Beneath a Winter Moon

by Shawson M Hebert

  Alan stepped outside, but before he shut the door, he turned around. “I sure hope that Steven and Jenny are alright, don’t you….Dad?” He slammed the door, then, not waiting for a reply. As he walked through the yard he found that he was more than a little satisfied at having gotten in the last word.

  The old buzzard was hiding something…probably that he failed to report an emergency call or that he had been sleeping on the job again. Alan could not help but believe that his own father was probably going to end up carrying some of the blame for whatever was happening with the Svensons. He shivered as a gust of wind blew stinging snowflakes into his face.

  It was about three in the afternoon when pulled into his own driveway. Alan leaned forward over the steering wheel and watched the wipers swing back and forth, shoving small flakes of snow out of view. No way to tell if this storm is going to clear anytime soon, he thought. There was only about six and a half hours of daylight left. He needed an hour and a half flight time for the trip to the lake and back. He knew he was taking a chance, never mind that he was probably breaking a law or two, because if the storm were to whip up again while he was at the cabin he would be stuck and he didn’t want to ponder the outcome of a night alone at the scene of some horrible crime. Was it a crime? Part of it at least, he thought. The man on the horse was definitely committing a crime….and just who in the hell was that guy?

  Inside, he had a talk with Kathy. He told her everything, and she became upset that he would even think about going out there alone. When Alan reminded her that he would not be alone, she scoffed, knowing that the photographer would not be much help. She pleaded with him to take another person with him if he absolutely insisted on going.

  He relented. “I’ll ask Travis to come, too. He’s a good guy and tough as anyone else, I suppose. At least he talks a good game. He’ll want to go when I tell him all of this. Steven and he go way back…much further than I do, anyway. He’s Steven’s age, so they have probably known each other most of their lives. I bet he’ll come.”

  Travis Salmon, like most of the people from the town, had grown up in Hope and was known for his hunting skills.

  “I still don’t like it, Alan,” Kathy said. “What if you get boxed in by the weather? Right in the middle of what you believe might be murder? That’s insane.” She looked at him, her eyes pleading.

  “It’ll be fine,” he said.

  He left home after phoning Travis. The short, bull of a man said he would wait for him at the Pub, and had sworn to keep their ‘mission’ quiet. Travis was in his forties and had worked just about every job the town had to offer. He had thick, leathery hands and a massive chest for his height of five feet, seven inches. A wave of relief washed over Alan when Travis agreed to accompany them.

  At Enoch’s, Alan sat with Travis and they gathered what news they could about the weather. Supposedly, it was going to clear up for the next few hours, and it looked as though that would be the end of it for quite a while. If so, that would leave them just enough time to get out there, see what was what, and get back before sundown. They decided that, if they ran into the constable, they would stick to the claim of engine trouble.

  When the sky cleared, Alan and Travis hurried out of the pub. They stopped at the hotel and picked up an antsy Craig….who seemed so anxious that Alan was really beginning to wonder if taking him was a mistake. He couldn’t refuse his offer, really—after all, it was Craig who had discovered that something was wrong in the first place.

  “I’m ready,” Craig said, excitement pouring from him as he slid into the back seat. He was holding up a small leather bag for Alan and Travis to see…as if that was supposed to mean something. He put the bag down and muttered, “My best outdoor and indoor digital cameras…”

  Travis smiled at Craig and held up a stainless steel .50 caliber Desert Eagle semi-automatic handgun. “I’m ready, too.”

  Alan could not help but chuckle as he pressed Travis’s arm down to get the weapon out of site. “Put that thing away.”

  The sky was amazingly clear by the time the men reached the airfield. They had almost four hours of daylight left, plenty of time to take a good look around the cabin and surrounding area, then get back to town.

  The Cessna touched down on the ice of the lake, a rough landing on the skids of the aircraft. Alan maneuvered the plane so that the passenger door settled right next to the newly constructed dock. Alan felt more than a little nervous as he crossed over to the passenger side and stepped down out of the cockpit. Travis and Craig were already standing on the dock, looking toward the cabin. Travis had the Desert Eagle stuck in his pants and an extra magazine of ammunition bulged from a front pocket.

