max blew her a kiss. “Sorry, Cindy. You’re just too slow.” It was a costume. Her mind finally understood what she was seeing. Max, in a costume, chasing them through the woods. He knew where they were because there was GPS on their radio and camera equipment. Whenever they had thought he was at camp, he could have been anywhere, because they heard his voice on the radio. He was killing them off, one by one, and recording every minute of it. “Why?” she finally managed to ask. Her back was up against a tree now, and she used it to stand up. “Why, for God’s sake?” “Because,” he said, in a voice that he might have used to say water is wet. “I can.” He raised up one arm, the claws of his suit glinting in the moonlight.

Then he stopped. He lowered his arm. Cindy stood there, frozen in fear, as he stripped himself out of the costume and let it fall to the ground. He came over to her, still wearing that smile, and put his hand to the side of her face. “I’ve wanted you since we started this project. I think I’ll take you now before I kill you.” Cindy heard herself whimpering as he slid her vest down over her shoulders and arms. His fingers were cold as he undid her belt and the button on her shorts. She stood there, unable to move, unable to think, ing back to when her boyfriend had done this same exact thing to her in the back of his car, and laughed about it, and told her it was going to be fine because there was nothing she could do to stop it. There was nothing she could do to stop it. His hand was inside her panties now, feeling across her sensitive spots. Nothing she could do. His teeth bit at her neck, and at her ear. Nothing. With his body, he pushed her up against the tree and rubbed himself against her. Nothing. Like Hell, there wasn’t. Cindy brought the flashlight up and smacked it against the side of Max’s head. The feeling of it sent a stinging vibration up through her arm and across her shoulder. He reeled, staring at her in shocked disbelief. Blood leaked across his face from the wound she had opened up near his temple. “There,” she told him through clenched teeth. “Did you get that on camera?” “You bitch,” he swore at her, rearing one hand back to slap her. She tensed, knowing the hit was coming and knowing she wouldn’t be in time to stop it.

She didn’t have to. The shadowy form that attacked Max left a burning impression in Cindy’s mind. It was huge, and it walked on two legs, and everything about it was wrong. The arms bent like they had three ts. The hair rippled on its own whether the wind blew or not. Oversized fists had seven fingers at least. And it pounded those fists into Max, over and over, until what was left of him was broken and twisted and bloody. Then the creature turned to look at Cindy. Its face was a nightmare of bone and stringy flesh overlaid with long, greasy hair. The eyes were what she would forever. White orbs that had black goo swimming in them. It jabbered at her in syllables and sounds and none of it made any sense. She closed her eyes tight and wished that it was only a dream. Just a dream. That’s all it was. Just a dream. When she opened them again, the thing was gone. Max still lay dead at her feet. Everyone else was dead, too. She was alive. Cindy didn’t move from that spot. Daylight came hours later as the sun rose high over the treetops and the long rise of Azure Mountain. The search and rescue teams found her there, still in that spot, still holding back a scream. Monsters were real.

COYOTE GIRL

CHAPTER ONE “Can you believe this shit?” Darren said holding up the newspaper to Marta's face. “I saw it,” she said. “Don't worry about it.” “Don't worry about it?” he followed her into the restaurant's backroom. The place smelled of rice and beans but the backroom reeked of Lysol. “People don't read those things,” Marta said, sitting down in front of his desk. “We get our regulars. That is enough to keep us in business.” “That's not the point,” he said. “Fuck, if I ever got a hold of whoever did this review.” “Let me see it,” she said, holding out her hand. “The Acapulco Restaurant is not what it used to be,” Darren read aloud, refusing to hand the paper over. “The rice and bean dish that I grew up loving so much tasted muddy. The cheese was like rubbery slime. The beef in the taco was undercooked but the stale shell had a really nice crunch. Can you believe this?” “Sounds like a hatchet job,” Marta said. “Yeah, no shit.” “From a competitor,” Marta stood up and grabbedDarren by his shoulders. “Look, there are tons of Mexican ts popping up all over town-” “Can we sue these fucking people?” “Freedom of speech.” Darren pushed Marta off of him.

“Yeah, well, they can take that and shove it up their ass as far as they can stick it.” Darren threw the newspaper down and sat his desk. He ran his hands through his hair and breathed deep. “That's it,” Marta said. “Relax. Our finances are fine. Business is fine. We're not going under anytime soon.” Darren looked over at his restaurant manager. She had been his father's mistress for many years. His Dad liked them young. Now that his Dad was gone, Darren inherited more than just the restaurant. He inherited Marta's services which she made clear at his father's funeral. “We're going to have a busy night tonight,” he said. “Let's get those people in order, okay? Do your job!” Darren followed Marta as they walked through the kitchen. He used to love the smell of the salsa, the beans and the fresh tortillas. Now he hated it. Hated it so much that he wanted to puke. They had five kitchen employees prepping different items; chopping lettuce, carrots and tomatoes. Another chopped up some pork. They were all overweight, wearing white uniforms with hairnets. His waitstaff of three wore green polo shirts and khaki pants. “Where's Efrain?” Darren asked. On cue, Efrain loped into the kitchen, carrying a pot of refried beans. “Marta,” Efrain said, nodding his head as the two greeted him. “Darren.” “Efrain, how are you?” “Fine, amigo. And you?” “Shitty.” The chef always had a smile for Darren every time he saw him. Deep down,

however, he knew the man saw him as someone who grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth. Darren's father had done all of the hard work, opening a series of Acapulco restaurants throughout the area. When his Dad died, Darren had to close all of them except one. Too much for someone with too little experience to handle. Darren looked around the kitchen and saw a new face he hadn't seen before. “Her name is Ivetta,” Efrain said, following his bosses' eyes. “Mi prima. My cousin.” “Okay,” Darren said, noting that he had an open door policy with the illegal immigrants working in his establishment. Efrain could bring them in and they could work as long as they kept clean of the authorities. Ivetta, with her hair tied up in a bun, looked over nervously at Darren as she sliced away at a stalk of carrots. Then she cut the tip of her finger off. “Ayyyy!!!” “Ivetta! Ivetta!” Efrain screamed as he ran over to her. The tip of her thumb rolled off the table and onto the floor. Blood spurted onto the chopping block. “Shit!” Marta said. “We need to call an ambulance.” “Make sure none of the blood contaminates the food,” Darren said. “And no ambulance.” “What?” Marta asked. “Just take her to the hospital,” Darren said. “You drive.” Ivetta began crying in pain. Marta grabbed her by the shoulders and led her out of the kitchen. The other workers stopped what they were doing and moved to help.

“Shit happens!” Darren bellowed out. “Now get back to fucking work!” “I must go with her,” Efrain said, his green eyes staring daggers at his boss. “Marta can speak Spanish,” Darren said. “Its Friday. Its going to be our busiest night.” “Shut down the restaurant,” Efrain said. “I have to go with her.” “Are you fucking nuts?” Darren asked. “Shut down the restaurant? You think our customers are going to come back? They're going to go someplace else and we'll be out of business.” “She's my cousin!” Efrain said, running toward the exit behind the bleeding Ivetta. “I must go with her!” “Here!” Darren said, grabbing the finger tip off the floor and tossing it at Efrain. “Sew it back on and get her ass back here.” The other workers stood staring at Darren, their mouths open in shock. “What are you idiots staring at?” he shouted. “We're opening in an hour! Let's go! Dammit! Let's go!” CHAPTER TWO Darren locked himself in the backroom. He hated the sound of the salsa music which blared from the speakers above. He had listened to it all of his life and the songs all sounded indistinguishable to him. Just like his days. He inherited the restaurant from his father but his heart was never in it. He just needed the money and knew no other way. Dad had taught him the ins and outs of the business so by the time the pancreatic cancer hit, Darren could take over. But he was not the man his father was. His father would go from table to table, charming the guests with his witty

banter. Darren didn't inherit his father's charm. Only his money. In his early 40s now, he carried a slight paunch around his waist and a shiny bald head. He hadn't shaved in three days and he saw gray whiskers coming out in his beard. His Dad, rugged, clean-cut, manly. Darren was always overcompensating to be something that he couldn't. He took another swig of his Jack Daniels, worried that the buzz in his head would go away. He heard a knock on the door. “Fuck is it?” “Senor?” “What?” “We need to talk to you.” He didn't recognize the voice and realized that he knew nothing about the Mexicans that worked for him. With the exception of Efrain, he could barely their names, grateful for the badges on their chest. “Go the fuck away!” Darren shouted. “No,” the voice with the Mexican accent calmly said. The door blasted open. Outside five Mexican men stood with meat cleavers. “We don't like the way you treat us,” the leader hissed as they rushed into the room. And Darren woke up with a shudder, paper clips sticking to his face. “Holy shit!”

“Nightmare?” a man at the door said. The badge on the man's white uniform said 'Arturo'. He would be filling in for Efrain while he was away attending to his cousin. “Yeah,” Darren said, wiping bleary eyes. “We're going to close now, si?” the man asked. “Si,” Darren said looking at his watch. How long had he been asleep? “Yes, I'll lock up. Do me a favor will you?” “Si, senor.” “Turn off that fucking salsa music already.” The man turned around without saying a word and seconds later the restaurant was silent. Darren raised slowly from his desk and entered the main part of the restaurant. He looked across at the shiny wooden tables, the neon red, green and white sign outside the window that read 'Acapulco.' He ed visiting his Dad at the restaurant, his father always happy to see him. Now everyone feared him. What went wrong? Darren nibbled away at his food. The house dark, his girlfriend/restaurant manager sitting across from him doing what she always did. Click away at her Smartphone and eat at the same time. They had an arrangement out of convenience rather than love which he felt okay with. He never had the charms to attract real love and like his father, ended up paying for it. His father paid for it because he was old but Darren had to because he was charmless. “Do you ever feel guilty?” Darren asked. Marta looked up from her Smartphone then shoved a forkful of salad in her mouth. “Guilty? Of what?”

“I mean we're friggin' waited on night and day,” he said as his Mexican maid Tina came into the dining room. She filled his glass with water without saying a word then stepped back out. Marta shrugged her shoulders. “My father worked in the fields. Day laborer. Mom worked as a maid. Like Tina. Which would you rather be?” “Neither.” “I mean on what side of the fence would you rather be on?” Marta said, taking a sip from a cocktail that Tina had prepared. “Would you rather be the one being waited on or the one doing the serving?” “Why does it have to be one or the other?” “I don't ask myself those questions,” she said. “The world is what it is.” “Tina is getting too old,” Darren said, looking back at the kitchen at the gray haired woman putting dishes into the sink. “Plus we need more help in the restaurant.” “We're going to need a new hostess.” “Why?” “Amy quit.” “What?” “She heard what happened. Walked out and quit.” “Fuck. Now what are we going to do?” “I can fill in for awhile,” Marta said. “It's okay,” he said. “I'll handle it. I'll do what my father always did.” Darren got up and stretched, looking out at the moon shining through the window. “I don't feel guilty,” Marta said. “And neither should you. There are things that

