Tonight, though, there was none of that. Tonight, Jason was only interested in what played on the screen of his computer and her reaction to it.
So Nikki focused, too, and watched.
It was nighttime: The video was pitched in shades of green like on those terrible ghost hunting shows that Jason loved so much. Nonetheless, Deke Goode’s pasture and the ambling shapes of four cows were clearly recognizable
“Brace yourself,” Jason said. “It gets pretty intense.”
Nikki watched as a shadow with no identifiable source fell across the camera and then shrank as it pulled further away and deeper into the pasture. Two of the cows lumbered off, making harsh guttural noises that she thought might be fear. A figure then appeared in the pasture, melding with the shrinking shadow. It did not land on the ground, but on the back of one of the cows. For a moment, Nikki thought it looked almost human but then, when it bent over and sank what she thought was its head into the cow’s neck, it looked like an animal.
“Chupacabra,” Jason said from behind her. “I have no doubt.”
Nikki barely heard him. She kept watching as the shape of the thing on the cow’s back seemed to change. The green gritty light of the night vision, the shadows, and the distance made it hard for her to discern anything with real certainty but she could swear that the shape was that of a man.
This was a disturbing thought, only growing more so as Nikki watched the man-thing push the cow to the ground and tear into its stomach with hands like knives. The camera did not catch the resulting sounds but Nikki could hear them in her head as the cow’s stomach was torn open and the inside came pouring out.
It did not stop there. The man-thing attacked four other cows in this same fashion. The last one was a bit closer to the camera and Nikki was able to watch the macabre scene in all of its brutal and bloody terror.
As the man-thing wrapped what she assumed were its arms around the cow’s neck and nearly twisted it off, she saw the perfect shape of a man. Only to call it a man was an understatement. It was built like a monster, like a—
The man-thing swiveled its head as it opened its mouth and tore the cow’s throat out. Blood shot out in spray but that was not what made Nikki’s eyes widen and her heart fill with ice.
She saw its face for a split second. If she had have blinked, she would have missed it.
The face was unfamiliar and like that of a demon. But the anger that seemed to define its face was all too familiar
It was the exact same anger she had seen in Saul Benton. It was like seeing the same sharp chin or set bottom lip on a father and his son—like some hereditary thing.
Her heart seemed to jump in her chest.
There was something else there in this video—something primal that both terrified and excited her.
“Nikki?”
Jason’s voice from behind her made her jump.
“Yeah?” she said.
“You okay?”
She didn’t know why she kept it to herself. Surely it was a bit of information Jason would find interesting. And besides, how had he not picked up on seeing a nearly human expression on this thing he had labeled a chupacabra?
“I’m good,” she said in the end. “It’s just a lot of blood, you know.”
“Yeah,” Jason agreed. “Anyway…there it goes. It’s done.”
On the screen, the man-thing (Saul Benton, she thought. Holy shit, that’s Saul Benton killing those cows like that) seemed to leap into the air and disappear. His shadow trailed along on the ground behind him. The video stayed on for a moment as Deke Goode appeared in the pasture carrying a rifle.
Jason said something to her but it went unheard. Nikki was staring at the monitor, at the black screen where the video had just shown. She’d caught brief glimpses of Saul Benton twice today, each one with its own odd sort of intensity.
But that last one…what the hell?
No, she thought. This thing looks like a monster, there’s no way it was him, no way—
“Nikki!”
“What?” Again, Jason’s voice had startled her.
“I asked if I could have a beer. You were zoned out.”
“Oh. Sorry. Sure. Have a beer.”
He took one from her six pack and gave her an odd glance. “So what’s up? What do you want to do? Want to watch a movie or something?”
“Sounds good,” she said.
But a movie was the furthest thing from her mind. In that moment, her head was filled with thoughts of Saul Benton and coming up with some clever way to meet him face to face.
CHAPTER TWO
1
Saul Benton could not recall the last time he had felt such fury. His chest hurt with it, burned as if filled with aggravated hornets wanting to be released from their hive. Safe in his cabin, miles from the one who had put him in such a state, Saul felt none of the relief that usually accompanied leaving Red Creek and its miserable inhabitants behind. His cabin had always been his refuge, his place of peace and patience; now, it felt more like a prison than anything even remotely pleasant.
Saul growled. He kept seeing Lester Dobbs in his mind’s eye – the pallid face, the glazed eyes, that damned smirk that had Saul itching to break the bastard’s skull, never mind his nose. Even worse, he kept replaying the insults Lester had tossed so carelessly at him. Truth be told, it wasn’t the talk about his father that had angered Saul so much. It was the fact that such private and personal information was now apparently common knowledge in this wretched little town.
He found it funny that not one of the stories making rounds around town touched even the slightest bit on the real mystery in the Benton family. The fact that he hardly ever went out after dusk should have clued even the most idiotic of Red Creek’s residents into what he really was. If Lester Dobbs had known all of the details surrounding his father’s death, he would have known to keep his distance from Saul. Or possibly round up a posse looking for Saul’s head on a stick.