  They wasted no time, heading to the cabin immediately, but they remained silent, looking in all directions as they approached the cabin. “Shit,” Alan muttered, “look at the door.” They were only about fifty feet away now, and could clearly see the shattered remains of what had been the front door. As they got closer, they saw dark stains halfway in and out of the entrance.

  “Fuck me,” Travis muttered, pulling the handgun out and ramming the slide back and releasing it to load a round into the chamber. The sound of the slide seemed much louder than it should have. It was then that Alan took note of the silence all around them. No horses, no animals, no people. Alan inadvertently shuddered as goose bumps formed on his neck and arms.

  Travis stepped onto the porch first. He smelled the fresh pine scent of the newly constructed cabin and also noticed a copper-like odor in the air.

  “Holy…moly,” Travis whispered, understanding beyond doubt that he was standing on pine floorboards that were soaked with dried blood. He whistled softly.

  “You go in first,” Craig said, obviously speaking to Travis.

  Travis turned and scowled—a step away from the entrance. “Now, why don’t you and your cameras lead us into the house of horror?” The sarcasm rolled off his tongue, but Craig didn’t detect any real anger, taking it as just being Travis’s rough personality.

  “Careful,” Alan said, stepping in front of Craig to stand right behind Travis.

  Travis took a deep breath and stepped into the cabin, Alan and Craig right behind him. Without any lights on, the cabin was dimly lit, making the men even more nervous. Travis was moving slowly, stepping over the shattered boards that had once been a front door. He held his gun at the ready, just as he’d seen police officers and detectives on television do it. A flickering image of Don Johnson, circa the Miami Vice days, came to mind, and he had the slightest rush of adrenaline…and wished he were a snappier dresser.

  They walked all the way in, single file, their eyes exploring the cabin. The damage seemed to be contained to the foyer and the door. They cautiously entered the small living area where the new tongue-in-groove pine floor squeaked under their weight. A decision needed to be made. Did they go round the bar and move into the kitchen, or did they veer left, down the hallway…or did they go up the stairs that now faced them and led to the loft?

  “Hallway,” Alan whispered. “Into the master bedroom.”

  The bedroom was empty and there were no signs of struggle. Travis looked at Alan, seeking orders as he turned around to head back into the hallway.

  Alan nodded. “Kitchen,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Then we’ll check the loft.”

  They heard a thud. They froze. Travis placed a shoulder against the hallway wall and raised his weapon. They heard a loud scratching and something that sounded like a hiss. They eased their way along the wall until they reached the right-turn leading into the kitchen.

  “On three,” Travis whispered. “We go on three.” Alan and Craig nodded nervously. Craig was sweating, his forehead covered in clear rivulets. “Probably nothing,” he whispered.

  “One.”

  “Two.”

  “THREE!” Travis shouted as he launched around the corner, weapon at the ready—and scared the wits out of a raccoon that was at eye level inside an open cabinet. The raccoo
n leaped high into the air, hissing and screeching, claws extended...a maniacal ball of silver and black fur.

  “MOTHERFUCKER, MOTHERFUCKER!” Travis screamed as he squeezed the trigger on the hand cannon twice, his eyes tightly shut.

  They felt as well as heard the amazing booms as the Desert Eagle fired. Their ears rang, rendering them deaf for a second.

  “God! Oh God! Oh God!” Craig yelled, and then dropped like a sack of potatoes, straight to the floor, hands clamped tightly over his ears.

  Alan just about pissed himself, but saw the raccoon and yelled for Travis to stop shooting. He shouted for everyone to shut up. “Christ Almighty, Travis! What the fuck is wrong with you,” he yelled, grabbing Travis by both arms, forcing the man to open his eyes and look around.

  The raccoon continued to hiss and screech as it tore through the living room, leaping from one piece of furniture to another, making its way outside.

  “Look!” Alan said, heaving breaths as if he had run a marathon. “You just blew two holes right through the kitchen wall!”

