Sheep's Clothing

by Gary Lewis

  "Oh, you have no idea," Vance said as he looked around the area. The scent of smoke did little to cover the odor of the nearby chicken houses. Spools of rusted barbed wire formed netted tripwires along a travel path littered with one concealed bear trap after another. He turned to look at an ancient stone well that rose from the leafy ground. "I really wanted to do something with the pitchforks and the old well," Vance said. "But I doubt I could squeeze you in there, you big son of a bitch."

  Vance strolled casually over to the cooler, stirring his hand through ice cubes as he plunged wrist deep into the frigid depths and retrieved a tall can.

  "It's all set," Eddie said, slapping his hands across one another. Eddie walked closer through the shady woods to where Vance stood with his beer. "Gonna end up just like your pops if you keep on drinking those," he said, motioning toward Vance's hand.

  "What'd you say?" Vance asked. He looked past Eddie as the rest of the football team stood watching from the other side of camp.

  "Hey. I didn't mean anything by it, man," Eddie said, timidly sweeping his hand. "It was just a joke."

  Vance stood in place, glaring Eddie in the eye. "Don't want any trouble, huh?" he quietly asked.

  He watched Eddie walk back to the others before lowering his sight back to the can that he tightly squeezed. He gripped it with a heat that made even the cold aluminum burn with the thoughts of the one person he could never stand up to. The circular pattern on the logo depicted a swirling cycle of silver lines, reminding Vance of the cycle he faced at home.

  "Maybe Janice was right. All just cursed in this cycle 'til we die," he mumbled to himself. "No say-so in the matter." Vance looked across the opening, a forest floor covered in patches of poison ivy and wild ginseng. Playful shoves broke out between the team as they huddled around Eddie's truck a distance away. "Or maybe Sarah has a point..." The veins bulged from his forearm and he clenched his jaw as he raised the can up. "And it's time I build a world for myself." Vance tossed the beer with all his might against the giant oak. The can busted, raining a twirling spray of foam above his friends.

  "What's the deal?" asked Eddie, patting off his shirt.

  "Y'all deal with this." Vance said, pointing back at the blazing fire pit as he continued to his pickup. "I've got shit to do."

  "Wait. Where you going?" Shannon asked as she leapt from the flimsy foldout camping chair. Before she could get around to the passenger side, Vance threw it into second gear and tore his way up the muddy hill to the gravel forestry road.

  It was a short distance until the woods to his left opened up into a large, bright green clearing. The chicken houses stood, circled with muddy terrain. Short concrete walkways led to their entrances. As he continued tumbling his truck up the bumpy path, his trailer park became visible beyond the chicken houses. A collection of rusted, metal dwellings that only the lost called home. "Should all be condemned," he said to himself as he reached to turn on the CD player.

  Before he could hit the button, his phone dinged. His notification screen lit up with Terry's update in the group chat.

  "Ms. Tanner, Cory, and a cheerleader, Grace Jenson all missing."

  Vance pressed the tiny side button, turning his screen black as he tossed the phone across the seat and came to a stop. He gazed out across the chicken farm. "Just follow me through there and you're done," he said before spinning his tires out in the damp gravel, slinging rocks as he turned onto the paved road.

  Vance slowed down to a quiet roll as he approached his driveway. The red Mustang stood jacked up, just the way he left it over a week ago, the porchlight was still on from several nights before and the same brown dust that coated his dad's pickup clung to the rickety wooden porch beside missing sections of rusty siding.

  After lightly shutting the door to his pickup, Vance stepped carefully up the front steps. He listened for any sound from the trailer while he slowly stepped above the stacked cinder blocks that supported the wooden stairs. After silently turning the knob and peeking around the living room, he snuck to his bedroom.

  From his closet, he slung two empty, black duffel bags onto his bed. Vance quickly tossed paired socks with folded jeans and shoved the packs full of clothes. He laid his favorite buck knife on the bed beside a small picture frame. "Mom looked so healthy before the drugs," he said to himself as he carefully placed the photo aside on his blanket.