can't be corrected. Some people were born into a certain, shall we say, luxury. They inherited certain privileges. The world is what it is and no use in fighting it. People who weren't born with those benefits have the freedom to earn it like anyone else.” “I just feel like I didn't earn some things,” Darren said. “That everything was just a matter of chance.” “Like I said,” Marta rolled her eyes. “I don't think about those things.” “I do,” he said, getting angry that his significant other wasn't on his same frequency. She was twenty years his father's junior but five years his senior. The sex with her had become boring and he felt resentment at inheriting both his father's business and his woman. Couldn't he get anything on his own? “You focus on the wrong details,” Marta said. “Your father wouldn't run the business the way you do.” “What's that supposed to mean?” “It means, maybe you should let me handle things for awhile?” “Bullshit,” Darren said. “I know how to hire and fire people. You were my father's help just like everyone else. The years have hardened and coarsened your looks. And your looks was the only reason why my father held on to you. You haven't got anything else.” Marta stood up abruptly. Her face a mask of anger then calm. “Poor Darren,” she said. “Always comparing himself to his Daddy. I think you've had a bit much to drink. So I'm going to ignore what you said. Because you both were and always will be, dependent on me.” “No,” Darren said. “Business is like chess,” Marta said. “Your father taught me how to play chess many nights. He never taught you. So you're at a disadvantage. Because in chess, you see an attack shaping up. Just like in business. If you make all the expected moves, you're going to be slowly and inevitably defeated. So you don't make the expected moves. You make a wild move. It's meaningless. But your competitors

don't know that it's meaningless. So they have to guard against the unknown. Sometimes it can put a strong attack off balance.” “What the hell does that have to do with anything?” “It means, watch your ass. Your father taught me things he didn't teach you. But he loved you and wanted me to take care of you.” “Don't need your help.” Marta smiled then walked away from the table. CHAPTER THREE Darren headed out that morning for East 14th in Oakland. He ed accompanying his Dad on these trips to get hired help. “You gotta find someone willing to work,” he ed his Dad saying. “Mexicans are the hardest working people in the world.” He felt resentful when his father said that. His Dad never acknowledged his own work in school. He studied hard and was quite good at math. But his father never noticed. He assumed that Darren didn't have the heart to do what he did in life. So Darren stopped caring himself. He knew he would inherit the business eventually. He didn't push himself as hard as he could have in school. He imagined how things could have been different for him had he not been born into wealth. How is life would have turned out had he been forced to scrape out an existence. Like the men he ed on East 14th. Hardened faces, eager for any type of opportunity to earn money. Darren drove further up the strip, past the graffiti-filled walls with “Oakland is Proud” the centerpiece in bubble-like letters. He saw a group of men milling around, smoking cigarettes. One of them wore a cowboy hat, the others wore baseball caps and denim coats as they huddled around in the cold. Laughing and cursing in a language he didn't understand, he knew enough to know what puto meant.

Darren pulled up in his truck. Usually this was easy pickings. They would figure the Cadillac Escalade bespoke money and they were eager to hop in. He the Mexicans always surrounded his father's truck when he came in to get help. Only this time, they turned away. “Amigos!” he called out as the men ignored his request. “What? Does no one want to work today?” The Mexican men's attention turned toward a green pick up truck that pulled up behind Darren. The truck sounded as if it needed a new muffler decades ago and had a frame that looked as if it were held together by spit and tape. Still, the men ignored Darren and jumped into the back of the truck. “Come on!” he said. “Just one guy. One guy who wants to make some money! Just because I'm a gringo doesn't mean my money ain't green!” Darren got out of the SUV and looked around. A malnourished German Shepherd with his ribs showing nibbled at some left over scraps on the ground. “No one wants to work?” Darren said, walking over to the last of the remaining men. There were two of them, well past the age of sixty with wrinkles deep in their faces. They looked back behind themselves and he followed their eye-line to a large mural on the wall. It was a picture of a coyote or a wolf, he wasn't sure which. But the woman standing in front of the painting is what caught his eye. Easily the most exotic woman he had ever seen, she wore a white t-shirt and blue jeans. She eyeballed him for a beat then walked over to the enger side of his SUV and got in without saying a word. Darren stood in awe of her beauty as he watched her walk over to his car. He ran back over to the driver side but slowed down as he didn't want to appear to be

too eager. “Hola,” he said. “Hola.” “I'm Darren.” “Perlita.” “I work at a restaurant. You can get eight or ten hours. However, many you want. Pay you sixty bucks. You clean tables. Wash dishes. That's sort of thing.” Perlita said nothing but nodded her head. Darren started the car and drifted back into traffic. He ed the two elderly Mexican men and one of them crossed himself. Perlita said nothing on the way over to the restaurant, she just stared out of the window. Darren never engaged his workers in conversation. He assumed that they didn't speak English or were simply too far beneath him to be of interest. Strangely, he felt a need during the drive over to say something to her. Anything. But He knew so little Spanish and ended up saying nothing. He led her into the restaurant and all of the male kitchen workers could not take their eyes off her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Arturo cross himself and scurry back into the kitchen. Then he saw Marta playing hostess and handed off his new find to her. “Marta,” Darren said. “This is Perlita. If you could get her up to speed on busing the tables and we'll get the night rolling.” Darren sat in the back of the restaurant, pretending to do some ing but

the whole time he watched Perlita. She moved with the grace and assurance of a princess. She said something to one of the dishwashers as they walked by and he noticed her perfect set of teeth. She noticed him staring as she bussed a table that had left behind more than half of their plate. She put the plates onto her cart and bent over to wipe down the table. He gulped hard as he caught a glimpse of her cleavage, light brown skin against a white t-shirt and bra. She looked up at him again with no facial expression, turning around and bending over at the waist so he could get a look at her ass. Was she doing this on purpose? She turned back around and looked directly at him, forcing him to look away. He watched her out of the corner of his eye for the rest of the night. She finished her own tasks and then helped out the other workers with their own duties of washing dishes and chopping up lemons. Nearing the end of the shift, he waited until the majority of the workers left for home. “Perlita?” he said, handing her twenty dollars more than what he promised he'd pay. “Tomorrow, we're closed. But there is some work to do at my home. Some cleaning. My housekeeper is old and has fallen behind quite a bit. Just need some light cleaning, scrubbing down some windows. Vacuuming” “Si, senor.” “I pick you up at same place?” “Si.” The next morning, Darren found Perlita leaning against the same wall. The large graffiti painting of a coyote directly behind her, the dog crouched over with its fangs bared.

The same men from yesterday kept their distance from her as if she were a leper. Darren found that odd, wondering if he was just imagining her beauty. She was more than just beautiful, he thought, she was driving his brain crazy with lust. He reached over and opened the door for her. Perlita got in without saying a word They drove in silence to his house. “You don't say much, do you?” he asked. “Only when I have something to say,” she said in a perfect English accent. “You speak English?” “Did I say something you didn't understand?” “No,” Darren said. “Its just that, I assumed you only spoke Spanish.” “Hmmm,” Perlita said as they reached his home and he parked his Escalade up in front. Perlita stepped out of the car and looked up at the house, a slight disdain could be seen in her face. Darren led her in and went straight to the venetian blinds in the center of the dining room. “Its kind of a dirty job,” he said. “I had a helluva time trying to unhook the blinds and then wash them down. Figured it would just be easier if I pay someone to wash it down one blade at a time. I figure one hundred bucks should do it. I'll toss in another twenty if you can do the windows too.” Perlita nodded her head and took off her sweater. She tied up her t-shirt half-way up her stomach, revealing a coyote tattoo on her lower back. “I think you have all that you need,” Darren said, pointing to the bucket of soapy water and sponge on the floor. His visitor nodded her head again, dipping the sponge into the sudsy water as

she began cleaning the blinds and windows. CHAPTER FOUR Tina stepped into the house with a bag of groceries. “Tina,” Darren called out. “This is Perlita. She'll be doing some work around the house today as well.” Tina stepped forward and shook Perlita's hand. Perlita smiled politely then turned around, revealing the coyote tattoo on her lower back. Seeing the artwork, Tina dropped the groceries to the floor. A bottle of cranberry juice broke inside the bag. “Tina!” Darren said. “What the shit?” “I'm sorry, senor, so sorry!” Tina dropped to her knees and began picking up the items. Perlita ignored the woman and the mess, concentrating on her job. Darren knelt down and helped pick up the groceries off the ground. “Senor, please,” Tina said, motioning Darren to follow her back to the kitchen. “Tina?” Darren asked. “You look white as a sheet. Did you eat a bad burrito for lunch?” “That woman,” she said. “That woman must not be in your home.” “Why not?” Darren felt the need to explain something that he otherwise wouldn't even bother. He really didn't need Perlita around but just needed an excuse to have her in his home. “If you're worried about her taking your job, don't. Okay? I just need something a little extra done.” “Senor, you don't understand!” Marta grabbed Darren by the arm as he tried to walk away. He turned around surprised at the first time she showed assertiveness.

“She has the mark,” she said. “She's a witch. I know you don't believe in such things but she is a priestess. A priestess of evil. Black magic and Santeria. That tattoo on her back.” Darren looked past the door and watched as Perlita outstretched to get at the blinds at the top of the window. Her coyote tattoo spreading across her dark flesh. “Doesn't seem so bad,” he muttered. “Or she could be possessed by a spirit. She is evil, trust me. She's not what you think. She will make you do things you don't want to do. Get in your head.” “God, I hope so,” Darren said as he took out a bottle of Dos Equis beer from the grocery bag. “You don't understand,” she continued. “What is her name?” “Perlita.” “She goes by many names,” Tina nodded her head as if she expected that would be her name. “Perlita. The Coyote Girl. She was once a beautiful woman in the Durango valley. A woman who had many suitors, gringos included. One night a gringo, a powerful rich gringo, raped and killed her. Left her body for the coyotes to feast on. So every now and then she comes back. Comes back to punish evil men. She infects this in her worshipers. Like that women you have in your house now. You must get her out of this house. Out of your life.” Darren sighed hard then looked back at the luscious woman sponging water out of the bucket. “Devil woman, eh?” “It is no joke, Darren,” Tina said, turning his head toward her. “I know you think it is crazy. I know. But just this once. You listen to Tina. Okay? You do as I say.” “Okay,” he said. “I'll be sure and tell her that my housekeeper thinks she is an evil spirit.” “Ay, Dios mio,” Tina said, crossing herself before walking to the front door. “I must go. You call me when she leaves.”

Darren sat at his desk, bringing the fourth bottle of beer to his lips. He watched Perlita work through the crack in his door, iring the lithe muscles in her arms and legs as she stepped on the stool to wash down his windows. She stepped off the stool and turned toward him. She ran her hands through her hair, stretching out, her body sore. He watched as she bent backwards at her waist, her small and tight stomach that led to C-cup breasts. He imagined kissing her soft tanned throat, emitting moans as he gently bit on her ear lobe. He had to have her. He had to think of a way for the seduction to take place. He could ask her out but that seemed beneath him. They had nothing to talk about. She was not exactly sullen, just her body language left him wondering. He had no idea what she was thinking or how she would react if he asked her out. She would shake her head 'no', Darren thought. Wouldn't even give him the time of day. But he didn't want a date. He just wanted to experience her body. He could simply force himself on her. Not rape. Just start kissing her and hope she would obey his command like they always did. He had done this to two other kitchen workers. A shy girl named Rocio and another named Felicia. He smiled and took another sip of his beer to congratulate himself for ing their names. The two young women were both non-English speakers and accepted his sexual advance as part of the job. He ed someone saying that Rocio was deported while Felicia moved down south. Neither woman had the beauty of Perlita, however. He emptied the bottle of beer down his throat and arose on unsteady legs. Walking into the living room, he plopped himself on the sofa and pretended to watch TV. Then his eyes wandered back to Perlita. Her face angelic, long eyelashes that focused on her job at hand as if it were the most important thing in the world.

