by Amity Green
Hurt and fear swam in the unshed tears in Molly’s eyes. Savannah searched her face and finally realized she had to let it go. If Molly started to cry, she might never be able to stop. Savannah’s heart ached for Molly. Whatever was wrong was bone deep.
Savannah dropped her arm. “Okay. We’ll check to see if their car’s back.”
Earlier in the day, the walk would have been draped in golden rays, aspen bark glimmering white at the roadside. Since the afternoon sun had already set behind a tall mountain, the pines were blackened triangles jetting into a lavender sky, and it kept getting colder. Thunderheads built, ashen puffs streaked with flashing webs of lightning. Crisp rain tainted the air with the threat of a good soaking.
The sensation that they were being watched battled with courage, and Savannah held it together so she didn’t burst into a sprint and frighten Molly. No one was out there. She was just nervous and upset about everything, and worried about Chaz and Mother.
They came to the turn off for the Williams’ house. Molly peered through the barred gate at the empty driveway. Without a word, they stepped back out onto the gravel and continued toward their house. Savannah had to admit she was pretty disappointed, too, but they didn’t need to say it. They’d be home soon and would make a plan from there. Molly was right, and Savannah couldn’t deny any longer that they needed to get out.
“What’s that?” Molly slowed, looking behind them as she walked backward.
“I can’t tell from here.” Squinting, Savannah matched pace, waiting for the dark spot in the road to take form. Their driveway wasn’t far off. If they kept up a good stride, whatever it was wouldn’t matter. They’d be inside with the door locked. Maybe they could call the police to have a look around.
“It’s coming toward us,” Molly whispered.
She was right. The thing in the road was just far enough away that it was black in the shadowed lane. The real problem was, it wasn’t small. Tiny hairs pricked hard along her nape and down her arms, pulling so tight it hurt. The storm built to black atop the trees.
“Shit.” Savannah stopped.
“What?” Molly’s voice sounded small, like a child’s. “What is it, Vannie?”
“Keep walking backward,” Savannah whispered.
“What is it?” Panic was barely kept in check, but Molly started walking backward.
“It’s a mountain lion.”
They took the biggest steps they could, keeping their eyes locked on the approaching cat. It didn’t appear to be running, but it closed in on them.
“We have to run.” Molly spun and grabbed Savannah’s sleeve. “Now, Vannie!”
“Go!” Savannah jerked her arm free. “Get to the house and get Dad’s shotgun. I’ll be right behind you.” Keeping her gaze on the animal, she began to run backward. Molly’s footsteps pounded away.
Lightning drew near, making the sky appear even darker. The mountain lion’s shoulders rolled under a tan hide as it followed, much closer now, and gaining. Black eyes locked on her. Lightning shot overhead and the cat appeared in the white flash, walking upright on two feet, tall as a man, swinging its arms with each stride.
Another flickering streak of light and a man strode where the cat had been, wearing an old fashioned suit. Thunder pounded. He smiled, fangs splitting the skin of his bottom lip. Blood dripped down his chin. The man tossed his head back and let loose a shrieking roar.
“Jesus!” Savannah yelled.
“Ha!” he laughed. “Who?”
Savannah turned and bolted. Adrenaline burned in her chest. She stole a glance over a shoulder to see the thing was back in cat form and trotting behind her, again on all fours. I’ll never make it. She put every ounce of energy she could into pumping her arms and sprinted hard around a curve. The next bend was the last of the road before their driveway. Her lungs burned and tears streaked away from the outer corners of her eyes. Wind roared in her ears. She ran on, waiting to feel the talon-like grasp of the lion’s claws take her down. A few fat raindrops pelted the road, warning of the impending, angry mountain storm.
The headgate came into view, the name “Witcher” becoming clear in her bouncing line of sight. Scared she’d doom herself by looking behind her, Savannah didn’t glance back. Instead, she devoted the last of her energy to the sprint up the driveway. She leapt up the three wooden steps as one knee buckled, but managed to stay upright, stopping just before smacking into the wooden door. With a trembling grip, she grasped the door handle and slammed into the door with a shoulder, too fast to allow the entry to swing wide open. Finally inside, her hands flew as she locked the door and dropped to her knees to peer out the bottom of a window.
