by Sara Clancy
Benton tried to ignore it as he flipped through the binder. Cascading tabs broke the handful of sheets into sections. Banshee; the wailing woman, he read to himself. A creature from Irish folklore considered an omen of death. The pictures that followed either depicted banshees as decrepit crones or ethereally beautiful young women. There was no in-between. It seemed that the only thing everyone could all agree on was the hair. It was always a stark white. He turned to a new section and frowned.
“You have my school records?”
Nicole flapped a hand at him, the motion a mixture of annoyance and dismissal. “You can’t be surprised at this point.”
“Are these the scores from my peewee baseball games?”
“Benton, I’m a little busy right now. Is there any chance we can talk about your horrible shortstop record later?”
“I was eight.”
“And you sucked.”
“I’m a batter,” he snapped defensively.
She hummed and flipped over another page.
Her body suddenly went rigid. The abrupt loss of movement scared Benton more than if she had started screaming. Slowly, they each turned their heads to look at each other.
“I know him,” she said in a haunted whisper. “The mummy man.”
Benton had been preparing himself for this conversation. He knew that they would be forced to have it the moment they were alone and without the looming threat of imminent death. But now that it was here, he wanted to run. There was nothing he could say that wasn’t going to gut her.
“Yeah, I recognized him, too,” he whispered.
“The man from the road,” she said.
“I know.”
“I never learned his name.”
You can find my pee wee records but not his name? He pushed the question aside and offered a sad smile.
“I never bothered,” he said.
Nicole began to tremble as she struggled to keep her next sentence behind closed lips. She was vibrating by the time she lost the fight.
“We did this.” A sob broke her. “I did this.”
It physically hurt him to see the sheer amount of guilt displayed across her face. His shoulders hunched and his head dropped.
“This isn’t on you,” he told her.
“I shot him. Now he’s this. That’s a pretty straightforward cause and effect,” she said.
“I’m pretty sure it’s more complicated than that.”
Nicole’s mouth screwed up in misplaced determination. “If I’m not to blame, then who is?”
“Him!” Benton declared. “The serial killer, Nicole. When you’re trying to decide who is morally worse, it’s always the serial killer. I shouldn’t have to explain that.”
“I killed him,” she insisted, remembering a heartbeat too late to keep her voice down. “I did that. And somehow turned him into this.”
“Or, and hear me out here, he turned himself into it.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“So, it’s not that likely.”
“Alright,” he said. “How did you turn him into a murderous, undead mummy?”
She answered instantly, “I don’t know. Yet.”
“So it might not be your fault,” he concluded.
Instead of acknowledging his point, Nicole started from the beginning, walking him through each step of her faulty reasoning. Any attempt to correct her only resulted in an extended, and increasingly passionate, lecture. The longer she went, the more absurd it sounded. Benton closed his eyes and took a deep, sobering breath. One of them needed to keep their head, and it wasn’t going to be Nicole. Not with that stuff still in her system.
“Nic,” he cut into her ramblings. “I know it’s hard for you to focus right now, but I need you to try. Okay?”
She sucked in a deep breath, held it, and nodded.
“Good. Now listen to me very carefully. This guy is to blame.”
She lifted her chin to protest but managed to keep the words inside.
“Death doesn’t change people,” he continued. “There’s no magical metamorphosis that purifies the soul. A jerk in life is going to be a jerk in death.”
When he was sure that she had heard him, he told her that it was okay to respond now.
“You’ve only met a few ghosts, Benton. How can you be so sure?”
“Because I’ve lived inside the minds of a million killers. And I can promise you, not one of them was compelled to kill because of their heartbeat.”
Determination filled her eyes. “What about The Telltale Heart?”
“Where do I begin?” he scoffed. “That’s just a story. The main character was already insane. And it was the victim’s heartbeat that was the focus of the story. Not the killer’s. What else you got?”
“Honestly, I didn’t think you were paying attention when we learned that in class. I’m not prepared for follow up questions.”
Leaning until his shoulder pressed against hers, he held her gaze and said, “This isn’t your fault. But we’ll fix it.”
A sob tore out of her chest as she buried her face against his shoulder. It didn’t take long for her tears to seep into his still damp shirt.
“Every time I try to help, I only make things worse. People keep dying. My mother’s in an impossible position. You keep getting hurt. And now I’ve dragged Zack, Meg, and Danny into all of this. I’m not blind to what’s happening to them. They’re not coping. How can I tell them he’s back?”
“We’ll find a way. We always do.”
“I can’t do this to them.”
“Hey, if they’re not willing to fight alongside you against the forces of darkness, are they really your friends?”
Benton had only meant to provoke a small smile. Something to break up her string of sobs and whimpers. He was prepared for her to suddenly lurch to the side.
Falling off the bed and becoming tangled in the sheets didn’t stop her from declaring, “That’s it! I know what he is!”
“What?”
She flipped her hip-length hair out of her face and beamed at him. “He’s a Baykok.”