  "Where y'off to in such a hurry, boy?" The menacingly deep voice grumbled from his opened bedroom doorway where his dad leaned against the busted frame. His hands rested on his large metal belt buckle just below his fat, hairy belly. "Look at me when I talk to you, you fuckin' pussy!"

  Vance briefly turned to his father. "Camping with the football team," he said quietly, looking away to scoot his shirts in with the rest of it.

  Vance refused to turn his head as his father paced closer, placing one hand on his hip and leaning against Vance's footboard with the other. He could feel the hot breeze of beer and chewing tobacco brush against his shoulder as his dad's unbroken stare threatened every move that he made.

  "The fuck you need long sleeves for?" The burly arm pulled some of the clothes out that Vance had packed away.

  "Just leave me alone," Vance said as he looked at the floor, attempting to avoid the treacherous vision space that his father loomed.

  "Must take that shit after this dumb whore," his grumpy voice startled Vance to attention as he halted at the sight of the old man grasping the portrait of his mother before he lifted it high.

  "No!" Vance shouted, reaching out. His dad slammed it against the wooden bedpost, smashing the plastic cover across the bed where he discarded the piece he still held.

  Vance clenched his fists, looking across the room at the sorry excuse for a pile of shit that stood before him. Fat cheeks sagged across the sides of his densely stubbled face below saggy eyes, partially covered by the long, oily, gray hair that matted together, uncombed. His real father had died long ago. He drowned in depression and booze until this thing had taken his place.

  "Gonna do somethin'?" A smile cracked through the beige and gray beard that tangled its way down his dirty face. "Didn't think so."

  Vance charged, pummeling his shoulder into his dad's chest. Drywall crumbled around them as they busted through the cheap wall. They tumbled over one another into the bathroom floor. As his father coughed in the floor Vance resisted the almost uncontrollable urge to begin pounding his face into the floor. Instead, he stood and marched into the kitchen. After slinging open the refrigerator, he grabbed a beer bottle before kicking the door shut.

  His dad groaned from the bathroom. “Ima' kill you, son of a bitch." Vance rounded the corner and watched his father roll onto his side, attempting to get up. He stomped his shoulder back into the floor. With a twist of the cap, he started pouring the fizzing poison down onto his spitting face. He threw the empty bottle against the bathtub faucet, shattering dark brown shards of glass into the tub.

  His dad looked up at him with wide eyes, wheezing from the floor as Vance pressed his foot back onto his shoulder and leaned down to face him. He pointed down at his father's face. "You use this shit as an excuse to give up." Vance shook his finger at him. "Think about that the next time you march around here calling me a pussy."

  By the time Vance slammed the front door shut, toting duffel bags over his shoulder, his phone began to ring. Terry's name lit up on his screen as he tossed his luggage into the truck bed. Vance shook his head and started to slide it back into his pocket before pausing. "Ah. What the hell," he said, lifting it back to his face. "Hello?"

  "Hey, where you been?" Terry's distorted voice crackled through Vance's single bar of signal.

  "Long story," Vance said. He climbed into his truck and slammed the heavy, metal door. "I set up the gauntlet at the spot by the old well, behind the chicken farm."

  "The gauntlet?" Terry asked.

  There was no reason to answer as he cranked up the engine and reversed out the driveway.

  "L
isten," Terry's voice became slow and hesitant. "I was talking to Sarah and David."

  "Bet you were," Vance said, putting him on speaker as he set the phone in the empty ashtray and sped down the dark street.

  "Was there anything else about Brad? I mean, any connections we don't know about?" Terry asked.

  "Damn right there is,” Vance said. “Hated the loser. I'm glad he's dead." Vance shifted gear and accelerated. "Got what he deserved."

  "Did it have something to do with the fire at the old rec?" Terry's voice went silent as he undoubtedly waited for a response. "Listen, Vance. Brad is the first person we know of that was attacked by the werewolf. If we can figure out who might've wanted him dead-"

  "You're wasting your time, Terry," Vance laughed. "Everyone wanted him dead."

  Vance reached over and hung up before driving further through the poorly lit street surrounded by twisting tree limbs that stretched out from every side. He had no idea where he was going and for the first time, he liked it.

