by Adam Millard
“How nice of you to notice.”
RHODESIAN NIGHTS
By Douglas Vance Castagna
And somewhere in the night, a dog howled. At least that’s what Lizbeth thought as she walked to her car. Well, ran to her car was more like it. She thought to herself she should have gone to the bathroom before she left the bar, but it was a slow night, she made almost nothing in tips and just wanted to get home, and away from the city. Normally she did not mind hanging out after work; she was always up for having some fun but like many others she was eager to get from the safety of her job to the safety of her home. Someone would probably be attacked again. She wasn’t really worried about the attacks that have been happening around the city, though. Not really worried. Maybe, just a little bit she admitted. There were about three animal attacks in as many days and before that, the same thing happened last month. If anything had happened before that, she was either not aware of it or no one had made a big deal of it. That is before something shredded some rich fat cat out for a late night jog. Since then animal control, police, even citizens patrol groups made their presence known. The victims were mauled as if some wild dog, or wolf, or wolverine had made them their prey and meal. The victims were attacked and bitten and huge chunks were missing from their bodies, presumably eaten. One of the victims from last month even had a limb taken. Police were able to follow the trail of blood until it disappeared down an alley into a dumpster. Neither limb, nor bone, bone fragments, nor the beast were found.
Lizbeth glanced over her shoulder and fumbled in her purse for the keys. I really should have gone pee, she thought. As she was about to open the door, a hand grabbed her shoulder.
She screamed.
He screamed.
“I’m so sorry ma’am.”
She turned to him. He was a homeless man who often slept in that alley. His name, she tried to think of it but she had almost pissed herself, and that seemed to be a more pressing matter at the moment. Rufus, that was it Rufus; he and his dog were a fixture in the neighborhood. He wore several layers of torn and tattered clothes, all of which were stained and had a musty damp mildew odor to them. He never smelled from urine though, which made her think even more of how she had to go herself. He was nice and would often sweep up in front of some of the stores or do some errands for coffee or for scraps for himself and his dog.
“It’s all right, Rufus, what’s the matter?”
“I can’t find Lucky anywhere? Have you seen him?” He had a picture of a hand drawn dog, it wasn’t bad; it looked a lot like his dog.
“No I haven’t, Rufus. Good drawing. Looks just like him.”
He smiled broadly, revealing crooked rows of uneven, grey teeth. “Thank you kindly. Lucky, he’s a Rhodesian Ridgeback. He is a great watchdog, but he don’t take to strangers much so I am afraid with all this animal attack nonsense they may hurt him. Last time he disappeared on me somebody done hurt him good.”
“What do you think it is Rufus? A rabid dog? Wolf?”
He laughs, “Naw, ain’t nothing like that. I know exactly what it is?”
“Really? What is it?”
“Well, a werewolf of course.” He laughed and half walked half staggered away. For a second she tried to gauge whether or not he was serious, and decided he was probably just joking with her and she finally laughed too. She watched him stagger down the alley and as he disappeared she turned back to her car.
That is when something heavy crashed into her knocking her down to the ground. It was on her. She couldn't move; it was too heavy; too strong. She tried to scream but as she did it was silenced in her throat as sharp teeth ripped into it, biting and severing her vocal chords and jugular vein. She felt the warmth of her blood as it drained from her. She watched in horror as the thing that most assuredly had taken her life feasted on her flesh. She lay there, in the alley, bleeding to death from her ravaged throat as the feasting continued, and would continue long after she expired. The last thing she remembered was that she was finally able to go to the bathroom, whether she wanted to or not. Her bladder emptied in the alley along with her life and her dignity and all that made her who she was.
*
“Hey is it true that there was human DNA as well as animal DNA in the wounds?”
Cecil Cobb, a squirrelly little man with a big oversized coat and camera slung around his neck. asked as he played with his Android tablet. He was a reporter and an annoying presence around Midtown South. He was annoying, but good. Not that he was fair or impartial or a decent human being, he was good insofar as he found the dirt, what was left out by the police and usually would print it. Meaning he was one of the many douche-bags that the police had to deal with on a daily basis.
