The Shadow of the Moon

by Michael Dunn

  When Joselin Brooks exited the last Winnebago, she walked toward Eunice and Edith and gave Edith a hug. Joselin had blonde hair cut into a bob, wearing a Coca-Cola T-shirt and tight, ripped jeans. She had a thin, yet curvy figure, and possessed a cute, cherubic face.

  “So, where’s Tony?” Joselin asked Edith and his aunt pointed to the boy.

  “Hi Joselin,” Tony said, sheepishly.

  “Wow, you’ve gotten cuter,” Joselin said and embraced him.

  Tony stepped back, off-balanced and surprised.

  Suzie, standing on the sideline, watched this new girl hugging her boyfriend, and the anger inside her began to boil, seething through flared nostrils and gritted teeth. Suzie’s new volcanic temper had gotten the best of her and she charged. Her teeth were bared, and her hands were ready to slash Joselin to pieces.

  Tony saw her coming in his peripheral vision and pulled away from Joselin to intercept a rampaging Suzie. Eunice was also ready to help Tony restrain his tempestuous girlfriend.

  “I’m sorry about this,” Eunice apologized to both Joselin and Edith. “There have been some new developments.”

  The visitors looked away, embarrassed. They knew that meant one of two things: either they took a stray into the community or the unthinkable occurred – she’s an infected.

  “Who the hell is she?” Joselin asked. Her eyes flashed yellow, ready for a counter attack.

  “She’s Suzie,” Tony explained. “She’s my girlfriend. I mean, fiancée.”

  “Like I said, there have been some… new developments,” Eunice said, her face turning bright red.

  The visitors, including William Endore, looked at their hosts with confusion.

  Bordeaux said to William, “I’ll explain later. Tony has been (ahem) spoken for. However, there is young John-Paul Grenier over there.” Bordeaux pointed to the sullen blond boy in the crowd.

  When Joselin looked at JP, she sensed, like many other people, there was something wrong with him, and was immediately turned off.

  “Well folks, welcome back to Bestiavir,” Bordeaux shouted. “I know you’ve had a long drive and are most certainly hungry, so let’s get cooking.”

  With that, several grills were brought out and the adults started roasting a lot of meat on the barbecue. The coolers were brought out full of beer, ice, and soda for the kids.

  This was a party for the adults and Tony, Suzie, and JP wanted to disappear, but Larry wanted to stay to get to know Amelia. They doubted they would be missed tonight. Tony told his mom they were leaving, and Eunice was so enthralled in talking with her sister she barely registered Tony was there.

  Tony got in his new, used truck and left with Suzie and JP.

  “How long are they going to be there?”

  “Usually two weeks,” Tony said. “They’ll leave after the full moon.”

  “So, who is this Joselin?”

  Tony sighed, while JP tried not to laugh.

  “Had things not gone well between you and me, I, um, may have, married her, sometime next year,” Tony answered sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck.

  “What?” Suzie screamed, sharply hurting the boys’ ears.

  “Ow!” JP said.

  “Well, a lot of things have changed since last year, and after you killed that bear, you more than earned your place in the community.”

  “Have you ever… were you ever… you know, you and her.”

  “Huh? No, I’ve only met her a couple of times. I love you.”

  “Aww.” JP said and received a very dirty look from Suzie.

  2

  The reunion continued into the night and it was one of the few times the residents ever saw Robert Bordeaux have a good time. With a plate of grilled chicken and a beer, Bordeaux sat down with William Endore, who was enjoying a plate of ribs and corn on the cob. They sat outside the ellipse of the trailer park, outside unwelcomed listeners. The loud music and those by the bonfire didn’t even know they were gone.

  “So, what is this new development?”

  Bordeaux told him about the recent events.

  “Wow, and you didn’t kill her?”

  “Nope,” Bordeaux shook his head. “She’s progressed better than we hoped.”

  “Well, if killing a rabid bear in your first month doesn’t prove she can handle it nothing will.” Endore said and laughed.

  “Nope,” Bordeaux agreed.