  Chapter 16

  In all his years of farming these lands, Willy Perkins never heard sounds quite like the ones that roused him from his slumber this particular night. He strained his aging eyes across the dim clearing as he slid his boots through the damp grass, lowering his shotgun to raise his field glasses. The clouds rolled, a milky white fluid that shined just below the moon, contrasting against the black earth where he scanned the horizon for movement.

  "Can't see a damn thing," he said, freeing his eyes from their confines and beginning to march toward the south end of the pen.

  The jagged silhouettes of his three cedars rose from the horizon as he ascended the long hill just beside the motionless pond, a mirror that shined with the pale sky.

  "Nothing but a pool of cow shit and water here," he said, spitting a blob of tobacco laden saliva across the large round stones near the water’s edge. He circled the pond, considering whether to check on the herd before returning to home.

  The galloping sound of something charging him came from close behind. Willy turned his aim around in an instant. With a loud boom, he sent the large figure to a slump in the tall grass. Stillness overcame whatever just happened as the scent of the blast faded into the midnight air.

  "Jesus," he said, spitting out his remaining dip and wiping his face as he peered with hesitation. "Hey!" he shouted, still waiting for any sign of life through the dead of night. "Shit. I done kilt somebody."

  He lowered the barrels and stepped cautiously closer to the divided blades of grass, split in an arrow that pointed right where the body fell. Tall strips of rustling movement jolted his heart as he leaned his head to the side, looking deep into the dark shades of green to no avail. "Hello?" he shouted before beginning to step forward again.

  The moonlit sky shined behind the silhouette of grass from which a large ball of darkness began to rise. There was a shoulder and an arm. It kept inking its way taller, a black shadow arising from the tall vegetation. Long ears extended outward from the head that emerged.

  Willy yelled as he raised the shotgun without a second thought. A powerful bang flashed through a wisp of white smoke. He popped the barrels open, quickly discarding the shells as he dug for more. The shadow that stood before him let out a roar that numbed his spine. His pockets were empty.

  "Alright you sum' bitch," he said, readying the butt of his weapon toward the snarling abyss before him.

  The black wind flew into him, a hairy beast that pounced from the night. The impact of the predator matched that of a grown bull. Willy's back splashed into the mud as ribs became snapping twigs under the creature's weight. His head plunged into the edge of the stagnant cow manure soup. Wrestling his nose out for air, he felt large teeth crack their way through his cheek bones. His face squished together. Cold, rancid water rushed into his throat from openings he couldn't ascertain. With a snap of his neck, everything from the chest down went numb. His head emerged from the slop as his neck was tugged, popping inside like a rubber band stretched beyond its limit.

  The werewolf, hanging Willy up by the face within its fearsome bite, slapped its claws into his torso, ripping his head free from his body which flew a few feet before splashing into the pond. It shook his crushed cranium around in its jaws, slinging around mud and flesh, before flinging it toward the large cedar tree. A ferocious howl shook the ears of everything that lived, cowering Pine Bluff in fear.

  #Janice#

  Janice just finished putting up dishes as she looked at the clock on the wall. "Five o'clock. She won't be home for a couple hours," she said to herself. The noise of a car caught her attention as she peeked out the window at the empty driveway and the sound got quieter, traveling further down the street.

  After grabbing her camera, she opened the side door to sit on the steps. Janice aimed into the scene. The vacant strip of gravel stretched from her carport to the street. With a click and a flash, she snapped a photo. It was a dimly lit reminder that everyone had either disappeared or betrayed her. Nobody would be coming to fill the empty void that spread before her.

  She lowered the camera to look at her phone. "Of course, nobody is active this early," she said, opening the group chat. Several unseen messages from Terry filled the early A.M. hours of the night before.

  "Going to go talk to Brad's mom in the morning. Any takers?" His last message was several hours ago.

  "I'll go," she typed before pacing around the carport, impatiently waiting for a reply.

  Just as she turned the screen of her phone for another look it chimed with a notification. "Cool. On my way," from Terry.