The man in the suit leaned against one of the uprights back at the gate. His hands were stuck in the front pockets of his trousers, jacket unbuttoned, one foot crossed over the other. He inclined his head in a sort of bow of acknowledgment that he saw her watching.
“I can’t find Dad, or his shotgun,” Molly said as she ran in from the den. “Is it out there?”
Thunder cracked hard, and Molly dropped to her knees on the hardwood beside her. Savannah cringed, covering her head with her arms. As soon as the booming from above ceased, she opened her eyes.
“You okay?” Savannah said, putting a hand on her sister’s back.
“Yeah.” Molly peeked over the sill. “Savannah?”
“What?”
“It’s gone.”
Savannah looked outside. “Good.” There was nothing beside the gate. The storm lightened up some, but clouds still darkened the sky.
* * *
Molly’s exhausted body twitched as she drifted off, finally giving in to sleep. Savannah fought drowsiness, intent on guarding her little sister so she could rest. Their dad tromped up the stairs, so Savannah went to the door, intercepting him before he knocked.
“What are you doing in Molly’s room?” he asked.
“Slumber party.” Savannah held onto the door, which was cracked just wide enough so she could see him. His eyes went from hers to the door handle and back up, like he contemplated kicking it in so he could come past her. She tightened her grip on the handle and silently braced a shoe against the door. He backed off and she breathed in.
“I’ll see you two in the morning, then. Good night.”
“Night.”
Savannah closed the door and turned the lock as quietly as she could. Dad’s footsteps went downstairs, and finally she was able to relax on the bed with her sister.
Molly hadn’t seen the mountain lion change into a man, and Savannah had no plans to tell her. She didn’t tell her about the beast shoving its cat head out the window the day Chaz broke his arm. Molly was traumatized enough without knowing about the monster. She would pack everything they owned into her truck and disappear with her sister on Molly’s last day of school. It was the only way. After the response she got from Tina, there was no way the police or anyone at the school would believe her if she told them about everything. She’d leave all the gates open for the horses and hens and move her sister far away.
Savannah slept in small amounts of time, startling awake when each sound in the night ignited fear with new intensity. Molly never woke. Finally, pink streaked the sky outside and Savannah crept out of bed and to her room as quietly as possible. Her bladder ached ferociously because she had to go even as she crawled into bed that night, but didn’t want to walk through the house. That helped to make for a really long night. It was odd how exhaustion could create a buzzing sensation in her body. She was worn out, but not sleepy. After a trip to the bathroom, and with clean clothes and a hair tie in place, she went over to Molly’s room and rousted her for school. She didn’t want to be apart from her sister, but being away from home and around other people seemed safer than spending an hour at their house. Once Molly was at school, she’d begin secretly packing.
Speechless and groggy, Molly wandered into the bathroom for a shower. Savannah made her sister’s bed and then went to the kitchen to round
up breakfast. There was a row of fresh milk jars in the refrigerator that hadn’t been there the day before, so it appeared their dad was still handling a few things right.
Although Molly was initially resistant to the idea of school, Savannah got her seated on the school bus and on her way. Savannah walked back to the house to find their father. She dreaded it, but needed desperately to see if he was still in there somewhere, if it was worth trying or if he was just crazy. If he kept trying to dodge any questions, she wouldn’t let him do it.
She wandered around looking for him. He wasn’t in the kitchen, so she grabbed an apple and bit into it while she headed out to the stalls to do the morning feeding. A chicken screamed out back, so she stopped chewing to listen on her way to the hen house. Bright sunshine lit the yard, and the sky was so blue it matched the May flowers.
Savannah dropped her apple at the gate, stunned. There was no reason for Dad to butcher their remaining laying hens. The hatchet came down sharp, separating the chicken’s heads from bodies left writhing in the dirt.