Yet, here Saul still was – very much alive and unharmed, with no one the wiser about what he got up to after sundown. And by some kind gesture of the universe, he had been left mostly alone. When his father had been murdered so viciously in the woods further out behind the cabin, there had been the occasional group of curious teenagers that had come out to the property, but they had been harmless. Their visits had boiled down to a few yells into the night and discarded beer cans in the driveway the following day.
If that’s all he had to endure during the rest of his time in Red Creek, Saul would happily take it.
After coming back from his confrontation with Lester Dobbs, Saul had put away his groceries and gone out onto his back porch. Night had fallen almost completely by then, cloaking the shapes of the trees that surrounded the cabin in ink-smudged shadows. Their branches swayed with the wind – dark silhouettes dancing to an unheard tune. Saul had always found the sight of them beautiful; he supposed it was the same sort of pleasure a human felt when they saw a sunrise.
Saul found no joy in sunrise. The best part about the rising of the sun was the excitement of retreating back to a dark place with the coppery taste of blood on his tongue. He had not experienced this in a while, but the memory of it was an easy one to conjure. Some old folklore had once hinted at the fact that the ingestion of human blood worked wonders on the memory. As far as Saul was concerned, that was incredibly true. The memory of the blood itself was unforgettable – and highly addictive.
His temper finally cooling down, Saul became aware of a new feeling squeezing his chest: Regret. Before his time in Red Creek, regret was not something that he had known. Saul could only assume that living in the midst of humans for so many years was making him soft. He was beginning to identify with the town’s residents in too many ways, to experience their lives in a manner he was not accustomed to. The endless TV programs, websites, the boring routine of daily life – it was all becoming only too familiar.
Saul shook thoughts of Lester Dobbs and Red Creek from his head;
enough. The Cabin was his place of peace, his time to be as he was. Humans had no power here.
Saul stared out into the gathering night, troubled. Something was different – a subtle wrongness in the air, a presence that had no place in the cold comfort of night at the Cabin. Saul narrowed his eyes; he had not felt such a thing since…
Well, he had never felt it at Red Creek, that’s certain.
The best way Saul could explain what he felt then, as he looked out into the dark forest beyond his home, was magnetism. Something was pulling him forward, urging him outward. Saul hoped it was simply the adrenaline that was still coursing through him as the result of his confrontation with Lester Dobbs that was making him feel it. Because if it was not, Saul may well find himself in a bad fucking situation before the month was through. Because a feeling such as this, a presence like the one that had the fine hairs on the back of his neck rise in alarm, could only mean that They were coming.
Saul supposed it was logical that They would take an interest in him. But why now? Why not when his father had been murdered, when his sister had fled the state in fear – why not come lay the Law on him then, when he had been weak and alone and likely to snap out of pure frustration? Was what barely passed as a confrontation with a town’s drunk truly more threatening to their Order than all of that?
Saul turned away from the forests and headed back inside. Even if what he was sensing was The Guard, there was no immediate threat. If what he was feeling was their presence, they were a long way off. And if that was the case, he had time to calm himself down and settle back into normalcy. He only had eight more years to bid his time here in Red Creek and then he would be set free—it would be the Bentons’ turn in the feeding cycle.
Eight years…that was all. Compared to the decades Saul had spent in hiding in this forsaken town, eight years was nothing. He could keep his cool for that long, even with blatant distractions like Lester Dobbs.
Saul poured himself a glass of wine - the darkest, most bitter one he had been able to find online, with a finish that was almost like blood - and sat at his kitchen table. For reason he could not explain, his mind kept returning to the girl he had passed as he had sped away from Randy’s Roost. He had seen her around town a few times, but had never spoken to her.
What concerned Saul was the look he had seen on her face. Had she seen the entire altercation with Lester? And if so, had the distance perhaps disguised some of altered state he felt when he dealt with Lester?
Maybe that was why he thought he could sense The Guard on the river of the night. Maybe he had been seen. Even worse, maybe his power had been witnessed by that teenage girl and now his real identity was in trouble.
With her alarmed face still in his mind, Saul sipped another mouthful of wine. The only real pleasure he took from it was that in a short eight years, his family would be freed for a time and this wine would pale in comparison to the blood that would flow in its place.
2
Had Lester Dobbs known Saul’s true nature, he might not have made the stupid mistake that he and one of his gullible drinking buddies made that night. They had been at a distinct disadvantage from the start and had not even known it. They had both reeked of booze and Lester’s friend, an unfortunate man named Hank Dooling, was not the best at keeping quiet when he’d had too much to drink.
Saul heard them when they were halfway down his driveway. The one called Hank was speaking in a loud rasp that was meant to be a whisper. Less than ten seconds later, Saul could smell the alcohol seeping from their pores. He smirked; beneath the stench of alcohol was an even more pungent, unmistakable scent – fear.
Saul was sitting on his couch with a book when he heard them approaching. He glanced at the clock; 2:45 in the morning. He could only assume that Lester would think he’d be asleep at this hour – he doubted the men would dare approach him awake and aware. Not after the spectacle he had put on today. With an annoyed roll of his eyes, Saul put his book down and went to the living room window. He could just barely make out the ambling shapes of the two men. Saul closed his eyes, focused, and was able to catch most of their conversation with the animal-like hearing most of his kind possessed.
