Ebon Moon

  Collin showed an evil smile. “I went to the little girl’s home.”

  “Little girl?”

  “The daughter of our new employee.” Collin’s tongue licked his lips. “To eat her flesh would be so tender, so succulent.”

  A chill embraced Sheriff Sutton’s insides. Collin spoke of Megan, the sweet little girl who had hugged his neck in front of Dottie’s Diner. “You stay away from her.”

  Collin’s eyes hardened. “Humans are our cattle, or did you forget that?”

  “I said to stay away from her.”

  Roxie stepped forward and placed a hand against the sheriff’s bare back. “Why should we? You told us Jess is from Chicago and hiding from her abusive husband. If she and her daughter went missing, no one around here would be suspicious. They would just say she went back to her husband again in Chicago.”

  “It’s too damn risky.” Sheriff Sutton walked over to the hood of his car and began putting on his uniform.

  Uncle Johnny shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense, Dale. We need to feed again during the Ebon Moon, which is coming in three nights. It is the way of the Clan. She and her daughter are perfect for the feast. If we’re careful and cover our tracks, no one would miss them. They would think they moved to someplace else.”

  “I’ve told you many times we can’t kill a child,” he replied, buttoning up his shirt. “To do so will cause the humans in the area to triple their efforts to find the killer. It’s too dangerous, so take her off the dinner menu.”

  “What are we supposed to eat?” Collin interjected. “We need better fare than dirty hitchhikers. Our kind has fed on children in the past during the Ebon Moon. The life force of a devoured child strengthens the bloodline.”

  “You can eat Jasper Higgins.” He stuffed his shirttails into his uniform pants. “He’s become too suspicious and needs to be taken care of.”

  “That tough old bastard …” Collin replied.

  The sheriff’s cell phone rang on his belt. He picked it up and flipped it open.

  “Sheriff Sutton.”

  “Dale, this is Jess.”

  “Hi, Jess.”

  “I asked Nelda to watch Megan tonight so I can go out if the offer is still available.”

  “It is.” He looked at the rest of the Pack putting on their clothes and watching him at the same time. “I’ll meet you at the bar around eight tonight. That’ll give me time to get off work and get cleaned up.”

  “Eight tonight. I’ll see you there. Bye.”

  “Bye.” Sheriff Sutton closed the phone and said to the others, “Jess is meeting me tonight at the bar.”

  Roxie slid her tight shirt over her round breasts. “Maybe that’s the reason you’re protecting Jess and her daughter. You got more than a passing interest in the two.”

  “I’m just maintaining my cover as a small-town sheriff. Nothing more.”

  “If you say so.”

  Sheriff Sutton buckled on his gun belt. “Everyone listen. No one is to harm Jess or her daughter. After the bar closes tonight, we will have another meeting to discuss ways to handle the Jasper Higgins situation. Do you understand?”

  The Pack nodded in agreement.

  “Good.” Sheriff Sutton climbed back into the patrol car and began the drive back to Hope Springs.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Sitting at his computer desk with Marilyn Manson screaming in his iPod earphones, Sid Granger rolled another joint in preparation to go online to his favorite porn site. He thought he was alone in the garage apartment connected to his grandmother’s house until a hand patted him on the shoulder. He jumped, sending the bag of weed spilling to the floor. Yanking the earphones out, he spun around expecting to see his grandma but blinked in disbelief when he discovered Terry Newman and the crazy old sign maker standing behind him.

  “Dude, you scared the holy shit out of me!” he said to Terry.

  “We knocked, but no one answered.”

  Sid stared at the old man as if he were a ghost standing there. He grabbed Terry by the front of his shirt to pull him close.

  “What the hell is that old fart doing in my room?” he whispered.

  “Mr. Higgins wants to talk to you.”

  “Is he pissed about yesterday?”

  “No.” Terry shook his head adding, “Oh, by the way, you forgot to pick me up, you asswipe.”

  “Sorry, man,” Sid replied. “Why did you let that crazy murderer into my house? Not cool.”

  “Just hear what he has to say.”