Chapter 10
Nicole heaved herself up onto her knees and flung her arms wide. Benton blinked at her.
“I was expecting a bit more in the praise department,” she admitted.
“I don’t know what a Baykok is.”
“Right. Sorry. Okay, where to start?” She rubbed her hands together as she tried to organize her wild thoughts. “Remember the friend I told you about? The one that made you the dream catcher? Side note; it doesn’t really work when you hang it over the bedside lamp.”
“I didn’t have a wall hook,” he cut in.
“I put one in the box.”
“Of course you did,” he muttered to himself before saying in a louder voice. “Focus, Nicole.”
“Right. Good plan.” She didn’t get any further before the rush of excitement stole her thoughts. “My friend, Kane. Well, her name is actually Biskane, but everyone calls her Kane–”
“Is this important to the story?” Benton cut in.
Nicole shook her head. Her thoughts were like fog. They filled her skull while remaining completely beyond her reach.
“She’s Ojibwe.”
“I know–”
“This bit’s important, Benton,” she snipped. His interruptions weren’t helping. “At the pow wow, we were all sharing campfire stories. This was before I met you, so I didn’t have a monster binder and didn’t think to write it down. It was just supposed to be a story. But I remember her talking about the legend of the Baykok.” A new thought hit her. Her brain instantly latched onto the new course and she began sifting through the mess of items in search of Benton’s laptop.
“Nicole?”
“She commissioned some artwork of a Baykok. I’m sure she’s got it on her Instagram page.”
Retrieving the laptop, she placed it on her lap and hurriedly typed in his password.
“What is a Baykok? Nicole
?”
“I’ll need just a second, Benton,” she said with as much sweetness as she could fit into the words. “If you need something to do, I’d love a soda.”
“I’ll get you a beverage with absolutely no caffeine,” he replied.
She didn’t look up from her typing. “Admittedly, that’s probably a better idea.”
By the time he came back from the sink with a glass of water, she had found what she was looking for. A picture of the grotesque spirit filled the left side of the screen. The right was consumed with a half dozen open windows which she proudly displayed. It was a near impossible task to find a reliable paranormal message board. A lot of people had no idea what they were talking about. Benton stiffly sat down, passed her the water, and began to study the screen.
“Any chance you can just give me the cliff notes?” he asked.
“The Baykok is an ancient Ojibwe legend. The general description matches our monster. Only ...”
“It’s very disconcerting to end a sentence like that,” Benton noted with dread.
Nicole swallowed thickly. “Some stories say that they’re giants.”
Benton’s head jerked up at that. “Our boy could be growing?”
“Maybe,” she shrugged. “It’s possible that it gets bigger the more it eats.”
“What does it eat?”
She could see the exact moment it clicked in his head.
“Her eyes. Her kidney. He’s taking the juicy bits.” He pulled a hand through his hair, squeezing out a few stray raindrops. “He’s eating her alive.”
Nicole didn’t want to think too long on that. Already she was feeling ill.
Sipping her water in an attempt to settle her stomach, she continued, “According to legend, Baykoks can turn invisible.”
Benton made a disgusted sound. “I hate when they can do that.”
“But it can’t hide its sounds,” Nicole said. “The crackle of its skin. The pop and rattle of its bones.”
His face twisted up in disgust. “Yeah, I remember the sound.”
“But I didn’t hear it before. When it first attacked me. On the road with you.”
Benton tipped his head to the side. “It hunts with bow and arrows, right? Long distance weaponry.”
“At least those you can see. Which, yay for us, I guess. It could give us an advantage.”
“Hold up,” he said. “No one else can see the arrows?”
“According to legends.”
“Then how do they know that Baykoks use them?”
Her mouth opened but her brain didn’t supply an answer. “How am I supposed to know that?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Is it annoying when people assume that you know everything about something?”
Her lips pressed into a thin line as she stared at him. He smiled back.
“This attitude thing,” she asked. “Does it make you feel good?”
“It doesn’t make me feel bad,” he said.
Tapping the screen, he coaxed her to continue. She was hoping that she wouldn’t have to explain this bit and choked down another mouthful of water.
“As we’ve learned from experience, the Baykok’s arrows are special. I mean, apart from the whole invisibility thing. They render their victims unconscious, allowing the Baykok to take what it wants without a struggle. What gets me is that they’re only supposed to take the liver. That’s it. That’s the deal. Knock them out, switch the liver with a stone, stitch them back up with a thread that completely heals the skin, and leave them to die with no knowledge of what happened to them. They’re not supposed to keep picking off pieces.”
“I guess our guy decided to up the game,” Benton said. “So, how are these things made?”
“According to the stories–”
“You know you don’t have to keep saying that,” he cut in. “We’ve only got stories, so it goes without saying.”
Frustration ripped through her like a wildfire. Before she could argue, however, he noted, “Your hair looks great today.”