Father hadn’t made any noise if he’d come upstairs the night before, or headed outside that morning. Quietly, she approached, dreading what she would see.
His back was to her. A pile of headless chickens lay beside a squawking gunny sack. Jack buried the blade into a stump that was a makeshift butcher block and reached for another. More screams narrowed to one. Steel flashed, and the head fell over the side of the wood. The body dropped, legs kicking. It righted itself, found feet and came right at Savannah.
An embarrassing little scream shook loose as Savannah realized the bleeding body wasn’t stopping. Skin, ruined feathers and a drooping neck bone that bobbed with the chicken’s steps were all that sat atop its shoulders, but it still barreled in her direction. There was nothing left to do but run.
“Daddy!” she screamed.
Jack glanced up, black eyes squinted to lines in his face. He stood, crimson speckling his plaid work shirt.
Savannah stopped running and turned. The bloodied hen ran to her legs, flailing its wings across her shins. Streaks of blood and fluid marred her jeans. She dropped back one step and kicked out hard, connecting with the corpse like a football. The body flew away, dropping to the ground with a thud and a dust cloud. She glared at her father, shaking.
“Why are you butchering the egg hens?” The gunny sack bubbled with movement, catching her attention. She stomped toward what was left alive and picked up the bag. From the weight she guessed he’d killed all but three or four. She carried them back toward the gate.
He said nothing, but started toward her. As he neared, his features became clearer, but his eyes remained blacked out, deep and liquid, like an oil-filled well. Blood spatter streaked his neck and jaws.
“Dad?”
No answer.
Savannah began to cry. Just as he grew near enough to reach her, she found instinct and ran outside the gate and locked it between them. The wood was hardly a barrier or any defense really, just symbolic. She watched him over the top of the gate, the bag of terrified hens outside the fence with her.
He stared over the wood rail with a look like he was getting ready to say something. No smile, and no frown, but his lips twitched and he blinked. The hatchet shook in his grip.
Savannah bent and opened the sack, releasing the frightened chickens. She dropped the burlap, looking once more at her unmoving father. His eyes were so fluid and dark she expected greasy tears to pour down his cheeks the next time he blinked.
His lips parted and he gasped like he hadn’t breathed in a full five minutes, still watching her. Savannah backed toward the house, not dropping her gaze until he was out of view. Once inside, she ran through the house locking doors and windows. Dad’s shotgun was under the parents’ bed. She grabbed it and all the shells in a steel box and headed upstairs.
After a day and a night of wearing contacts, it felt like they’d been cemented to her eyes with Super Glue when she popped them loose from her corneas. She slipped out of her muck-crusted jeans and boots and lost her balance, falling onto her knees before her dresser. She had to get some rest before she passed out cold. Not sleep, but just try to calm down and think. She had to get some help from someone who might know what was going on and how to make it stop.
She got up and sat on the bed, eyeing the shotgun on the floor. It would take a careful long shot to stop a mountain lion, or a man for that matter, but she’d darned sure give either something to think about if she could get close enough. Whatever the case, it was broad daylight out, there was no sign of the cat-man that chased them home, and she had to believe their dad could be saved.
***
Chapter 10
Savannah pulled open a drawer, grabbed jeans and jerked them on, refusing to sit still too long. Cold air puffed against her face. Her window hung open, the long sheers flowing on the breeze like foam rippling over rocks. She went back to the bed to find her glasses. If she didn’t get moving right then, she’d fall asleep and waste the day away. Waking up shaking made for a rough morning already, but at least her eyes didn’t burn anymore. Coffee was a must.
A floorboard creaked as the man in the old suit leaned in the doorway, just like he’d done at the gate. He smiled beautifully. She should have been horrified but all she could do was stare. Dimples creased his cheeks and little crinkles pulled around his eyes. The buttons on his suit reflected, glossy black, just like the toes of his shoes. A starched line ran the length of his pressed pants. A satin vest gleamed on his chest, with a lacy handkerchief folded in the pocket.