  “I don’t think any of my up and comers could handle that, but she still has that temper. I don’t see her and Joselin ever getting along.”

  Bordeaux laughed. “No, I don’t think so. About the temper, though, a lot of us still have it,” Bordeaux said, drinking his beer. “Some of us never lose it. Give her time, she’ll learn. She’s learning the important stuff. Tony is teaching a little bit more every day. It won’t be long before she’ll learn control.”

  “And thank you for that.” Endore toasted Bordeaux. “I think all of us would be dead now if you hadn’t sought us out and taught us that. You’re the savior of our people.”

  Bordeaux smiled. He wasn’t sure if he believed it, but it was nice to hear. “There are still more out there.”

  Endore nodded. “Probably. Possibly some of them don’t even know what they are.” He finished his beer and set the empty bottle aside. “Maybe when this summer is over, we should go look for them.”

  “Maybe after the total eclipse and everything is all right.” Bordeaux said, looking up at the waxing moon above and hoped nothing horrible was coming their way, but he knew better.

  Chapter Thirty: The New Hunters

  June 8th, 1971

  While Suzie was ready to rip apart some blond girl from upstate New York for coming onto Tony, Jack held a VFW meeting. With the help of the other members of the VFW (the ones Jack liked to called the “part-timers,” because they showed up once a month or once every three months to the meetings and didn’t need the continuous support of the camaraderie of other combat vets), Jack was able to set up a temporary VFW in the backroom of the Lutheran church. It was the post-worship meeting room, decorated with pictures of Jesus drawn by the fifth and sixth grade classes along with brown, construction paper crosses made by the third grade Sunday School class. Unlike the original VFW, no alcohol was served.

  “I’m glad you all could make it,” Jack said, starting the meeting. “Welcome to the new VFW/Moose Lodge until our new meeting place is rebuilt. The insurance company has informed me the check is in the mail and we will start rebuilding this fall.”

  The congregation clapped.

  “Thank you. I’m sure you’ve all heard about the, ahem, secret kept by our dearly departed members that needs to be investigated. After all, these men, our friends and neighbors died for this secret, this rumor. My friends had… special weapons, which I managed to pull out of the fire.

  “I thought they really died in the fire.” A part-timer, Neill McKidd, who served in the Navy from 1950-1952, was a year ahead of Jack in school and came home better off than the others, seeing less combat in the Navy than he would have if he was in the Army or Marines. Neill raised his hand and Jack called on him like a teacher calling on a student.

  “Yes?”

  “Is it true Bruce Rivetts really saw a werewolf and is a werewolf really the Beast of Bestiavir?” Neill asked with intense skepticism.

  Jack imagined this was the reason most of the part timers arrived.

  “I mean,” Neill continued. “Do you really expect us to believe Lon Chaney Jr. is living in those woods?”

  The men laughed. Jack wished Neill would stop saying, “Really.” He really did.

  After a few seconds fidgeting behind the podium, Jack answered, “I’ll be honest with you gentlemen, I don’t know.”

  “It could a been a coyote.”

  “Believe me, that was no coyote,” Jack said, a little defensively. “Listen, I know what this beast is capable of, because I’ve seen it with my own eyes, and now, the body of a teenage boy – the same age as my own daugh
ter – was found mutilated in those woods. He looked like he had been attacked and partially eaten by a wild animal.”

  “Wasn’t that kid really the dog killer?” Neill asked.

  Jack sighed. “That has never been proven.”

  “But there’s really a lot of evidence pointing this to…”

  “Yes, yes, but he was still a teenage boy who was murdered by some monster that has been haunting those for generations. We have to find out what killed Peter Jordan. This was what our friends died for!”

  “So, you really think a werewolf killed the kid who was killing dogs?”

  “I don’t know,” Jack said, and that was the truth. “We don’t know any more than we did years ago. All we’ve heard since childhood is there is an elusive monster in those woods. There is something real in those woods!” Jack slammed his fist on the podium. “And we need to find out what it is!”