  ###

  As Terry cruised down the long stretch of highway that hugged the edge of the county, Janice watched the pale fog that hung over the fields drift from her view. "Do you always drive this slow?" she asked, watching an old, dark blue sedan pass by. "That's the third one that's passed us."

  "Sorry," Terry said with a nervous laugh. "Safety first and all. You know?"

  Janice forced a smile. "I wasn't complaining," she said.

  "Music?" Terry asked, flinching his tense arm over to the radio.

  The Christian rock did little to drown out the awkward sound of Terry's voice as he turned onto a well-maintained gravel drive that snaked its way through forested hills, passing between several dark log cabins.

  Terry briefly looked in her direction. "David told Sarah that he blames the fire at the old rec for splitting up his parents."

  "You mean Tony's dad and David's mom?" she asked. "Of course he blames someone." She looked away at the passing mailboxes as they climbed the wooded, smooth, gravel slope.

  "Janice, if you'll just hear me out," Terry said, opening his hand just above the steering wheel.

  Janice clenched her jaw as she listened with hot skin.

  "Tony's dad was having an affair with Brad's mom after the fire at the old rec killed Brad's dad. Tony knew about it when it was going on."

  Janice pressed her eyebrows and looked at him. "I still don't see the point to all of this. What's it got to do with the werewolf attacks?" Janice asked as he brushed her hair aside with a sweep of her fingers.

  "The werewolf is someone who was in that room that day," Terry said. "One of you." He raised one of his hands to adjust his glasses as he continued. "For some reason, it killed Brad first." His engine grew louder as the car bumped its way up the steep dirt road, visibility constantly blocked by the next cluster of evergreen trees that shrouded log cabins along the curving incline.

  Janice let out a long sigh. "It was probably random," she said before sinking her gaze slowly into her lap. "It's just a curse." She returned her eyes to the side of his face as he continued to drive up the steep, gravel road. "Everything that's happened between all of us." The empty void in the pit of her stomach seemed to beckon the heavy heart that hung just above it. "We're all going to die," she said softly. "In the end, everyone is alone."

  She watched Terry turn his head to her. "You're never alone, Janice." His words reminded h
er of David's. Janice wondered if they were just as hollow.

  Just ahead, a flash of white clothing grazed the corner of her sight. "Stop!" she screamed.

  Terry slammed his brakes, veering left, dragging them through a cloud of pulverized brown dirt that spread around them as they skidded to a halt. They barely missed the old woman as she continued hobbling toward her mailbox as if nothing happened.

  "Holy shit!" he said, to which Janice arched an eyebrow. Did he really just cuss?

  She watched him jump out and run around the front of the car. "Ma'am, are you alright?" The woman seemed oblivious to the sound of his voice as Janice cautiously stepped out to join him.

  She gently tapped the lady's shoulder, to which she turned with a smile that wrapped across her wrinkled face.

  "Why, hello there, sweetie." Her wheezy voice traveled from Janice to Terry. "Oh my, I didn't see you there," she said, tilting her ancient, withered face up at Terry.

  Janice tilted to the left, leaning closer to him. "It's Brad's granny," she whispered. "She used to pick him up from school."

  "Miss," the elderly lady grumbled as she looked at Janice. "I'm old, not deaf."

  Terry cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. We're friends of Brad and thought we'd come pay our respects," he said, covering his heart with his palm.

  "No. Too clean to be Brad's friends," she mumbled as she looked into the empty mailbox before closing it and raising the small, red flag.

  Janice lifted her eyebrows and glanced at Terry.

  "Did you mean to put something in there?" he asked the old woman.

  "Sonny, if I meant to mail something off, don't you think I'd have done it by now?" she asked in a shrill voice as her head bobbed up and down with her jaw.

  Janice silently mouthed in Terry's direction, pointing toward the car. Maybe we should go.

  "Listen, we wanted to know about Brad's friend, Vance." Terry asked. "Do you remember him or David? Or maybe a Tony?"

  "Mm-hm," she groaned, nodding her head. She walked back across the gravel road, her rustic cabin just ahead.