Ebon Moon

“That’s good.”

  “Dale, can I ask you a few questions? I mean, I know so little about you.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “How come a good-looking lawman who is polite and can dance is not married? I mean, you have never been tied down by a woman?”

  “Let’s make a deal. I won’t ask about your past if you don’t ask about mine. Is it a deal?”

  “Deal.”

  He kissed her. She absorbed his mouth’s embrace hungrily with her own. The intensity increased, and she pulled him in closer by grabbing the hair at the back of his head. Their mouths opened and tongues found each other. The deep kiss continued until he finally pulled away.

  “I better stop,” he breathed huskily against her mouth. “We keep this up and I won’t be able to.”

  “Okay.” She pulled away and looked up. His eyes seemed to have changed color and were much darker. It might have been a trick of the moonlight shining through the clouds, she decided. “I better get home, anyway. I told Nelda I wouldn’t be out this late.”

  He released his hold around her waist. “You’ll be here tomorrow night, so I’ll come by and check on you.”

  Jessica nodded and brushed a loose strand of blonde hair back from her face. What had started with so much passion had ended in something awkward. As a stripper, she had gotten good at reading men, but she couldn’t decipher Sheriff Dale Sutton. Some invisible wall stretched between them, something she hadn’t learned yet. Was it because she was still married? She didn’t think so. She was about as far removed from being married as a woman could get. She hated her husband and almost killed him. No, it was something else—Roxie, perhaps, or some other woman from his past.

  She turned and put her key in to unlock the Camaro’s driver door.

  “See you tomorrow, Jess,” he said, walking away into the night.

  “Bye,” she called out to his back.

  She settled into the driver’s seat and slammed the door. What the hell just happened? Reaching under the seat, she unconsciously felt for the .357 magnum pistol. Since Nelda decided to watch Megan in the trailer until she got home, Jessica snuck the pistol out in her purse so her daughter would not find it by accident under the bed mattress. Jessica’s fingers touched the cold steel of the gun.

  Relieved, she settled back against the driver’s seat. She licked her lips, still wet from the sheriff’s kiss. She tasted something else. Blood? Turning on the interior dome light, she examined her tongue in the rearview mirror. A raw red scratch was on the tip.

  Did he bite me during the kiss? I don’t think so. I must have scratched it against a sharp tooth. The kiss was more intense than I realized.

  She started the Camaro and drove back toward the trailer.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Collin stepped out the back door of the roadhouse while lighting a cigarette. All night he had watched Jess and the sheriff together at the corner table. If the mother was here, he asked himself, where was her daughter? He turned his gaze toward the Olson farm, which lay miles away. Even though he shared in the feeding of the hitchhiker earlier in the day, his interest in the little girl had not waned. The beast inside twisted at the thought of devouring the human child. So much time had passed since he had tasted such flesh.

  The moon peaked from behind a dark cloud, bringing a strong longing for home in British Columbia. There the Clan had survived hidden from the eyes of the world. History and the Inquisition had taught the Wolfkin a hard lesson. They needed to camouflage their existence from humankind. Toward the end of the nineteenth century, the enclave transplanted itself from the forests of Europe to a remote corner of the Canadian wilderness. For over a hundred years, they lived in harmony with the wolves and the surrounding forest. In secret stock pens, they bred and raised humans like cattle. No longer forced to hunt for human flesh, the Clan thrived. They substituted their diet with the raw meat of elk, moose, and cows, choosing only to partake of human flesh when the hunger demanded. In time, the twentieth century encroached upon the enclave. Increasing numbers of loggers and hunters threatened the Clan’s borders. The wolf became endangered and scarce. The elders of the Clan decided that, for the Wolfkin to survive, they needed to blend in with human civilization or risk extinction. The Clan devoured the last of the livestock and broke up into smaller units known as Packs. Agreeing to meet in their tribal home every ten years during winter solstice, they scattered.

  The back door of the roadhouse opened, bringing Collin’s thoughts back to the present. He smelled his sister on the night breeze. Stamping out his cigarette, he turned as she rushed to his arms and planted a kiss upon his lips. Their bond went much stronger and deeper than that of siblings or lovers. They were Pure Born, descendants from true Wolfkin parents. Lycanthropy had been theirs since birth.