  Travis jerked away and backed up into the living room. “I…I…shit….I thought someone was coming at us. Fuck me…wow.”

  Alan shook his head, “And I had expected you, with all your years of experience hunting these mountains, using all kinds of weapons…I expected you to be the one who would keep his cool, here.”

  “Fuck you, Alan,” Travis said, absentmindedly swinging the handgun in Alan and Craig’s direction. “Yeah, I’ve hunted all my life and know how to use a gun…but shit….it’s not like I have ever investigated a spooky murder scene…blood everyfreakingwhere.”

  Alan calmed down and reached down to help Craig up. The man was sitting with his back against the wall, knees up to his chest and arms around them. He had only now moved his hands from his ears. He stood up, shaking, but said nothing. He held onto his camera bag as if his life depended on it.

  “Well, I think we can assume that no one is in the cabin.” Alan said shaking his head. “We still need to take a look upstairs, though.”

  “I’ll do it,” said Craig, shaking as he pulled a camera from his bag.

  “We’ll do it,” Alan corrected. “Travis, put the damned cannon back in your pants.”

  Travis was silent for a moment, and then muttered, “That’s what she said.”

  Alan could not help but burst into a nervous laughter and a moment later, all three men were laughing and reenacting the events, Alan holding up his hands, fingers curled to simulate claws as he hissed, mimicking the raccoon. Travis cursed in mock-fear. The laughter settled their nerves and they were extremely happy to see that the loft looked untouched.

  Back outside on the porch, they closely studied the shattered door and the blood. “You think it could have been a Grizzly?” Alan asked Travis, deferring to someone who was supposed to know a lot more than him when it came to the subject of local animals.

  “I thought that was exactly it—until just now. Now, I am not so sure. Look really close at the wood.”

  “That’s what she said,” chuckled Craig. It didn’t have much effect, so he turned away and took some photos, obviously disappointed.

  “It was definitely a big animal,” Travis continued, “but I don’t know about a bear. See the few claw marks on that large hunk? The pattern doesn’t fit. It’s not like a bear. Hell, it’s almost like the thing had opposable thumbs. Look at the striations. See on this piece how it’s like that thumb or maybe it’s a dew-claw, but see how it turns and digs in…it’s almost like a man’s handprint.”

  “I don’t know much about tracking for bear or just everyday old tracking the way you do, but I have to tell you that there isn’t a man alive who could make those marks.”

  “Never said there was…I’m just saying that if it’s a bear, and maybe it is…then it’s a fucking deformed bear. It’s a big bastard, too. Look how high up some of the marks are.”

  Alan stared down at the dried blood. He felt sorry for whoever had been there when it was destroyed, and he found himself hoping that it was Kyle and not Steven or Jenny. He was wracked with guilt for the thought, but it was true. He didn’t want it to be anyone, much less anyone that he might know, but he desperately wanted it to be someone other than Steven or Jenny.

  “We better check the stables and barn…and then up where we saw the fire and the…body.”

  “Don’t you think we should get on the radio to the constable and let him know he needs to get his butt over here?” Craig asked timidly.

  “That was my first thought when we saw the blood…but I am afraid he will just haul us in and arrest us.” Alan sighed. “No...I think that we need to ensure that no one is hurt and in need of help up here, and then we’ll get out of Dodge before the Marshall actually does decide to come to town.”

  “And before the storm kicks in again.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Travis spoke up, “Why in the hell are we going to worry with the barn and that place you said a body was dragged? We know what happened here. Christ’s sake…you don’t need to be a rocket scientist to see that someone got their guts ripped out and became dinner for something big. Maybe someone came in later and wanted to clean up the mess.”

  “C’mon…that doesn’t make sense,” Alan replied. “Any idiot knows that you do not mess with a scene like this. You tell the police or the rangers and you leave well enough alone. Besides, I came here to be sure that no one is lying wounded around here…in need of help.” He thought about that for a moment, realizing he had not brought any extra first-aide gear…and had left his plane’s kit back in the aircraft’s cabin. He shook his head, upset with the oversight. “It doesn’t look like Steven is or was here, but there might be someone else. We can’t be sure what happened to—whoever was inside the cabin. Once we check out the stables and up toward that the burn-pile, we are out of here.”