  Mr. Higgins bent down and picked up a DVD from the shelf by the bed. “Is this the movie you spoke of yesterday? The Howling?”

  Sid stood and crossed the room. Taking Mr. Higgins by the elbow, he said, “Sorry, but my grandma doesn’t allow me to have visitors, especially those who fall under the creepy-old-man category. You’ll have to leave.”

  Mr. Higgins ignored him and turned the DVD case over. “This is the one with the werewolves in it?”

  “Man, we were just bullshitting you yesterday about werewolves. They’re not real.” He took the movie case from the old man’s hands. “Now, I have to clean my room, so you’ll have to go.”

  “Show him the photo, Mr. Higgins,” Terry said.

  “What photo?” Sid asked.

  From a pocket in his overalls, Mr. Higgins pulled out a photograph and handed it to Sid. “Does this look like a werewolf to you?”

  Sid looked down at the picture. The grainy photo showed something dark looming over the body of a dead cow. He studied the shadowy shape caught in the flash. The hair on the back of his neck rose. The creature did look exactly like the way he imagined a werewolf.

  “Who took the picture?” he asked.

  “Elmer Grosslin on his farm last night,” Mr. Higgins replied. “The thing killed his cow.”

  “I heard of this Elmer guy. He’s fucked up.” Sid returned to his computer desk and switched on a lamp. He leaned into the light to take a closer look. “What makes you think this picture is real and not a hoax?”

  “Elmer’s so poor he hasn’t got a pot to piss in.” Mr. Higgins joined Sid and Terry at the computer desk. “Nor does he have the money or the smarts to pull off an elaborate hoax. He thinks he took a picture of Bigfoot.”

  “Is it Bigfoot, Sid?” Terry leaned in close to study the picture.

  “No.” Sid turned to the keyboard of his computer and typed in a few search tags. A picture of a hairy bipedal creature came up on the screen. Taken in broad daylight, the image showed a creature looking back at the cameraman. “This is the most famous picture of Bigfoot ever taken. Some guy named Patterson took it back in the sixties. As you can see, Bigfoot is a big, hairy, apelike creature. The monster in your photograph has canine features and fangs.”

  “So it’s a werewolf,” Mr. Higgins stated.

  “You wish.” Sid studied the photo up close. “It’s a guy in a fucking suit. Probably running around trying to convince everyone there’s a werewolf loose. Both of you are dumbasses for falling for it.”

  “The thing in that picture killed my wife,” Mr. Higgins said in a weary voice while sitting on the corner of Sid’s bed. “It’s my only proof it wasn’t me.”

  “If that’s the case, let me scan the picture into my computer. Keep it on file. That way we will always have it saved.” Sid put the photograph in his scanner.

  “Go to the sheriff, Mr. Higgins,” Terry said. “Show him the picture.”

  “He’d never believe me.”

  “Bad idea, anyway,” Sid stated, handing the photograph back to Mr. Higgins. “Sheriff Dickhead stopped me one night when I was returning from OKC. He just hit the lights and came out of nowhere. He pulled me over and searched the truck for pot. Luckily, I smoked it all at the ICP concert, so he didn’t find any. He scared the hell out of me, though. We were out on a country road in the middle of the night. The guy had a weird look in his eyes. I swear he was smoking something, himself. The sheriff’s a real prick. I’d go over his head and cal
l the highway patrol.”

  “Do you think they’ll believe me?”

  “No, so you’re just basically fucked.”

  “Unless I can find and kill the creature myself.”

  Sid chuckled. “Not as easy as it sounds. Let’s suppose what you’re up against is a real werewolf. Do you even know how to kill it?”

  Mr. Higgins shook his head. “That’s the reason I came to you.”

  Sid smiled and leaned back in his chair. “Well, I’m no expert or anything. I just know what I’ve seen in the movies.” He put his hands behind his head and pondered for a moment. “You can’t shoot or stab a werewolf with conventional weapons. If you do that they’ll heal just like Wolverine does. I even saw a movie where the fucking thing was blown to bits and formed back together just like liquid metal. Is any of this making sense to you?”

  Mr. Higgins shook his head no.