He had to ask. He had to act. He had to do those things before the buzz in his brain faded out and he lost his nerve. “Perlita,” Darren said, getting up off the sofa. “I have another job for you.” “Okay,” she said, putting the sponge down. Her body language submissive as if she knew what Darren had in mind. “Follow me,” he said, leading her into his bedroom. “I know you're pretty handy so I'm wondering if you could take a look at my window. It keeps jamming up.” He silently cursed Tina for leaving the bed unmade but no matter. He pointed at the rear window next to the lamp as he turned the lights down low. “Its been hot as hell lately,” he said. “I can't get that damn thing to open.” Perlita nodded than began fiddling with the lock on the window. She shifted the latch and pushed the window open. “You fixed it!” Darren said. “Thing has been jammed ever since we got this place.” Perlita turned around and looked at him. She walked toward the bedroom door but instead of walking out, she closed it. “What are you doing?” Darren asked. “What you want me to,” Perlita said. “I know why you brought me in here. Jesus, do you think all Mexicans are stupid?” Darren said nothing as he sat on the edge of the bed. Perlita then lifted up her shirt, revealing her white lace bra. Darren gulped hard, taking in the moment. He then took off his own shirt, fumbling at the buttons. With a practiced coolness, Perlita unzipped her jeans and stepped out of her pants. She wore matching underwear, the white lace contrasting against her natural tan.

Aroused, Darren began walking over to her. “Stay there,” she commanded. “I'll come to you.” Unhooking her bra, she pushed Darren back onto the bed. Her eyes glared deep into his as she unzipped his pants and mounted him. The look on her face startled Darren. She had gone from looking bored, from having that look of quiet indifference that all of his workers possessed to something else entirely. Her eyes looked as if they were on fire, her deep set brown eyes alive with ion and hunger. A hunger he had never seen before. Darren gasped for breath as his fantasy gyrated up and down on his shaft, bringing him close to a climax then pulling him back. He felt dizzy with lust, never experiencing such pure pleasure in his life. His vision began to get foggy, his lenses having a hard time adjusting to the growing darkness in the room. Looking up at the ceiling, he saw a play of shadows. A dog dancing in the shadow play. A coyote? CHAPTER FIVE Darren awakened and saw the window wide open in the bedroom, giving him a chill. He sprang up, head spinning from the booze, and closed it. Turning on the lamp, he found his entire room ransacked. His bedside drawer tilted on its side, his laptop broken in half. What the shit? Going into the living room, he saw everything turned upside down, furniture, chairs and sofas. Books were thrown to the floor, his dining table and desk overturned.

Papers and paintings torn and ripped to shreds. He punched the wall, hurting his hand. “Should have known,” he muttered. “Should have fucking known. They're all alike. All fucking the same! Bunch of thieves!” He ran over to his desk and opened the drawer, finding his wallet and car keys still there. But what did she steal? The entire home looked like a tornado had blown threw, as if someone went crazy and began throwing everything around. On the floor, he saw a picture of Efrain's cousin. The woman that he had sent out of the restaurant bleeding. Of course, he thought. This was some kind of payback and he was set up. He would call the cops. Call the cops and show them the picture as evidence. Dumb ass people. Outside the home, he heard howling. Coyotes in the night baying at the moon. Puzzled, he walked over to the front window and opened the drapes. He saw Perlita standing across the street. She smirked then turned her back, walking away. “You bitch!” he yelled. “Puta!” He ran down the hall, put on his shoes, and sprinted toward the door. He would beat her ass. Beat her ass until she begged him for mercy. But when he returned he saw that someone had marked up his front door. Impossible that he could have not seen it before. There was an elaborate portrait of a coyote, its head bowed and fangs bared as if it were about to eat a rabbit. Then he heard the growling behind him.

He turned back and followed the noise as it grew louder and louder as he got to his bedroom. Peering inside his room, he saw a large lump moving underneath his sheets. What did she leave behind? Gathering his courage,he reached down and pulled the sheet off. On his bed, stood a two-headed coyote. A beast that frothed and foamed at the mouth. “Holy shit.” The monster jumped off the bed as Darren fell backward. He rolled toward the door as the barking of the beast echoed throughout the home. Reaching the door, he slammed it behind himself, listening to the coyote bark and scratch on the wood with its paws. “Idiota,” he heard a woman's voice behind him. Tina? Looking across the dark hall, he saw his housekeeper come at him with a broom. “Tina,” he said. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” She stabbed at his face with the broom handle, nearly smashing Darren's teeth in. He could taste his own blood immediately. He sprawled backward as the maid came at him again. “Idiota!” He felt the broom handle pierce into his ribs, the maid jabbing it into him. Darren grabbed the broom out of the old woman's hands and pushed her to the ground. “The hell is wrong with you, Tina?” he screamed as she grabbed onto his leg.

Kicking her off, he continued running toward the front door. The barking two-headed coyote echoed throughout the house. His housekeeper screamed at him like a banshee. “Idiota!” Nearing the front door, he stopped as Marta stepped through. “Marta,” he said. “Thank God!” She looked at him like a woman possessed. She had a far away and unfocused look in her eyes. “What's wrong with you?” Marta screamed in the same manner Tina did. High-pitched and animal-like, she pushed him backward. “Idiota!” “Marta,” Darren pleaded. “What the hell?” Her eyes blazed with fury, not hearing a word he was saying. A low, guttural growl emerging from her throat. He punched Marta hard, her eyes rolling back into her head. Then she laughed as she sprang forward and dug her fingernails into his chest. Darren fell to the ground as his lover scratched and clawed away. Using his last ounce of strength, he pushed Marta off him and sprinted toward the front door. He pulled and twisted at the door. His hands slipped off the knob, covered in blood. Darren looked up at the painting of the coyote and he could see that it was painted in blood.

Why was this happening? He heard growling and looked back. Marta and Tina moved in on him. The twohead coyote in between them. Lips uncurled, snarling. Marta grabbed him by the hair and Tina took him by the shoulder as the dragged him to the ground. He hit his head hard. He looked back up and saw several people standing above him. Marta. Tina. Rocio. Felicia. The woman who cut her finger. Another young Mexican boy that he verbally abused for years. Another Mexican woman that he molested. Her name was Gloria or Gilda or something with a G. He couldn't . He just ed their faces and what he did to them. Then everything went black. CHAPTER SIX “I didn't do it!” Darren screamed as the police officer snapped a pair of handcuffs on him,. He looked back at Marta who stood consoling Tina. “Not right for a man to hit a woman,” the officer said, a Mexican man that Darren could have sworn used to be his busboy years ago. The one that he used to tease and humiliate when his father first put him in charge at one of his restaurants. “I didn't hit them,” he said. “They attacked me. Self defense.” “Yeah, sure,” the officer said. “That little old woman attacked you with a broomstick?” “Yeah.” “Okay, fine. Where's the damn broomstick? Where's the two-headed coyote?” Darren looked around at his home. Everything was back in place. The living room neat and tidy as ever.

Darren looked over at his maid. Tina walked over at spat in his face. “Your father would be ashamed of you,” she hissed. “Ashamed of the man you've become.” “Alright, that's enough,” the officer said, pulling Darren along by his handcuffs. He walked him outside and placed him into the squad car. Darren looked up at his home, his front window now broken. “How the hell did that happen?” he asked as the officer got into his vehicle. “You tell me,” he said. “You don't attacking the maid? The girlfriend? They say you went nuts, ran around the house ranting and raving like a maniac.” “It didn't happen like that,” Darren said. “It wasn't me. It was this woman. Perlita. She slipped me a Micky or something. Ask the maid. The maid saw her.” “She said she didn't see anything but a man talking to himself,” the officer said. “After downing two bottles of Tequila.” “No,” Darren said. “The maid warned me about her. Said there was this woman. A Mexican legend or myth or something. This woman comes back to haunt men who abuse women. Some kind of, I don't know, ask her. Ask her about the witch I brought home.” “I did,” the officer said. “She said you were talking to yourself. Been drinking an awful lot since your old man died. Mistreating people. Well, you finally went too far.” The officer put the car in gear and began to drive. Darren was officially charged with attempted murder, photographed and fingerprinted. He was led through the jail, still in his sweats, barefoot. He had no pocket items to be surrendered. They gave him a pair of orange coveralls that were too large for him. He told them his age, name, address, height, weight, date and place of birth. He told them, when questioned,that he had no prior arrests or convictions.

They walked him through a long hall with a cold tile floor. Mexican prisoners in the jail cells hooted and hollered as he strolled by. The guards pushed him into a jail cell. Small and filthy, a cockroach scurried across the floor. The bed bolted to the floor, a sink and toilet look rusted, its white color now marinated in shit and urine. A wave of fatigue hit Darren as he laid out on the bed. On the ceiling, he saw that someone with a marking pen had made an elaborate drawing of a coyote. And a woman. A woman he recognized as Perlita.

DEADWOLF

HEATHER BABB

PROLOGUE Paul fell face first into the mud. Smelling horse shit, he gagged, got up and continued to run. Out of bullets, he raced back toward where he last heard the whinnying of his horse. He had to get to the satchel of ammunition that he had stitched on the saddle of Old Nelson. But now Paul could hear the breath of the wolf coming closer. He reached the marsh and waded through, the cold water transiting shivers to his spine. He mumbled a prayer, just hoping that he was headed in the right direction. His legs felt like rubber, partially from fatigue and the rest from fear. His feet sank deeper and deeper into the mud, giving him a brief flashback of when his father had been swallowed up by quicksand. His Dad died too young. Paul had no one to teach him about the nastiness of the town of Deadwolf. No one to teach him about werewolves.

Paul reached the water's edge and scaled up the incline of the hill. He looked behind himself, afraid of what he might see, but saw nothing but black forest. He continued running, the hanging moss on the trees surrounding him like a wet blanket. He heard the wolf's howl echo through the night. He shuddered, trying to run faster. His arms and legs slapped through the brush and brumbles of the forest without thought. Looking ahead, he saw Old Nelson laying on the ground. Writhing in the dirt in pain, hooves in the air. He increased his stride and came upon the old horse. “Nellie,” he whispered. The horse whinnied, recognizing his owner. Paul saw that Old Nelson's flank muscle had been ripped open. He crouched down, pressing his hand down on the horse's shoulder as he removed the satchel from the saddle. Paul stood back up and the horse whinnied in pain. “Nellie,” he whispered again. “Easy.” Old Nelson rolled over again then again, trying desperately to stand back up on all fours. Paul looked around, his body tense in anticipation of another attack. Sifting through the satchel, he found one bullet and loaded it into his pistol, his cold hands shaking. Taking a deep breath, he pointed the gun at his prized stallion's head. Then he felt the claws pierce deep across his back. Paul pitched forward in pain, his gun going off. Old Nelson whinnied again, trying to roll over to no avail.

The werewolf sliced down on the horse's throat, silencing the stallion. Paul rolled over, grabbed the gun off the dirt and aimed at his attacker. His eyes locked instantly with that of the beast. The wolf's yellow eyes focused on Paul, on fire with a raging hatred that made his heart pound out of his chest. Paul fired his empty gun. He fired and fired as the werewolf descended on him, slicing away. The Sheriff wailed in pain, a lonely scream lost in the forest. He died as the werewolf stood above him, covering the light of the full moon.

CHAPTER ONE Rose didn't sing along with the hymn. Instead, she ran her hands through her long, dark hair, a nervous habit that she picked up from her mother long ago. The townspeople didn't stand too close to her, keeping their distance if she had leprosy. She looked over at one of the church people, a man named Scotty Tillman who gave her an icy stare as if expecting her to sing along with everyone else. Or maybe he just didn't like the fact that a prostitute was attending the funeral of a revered sheriff like Paul Franklin. Then his wife looked over at her and rolled her eyes. Who are they to judge me? She took pride in what she did. Not the actual sex acts. Anyone could do that. Rose took pride in making all of her clients feel like the luckiest man alive. She made sure that every minute they spent with her seemed better than the one before it. The townsfolk thought the knew her but they didn't. They thought of Paul as a good man but that could not be further from the truth. She knew him like they didn't. She knew all about Paul Franklin, the Sheriff who would come into the brothel and have his way with every woman there. Madam Victoria let him get away with the rough stuff for far too long. He particularly liked Rose because she could last the longest. Rose would not flinch to whatever indignity the man could think of. Rose closed her eyes and ed how Paul's hands slid over her breasts like swamp slime. She ed how gross his face was, pockmarked with moisture on his upper lip that betrayed his nervousness. Paul had the worst breath of any man who had ever stepped into the brothel. He always smelled of beer, leather and horse shit. His clammy hands would devour her flesh and she would cringe until he finished. He had money and the power of the law on his side. She had nothing but powerlessness. Rose listened to the old pastor Michaels sermonize on what a great man Paul had been. Then he spoke of the truth of the gospel. She had to suppress a laugh. She knew the truth about the man in the wooden box.