  The room became quiet for a tense couple of seconds and then the men chatted among themselves.

  “C’mon, you guys. We’ve fought the Germans, the Italians, the Japanese, the Koreans, the Chinese, and the Viet Cong, and we’re afraid of a local legend? A fairy tale monster that scared us as children that we’ve told to scare own children into behaving is real and it’s out there.”

  The room stayed quiet for a moment and then Jack continued.

  “If you won’t do it for me, that’s fine, but do it for those who died trying to find this monster.”

  2

  “This is what we get for being a bunch of Doubting Thomases,” Paul Rains said after finishing setting up his tent on the first night of the full moon on June 8th.

  The other men – Paul Rains, Marine from 1943-1944, Delmore Griffin, Navy from 1944-1946, and Gary Wallace, Army from 1953-1954 – laughed. They volunteered for this because they were dared and guilt tripped by Jack Keaton to go and investigate what happened to that boy, Peter Jordan. The authorities didn’t find anything, nor did state animal control, but they weren’t local, and they wouldn’t know what to look for.

  Dusk was an hour away, and the camp was setup complete with a small campfire going. Their separate trucks were just a couple of yards away, and their rifles were slung across their shoulders.

  “Damn, these rifles are heavy,” said Delmore, as he sat down in an aluminum lawn chair. “Why did Jack insist we take these guns?”

  “Because these guns have the special bullets made by Tank, God rest his soul,” said Paul Rains, spitting tobacco juice on the fire, imagining he was a real cowboy.

  “Is there a problem with silver bullets? C’mon?” Gary asked.

  “Yeah, they’re heavy, expensive, and unnecessary,” Delmore said, lighting up a cigarette. “The concept doesn’t make any sense.”

  “How so?” Gary asked, fanning Delmore’s cigarette smoke away from him, while poking the fire with a stick to keep it going.

  “Well, the purpose of a bullet is to pierce anything in its path at a high velocity and a high enough caliber bullet will pierce or puncture any living creature on the planet. Someone playing lawn jarts in the backyard is still a threat, just as some kid with a sling shot and a sharp enough rock, right?”

  The other men nodded.

  “Ok, so why do we need silver bullets when lead ones would work just as well?”

  “Because… they’re werewolves?” Paul asked. He wasn’t the sharpest guy, but he was a good soldier.

  “Let’s say Jack Keaton isn’t as crazy as I suspect him to be. I read about that somewhere how some people go crazy after suffering a traumatic experience, especially when people die who they loved or cared about and they’re still alive. It’s like the guilt of surviving drives’em cuckoo, I guess, and I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what happened to Jack.”

  “I heard he almost lost his job,” Gary said, shaking his head.

  Delmore nodded. “Heard that too. It’s sad, but back to the werewolves. Let’s say the Beast of Bestiavir really is a werewolf. Why does it take a silver bullet to kill it? It’s a living being, right, with a beating heart, air in its lungs, and a functioning brain, so why won’t a regular bullet do the job? If I shot a dog, coyote, a regular wolf, or even a man in the heart or the head, it would die and stay dead. So, why’s a werewolf any different?”

  Delmore gave them a moment to ponder it.

  “I think the reason is because a werewolf isn’t supposed to exist, so writers and movie stars can create whatever the hell they want to about such creatures. It makes the story scarier if it takes an obscure and special way to kill the creature.”

  Gary looked at Delmore and said, “If we see the beast tonight, you can try your theory.”

  The men laughed.

  Nightfall came with the moon high in the sky and the men stayed at their campsite at the edge of the woods where Peter Jordan had died a month before.

  “What time have you got?”

  Gary looked at his watch. “Almost ten.”

  Delmore stood up and stretched. “Does anyone else think it’s a bit foolish to hunt for an alleged (cough) werewolf on the first night of the full moon on its own turf?”

  Gary said, “Best place to catch’im. He’s really kind of bashful in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “Do you think we’ll actually see him?” Paul asked. “The last one to see it was Bruce Rivetts back in February or March.”