Finding some sense, Savannah ran toward the bed. The curtain caught the wind, flowing out nearly to the foot rail in an unfocused ball of linen. The dead smell was back, the familiar stench of a bloated, rotting rabbit on the roadside. One hand quested around on the covers as she felt for her glasses, intent on finding a way to see clearly. She stopped, looking back at the intruder, who was the only part of her world she could see with perfect vision.
“It’s good to rest a while,” he said. His voice was smooth and calm, with a bit of an old accent she didn’t recognize. The words he spoke were soothing and so nice to hear, which was very confusing considering the hair on her arms rose and pulled tight. A sense of ease found her, but she wouldn’t let her guard down. She drew breath in steady, preparing to scream for help.
His smile became that of one who knew her question before she asked. “Ah ah,” he warned, shaking an index finger. His straight, white teeth became fangs between grinning lips.
She closed her mouth, staring at his vivid appearance against the rest of the splotchy, out-of-focus room.
“You’re not really here.” The attempt at sounding sure of herself reminded her of a puppy teasing a rattler. “I’m so exhausted, I’m seeing things.”
“You can’t keep telling yourself that.” He stepped closer and sat on the foot of her bed, placing a hand on her knee. “Am I here now?” he asked, with the softest grown man’s voice she could remember hearing. His smile returned, fangs gone. He blinked slowly with soft, gentle eyes.
Savannah didn’t move, but he pulled his hand away to fold it together with his right, neatly on his lap. Everything was neat; his hair was perfectly combed and there was no outgrowth of whiskers on his face. She imagined running her fingertips against his cheek, how soft the skin would be to her touch. His irises were the darkest she’d ever seen. She couldn’t help but think of the guy from 21 Jump Street, except for the horrible smell and niggling sense of dread. She needed to sleep. It was the only explanation she had as to why she found him anything other than terrifying.
“I’m sorry, Savannah. That was a bit forward. I don’t mean to cause alarm.” He rose and walked to the window. The breeze dropped the curtain, stagnant, a fan that had lost power.
The rigid frames of her glasses lie just beneath the sheet. Relieved, she snatched them and slid the lenses into place, blinking. The room went twenty-twenty, just as he was. She started for the door, but he sp
un, pointing to the bed.
“Sit, please,” he asked, but she knew it wasn’t a request.
Savannah sat again, keeping her eyes on him. She couldn’t make it past him but if he sat down on the bed again, she might make it to the door, or better yet, to the shotgun.
“Who are you?”
“It’s a secret.” He clasped his hands behind his back.
“How did you know my name?”
He laughed. “Well, that’s not a secret.”
She frowned. “Why are you here?”
“This isn’t Twenty Questions.” He grinned.
“Leave or I’ll scream for my dad.” She sat up straight. They’d taught her in Physical Education, and in that “So, You Got Your Period?” class pamphlet, to try not to show fear when confronted by a threatening man. The case was the same. A predator was a predator.
He shook his head, then bowed, chin to chest. Righting his face slowly, he stepped close wearing the face of Jack Caleman. “But I’ve been here all along, Vannie.”
“You’re not my dad!” she screamed.
“No,” he said, withdrawing. His smile remained as his features contorted, melting and wet until his former countenance returned. “Although, he is me.” The grin faded.
Savannah’s heart lurched. Was her father still inside his body, or had he been taken, physical form hijacked like a stolen car? It wasn’t fair, and hardly believable. “What do you want?”
“I was hoping to talk for a while.” “Talk?” She shook her head, eyes wide. “No. Get out of our house!”
“But you talk with others,” he baited.
Savannah’s blood chilled, but she didn’t bite.
He went to the window, holding back the sheers and looking out. “I’ve been to this house before, and now you’ve led me back. It’s meant to be this way.” He faced her. “This is my house, too,” he said. “Along with everything in it.” He turned, regarding her with a slightly cocked head. “Don’t be misled. This encounter could go differently. You’ve no idea how much energy it takes to maintain a façade you’re human mind will comprehend.” He turned, releasing the curtain. “Do you understand?”