Mayor Micah Davis estimated that about half the town showed up at the funeral. Three hundred people sang “My Grace Is Sufficient” as four workmen lowered the wooden casket into the ground. The light of day started to fade on cue as they started shoveling dirt over the grave. Mayor Davis liked Paul, they grew up together. Paul had been the more wild of the two but ironically became the sheriff of the town. Micah, the better speaker, became the mayor. He looked the part and could have been the town preacher or the mayor. His mother wanted him to go out into the world and save the sin-shriveled souls beyond the town of Deadwolf. Politics were more to his liking, however. He stood over six-foot five with carrot-colored hair, hazel-steel eyes and a lanternsized jaw. Mayor Davis looked over at Martha Grace Franklin, Paul's wife. He felt a skip in his heart and a stirring in his groin. She had been his fantasy since their school days. He watched as she wept with one hand hiding her eyes, the prettiest face he had ever seen now distorted in grief. He salivated at the thought of hugging and pressing her body against his to show his comion for her loss. Micah glanced over at her numerous times during the eulogy, making sure concern knotted his brow if she looked in his direction. He daydreamed about divorcing his wife and then running away with the widow. They could travel further west where his brother owned numerous brothels. He wrote him a few weeks ago asking for his help in the business but Davis still had his mayoral responsibilities. Now with the rash of killings, running away for a new life as a manager at a brothel seemed enticing. Pastor Michaels finished with his sermon and nodded his head at the mayor. Micah stepped to the center of the gathering and cleared his throat. “Paul Franklin,” Mayor Micah Davis said, “was about as fine a man as a man could be. He looked after this whole town. We placed our safety and security in his capable hands. He protected and served us with great valor.”

Davis paused and waited for Paul's widow to lock eyes with him. “Mary Grace, I know your heart is crushed by the tragedy that has befallen your beloved. Know that you are not bearing your burden alone. Whatever we can do to help relieve some of the anguish and fear-” “What about our fear?” a man from the rear shouted. Davis recognized him as Wyatt Monroe, agitator extraordinaire. Davis shot the troublemaker a dirty look and Monroe only grinned back, the fading sun glinting off silver caps that covered his two front teeth. “With respect, Mister Mayor,” Martha Grace interrupted, her voice cutting through the gloomy gathering like a knife. “I don't need anyone's help, really. I just want someone to find the evil abomination that killed my husband. Find the beast and kill it!” “Yeah!” Monroe yelled out, his sentiments then echoed by twenty more townspeople. “I assure you that we are doing everything in our power to bring the attacker to justice!” “Lies!” Martha Grace hissed, her eyes filled with poison. “It is a werewolf. Why can't you it it! Why are we so afraid to talk about it!” “And who is going to protect us now?” Monroe cried out. “You?” Davis waved his hands in the air, quieting the crowd down to a murmur. “We are looking for a new Sheriff as we speak,” Davis said. “In the meantime, we have two of the finest hunters in the world who have come to claim the reward we have placed on the head of the werewolf.” “Finally you it it,” Martha Grace said. “But is too late for my husband.” “More lies!” Monroe shouted. “Where are these so called hunters!” Davis nodded at two men in front of the crowd who made their way forward. The townspeople murmured in awe as the burly Indian wearing a thick suede

coat stepped to the side of Davis. He stood an inch taller than the mayor and weighed a solid two-hundred twenty pounds. “This is Jonathan White Fang,” Davis said, gesturing at the man. “He comes to us from California. He has killed numerous werewolves in his time and sees this job as being no different from any other. He specializes in giving these creatures of darkness a taste of their own medicine. When it comes to man versus beast, man always wins when that man is Jonathan White Fang.” White Fang nodded his head at the crowd. His eyes immediately silenced everyone. They were dark, deep and void of emotion. A snake's eyes. Davis cast a look of gratitude to the muscular Indian then turned his attention to the other man who stepped to his right hand side. Short, with a cowboy hat, bow-tie and a handlebar mustache that gave him a studious look, he looked nervously at the crowd. “Who the hell is this?” Monroe scoffed. The shy man in the cowboy hat, adjusted thick glasses on his nose and looked down at his shoes. “Over here we have Professor Gideon Earp,” Davis said. “Don't let his scholarly appearance fool you. His entire Texas home is a covered wall to wall with the heads of dead beasts. Werewolves that he had studied, tracked and killed himself.” Earp looked up, took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “I have come to rid this great town of a dangerous menace,” Earp said. “There will be more coming like us. Some will claim to use magic. Some will claim to use the latest in guns. But they know nothing of the curse that your town has been stricken with. I know. I have seen it before. And I will rid you of this evil once and for all.” Davis applauded Earp. “These men are just two of the world's foremost hunters that have come to collect the reward. I have placed ads in numerous papers around the country. But the reward is open to all.” “All?” Rose asked.

“Anyone who brings forward proof that they have killed the werewolf will receive the $10,000 reward.” A buzz drew over the crowd. “If any of you kill it,” the mayor said. “That money is yours.” Rose noticed the Indian man eyeballing her from afar. Her years working in a brothel gave her a sixth sense. She could tell when a man had a thing for her. She could also tell when that thing could lead to something bad. She knew that the cold, beady eyes of the Indian were an indicator of future trouble. “Now everyone,” the mayor said. “Please us for a reception at the Old North Church.” Rose quickly mingled into the dissipating crowd, camouflaging herself to get away from the eyes of the Indian.

CHAPTER TWO “I could smell you a mile away,” the man said catching up to Rose as she left the funeral proceedings. “Excuse me?” Rose turned around, expecting to see the steely eyed Indian. Instead, a tall and handsome stranger stood before her with slate blue eyes that didn't blink. “I'm Colt,” he said, taking off his black cowboy hat. He wore a matching black coat with a white shirt underneath that contrasted starkly with his olive skin. Jet black hair slicked back with some stubble on his chin, Rose immediately wondered what it would feel like to have Colt kiss her neck. “Rose,” she extended her arm for a handshake and he kiss it. “Oh my, a gentleman.” “Your perfume,” Colt said. “I'm sorry to be so bold but I have never smelled anything so intoxicating in all my days.” She trembled at the sound of his voice. So much power there. Muscular and tall, his strength seemed more than physical. “Thank you,” she said. “You're a hunter here for the bounty? I've never seen you in town before.” “I'm here as a possible replacement for Pastor Michaels,” Colt said. “He's retiring and looking for a suitable new pastor.” “I see,” Rose said, her voice betraying her disappointment. “Something wrong?” “No. Just curious as to what brought you to the one horse town of Deadwolf.” “Deadwolf,” Colt shook his head, looking back at the sheriff’s grave site. “You know when I was a kid I used to think werewolves were just a myth.” “You've seen one before?”

“My father was a wolf hunter,” Colt said. “I come from a legacy of werewolf killers. I didn't want to follow in his footsteps. So I decided to follow Jesus instead.” “I see.” “The reward is a tempting though, I must say.” “You handy with a gun?” “I was in the war. Been trying to make ends meet now. Decided to follow God's path and he's led me here. Times have been tough though.” “Well, if it is in God's will to have you kill a werewolf then the townsfolk of Deadwolf will be sure to reward you.” “I am not above money but I have different ambitions now,” Colt said. “I was emotionally numb after the war. All that senseless violence. Seeing those towns laid to waste. Bodies littered on ravaged fields. Sorry, I guess that is too much detail.” “No,” Rose said. “It's all right, really. Sounds like you have some things to get off your chest.” “You work here in town?” “I'm at Madam Victoria's brothel.” “I see.” “Don't judge me,” Rose said, walking away. “Not judging,” Colt said, quickly following. “At least not in the way you think.” Rose gave the man a tight lipped smile and turned the corner. “Have a nice night, Colt.” “Wait,” Colt called out. Rose stopped and turned around, letting loose with a long sigh.

Colt looked to his right and left to make sure no one was looking or listening. “I think you're extraordinarily beautiful.” “Thank you.” “I was wondering if, maybe-” “I thought you said you were here to be a pastor?” “Does that mean I don't like girls?” “I'm not a girl,” she corrected. “Not a girl you should be courting, to be specific. They call me a soiled dove. A painted lady.” “I see only a beautiful woman,” Colt said. “A woman that I would like to become better acquainted with. There is no sin in that.” “Maybe. But I am the woman your mother warned you about,” Rose said. “And your Bible.” “What I've learned,” Colt said, rubbing his forefinger across Rose's bare forearm. “Is that even a man who is pure in heart, says his prayers by night, may become a wolf when the wolfs bane blooms and the moon shines bright.” “A wolf?” “I'm being facetious,” Colt said. “You know with all the werewolf talk.” “Hmmm.” He looked behind himself again then placed his lips to her ear. “I want to make love to you by moonlight.” “I'm expensive.” “I don't care,” Colt said. “There is a large window in the bedroom where I am staying. I want to see your body bathed under the silver radiance of the moon.” He caressed her cheek and Rose's body started to tremble. Every nerve, every sinew, every cell of her body tingled and glowed.

No man had ever made her feel this way before. “Sometimes you meet someone,” Colt whispered. “And you just have to have them. To become part of them. You want to be part of the night on their skin and the moon in their hair.” “I love the moon.” “Me too,” he said, looking up at the darkening sky. “The moon, it melts away all of our doubts and inhibitions. Takes away those bad thoughts and memories.” “Where are you staying?” Rose asked. “The Fango Inn,” Colt said. “Can you come see me?” “What time?” “Midnight,” Colt said. “Room 259.” Rose watched the man step away, putting his cowboy hat back on as he turned the corner. As he disappeared around the bend she locked eyes with Jonathan White Fang. The Indian had followed them. Rose had men stalk her before. She kept alive through her wits, charm and the use of a well-placed knee to the groin. But this man looked determined. He stood on the corner with a curl to his upper lip. His legs were spread wide like a gunfighter about to do twenty paces. Rose began to notice other sights and sounds around her as if her body was going on high alert. She heard the agitated clucking of the chickens in the farm a half mile away, the distant sound of a child crying as his mother spanked him, and the tinny sound of the cheap piano playing in her brothel a block down. Rose turned around and quickened her pace. She walked a half-block and could hear the Indian's heavy footfalls on the wooden walkway. Rose decided to start running. She would lead him behind the brothel, she

thought. He would follow her there and she could shoot him down. She could say he attacked her, self-defense and all that. She turned around and looked back at the man. He dipped and dodged around the handful of people on the street, his eyes remaining glued on her. A pervert drooling for her flesh and soul. Clutching her Derringer revolver in her purse, she sprinted past the bordello, hearing the reverie going on inside. The Indian kept running until two prostitutes blocked his path. “Well, hello there Mister Indian Man,” Chastity said. Rose breathed a sigh of relief. She ed that when business was slow Madam Victoria would make the girls drag the men inside. White Fang tried to shove the women aside but Chastity grabbed his arm. A big woman of two-hundred and fifty pounds, she performed feats of strength with a traveling circus until she found a home at the brothel. The Indian man couldn't break her grip. Rose didn't stick around to watch White Fang's struggle. She sprinted across the street and took a shortcut through a corral before doubling back to the main strip. She touched the gun inside her purse again, as if for reassurance. White Fang would come for her again, she could feel it.