“…got lucky when he pushed me.” This was Lester’s voice, shaky with fake confidence. “I wasn’t even looking. Cheap shot if you ask me.”
“Damn Lester, are you sure about this? Seems like we could get into awful lot of trouble.”
“What’re you, a pussy? Just do what I told you to do! And remember, keep the story straight! When the police ask, we say he contacted me to apologize and invited us over for drinks. Then he attacked us and we had no choice but to defend ourselves. Got it?”
“I guess,” Hank said. “Still—”
“Shut your face,” Lester snarled. “You want that fifty bucks or not?”
Saul lost interest at this point. He went to the door, unlocked it, and then retired back his place on the couch. The only light in the cabin came from a small lamp that sat on an end table by the side of the couch; Saul didn’t think the two geniuses currently walking towards his cabin would think anything of it.
He’d been in this situation many times before, usually with teenagers trying to one-up each other. Sometimes it was stupid boys, trying to impress their girlfriends by walking up the driveway. Others were just too drunk or high to care where they were; somehow, they would sober up rather quickly when they came within fifty yards of the cabin. Then they’d turn tail and run back to their parked cars as their friends laughed, not understanding where the bone-shaking fear that hounded them was coming from. Saul would watch them from within the shadows of the Cabin, laughing internally.
Prey knew when they had stepped too far into a predator’s den.
Tonight, there was something different in the air. Something different about the smell of fear on them—on Lester in particular. Saul could not quite place it, but it stank to high heavens.
Two minutes passed before Saul heard the first of their footfalls on his porch. They were slow, but purposeful. Saul eyed the door knob, waiting for the slow rotation as it was turned from outside. He smiled slightly as he tried to imagine what they might think when they found the door unlocked.
Sure enough, the knob turned and the front door opened slowly. Saul looked up from his book, playing along and acting surprised to see Lester Dobbs and his friend standing in his doorway.
“What the hell are you doing?” Saul asked in mock surprise. He set the book down and got to his feet.
Almost instantly, Hank Dooling stepped back. His eyes had widened ever-so-slightly, throat bulging noticeably as he gulped down nerves. Lester on the other hand stepped inside, pushed on by drunken determination. Saul saw that he had a large knife in his hand. Lester had been embarrassed earlier today, so Saul didn’t expect him to back down out of simple fear. When pride was involved, humans had a tendency to become incredibly stupid.
“I’ve come to teach you a lesson,” Lester said. The booze was slurring his speech and making his southern drawl thicker.
“Maybe you need the lesson,” Saul said. “That lesson being that you should learn when to shut your mouth when you’ve been drinking. That’s especially true when you start talking about people’s families.”
As if he hadn’t heard any of this, Lester nodded to some quiet comment within his own head. “Yeah, I’ve been wanting to hurt you for a long time now,” he said.
He took another step forward and flexed his shoulder, readying himself for action. Saul almost felt sorry for him. Lester was a large man and Saul suspected that whenever he placed himself in situations like this, his opponent backed down. As Lester stepped forward, he appeared to realize that Saul wasn’t some normal loser that would shake in his boots and back away. Doubt began to show in his eyes and Saul could smell the fear begin to seep out through the beer smell.
For the briefest of moments, something swarmed inside of Saul. The instincts he had been raised with recognized the fear and wanted to taste
it. He had long ago trained himself to keep such urges at bay. Still, this arrogant little man had come here to break into his house with the intention of hurting him. That certainly couldn’t be forgiven, could it?
As if sensing that Saul was thinking of violence, Lester lashed out with the knife he had been clutching in his pocket in a manner he’d probably thought subtle. The action was quick and almost out of nowhere, as if some unseen hand had pushed a button and Lester had responded.
Saul was much quicker than Lester, moving with a speed no human could hope to match. He dodged the stabbing motion easily and countered by swatting at Lester’s arm. Saul didn’t use much force, as he didn’t want to shatter the poor drunk’s forearm. The force of his blow still made Lester stagger. Behind him, standing like a scarecrow in the doorway, Hank Dooling watched with eyes wide in fascination.
Lester regained his composure rather quicker than Saul had expected. When Lester righted himself and threw a punch, Saul let it fall. He wanted to let Lester think he had a chance here. The punch landed squarely against Saul’s left side; the power behind it would have cracked a human’s ribs. Lester smirked, thinking the fight squarely in his favor. Saul barely smothered the laughter building up in his throat.
Lester’s next punch did not so much as graze Saul before the man caught it, surprising both Lester and his useless friend. Wrapping his fingers securely around Lester’s fist, Saul began – gradually and calmly – to tighten his grip. Bones ground beneath the pressure, joints popped and muscles strained. Lester groaned with the pain, wrapped his other hand around Saul’s and tugged, trying desperately to get free. Saul did not budge, lips thinning in a chilling smile. Lester’s own mouth trembled.
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