“No comment Ceec, and where did you hear some science-fiction fantasy bullshit like that?” Det. Wallaby replied.
“Can’t reveal my sources, Chief,” he said as he continued fondling his tablet.
“I’m about to reveal my foot up your ass in a second. And who let you in anyway, get the hell out of here. Stevenson, escort Mr. Cobb out please.”
He directed the officer to get Cobb out of the bullpen. As the reporter was being escorted out, he kept protesting and shouting things about a cover up. Detective Second Grade Jason Wallaby was an eighteen year veteran and as cases go this was the most gruesome he had ever been involved with. He had covered many homicides but none as violent and bloody as these. He walked over to the board which displayed the photos of the last eight victims. Coupled with their before shots were shots of the aftermath of the attacks. There were six women and two men. Last month there were five victims. This month so far there were two dead, and one sole survivor. Yesterday’s victim had fought back.
“Sanchez, run down what last night’s vic told us again.”
Sanchez, a tall thin and all too well dressed Detective pulled his notebook out and flipped through a few pages.
“Ok, we got Mendy Meyerson, aged 32. She claims she was walking home from the bus stop. As she passed by the train station something sacked her. She was knocked to the ground.”
“She said she was facing her attacker the whole time?”
“No, not at first. As soon as this thing, guy whatever, hit her she struggled to turn around and get into her bag.”
“For the knife.”
“For the knife, yes. She sustained multiple lacerations on her left shoulder, sizeable chunks were removed from her shoulder near her neck.”
“And she said it was this guy?” he said holding an artists rendering of a generic looking thin Caucasian, or vaguely Hispanic man, somewhere between twenty and forty.
“Yes, she sat with the artist for hours, or rather he sat with her. She is still in the hospital; they are trying to salvage her face.”
Wallaby shook his head. “Pretty woman. Shame. Go on Sanchez.”
“Well, she screamed and fought and tried to get the knife as she pulled it out the assailant. He latched on to her cheek and ripped it right off. As he did, though, she managed to stab him in the abdomen.”
“And the sample came back?”
Sanchez looked up from his book and Wallaby looked at him and they both said, “Non-human DNA.”
Sanchez put his notepad on the desk. “Ain’t that some shit? And the DNA on the other victims says that there was human and canine DNA in the wounds, and the knife here had the same; both canine and human DNA. It makes no sense.”
Wallaby stretched and looked at the board and shook his head. “No it doesn’t, Sanchez. If I did not know any better I would say there is a werewolf loose in the city. I know, I know, don’t get the paddy wagon just yet. I was thinking it was weird with the other attacks, no witnesses and all, and the traces of human DNA, well that can be explained away right?”
“I guess, heavy petting, some lover's saliva, then the animal attack; I guess it could play that way.”
“Not with my wife,” he laughs. “But let's say that this is the case: this fifth attack last month,
she saw the attacker, it was a man. The wounds traced positive for both salivae and now the blood of the assailant, as well, has traces of both DNA’s.”
“What do you make of it?”
Sanchez walks over to the board. “Don’t know, though we scoured the emergency rooms looking for this perp, he would have had to have gotten help. I mean, she said she stabbed him good, right?”
“There was a good amount of blood at the scene that was not the victim's, yes.”
“Well, all I do know that if it is a werewolf, there are two more days of moon left. Well actually probably only one since it's September.”
“What the hell does that have to do with anything?” Wallaby asked.
“The warmer months seem to have an affect on the moon, increasing the illumination, or at least increasing it the way it is viewable from earth. Actually, the moon is really technically full only one day during any given month. It just looks full because of the percentage of illumination therein.”
“Looks full. What the hell are you talking about Sanchez?”