CHAPTER THREE Rose heard the din of voices coming from the church as she crossed the street. Smelling the aroma of hot food coming from behind the church walls, she began to salivate. She entered the reception area at the Old North Church expecting to receive stares from the townsfolk. People didn't notice her entrance, however. They milled about, laughing gaily and exchanging jokes. Not what Rose expected for the post-funeral experience of Paul Franklin. Behind the table, serving drinks and food, she saw her friend, Polly. Polly had worked at the brothel briefly and Rose had trained her in the ways of the 'ladies of evening.' Polly, however, didn't like the line of work and reformed her life. She ed the Old North Church and became a secretary for Mayor Davis. The two, however, remained friends. Polly looked up and spotted Rose across the hall. “Long time no see,” Polly came over and gave Rose a tight hug. “Looks like you're doing well,” Rose said. “Heard you're working for the mayor.” “It keeps me busy,” Polly said. “Helps with the rent.” “Money is still a problem?” “Isn't it always?” “Can I talk to you?” Rose whispered. “I mean in private.” Polly nodded her head slowly, curiosity piqued by the serious tone of her friend. Rose led Polly out the back door of the church and they entered a dimly lit garden. “How many hunters are there?” Rose asked.

“I think there are just two of them so far,” Polly said. “More coming though. Why?” “I have an idea,” Rose nodded, thinking. “Are you still sending out those reward posters?” “Sent a telegram to the newspaper in Phoenix,” she said. “I'm supposed to send more out to Durango and-” “Don't,” Rose said. “Don't what?” “Don't send out any more of the reward signs.” “I can't not send them out,” Polly said. “The mayor will kill me. He wants that werewolf caught and killed!” “I'll do it,” Rose said. “You'll do what?” “I need that reward,” Rose took Polly by the shoulders, looking her straight in the eye. “Since when are you a werewolf killer,” Polly laughed. “You're just a-” “Just a what?” “Nothing,” Polly said correcting herself. “He'll know if I don't-” “I'll give you ten percent of the reward.” “Ten percent?” Polly asked. “Come on. There is a real, live werewolf out there. A vicious beast with claws that will slice your head off. How are you going to-” “Twenty,” Rose interrupted, taking out a fifty dollar bill and slipping it down Polly's cleavage. “And don't worry. I have a plan.” Rose turned around, walking away before Polly could answer.

And found the mayor blocking the back door to the church. “Miss Rose Starr.” “Mister Mayor.” “No hug?” “They couldn't pay me to hug you.” “That's not what I heard.” “Fuck off,” Rose tried to side-step the man but the mayor grabbed her by the wrist. “Careful out there, Rose. Girl like you is a prime target for a wolf. Or other creatures of the night.” “I am the one to fear. Trust me.” “Bravado can get you killed,” the mayor's gripped tightened as Rose tried to pull away. “I saw Paul in the forest, lying in a pool of his own blood. His flesh was torn part, half his facing hanging by a flap of skin. Parts of his brain bulged out through a crack in his skull and his bottom lip had been torn free.” Rose narrowed her eyes at the mayor, trying to pull back but he does not let go. “His throat was sliced open like an orange, flies buzzing around his trachea. His back was twisted, his neck was broken. I just don't want to see the same thing happen to you.” Rose wrenched her wrist out of the mayor's grip then stormed back into the church. “Be careful, darlin',” the mayor chuckled. “There are things out there that want to bite into you and chew you apart.”

CHAPTER FOUR There were over one hundred people in the church, scattered around enjoying the pot luck. Everyone wore their Sunday best. Rose straightened her bustier and didn't feel out of place. Everyone knew what she did. No one had the guts to say something to her face. She reached the buffet table and scooped up a hearty serving of Son-of-a-bitch stew into a bowl. “I made that,” an old lady standing next to her said. “Looks great. Thank you.” “I hope they catch that wolf man,” the old lady said, pointing to the poster on the wall above the buffet line. Rose looked up at the crude rendering of the werewolf under the “REWARD” headline. She realized that someone scratched out the $10,000 reward offer and wrote $15,000 above it. “Jesus,” Rose said. “Fifteen grand.” “Whoever gets it deserves it, that's for sure,” the old lady said. “A bunch of businessmen at the chamber of commerce decided to ante up the prize.” “Amazing how death can make people so generous,” Pastor Michaels said, ing the two women at the buffet table. “Pastor Michaels,” Rose said. “I mean, the church has needed a new roof for so long,” he pointed up at a roof with flaked paint. “I can't get the congregation to donate nickel one.” “Sorry to hear that.” “Would you like to us?” the Pastor asked. “The wife and I hate eating alone.” Rose studied the pastor's face for a moment. He seemed friendly on the exterior

but something in his eyes seemed off. She saw the pain rooted directly into the lines of his face, chewing at him like a disease, turning him into an old man before his time. The pastor looked like the kind of man that kept every little secret bottled up. The type that would die with a pained expression on his face that no embalmer could fix. “Sure,” Rose said. “I'd love to sit with you folks.” Rose sipped at the Son-of-a-bitch stew, found the taste delicious, then began devouring it. “I know this unbecoming of a lady,” she said, looking up at her hosts. “But I'm hungry.” “It's my favorite, too,” the Pastor laughed. “Son-of-a-bitch stew!” “You know the secret to its flavor is the marrow gut,” Ethel said. “That only comes from a young calf. You're eating a delicacy.” Ethel looked to be a little older than her pastor husband. She had a double chin, wire-rimmed glasses and wore a loose floral dress with white lace on the trimming. “It is quite good,” Rose smiled politely, noticing that the pastor's wife gave her an odd tilting look, like a scientist appraising an insect.“Don't take offense, Mrs. Michaels, but is there a problem? You are looking at me as if I have two heads.” “I'm so sorry, dear,” Ethel said. “But you look so much like your mother.” “You her?” “Of course we do,” Pastor Michaels added. “Your mother was the most beautiful woman this town had ever seen,” Ethel said. “And you are her reflection” “Thank you.” “I just wish that things-” the pastor's wife stopped in mid-sentence.

“Don't,” Pastor Michaels said. “It's okay,” Rose said, expecting the judgmental words to come. “Believe me, I've heard it all and done it all.” “I wish we could have done more to your mom,” Ethel said, adjusting her thought. “We wanted to put up some kind of monument. Maybe set up some kind of donation program for you.” “It's okay,” Rose said. “My uncle and I did okay.” “I'm sorry for his loss as well,” Ethel said. “He died, what, last year?” Rose nodded. “Please know that we think of your family often,” Pastor Michaels said. “I visit your mother's grave on the anniversary of her death every year. She was close to us.” “Thanks,” Rose said, even though the memories of her mother faded with each year. Her mother had died when she was ten. The death had been hard on her but it took place over ten years ago, half her lifetime. She could her mom's face, though the exact details of eye and hair color were getting hazy. She did her mother's voice, cheerful and encouraging. She ed walking with her mother in the town square and going to the church ran by Pastor Michaels and his wife Ethel. Still though, the memories were fading fast. She could only recollect little snippets of conversations, nothing verbatim. More like recollections of recollections. “I that day as if it were yesterday,” Pastor Michaels said. “I just wish we could have done more for you. After what happened.” “It's okay,” Rose said. “I can take care of myself.” “Now it is like déjà vu,” the Pastor said. “We killed the wolf that killed your mom. And now one of them is back.” “I'm sure one of those men will find it,” Rose said.

“We had a helluva time back in the day,” Pastor Michaels shook his head then lifted up his forearm to reveal a long scar. “That happened when I was still a strapping young man. I wouldn't dream of taking on one of those beasts now.” “You were a wolf hunter?” “By necessity,” the Pastor said. “Back then, they didn't have rewards. We had to kill them to survive. There were a lot more of them. The werewolves, I mean.” “How? I mean the church doesn't believe in-” “Werewolves?” the Pastor asked. “No. They always classified them as demons. Werewolves aren't officially recognized by the church and that is just as well. The thing that killed your mother was no wolf. It was something out of Hell itself.” “Gideon!” Ethel cried out, waving over the professor as he left the buffet line with a full plate. “ us here please.” The professor hesitated then came over and sat down at the table. “Gideon,” Ethel said. “This is Rose.” “Ma'am,” the professor nodded his head. “Any leads on the werewolf?” Pastor Michaels asked. “I mean some of us think that it may be one of the townsfolk.” “Usually that's the way it works right?” Gideon said as he waved Polly over. The girl arrived with a pitcher of beer and poured the professor a full glass. “Anyone else need a refill?” Polly asked. “No, dear. Thank you,” Pastor Michaels said. “So you think that the werewolf is among us? Someone here perhaps?” “Perhaps,” Gideon nodded. “We tracked all of the outlying areas. There is always the possibility that it is some mountain man. You know, some guy who got the curse then decided to move away from everyone. That was my first guess

anyway.” “And?” Rose asked. “And we found nothing,” Gideon said. “No tracks outside of a few sheepdogs that may have crossed through here. What all of the victims have in common, however, is that they are all men. But from different walks of life.” “Well, I really don't know of anyone in town who might be suspect,” Ethel said. “You sure?” Gideon asked, sipping from his beer. “Well,” the pastor sighed. “Billy McCoy has a really long beard and a hairy back. But that doesn't mean he's a werewolf.” Rose and Ethel laughed. The professor remained serious, gulping down the rest of the beer. “Whoever he is, I'll find him. Trust me. The thing that most lay people do not understand is that the werewolf will often have an unremarkable life. They are almost always single. They have stayed on the same job for years. They'll have more acquaintances then friends or family. So we're looking for the unassuming type. It is always someone with nothing in their personal history to suggest that there is a werewolf gestating within.” “How do you plan to kill him?” Rose asked. “The superstition is that it is silver that does the trick,” the professor said. “Obviously istered through a bullet. But I don't believe that. The werewolves believe that. So when they are shot, they die.” “Interesting theory,” Rose said. “They fascinate me. I've seen them in all walks of life. Make no mistake, they must be exterminated. But they are fascinating. As a kid, I was always afraid of the dark. But I've learned to control that fear, to turn the tables and become the dark's worst nightmare.” “Do you think there is more than one out there?” Pastor Michaels asked.

“Good question,” Gideon nodded. “How many werewolves are out there? Where are they? Will they ever be coming for me? Or you?” “I don't think about those things,” Ethel laughed. “I had to think about those things,” Gideon said. “Call it a character defect. I want to find out if these things exist. Good or bad, I will explore and discover. I'm a scholar who happens to kill werewolves.” “I saw that the reward is up to fifteen grand now,” Rose said. “What would you do if you had all that money?” “I'd spend it,” Gideon said, then he slid his face to Rose's ear and whispered : “But not on whores.” “If you'll excuse me,” he nodded at the couple and left the table without looking further at Rose. Rose shot an angry look at the werewolf hunter as he left. “I really should go,” Rose said. She could not help but worry that the professor and the Indian would harm the handsome Colt. “It was really nice chatting with you,” Ethel said. “Please consider ing us at church sometime. You can come as you are, no matter what you do for a living.” “Duly noted,” Rose got up from her seat. “Enjoy your meal.”