“My hair always looks great,” she clipped. “I know you’re trying to distract me.”
“Is it working?”
“Shut up.” Turning back to the laptop, she pulled one of the pages to the forefront. “According to the stories,” she stressed for the sole purpose of irritating him, “Baykoks are created when a hunter is separated from his tribe and dies alone in the wilderness. As he dies, he’s so consumed with anger at his tribesmen for failing him that his soul can’t pass on.”
The silence that followed caught her off guard. She had expected at least one snide comment. Looking over, she found the anger she felt written upon his face.
“Let me get this straight,” he said through clenched teeth. “This dirtbag and his girlfriend specifically targeted First Nations women. Teenage girls. They kidnapped, raped, and murdered them. Then, when one of his intended victims kills him, he’s not only angry about it, but feels betrayed enough that he can give a middle finger to the natural order of things and come back. That about cover it?”
Nicole didn’t trust herself to do more than nod. If she started to rant now, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop. Rage boiled her blood, heating her face and making her tremble. But she kept her mouth closed. It offered her a little slither of hope that the potion was wearing off.
“I really want to kill this guy,” Benton hissed.
“Any chance Mic might want to, too?”
“Mic?”
“What? She’s Death, Benton. It seems like this should fall under her jurisdiction.”
“I don’t think it does,” Benton said. “Besides, you’re working under the assumption that humans have the right of way here.”
“Why wouldn’t they?”
“Maybe they see all this as the natural order of things. A food chain. Not something to mess around with.”
“He’s a monster, Benton.”
“So am I.”
All the things Nicole intended to say suddenly vanished from her head. Without them, she deflated, lowering her gaze to stare at the floor.
“She helped me once before,” Nicole whispered.
“No, she hinted at ways for you to help yourself. From your own accounts, she never went after the Baykok. We don’t even know if she could.”
“She’s death. No one escapes death.”
“This loser did.”
Again, Nicole felt like all of her words had been stolen. Nothing made sense anymore and she didn’t know how to regain her bearings. Benton ripped a hand through his hair and sighed.
“Look, we both agree that we want this thing dead and gone, right?”
“Right.”
“So,” he smirked lightly, “according to the stories, how do we kill it?”
She huffed but couldn’t keep herself from smiling slightly.
“Well?” he pressed.
“We have to give him a proper burial.”
“Does his actual body need to be there?”
“Of course.”
“That’s a problem.”
“It’s time-consuming but doable,” she corrected.
“We are remembering that night very differently,” Benton said, his brow furrowing. “I recall the ghosts of his victims showing up and taking their bodies.”
She rolled her eyes. “I recall that, too.”
“So the body we need is most likely hidden in some uncharted corner of a haunted forest. Also, they’re a whole month into decay. You don’t see a problem?”
“Follow me here,” she said. “Plan A; you explain everything and either ask a ghost to show us where they put it. Or do that mind meld thing to get a sense of the location.”
“Okay, Plan A sucks. What’s Plan B?”
“You can’t move a body through a forest that thick without breaking a few branches. We can just follow the path.”
“You want to track them?”
“Yes.”
“A month after they went through?”
“I never
said it would be easy,” she countered. “But my dad taught me well. He’s really good at it.”
Benton opened his mouth but seemed to switch from his intended statement to a question, “Why did he teach you how to track? Is that just an army thing?”
“No, it’s a hunting thing.”
His eyes widened slightly with surprise. “You hunt?”
“Yes.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
“What do you hunt?”
“Deer, mostly.”
“You, little miss sunshine and rainbows, goes out into the forest and shoots Bambi in the face?”
“My father and I help supply sustenance for my family and friends,” she countered. “I partake in an activity that connects me to the earth and has served my people well for over thirteen thousand years.”
“I’m not judging. I’m just saying that it’s hard to imagine you killing a deer. They’re so cute, and you’re essentially a real-life Care Bear.”
“Yeah, well, what do you think Lionheart ate?”
He frowned. “I never thought about it.”
“Lions and bears, Benton. They’re not herbivores.”
Licking his lips, he seemed to mull it all over. “I have three more questions for Plan B.”
“Hit me.”
“What do you intend to do about the other serial killers and assorted predators that use that forest as a combination hunting and dumping ground?”
“I’ll bring my rifle. You know I’m a good shot.”
“I know that you keep stealing guns from the police lock up.”
She rolled her eyes. “That was when I needed a smaller handgun. You know, so I don’t draw attention. This time, we can just tell everyone we’re going camping and are bringing the weapon in case we run into a cougar or bear. Simple. Next question.”
“Where do we even begin looking for the track?”
“You don’t remember?”
“I’m not saying that it wasn’t a memorable evening. It’s just that every inch of that place looks the same.”
“You’re such a city boy.”
With a flurry of typing, she pulled up Google Maps and brought up the curve in the road she recalled being a few yards away. From there, it was just a matter of getting into street view and panning for a few moments.