  “Okay, let me try again. Only a weapon made of silver hurts a werewolf. Things like silver bullets, knives, swords, etc. In one movie Lon Chaney Jr. killed one with the silver end of a cane.”

  “Silver weapons kill a werewolf. I got that.”

  “There’s another way to kill one. That’s by fire. It kills both werewolves and vampires.”

  “So they don’t come back after being burned?” Terry asked.

  “Hell no. Fire is the great equalizer when it comes to supernatural creatures. Except, of course, if you’re a demon and fire doesn’t hurt you.”

  “Let’s not get off subject and stick with werewolves for the moment,” Mr. Higgins said and asked, “How do I find it?”

  “You see that’s the fucking beauty of this monster. Most of the time a werewolf remains in human form. You can’t tell who it is. It could be anybody. They’re not like vampires who can’t run around during the day.”

  Terry pulled up a chair and sat next to Sid. “Do they only come out on a full moon?”

  “Some do, some don’t. Some can shape-shift at will, day or night.”

  “I saw the monster last night and there was no full moon,” Mr. Higgins said. “By the way, I shot the damn thing in the shoulder with my .38.”

  “Did you use silver bullets?” Sid asked.

  “No.”

  “It healed just like that.” Sid snapped his fingers.

  “Why would a loving God put such an abomination on the earth?”

  “You’ll have to take that up with him. As for me, I think it’s kind of cool. Supernatural monsters running around in the dark makes the world a lot more interesting. Changes everything we believe in.”

  “So you believe in the monster now?” Terry asked.

  “Fuck no, but I’m having fun watching you two dweebs falling for it.”

  “Terry, you mentioned a full moon. I checked the Farmer’s Almanac earlier. There’s a full moon starting tomorrow night. Oh, and another thing, on Sunday night we are going to have a total lunar eclipse,” Mr. Higgins said.

  “We talked about the upcoming lunar eclipse in science class today,” Terry replied.

  “I wonder if it means something,” Mr. Higgins said, turning to Sid.

  “I don’t have a fucking clue.” He shrugged.

  “Is there anything else I need to know?” Mr. Higgins asked.

  “There is one other thing. If a person is ever bitten by a werewolf and lives, he will become a werewolf himself. There’s something about a werewolf’s bite … it’s like a virus or something. Those who are bitten can become one.”

  “That’s an important fact.”

  “That’s about all I know about the shit,” Sid stated.

  Mr. Higgins let out a weary sigh. “Tomorrow I’ll make a decision on what to do next. I’m too tired tonight. I’ve been up for the last twenty-four hours straight.” He started walking toward the door. “Thanks for all your help, Sid.”

  “Good luck with the hunt, old man.”

  “Are you coming with me, Terry?” Mr. Higgins asked before he opened the door.

  “Nah, I’ll let Sid take me home.”

  “Very well. Good-bye, boys.” He closed the door.

  “Mr. Higgins,” Terry called after him.

  The door reopened and the old man stuck his head back in the room. “Yes?”

  “I still believe you.”

  “Thank you, son.”

  He closed the door and was gone.

  “That guy’s psycho,” Sid commented as he returned to sit at his computer.

  “Mr. Higgins is a good man,” Terry replied.

  “He’s apeshit crazy if he thinks anyone is going to buy that werewolf bullshit about killing his wife.” Sid returned to rolling his joint. Once done, he lit the end and took a long drag. “Are you still going to do it?”

  “Do what?”

  Sid exhaled a cloud of white smoke. “Ask Becky Warren to the homecoming dance.”

  “Yes.”

  Sid sputtered in the middle of another inhale on the joint. “You’re nuts, dude. Brandon Harrison is going to kick your ass.”

  “I don’t care. I love her.”

  “To me she’s a stuck-up cock tease, but if you love her, that’s cool.” Sid handed the joint over. “Hit on this and you’ll feel better.”

  Terry shook his head. “No, man, that crap makes it hard for me to concentrate on my homework.”

  “Isn’t the homecoming dance tomorrow night?”

  “Yes.”

  “When do you plan on asking Becky?”