CHAPTER FIVE The Fango Inn stood on the outskirts of the town, a large wooden building with two floors. Rose climbed the steps and made her way to room 259. She stepped in front of the room's window, catching her reflection. She took out her lipstick and applied a heavy coat of red gloss and then applied some sooty black liner around her lashes. Rose adjusted a few hair strands with her fingers, adjusted her skirt then knocked on the wood frame. The door creaked open, unlocked. “Colt?” she called out. “Colt, it is Rose. The woman from the funeral.” Rose stepped half-way in and knocked on the door frame again. “Hello?” She stepped further inside, scanning her eyes across the empty room. The place looked spotless, with no indication that anyone had been inside. “Colt?” she called out again, walking toward the bathroom area. “I know I'm a few hours early but I thought we could go for an evening stroll or get a drink. It can make things seem more romantic and less of a transaction.” Rose looked around the room, her eyes locking on the closet. She opened the door and sifted through a few bags, finding nothing but pants and shirts. She took out a jacket and pants, feeling around for any weapons. Hearing voices outside, Rose walked over to the window. She saw Professor Gideon heading into the woods. “I'm coming for you, Wolf man!” the professor shouted. Rose immediately sprinted out of the room, taking out the Derringer gun from her purse. She skipped down the steps of the hotel and headed off into the woods.

A crow squawked overhead as if warning of impending danger. Rose heard the murmur of voices coming from the east of the forest. She skipped through the brush, hiding behind a tree as she heard the voices a bit clearer. Then she felt the cold barrel of a pistol against her cheek. “Do not move,” the gravely voice said. “You fucker,” she hissed, turning her eyes to see the Indian man, Jonathan White Fang. “A little girl, shouldn't walk around in the woods by herself.” His low voice let Rose know what he had planned for her. He placed a finger on her mouth, shushing her. Rose's eyes went wide like silver dollars and her heart rate accelerated. The Indian smelled like death and made her skin crawl. “Out for a wolf hunt?” Gideon came out from the brush, leaves crunching with his every step. “That means that you have to believe in werewolves. It brings up all of those hard philosophical questions. If werewolves exist, what else does? If there are supernatural monsters, does that mean that God and the Devil are real? Or dead?” “Fuck off,” she said. “I know you,” Gideon said. “I could smell something was off. I forgot to mention that the one thing that all of the men who were murdered had in common. They were all clients of Madam Victoria brothel. They all came to see Rose Starr.” “What do you want?” she asked. “You have to ask?” the Indian's eyes narrowed. “The beauty here is that you are going to give it to me for free.” White Fang began fondling Rose's breasts and squeezing her ass.

“Us,” Gideon said dropping his pants. “Why pay for something when you can just take it?” Rose lifted up her right leg and stomped hard on the Indian's foot. He broke his grip and she spun around and pushed him off. The Indian dropped his gun. Enraged, he slapped Rose to the ground. White Fang moved to pick up his gun. When he stood back upright he saw the Derringer pointing in his face. “Don't move,” Rose warned both men. “You don't know how to use that,” Gideon laughed. Blam! Blam! Mists of blood sprayed from the man's head as they both collapsed to the ground. Rose stood over the men. She had to be a quick shot in dealing with men like these in the brothel. She smiled as she watched the smoke waft from the large holes in their forehead. Satisfied, she ran back through the forest, back to the town.

CHAPTER SIX Rose hurried her step as she saw Mayor Micah Davis holding court in the town square. “There is nothing to be afraid of,” Davis bellowed. “Right here, right now, we have the best men in the land going to kill that werewolf.” “There's going to be a full moon tonight!” Martha Grace screamed. “Someone will die if they don't do their jobs.” Davis looked down at the woman, clearly annoyed at the interruption but not wanting to correct the widow that he wanted to sleep with. “Martha Grace-” “No,” she said, cutting him off. “We all know what the full moon means. Who is going to protect us? Protect our children? You want us to entrust our safety to bounty hunters?” “The men that we've hired,” Davis said with trying patience. “They specialize in this sort of thing.” “I don't think they can do it,” Martha Grace said. “My husband was the greatest lawman to serve the town of Deadwolf. What makes you think a pair of broke strangers can do what my husband could not?” “We need to have faith,” Pastor Michaels said, coming in and stealing Micah's thunder. “Pah!'” the widow spat on the ground. “We spent our entire lives listening to holy men like you. You explain and enlighten and in the end it amounts to nothing. You do nothing! Nothing but run your mouth!” “God works in mysterious ways,” the Pastor continued. “We have to have faith that God will see us through this night. That he will protect us from the wolf in our midst.” “He didn't protect my husband,” Martha Grace said, walking off.

The mayor went to follow but the Pastor held his arm back. “She has to grieve alone,” Pastor Michaels said. “She couldn't be more alone if she tried,” the mayor said, feeling both comion and lust. Rose watched the widow walk away and saw Polly standing near the church entrance. She walked over to the young woman who met her half-way. “Did you do it?” “Yes,” Polly said. “I threw away all the posters. No one will find them.” “You are a sweetheart.” “Also, there is more than one wolf hunter here.” “What?” “The pastor hired a werewolf hunter,” Polly said. “Wanted to keep it a secret. I overheard the mayor talking to him in his office but then he closed the door.” “I see,” Rose said, furrowing her brow. “I'm worried about you,” Polly said, leading Rose away from the crowd. “Why?” “I had a dream about you last night.” “A dream?” “I dreamed you were being chased,” Polly whispered. “Chased by men with knives and guns. You kept running and running through the forest. Then they start to gain on you. I see your face and you're crying, it looks like your whole body is on fire.” “Wow,” Rose said. “That is quite a dream.”

“I had it more than once,” Polly said. “I know you don't believe in that sort of thing but you're always being chased. Always running. You're running from men. Then yourself. You will always be running.” “I can take care of myself,” Rose said. “There was a man that came here asking for you.” “Really? “Yeah,” Polly said. “Tall, handsome.” “Black cowboy hat?” “That's him.” “What did he say?” “Nothing. Just asked if I had seen you.” “Perfect.”

CHAPTER SEVEN Returning to the Fango Inn, Rose opened up Colt's door and knocked at the same time. “Colt?” she called out, entering the room with her gun in hand. “I know who you are,” Rose said. “And I know what you are.” She entered the bedroom area and opened one of the closets, finding nothing but empty hangars. Rose then walked over to the bed, idly running her hand over the silk sheets. “We could have had some fun you and I,” she said, her eyes scanning across the plush brown rug and the pleated curtain in the center of the room. She pulled open the drapes and the full moon shone through the glass, giving the entire room an ethereal glow. “Shit,” she said. The moon glowed gold across the shadowed horizon of the town. A solitary howl could be heard coming from the forest. Rose sighed hard, empathizing with the melancholy of the wolf's howl. A howl of loneliness that she felt familiar with. The moonlight fell to her face. Rose immediately felt the pain, excruciating and mind numbing. Her loneliness funneled into anger. The tendons and muscles spasmed throughout her body. Her neck, arms, and chest bubbled and contracted, stretched and molded, transforming. A loud snap as her ts stretched, the popping of skin too-tight for her body. Her teeth elongated as her fingers turned to claws. Rose then raised her head back, howling in a combination of rage and pain.

She leapt around the room, feeling long idle muscles and re-orienting her eyesight and smell. She turned to the door, hearing a muffled sound of footsteps. Looking in the mirror, she saw herself. Deeply muscled, covered in black fur, her eyes morphing black before shifting into a blazing yellow. Lowering herself into a four legged stance, she prepared to pounce as the door opened. “Wolf!” Colt shouted as he aimed the gun at the werewolf in his room. Rose leapt on him sliced her claws across his face, blood-splattering the wall. Colt hit the ground before he could get a shot off. Blam! Blam! Rose fell backward, clutching at the hole in her throat. Her snarls turned into a gurgle as she tried to stop the life from draining out of her. Stepping above her, stood Pastor Michaels with a smoking gun in hand. “I knew it was you,” the pastor said. “I ed the old legend. I ed how your Dad kept it a secret but only for so long. He was a good man. A good person. Just like your mother. But these things are hereditary. Been watching you for years and figured it was only a matter of time before the curse kicked in.” Rose kicked up her legs and tried to get up. Her breathing became more labored. She had to fight. Fight some more but she felt weaker and weaker. The preacher crouched down beside Rose, his eyes filled with guilt and remorse. “I know you had no control over it. You had to obey the moon. And I had to obey my God.” Rose looked up at the preacher, a tear forming in her yellow eyes.

“Plus that reward was too much to up. The church needs a new roof.”

GHOST PLAYER

––––––––

IRENE DEWITT

Chloe was one of those who played for ghosts. As her fingers tapped out melodies on the aged keys of her piano, faceless wisps, and bodiless souls danced around her and, for this brief while, they were silent and at peace. But as her mother called her down for breakfast and the music ceased, the ghosts softly wailed, their cursed existence returning in a cold reminder. They followed her as she ate her waffles, brushed against her shoulder as she packed her school bag, loomed like a storm cloud as she walked to the bus, and hung like fragile autumn mist as the wheels turned down the road. They were all too far gone to speak to her, most barely looked human, instead manifesting as vaporous forms with little more than a cold glow distinguishing them from a common fog. Some had what resembled faces and what might be considered a voice, but it was always too muddled and too distant to hear. But to all others, her schoolmates on the bus now, she looked not only alone but unbothered. The constant moaning and wailing did not faze her, and hers was not the face or being of one who was haunted, carrying quite the uplifted brightness, despite the morbidity. She arrived at the school as was routine, getting to the tiered choir room that smelled strongly of the green, course carpet and cheap, melon scented aerosol air freshener before the old brass bell rattled through the old brick walls. She sat at the piano, the most worn and weathered thing in this room by far. Some keys only had a slim chance of striking a note when they were hit and some fell with a dull buzz instead of a resounding note. While her home piano had become more refined and elegant with age, this one was the battered result off too many people sitting on it during backstage intermissions and sticky-fingered delinquents running their fingers up and down the keys and trying to tap out some horrid rendition of Chopsticks. Even still, she managed to make it sing. The class and director came in soon after, most arrived on time but a few decidedly late with mochas in their hands. Even the director herself was a minute or two behind schedule, no doubt held up by teacher’s lounge gossip. A tiny woman in six-inch heels and fake eyelashes, she came to the front of the room to take attendance and begin that morning’s rehearsal with a look that said not only has she been sipping wine a little too quickly last night, but was eager to get

back to it. But all this was usual and the rehearsal went on as well as it usually did with Chloe effortlessly stringing together the melody from that wincing, old instrument. The singing parts had gotten much better with time and since she now knew the piano part by heart, she looked up and watched her classmates as they sang. Which was exactly when she noticed something out of the ordinary. There was a girl in the choir, one she did not recognize. Chloe had been in the choir for three years now and she knew every name and face that ed through here. But this girl, she had no memory of. She thought perhaps she was a friend of another singer, snuck in to avoid her taking an exam she hadn’t studied for. But that couldn’t be, she was off on the edge, alone and looking lost. She couldn’t be brand new either as she was singing the tune, or at least mouthing it, perfectly. Perhaps most unnerving was her grayish, hazy being as if she was slowly losing the pigment from her skin, hair, and eyes. But as she realized she had played the repeat one too many times, she snapped herself back to attention before the director could notice and decided the mysterious girl would have to wait. But approximately and an hour later the old bell rang again, mid-song in fact, and the singers quickly gathered together their things and were out to the next class and the professor tapped back to the lounge to grab a coffee and an aspirin. Chloe, who had a free period now, stayed behind. She glanced up. The girl had stayed too. She was sitting now and didn’t seem too keen on going anywhere. The ghosts, strangely, were howling louder than ever, though that was still not particularly loud. “How long have they been following you?” she asked. Chloe was taken aback, “I’m sorry?” “How long have they been following you?” she gestured to the phantoms swirling in the air.