  The three men made their way to the stables, Alan in the lead, Travis behind him with his gun drawn and held low, followed by Craig who now wished he’d never signed on to this expedition…in fact, he wished he’d never come to Canada at all. The rough-cut timber that made up the fence around the stables had been kicked down near the southwest corner. The snow had covered any tracks, but Alan guessed that a horse or two might have made it out alive. Even so, he feared what they might find inside.

  He had reason to fear. Two horses, dead, horribly mangled, lie in awkward positions inside the stall. The stable’s straw and dirt floor was drenched with blood.

  “Jesus, Almighty…” Travis muttered. “Ain’t no one bear did this.” He wiped his mouth and nose with a sleeve, and feared he might vomit. Craig beat him to it, stepping back outside and wretching loudly as he heaved up the two meals he’d had today.

  “What about two, Travis?” Alan asked.

  “Two?”

  “Yeah…remember in the early eighties in Yellowstone? Something about a bunch of hikers and campers being attacked, some of them killed, by a pair of rogue bears working together. Two big females, I believe it was. I think it was the first time something like that had ever happened.”

  “I remember something, yeah. I suppose two big ones might wreak this kind of havoc, but for the life of me, I just can’t see it. They posed no danger and look…they haven’t been eaten.” Travis backed up from the carcass nearest him and looked down at the ground. What he saw chilled him to the bone.

  “We need to go,” he said meekly, his face pale.

  “What? Why?”

  Travis pointed down at the soft patch of dirt. His footprint from a moment ago was neatly pressed into the powdery soil. Next to his footprint, so close that it looked like he had planted his right foot beside it for comparison, was a track that anyone in this part of Canada would know. It was a wolf track.

  Alan stared. The problem with this track—and the others that they now saw all around the stable interior was the size and the depth of the print. A normal wolf track…a big one…might leave an imprint the size of a man’
s hand, fingers slightly curled at the top joint. This track was easily three times that size, and had a freakish elongation at the rear—almost like that of a human arch and heel.

  Huge indentations in the dirt showed that the animal had claws larger and longer than any normal wolf. The claws dug deep into the soil. In places where the animal must have braced itself while attacking the horses, the claws had dug an inch or more into the soil.

  “We need to go.” Travis said again.

  Alan was speechless. They were obviously much like a wolf but they had to have come from a badly deformed animal…and one much heavier than any of the wolves known to roam this area.

  “Right after we take a look at the burn pile.” Alan said, not noticing the shaky sound of his own voice as he stared down at the tracks.

  “Fuck that,” Travis said. “We need to get out now. This shit isn’t right.”

  “You have a gun.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass. This shit isn’t right.”

  “Okay, we got that. The shit isn’t right. Now, calm down for a second. The wolf…whatever…it’s gone now.”

  “You don’t know that—and you think those tracks are simply wolf tracks? You ever seen a wolf with a six-inch human heel attached to it?”

  Alan looked up at Travis as if the man had lost his mind. “Human heel print? Are you crazy, Travis? Are you suggesting that this was a man?”

  Travis shook his head as he backed away toward the exit. “Uh uh. I’m not suggesting it was a man.”

  Alan furrowed his brow in puzzlement. “You just said human heel print.”

  “Yeah, I did. You figure it out. I’m going back to the plane, and if you don’t bring your ass with me, I am going to figure out how to fly it myself.”

  Alan finally understood. “Tell me you are not saying this was some sort of a wolf man? A werewolf?” He actually smiled at the absurdity. “That’s the craziest damned thing I’ve heard in all my days in these mountains.” He pointed at the dead and mauled horses. “You think a walking fairy tale did this damage? You think a myth attacked whoever was in the cabin? You are out of your mind…this was a wolf. A big, fucked up, messed up…wolf.”