  “In the morning.” Terry pulled out his Algebra textbook from his backpack. “If she says yes, are you still going to loan me your truck so I can take her out?”

  Sid laughed, spraying out a cloud of the pungent smoke. “If she says yes, I’ll give you the fucking keys, title, and all.”

  “She likes me, I know she does.”

  Sid took another puff of weed. “You’re crazier than that old man who thinks werewolves are real.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Blake Lobato walked up the driveway toward the two-story brick home packed in a line of similar town houses. He had crossed Chicago on foot since torching his house earlier in the day. Desperate to score some blow and find some wheels to get out of the city, the brick home before him could supply both.

  He glanced up and down the quiet street. The neighborhood consisted of sidewalks and neatly edged lawns under the shadow of large shade trees. Some of the leaves had changed color signaling the approaching autumn. A cold front moving in from the north threatened the blue skies with increasing gray clouds.

  When he reached the top of the drive, he peered through the windows set in the garage door. Parked inside was a Harley Night Train motorcycle. Good, he thought to himself. The fucking dyke is home.

  Monique Sanders was her real name. Passion was just her stage name. She stripped in the same club as Jess and dealt drugs to the other dancers on the side. A raging lesbian, Passion rode to work on a new Harley with her current girlfriend sitting on the back. He had scored some coke off her a couple of times while waiting for his wife after the club closed. He secretly followed the stripper home one night in case he needed to bust her in the future. It was ironic that a small-time dealer like Passion lived in such a nice suburban neighborhood. Obviously, dealing drugs and stripping had paid off.

  Blake slid on some leather gloves from the pocket of his duster. Next he pulled the aluminum baseball bat out of its makeshift holster and hid it up a sleeve. He could hold it there if he kept his arm straight. He walked up the steps to the front door and rang the doorbell. While waiting for someone to answer, he scanned the neighborhood once more from the porch. Everything was quiet. School had just gotten out, and a bus stopped down the street to unload students.

  The front door unlocked and swung open. Passion stood there, a lithe, muscular African American girl with large expressive eyes and dark brown nipples showing clearly through the fabric of her white tank top. She unlatched the storm door and swung it open a foot.

  “What the fuck do you want?” s
he hissed in a low breath.

  “Can I come in? I need to score some blow,” Blake answered, shifting the weight of the bat in his jacket sleeve.

  “Fuck no. I don’t deal from my front porch, and I sure as fuck don’t deal to a narc. Get the fuck out of here,” she said, starting to close the storm door.

  “Come on, can’t we just be friends?” Blake grabbed the door from her hands and swung it open. He charged inside the house while shoving the surprised girl. She staggered back a few steps as he slammed shut the door and locked the dead bolt. In a sudden move, Passion grabbed a piece of iron pipe from a table next to her.

  “What you going do now, motherfucker? The last man that laid hands on me I beat his ass with this.” She brandished the foot-long piece of pipe in front of her. “What do you say now, bitch?”

  “My dick’s bigger.”

  Blake dropped the aluminum bat out of his sleeve straight down into the palm of his hand. He swung, hitting the girl’s right collarbone with a resounding thud. Bones snapped and the pipe clattered to the hardwood floor.

  “Fuck!” she screamed in pain, holding her hurt arm.

  Blake stepped forward and thrust the bat hard into Passion’s solar plexus, knocking the wind out of her. He didn’t want to use the bat on her face. Not yet. He needed her to be able to talk. Bending over double, she tried to catch her breath. He grabbed her up by the tank top and dropped her into a wooden chair with a resounding thump. The stripper’s breath came in short gasps as he yanked a length of curtain cord from a window.

  “Passion, are you still with me? Don’t pass out,” he said, winding the cord around the girl’s wrists and tying them to the chair handles with the cord. “You got to stay with me, girl.” He continued binding both her ankles to the front chair legs. “There, we can talk better now.”

  “Fuck you,” she replied in a gasping voice.

  “That’s the spirit. Hang in there, girl.”

  He grabbed the back of the chair and dragged it into the middle of the front room. The chair’s legs cut deep scuff marks into the perfect hardwood floors. He returned to the foyer and picked up the bat.