“You- you can see them too?” She nodded, “they say they can only be seen by those who have seen death. Is that true of you?” Chloe’s mind flashed back eight years, back to a cruel memory in a dark cave lit by waxy candle light, a memory hazy yet unforgettable. “Yes. And you? You’ve seen death too?” She shook her head and blinked across the room in a swift breath of mist until she was standing across the piano, cold and somewhat transparent, “I am death.” Chloe gasped but the ghostly girl waved down a hand to calm her, “Please, I’ve been looking for so long for someone to help me.” “With what?” “I need to find the person who killed me. I don’t know why but it’s been pulling at my mind ever since I made sense of everything. I don’t know why but I need to know and I can’t do it on my own.” Chloe’s head was a mess. No ghost had been so human, no other had hardly been intelligible. But she was no investigator. She didn’t even have a car of her own, not to mention scarcely enough money to buy a cola at lunch, “I want to help you but I have no idea how I could.” “It’s okay. I know where to start, I just can’t on my own. I can’t pick up and read the library books, you see.” “Okay, could I meet you at the library after school then?” “Not the public one. The private collection in Old Towne.” “Okay.” “Do you swear?” she nodded, “you promise?” she nodded again, more hastily this time. The girl’s eyes looked desperate to hold onto this little shred of hope. She seemed satisfied, however, “Okay I will see you there.” “Wait. What is your name?”

“Olivia,” she said, a surprised smile painted across her face. “I’m Chloe.” “Chloe. That sounds so familiar...” and she vanished with hardly a trace but her frigid aura. What remained of the day was a blur of unfocused energy. Chloe had never had stellar focus in the first place, her mind always wandering to distant wonders. But today, since the encounter with Olivia, she could think of nothing else but the ghost girl’s request. Whatever lessons she was meant to learn today went unabsorbed, the due dates unrecorded, even lunch went only half eaten. She had already called her mother to tell her she would be studying at the library for the evening and had spent her free period finding the right bus route to get there. Indeed, traveling by bus anywhere in this city was a long, arduous process of waiting for a bus, fiddling in her pocket for her bus , clamoring to find out which stop was hers, and waiting again for the next connected route. The day was cold and hazy and her ears were raw even with her hood up. Hands frozen and stuffed into the thin, fleece pockets, she finally made the least three of four block walk to the old library. This place was just as much a museum as it was a library. Posters, paintings, and photographs hung on the wall, antique record players and long-exposure cameras sat on low tables, and decades old books with two-foot spines lay open on short pedestals. It was all lit by these old, yellow bulb lamps, some hanging, some sconces on the wooden walls, but all with curly metal filigree branching off of them. But perhaps most intriguing was the collection of rare books. This was on the basement floor and a lot of these were either one of a kind, artist books, or edition books long since out of print. The woman working there seemed like an overly protective mother of these books, loving them deeply but extremely hesitant to let anyone near them. But Chloe could see Olivia sat on the end of one of the long, oak tables, shocked and delighted that Chloe had come. The bookkeeper hesitantly let her in after she explained she was a student who needed to study for a report (which wasn’t entirely untrue, though she scarcely ed what it was about) and agreed she would take no pictures and would not touch the extremely delicate books which the keeper needed special

gloves to hold. There were only a couple of other people in the collection including a very old man in focused, crescent glasses, a man and a woman with business suits and tired eyes, and a strong-jawed man in a cap covering salt and pepper hair. It seemed like the dust had been gathering on him. But Chloe ed Oliva and the ghost guided her back down the narrow isle. It felt like the section of forbidden books at Hogwarts. She pointed a gray finger at one book, in particular, a collection of population records and reports from eight years ago from this county. “Open to October, I think. Look for Warren, Oliva Warren. Olivia sat perched on her chair, bare feet wrapped tensely over its edge. Chloe flipped through the musky pages, though they were very intact and legible as this was by no means an old book. There were handwritten s in ink, however. But she pointed at the entry from October 17th, the date on which Oliva Warren was declared dead. “Okay, there you are,” she spoke in a hushed tone, knowing she’d look rather conspicuous if seen appearing to talk to herself, “now what are we looking for?” “I want to see who else died that day, all of their names.” Chloe nodded. She took out a loose sheet of paper and pencil from her school bag and wrote down every other name after Olivia’s, “So what all do you .” ‘Not much, I’m afraid. I was...unconscious for most of it.” She looked deeply troubled, though somewhat numb, as if she spent a great deal of time recounting this memory, “I went to bed early, feeling woozy one night and when I woke up I was blindfolded. There were people’s voices echoing, bounding off the walls, but I heard water. We got closer and closer to what sounded like a waterfall or burst pipe. Whoever was carrying me put me in a cage, I knew from the door slamming and locking. Then people started chanting, lots of people, reciting something together.” “Do you what they said?” she looked up as she finished copying the last name.

“Not everything. I was still coming off of whatever drug they put me on. Something like ‘one by water, one by flame.’ Something shuddered in the cage and it started moving. Suddenly water starting ri from the bottom. I went lower and lower until the cage was completely underwater. Then, after a while...I just...couldn’t hold my breath anymore.” She looked colder than ever, turning one hand over in the other. Chloe couldn’t help but feel like she were describing her memory if it was that and not a dream, the blindfold, and the cave. But Olivia shook out the chill before she could speak up, “Let me see the list.” Chloe shifted the paper around showing the seven names. For such a small county, that was a lot for one day, “Any of those look familiar?” She squinted at the paper as if it were a magic eye illusion, picking her brain for answers. She shook her head, “May be if we look- hang on, we’ve got company.” The man in the cap wandered over and sat across the table from the girls, “Evening, miss. Might I ask what you’re researching?” Chloe shot him a crooked glance, “Might I ask you why it’s your business?” “I mean no offense. I was just wondering if you were looking up the Unlucky Seven.” “The Unlucky Seven? What are they?” “A few years back seven people disappeared without a trace and never came back again. Six of them were children, one an adult man, all declared dead a week since their disappearance. A real mystery that one.” “So what if I was looking them up? Why do you care?” “I love a good mystery. I’m a detective or used to be. Figured out every twist and scheme in my time, all but the Unlucky Seven. I spend most of my time in this library reading up on cold cases of decades ed, but I ain’t never seen a kid start the investigating herself before. If you really want to know, let me help you.” It all seemed a little too convenient, suspicious too. How long had he been watching? How could he know? Chloe was just about ready to snap the book

shut until the stranger left, all until she looked at Olivia. She excitedly nodded her head without hesitation. Why she didn’t say. But Chloe sighed and figured she was here for her sake. “Alright, I’ll humor you. I’m Chloe.” “Call me Jack,” he tipped his hat.” “So what do you already know?” “Well, I know a lot of what ain’t true. I was no alien abduction like I’ve heard some people say, no group suicide either. I do know that these kids didn’t know each other and they all disappeared nearly the same time of night. You want to do me a favor and look at the arrests around this time? Any for kidnapping, murder or anything else suspicious?” Chloe flipped the pages and found a few suspect ones. None from that day, but ones that definitely struck a suspicious note. She wrote the first, then the second, but the third...the third sent her worried heart pounding. She scribbled it down anyway, “We have Andrew Litchfield arrested for kidnapping and resisting arrest, James Walden for kidnapping, and, uh,” her voice got quiet and muffled, “William Vaughn for kidnapping and attempted murder.” “You know this guy?” He leaned in, reading the lines on her face like a book. “He’s my father.” He leaned back, clearly taken by surprise, “He why you’re interested in the case?” “No! At least, I didn’t think so...maybe?” “You know what happened with him? Who he tried to off?” “Yeah,” her breath went cold, “me.” Jack cocked an eyebrow and her voice turned defensive, “I thought that was all...he...he’s in jail already anyway. Charged and locked up.” “Chloe?” Oliva peeped up in a soft voice, “what did he do to you?”

“I don’t really all that well, I was just a little kid. But I woke up and he had me blindfolded and in a cave or something. He...was trying to stab me with a knife, holding it over me like I was on a butcher’s board. But something happened, someone shot a gun and he panicked. There were other people there too I think, from the voices. But right then I ran. I couldn’t see and I didn’t know where I was going. I think I ed out a few times. But eventually, I got out in the open air, out to a cabin in the forest. I told everyone what had happened and I didn’t see him again until he was cuffed up in the court. And I haven’t seen him since.” She looked lost but more confused than anything else. “You were there,” Oliva whispered. Jack nodded and gave a reassuring look, “Don’t worry, kid. We’ll figure this all out. And first things first, we need to look into these guys.” After a short breach into some more records mostly collected news snippets included in the books, they found that Litchfield seemed to be completely unrelated to the case, kidnapping a grown woman on the other side of town. Walden, however, only grew more and more sinister with each new find. He had been in local and state government since he had been a young man but never holding a major position. Yet he ended up in many books, credited in many pictures with mayors, governors, senators, and even celebrities. There was quite a lot about him, likely all things he approved as they did nothing but sing his praises, painting him as an outstanding citizen, a candidate for the people were he ever to run. Which begged the question: why would someone like that be arrested for kidnapping? There was only one shred of news that covered his arrest, a tiny blurb from the bottom of a news column. It stated only that he had pleaded guilty to the kidnapping of his nephew Liam who, interestingly, was one of the Unlucky Seven. He was charged with attempted murder since they had gone missing, but the lack of proof made conviction impossible. But perhaps the strangest thing was that both his and Chloe’s father’s trial were incredibly short, had both offenders saying absolutely nothing, and were scarcely investigated at all, as if someone wanted it over before any evidence could be found, which may have also been why the Seven were considered dead only a week after their

disappearance. Walden served only a seven-year sentence while Vaughn was in for life. All clues leading to Walden, Chloe collected a stack of books related to every major bill or project he worked on. Some were benign dead ends, mostly centered around managing prisons and sentencing, though perhaps it was how he gamed the system. But there was one project that stuck out like a sore thumb. “Hey, Jack? Have you seen this?” He leaned over from his reading to scan the page, a blurry, photocopied image of a mine entrance, Walden himself shaking hands with some member of the environmental counsel, “This seems unusual for him, doesn’t it?” “Any bigwig like that having a care for the environment it mighty strange, I agree. Does it say why he shut it down?” “Something about, let’s see, ‘corrosive substances used for mineral extraction causing a decay in the caverns natural structure and release of toxic fumes.’ But why not just stop using the chemical? Why shut down the whole mine?” Jack nodded his head toward another aisle, “See if you can find any books about the mine. There’s got to be a couple.” Chloe browsed to books and references about local landmarks and one, luckily enough about miners in decades ed. Most just recounted the mine’s opening in the 1800s and about a nasty case of black lung that killed off a dozen or so miners way back then. But the book on the miners themselves was more insightful. She flipped ed the pages on other mines and details of the gold and silver rush until she came to the mine itself. The black lung did not go undescribed, in fact, it listed the name of every fatality. But this one told of another occurrence, still decades before the Unlucky Seven wee even born, but still unnerving. She read it out to Jack, about a small strike that only a few of the miners went on. They claimed the mine was haunted, hearing a deep rumbling within the heart of the mine, hearing ominous chants deep below where any of the miners were allowed to venture. These men, grown men, were so unnerved by this presence that they begged their fellow workers to leave, not for the striking effort, but for their own safety. In the end, however, the men were brushed off has having been driven mad by the dust, fumes, darkness, and desolation, were given some