“Well, when it waxes full and wanes full, it averages about 95 percent full those times, about two days waxing two days waning, and one at its fullest which is really only 99.99 percent but we say it's full.”
“We? Who is we, Sanchez?”
“Astronomers and stuff. I have a telescope; it's sort of a hobby of mine.”
“Let’s keep that between us, okay Sanchez?”
A few minutes later the call came in.
*
When Lizbeth screamed in shock as Rufus had taken her by surprise, someone had called the police. They had heard the scream and knew about the attacks and felt like something had to be done. The call was all that the concerned citizen had felt compelled to do; they did not look out their window even, for fear of having to be a witness, of having to testify, of having to have the public eye watching them. No, the call was all that was made and on this occasion the response was immediate. A radio car was dispatched and it arrived moments after the call.
Briggs and Malloy were partners for about three years. Briggs was a ten year veteran and Malloy was three years in. Both men worked well with each other and liked the third watch. It was usually quieter than the day, except during full moons. The surprising thing was, these animal attacks were a welcome change to the officers. Usually the freaks always came out at night during a full moon, all over the city. More shootings, rapes, muggings, everything went down during a full moon. However, the regular increase in crime seemed hampered by these attacks and things were slower the last few nights than they had been the preceding month.
“Shit, I’ll take a fucking wolf loose in the city over the normal bullshit any day.”
Malloy yawned. “Same shit, different day. Man, if it isn’t some tweeker amped up on some shit who’ll corn hole his grandma for a fix, it's some fucking escaped zoo animal chomping on some teen twat going for a jog. I am so fed up with this bullshit. Hey, man, slow down; this is it, probably down the alley. Let's go on foot.”
The unit rolled to a stop and both men got out and took their flashlights and pulled their guns from their holsters. Briggs looked at his partner, “Man, you a whiney bastard, you know that?”
“Yeah, that’s what my wife says to me, too. So what else is new? You gonna stand there bitching or are we going to see what’s going on?”
“You taking the tranqs, too?” Briggs deferred to his partner's expertise.
“Fuck that. If we got a rabid wolf or some crazy shit like that, I am not going to take the chance that it's gonna go to beddie-byes and then tries to take a chunk out of me. My good old 9 will do just fine.”
Briggs nodded and they approached the alley.
They heard slurping sounds. It sounded to Malloy like someone was eating good BBQ, then he thought that he never heard of any such thing as bad BBQ. He thought BBQ was like sex; even if it was bad it was still pretty damn good. He smiled at his joke and turned on his flashlight.
Both men saw the same thing at the same time. They saw the woman lying on the ground, and hunched over her was a naked man covered in blood and gore. He was pulling her small intestine out of her body, and gnawing on the end of it. In his other hand he had what looked like a kidney.
Briggs dropped his flashlight. The noise alerted the cannibal. He looked up, dropped the kidney and stopped pulling at his chew toy. He put the intestine down and licked his fingers. He looked at both officers and waited to see what they were going to do, and grabbed another little piece of gore off of the floor and slowly stood up.
Briggs retrieved his flashlight and Malloy raised his gun and aimed it at the man-beast. He did not know what to call this thing he was looking at. He couldn't believe that it was something that looked so human doing these unspeakable and depraved things. His voice was shaky despite him trying to remain calm. “Step away from the body and put your hands up.”
Briggs raised his gun now, too, following his partner’s lead.
The beast walked toward them slowly. “Stop right there,” Briggs managed to say in a more even tone than his partner, which surprised even him.
“Well officers, it's so good to see you. What took you guys so long? You know, I was not exactly the most stealthy as I have been in the past” He edged even closer to them.
“Stop fucking moving!” Malloy ordered.