  “But can we trust what that drunk saw?” Gary asked.

  “Don’t speak ill of the dead, but yes, Jack did,” Delmore said, stoking the fire. “So did all the other guys at the VFW before they were immolated. They were coming here, right where we’re standing, the night they burned up. So, if you have any doubts why we are here – it’s not about Mad Jack Keaton or the mutilated body of some evil kid. It’s about what those guys, our brothers in arms, died wanting to know about the truth, about what lies in those woods during a full moon. We honor those we lost by continuing their quest.” Delmore stood up, slung his heavy rifle from his shoulder and into his hands as he headed toward the woods. “Come on, fellas, let’s go hunting.”

  3

  The three men stepped in the woods feeling much differently than Suzie when she walked into those same woods more than a week before. Delmore was the oldest and the highest ranking officer, lieutenant first class at the time of his honorable discharge, and led them into the woods, slowly and step-by-step. He looked up and saw the large, full moon above them, and Delmore, as well as the other men, started to sweat as the moon seemed to smile down on them.

  Gary, taking the rear position, looked back for a second and saw their campsite, campfire, and trucks disappearing in the distance.

  In the distance ahead of them, they heard a wolf howling. They kept walking, if a little more slowly and cautiously than before. Their breathing was, collectively, quick and shallow, and each man had cold goose bumps on a warm, New Mexico night. Their eyes were keen, sharp, and their ears were attuned to the woods at night. One wolf howling in the woods was not surprising. Since, all sorts of wildlife live in these woods – wolves, and coyotes, and bears (oh my), but most were afraid of man, and if they weren’t, the men had enough ammo to make them afraid.

  When the wolf howled again, the men stopped, because more than a football field away, they saw a faint pair of yellow eyes staring at them. There is was! The Beast of Bestiavir was real and looking right at them. The men were more curious than scared and both their mouths and weapons lowered simultaneously. Their hearts were in their throats.

  The eyes slowly came toward them and in seconds, they could see that the Beast of Bestiavir was a larger-than-normal gray wolf with piercing yellow eyes. Its head was down, eyes up, and teeth bared, but still not charging, just walking closer.

  “Um… hey guys?” Paul asked. “Aren’t we supposed to shoot it or something?”

  “Not yet,” Delmore whispered. He put his hand out signaling the others to keep their weapons lowered.

  Paul said, “It’s still three against one.”


  As he said that, they saw another pair of yellow eyes off in the distance. Then another pair, and another pair, and it wasn’t long before there were dozens of eyes staring at them from all directions, surrounding them on three sides, and closing in. They learned what was scarier than the Beast of Bestiavir – many Beasts of Bestiavir staring right at them.

  “Nuh-nuh-now what?” Paul whispered.

  “Fall back slowly,” Delmore whispered back. “No sudden movements.”

  Almost simultaneously, the wolves growled as they encroached upon the retreating hunters, their curiosity was gone, replaced by a nearly paralyzing fear. Paul did his best not to wet himself as they backed their way out of the woods.

  A wolf growled and clenched its teeth a little too close to Paul’s left hand. He screamed and shot the wolf. The gunshot startled the men and the wolves alike as it rang out like a crack of thunder. The men paused and watched as the dying wolf morphed into a naked teenage girl with blonde hair. Joselin Brooks lie dying on the ground.

  The wolves stopped, howled in unison, then they grew, changing their forms into large, bipedal werewolves. These were the creatures of nightmares and legends. They stared at the men and growled.

  “Oh, shit,” Delmore whispered, continuing backing up quickly and the other three followed suit. He took out one of them – Edith Brooks – before William Endore sliced through his chest.

  Paul fired to his left. He hit three of them, wounding another one before a white werewolf leapt out of the darkness and ripped him apart in a maddening frenzy. He feasted, and others came to eat as well.

  “Fuck this,” Gary Wallace thought after Paul shot the wolf who became a dead blonde girl. He tossed his gun aside and ran, sprinting for the camp, never looking back even as he heard his friends being slaughtered.