compensation money and were sent on their way. Jack brushed the silver-flecked stubble on his face, “You know what I think? I think we should go to that mine. We can only get so many answers from books.” “How am I supposed to get there, exactly?” “Historical bus tour maybe? There’s all sorts of old homesteads and things out there, they might drop nearby the mine.” “And what about my mom? Should I tell her I’ve gone spelunking?” “Don’t you have friends you could say you were meeting up with?” She gave a pensive look into nothing, “I guess so.” “Then I’ll meet you there when the sun is up.” “I will too,” whispered Olivia who had been nearly silent this whole time since Jack showed up. Chloe departed for home after returning all the books to their rightful places, got some strange looks as she left, and walked to the bus stop in the even more frigid cold. Before going to bed, she had asked her mother if she could meet up with some friends, a new friend, Olivia. She seemed too pleased with this development to ask questions apart from how she had met this Oliva, to which Chloe simply responded that she was new to the choir. So now by morning, she was ready to move and board the bus deeper into the mountains outside of the city. The nearest stop was about half a mile from the mine, half an unpaved mile no less. There was something of a path, more like an area where trees and boulders had been cleared to make way for trucks carrying ore and equipment to and from the mine, though it was terribly overgrown now. But in time, right when the sun was peaking in heat and storm clouds were gathering on the far horizon, she arrived at the mine’s great tunnel gate, Oliva and Jack sitting outside. She nodded to Oliva slightly so Jack wouldn’t notice. “Right,” said Chloe, “Any idea how we’re going to get in?” the gate was

massive and overlaid with several chains and padlocks. “Not sure. Walden did a damn fine job sealing this off. Maybe if we...” he walked in closer to examine the bars and the locks. “I do,” Oliva said. Chloe raised a brow, asking her to continue, “I was here all night looking around and there is a raw cave that way,” she pointed around a corner, entirely unpaved and unbeaten, “I’m pretty sure it leads deeper in the mine.” “You’re a ghost,” Chloe whispered almost inaudibly, “Why didn’t you just go inside?” “I was...afraid.” Chloe just nodded. “Hey, Jack, I think I something. A cave.” She pointed in the same direction Olivia did, “Follow me.” Olivia lead the way while Chloe pretended to, though thick thickets and jagged slopes. They ended up slowly shuffling down a rockslide long since tumbled until, indeed, there was a tiny cave half covered by trees leading into the mountain. “After you,” the detective ushered with his hands, and they all ducked inside. Chloe had brought a flashlight but it did little to fight back the creeping eeriness of this place. Any hint of daylight was lost within moments and cold, stagnant air filled it, “What exactly are we looking for?’ “Water, I’d imagine. Keep your ears and eyes peeled, kiddo. And , no one’s here to hurt you anymore.” They wandered into many dead ends, mostly natural as this part of the tunnel was not used by the miners. It began dry but the dank cool and humidity increased as they descended lower into the caverns. There started to be little signs of inhabitance: very old mining picks, empty bottles of booze, even a lone shoe. But all of these things were very old; hardly any of it was even manufactured after the 19th century they had guessed. It had been a good two hours of marching, looking for clues or some sort of guide before anything happened. And then...water.

They could not see it and the sound was distant, but it was something to follow. As the delved deeper the sound grew louder and the air grew thicker. Even better, there was some sort of spindly moss growing on the stone. They followed it to where it grew the thickest. After a good while of following the green trail, Chloe heard a creak underfoot. The party froze. She downturned the flashlight to see a winding staircase that looked to be built on its own personally carved the hole, “Now what’s something g like that doing in a place like this?” Jack asked. “I don’t know, but it’s as good a sign as we’ve seen.” They walked the narrow staircase and what opened before them was a vast, green chamber, a ring of water fed by an in flowing river surrounding a carved platform that stood a good twenty feet above the cavern floor. It looked on into some sort of abyssal hole in the rock that was as wide as the chamber and looked endlessly deep. Somehow, everything in here looked completely deliberate. They all split up and looked about. Chloe found dry matches beside some sort of coal. She lit it and a ring of fire lit around the room, bringing it all into glorious light. It even branched down corridors which they could now see. There were six, one on each side of the great abyss. “Wait...I’ve been here! This was the room, the one they had me in when I heard the gunshot!” She ran across the short bridge over the ring of water, up the platform, and to the top of the platform. At its top was an altar, “Yes, this is where I was!” Upon it was a sacrificial knife and a book, handmade and leather bound. Everything within was handwritten and in several different kinds of handwriting. She flipped through its pages, most cluttered and cryptic, some utterly blank until she found a pair of pages that caught her eye. On the left was a poem, on the right, a drawing. She read out: Take one by the water One by the flame A son for his ember coals to claim. Take one of the earth

One by the air A child and his many breaths to share. Take one by the poison One by the steel A pact, at last, to make him real. And take one final One by the blood A daughter’s purpose understood. “That was it,” breathed Olivia, “I was the one by the water. We were sacrifices.” “They were sacrifices,” Chloe repeated out for Jack, “They sacrificed them all...or six I suppose.” She picked up the dagger, “I guess I was supposed to be by the blood,” she twisted the blade, glinting in the firelight, and shuddered. “A sacrifice to who, though?” Jack climbed the steps to the altar. “If I were to guess, this guy,” she showed him the drawing on the opposite page, an image of a dark, unearthly creature with black, soulless eyes. “Ugly fella,” he said, though he did seem quite disturbed, “hang onto that and let’s follow that river.” She nodded and followed. It was the first chamber and the sounds of the waterfall were rattling against the cave walls. Olivia was shivering with the memories reawakened. But she marched on, determined. There was a small body of water in the center of the chamber that the river fed, one surrounded by the machinery of some kind— simple, but not terribly old. But most noticeable was a ropelike cord sticking out of the water threaded through a gear. A wheel was at the other end. With a shrug, Chloe began to turn it. It was a hard effort but slowly the gear pulled at the cord, bringing the contraption to life. Then there was a rustle in the surface of the water.

Something broke through. A cage. It looked like the sort for crab fishing, flat bars bolted together and rusted through. She kept pulling and pulling, imagining all too well what she would find. And of course, she was right. At its bottom was a small, white, frail, blindfolded body. The body of Olivia Warren. She gasped and shielded her eyes while Chloe, in shock, let go of the wheel, dropping the cage back into the water. She looked to Oliva with eyes that were desperate to be comforting. “Holy hell! You okay, kid?” Jack asked, surprised, but not stricken like the girls. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. C’mon, there’s nothing else in this room anyway.” Shaken, they returned to the main chamber, hoping to go to the next where they expected the fire sacrifice to have taken place. That was until Olivia yelled, “The dagger’s gone!” “What?” Chloe darted back up the podium on the altar and indeed it had vanished without a trace, “What happened to it? Where did it go?” And then gunfire. The bullet had flown past her head but the shot rang out in the cavern. The whole earth seemed to tremble. From the shadowed back of the chamber walked a man, a portly, bulldog-faced man in a suede overcoat with a gun in his hand and dagger on his hip: James Walden. “I didn’t expect to find anyone down here when I came to collect my things,” he paced forward ever so slowly, “And I certainly didn’t expect to find Vaughn’s little girl. You may be eight years late, but I’m glad you finally returned to fulfill your purpose.” He gestured with the pistol, shining and antique, “on the altar then,”

She had her hands up by instinct, stepping backward as he advanced, “No, wait, please...” she was freezing up. Jack was nowhere in sight. “Wait? You want me to wait? I waited seven and a half years in a prison cell because of you, all because you couldn’t hold still. All because you had to run home. Do you have any idea how many plans you ruined that day? How many souls were wasted because of you?” She was at a loss for words, nearly frozen in her place as that short barrel stared her down. She thought, time wasting, that it was now or never if she wanted to survive this encounter. She threw the book at Walden’s head and a shot fired up to the ceiling as he tumbled backward as she leapt into the ring of water below. Enveloped in the cold, she clawed for the surface with only one word repeating in her head: run. More shots were fired but she was faster than the old man. She dove through the familiar caverns and up the narrow staircase. She knew it would be an hour’s run if she returned to where she came so she went the other direction. Without a flashlight, the barreled through the tight caverns in almost total darkness. That was until the lights came on. How these bulbs were still functioning she did not know or care, but thick, dusty wires ran across the ceiling between each light. The opportunity for hiding was compromised; she would have to keep running. This was obviously the newer part of the mines with well-defined walkways wandering ed abandoned mining carts. The exit was through one of three tunnels. Chloe guessed the third. By some miracle, she was correct, but ran across the same barred gate as before and there was no way to unlock it from this side either. Her heart pounding like boiling water, she looked for anything that might get her through; a loose pickaxe, a drill, a conveniently sized rock, anything. She did notice tracks running under the gate. Sprinting, she followed them back into a dimly lit tunnel with a miracle parked inside, an abandoned mining train, with the key in the ignition no less. The thing roared to life as she turned the key and floored it toward the gate. She clenched her eyes and braced for impact. Despite the immense clatter, however, the gate was still closed, though badly bent. Hands violently shaking,

she put it in reverse, going to the beginning of the short track before throwing it forward once again. It rattled, it shook, it clamored against the loose gravel on its tracks, and it moaned after being asleep for so long. It steamed forward seeming ready to give until finally.... Slam. The gate burst open. As chain links few and towering planks of metal fell, she kept riding the train car to the end of the track which was in an old building near the coursing river. It was bucketing rain. But despite the pouring rain and roaring train, she still heard another gunshot from behind her and she ducked into the car. It wouldn’t go any faster and she contemplated bailing out through the door every second. Yet, she held on until the machine engaged its breaks and stopped outside the old building, the control tower of the dam. She bolted, panting, ready to collapse at any moment, but knowing that once she crossed the dam she would be home free. Then she fell, shot in the leg. Her hands just barely caught her and she screamed, clutching at the wound. She looked up helplessly as Walden approached. “Can’t you see? It’s your destiny. You were born to die for our cause,” he lowered the pistol to meet her eyes and he towered over like a great, calculating beast with nothing but cold determination in his eyes, “He will rise and everyone will see and we will all get what we were promised, even your failure of a father.” He pulled the trigger. Nothing. He threw the gun away in anger and went for his belt where he had stowed the dagger, but not before Chloe had hobbled to her healthy leg, leaning on the bridge’s edge wall, overlooking the dam. He thrust the dagger forward, but Chloe caught his wrist inches short. Eyes locked, they fought this deadly tug of war between life and death.

“Whatever you were promised, it’s not worth me,” she breathed as she held him off, “It wasn’t worth Olivia and it wasn’t worth Liam,” And right then, at the mention of his nephew’s name, there was the slightest flicker of hesitation, of weakness, maybe even regret. And Chloe seized that precious moment and twisted his wrinkled wrists, bending them back far enough the yank the dagger out of his hand and thrust it into his belly. He stepped back in shock and pain and, before he could react, Chloe, still running on instinct, grappled him by the collar and thrust him off the edge of the damn. She collapsed before she saw him hit the bottom. She blacked out for a moment and her vision was blotted when she came to. She awoke to see Olivia and Jack approaching. “Chloe! You’re okay!” she looked as if she had been truly mortified and a great relief had just fallen from her shoulders. Chloe nodded. “I can’t believe it, kid, you did it.” Jack was smiling a sincere, warm smile. Chloe’s face went cold, however, “You! Where were you all this time? I could have been killed?” “C’mon, don’t get so steamed,” he offered a hand to help her to her feet. But when she took it, her red, raw fingers fazed right through his hand as if they were made of nothing more than cool mist, “You...you’re...a ghost?” he nodded and put a hand on Olivia’s shoulder. “He was the one who fired the gun and let you escape,” Olivia explained. This was obviously news to her as well, “He was the one adult of the Unlucky Seven.” “The only case I never finished, not until now.” And, despite all the pain and tears, they all sat together beside the great old dam, a girl and her company of ghosts. Until the police came, they waited in the pouring rain, the swirling mass of fading souls quiet for once. They were at

peace, redeemed and made clear. And, of course, they were thankful for the girl, the girl who played for ghosts.