The creature smiled. “Want a snack?” He held out his palm. In it was an ovary with part of the ligament still attached to it, dripping with blood. “No? Oh well, don’t want it to go to waste.” He was about to put it in his mouth when he changed his mind and threw it at Malloy, who raised his arms to shield his face. The man attacked, biting off Malloy’s nose as he tackled him to the ground. Briggs reacted a bit quicker than he thought, and turned and shot, but it went wide and struck the ground near the two men. Malloy had already dropped both his gun and his Mag-light as he lost his right cheek along with his nose. He screamed and screamed but help would not come for him as the next time he felt teeth they were ripping through his neck. This time the teeth found the carotid and the arterial blood flowed forth like a geyser spraying him, his partner and the alley. Nothing would save Malloy. Briggs shot at the attacker again, this time catching him in the shoulder as he rose from his soon-to-be-dead partner. The man fell back.
“That fucking hurt,” he said as he straightened himself up and looked at his wound. He smiled at Briggs, then lunged for him, biting the cop's wrist and locking on, drawing blood. Briggs screamed as their eyes met. He thought something looked really weird about this monster’s eyes, and he noticed something around his neck. It looked like a…
He shook himself out of what ever malaise had come over him and brought his pistol down on the murderer's head. There was a loud yelp. He did not release Briggs’ wrist. Briggs brought his arm up again. Their eyes met again, and soon his wrist was released as the attacker backed off. “Be seeing you again sometime soon, Officer.”
The creature that now looked like an average, ordinary man, smiled and bowed and ran down the alleyway, and disappeared into the night.
Briggs eyed his ruined wrist. There were gashes in it and it was torn down to the bone in multiple places; and it pumped blood. In an effort to stave off an impending demise from blood-loss, he removed his tie and wrapped it around his wrist before he went to tend to his partner, who had died a few minutes ago. He had actually died about twenty seconds after his carotid was torn from his body. The only pain he felt was inflicted when he lost his nose and cheek. His eye was also drooping out of his face because the cheek had been torn all the way up to the orbital covering. Briggs pulled the tie that was wrapped around his wrist tighter. Even though he would take a quick trip to the ER, where it would be cleaned and stitched, it would ultimately get infected.
Sirens could be heard getting louder and a car screeched to a halt just at the mouth of the alley. The sound of two car-doors slamming and two pair of hurried feet clapping against the asphalt b
rought both Sanchez and Wallaby to the abattoir. Taking in the scene, Wallaby was the first to react. “Son of a fucking whore, Sanchez, call a bus. What the fuck happened? What happened?”
Sanchez went back to the car to call it in. For the next few hours up until the morning, the alley was a closed-off crime-scene. The bodies were taken away, evidence was gathered, the entire neighborhood was canvassed, but to no avail. The only witness was Briggs, and he was a basket case. Sanchez and Wallaby visited him in the hospital and he gave them a description of a man. Not a beast. Well not in a literal sense, but what man could do these things? Briggs told them everything, except for what he saw in those eyes and what was around the killer’s neck.
The eyes. What he saw in them was odd; odd in that he had seen the iridescent tapetal layer before. It lay just beyond the surface of the eye and could only be seen when they caught the light just right, or in a photograph. He had seen them before, many times, but not on any human.
He also knew what was around the killer’s neck, and it was too weird to mention. They would think he was crazy if he told them that this maniac was wearing a...
*
“…dog collar.”
“A what?” Rufus asked.
The volunteer smiled at him. She was about twenty and had volunteered at the local animal shelter since High School. She loved working with animals; they were so much nicer than people, she thought. “Yes Rufus. His Collar. Lucky was Lucky. That’s how we knew to get you, that you was his Daddy.”
Rufus smiled. “Ha ha, yeah, I guess so. We have been together for a while, but he disappears on me a lot, you know?”
She nodded, “I know. It’s a problem, I guess, when you have nowhere to secure your pets, but I wanted to tell you he was in here about two days ago. It seemed that someone had hurt him. His belly was cut, but it was not too bad; just a scratch. We disinfected it and saw his collar and it said his name, and yours, of course. I would have brought him to you, or one of our other volunteers, but in the morning he was gone.”