  “The bar is empty,” Roxie stated, looking deep into her brother’s eyes. “What are you doing out here in the dark, my love?”

  “Missing home.”

  “I do, too. You know what I miss most? The tall trees of the great forest.” She placed her head against his chest. “There aren’t enough trees here in Oklahoma.”

  “I sometimes wonder what we’re doing here.” He rubbed his hands across her back. “I hate pandering to these human fools. They should learn they’re nothing but food on our plate.”

  “It is dangerous to entertain such thoughts, my brother. We are superior, yes, but our weaknesses are easily exploited. Our best chance of survival is to stay hidden among them.”

  “In the midst of plenty we should starve to death?”

  “We fed today. Dale says we may do so again during the Feast of the Ebon Moon.”

  “What will he provide for such a feast? A drunken old man or an illegal Mexican? I want more succulent flesh during the Ebon Moon. The devouring of a child has been our tradition for many centuries. He is only one of the Bitten and not a Pure Born like we are. He does not fully understand us.”

  “Dale has taught us the ways of the humans so we may hide among them. Without him we would have been lost, or have you forgotten?”

  Collin turned his back to look once again at the light of the moon. “I think it is all for nothing. We are a dying breed. I no longer feel the other Wolfkin Packs in my blood, sister. Do you sense them?”

  “They are silent to me, as well. We will know their number at the next gathering in seven years.” Roxie placed her arms around his waist. “Come back inside, my brother. Dale has called a meeting of the Pack. Let’s hear what he has to say.”

  She took Collin by the hand and led him back into the roadhouse. With the lights turned down low and the jukebox shut off, the quiet of the place seemed haunted after a night of raucous noise. Uncle Johnny sat at the corner of the bar drinking coffee while Sheriff Sutton closed the window shades to hide the meeting from the outside world. Both men turned as Roxie and Collin entered.

  “We’re here,” Roxie announced.

  “Good,” Sheriff Sutton replied, stepping away from the window. “We need to discuss what to do with this Jasper Higgins situation.”

  “Refresh my memory,” Uncle Johnny replied. “You said Elmer Grosslin took a picture of Collin killing his cow last night. Where’s the picture now?”

  “Jasper Higgins has it and suspects it’s a werewolf.” Sheriff Sutton walked over and took a place at the bar. “Don’t worry about Elmer Grosslin, though. I took care of him.”

  “You did?” Roxie asked.

  Sheriff Sutton chuckled. “Let’s just say he committed suicide over the loss of his beautiful cow.”

  “So all we have to do is worry about Jasper,” Collin said. “It shouldn’t be a problem. Everyone suspects he’s crazy and guilty of murder. No one’s going to believe him.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure. The photograph is evidence of something going on. He might be able to convince others.”

  “So what do you propose to do about it?” Uncle Johnny asked.

  “I haven’t received a call from anyone discover
ing Elmer’s body yet. Early in the morning, Johnny, I want you to go to the farm and clean up the crime scene. Dump Elmer’s body someplace where it won’t be found. I suspect Jasper Higgins will show up tomorrow at the Grosslin property to return the picture. I want you to sit and wait for him. There’s an abandoned oil site right across the road. Hide your truck there until Jasper shows up.”

  “And what do I do if he does show up?” Uncle Johnny asked.

  “Eat him. I’m tired of dealing with the old man.”

  “He’s armed with a pistol, so be careful,” Collin said. “He shot me in the shoulder last night.”

  “He’s as good as dead,” Uncle Johnny replied.

  “Fair enough,” Sheriff Sutton stated.

  Collin cleared his throat. “What is your plan for the Feast of the Ebon Moon? I think we need more succulent flesh than dirty hitchhikers and some old drunk.”

  “Who do you propose?” he asked giving him a stern look.

  “Jess and her daughter, Megan, would make a fitting sacrifice in honor of our ancestors.”

  “I told you they are not to be harmed,” Sheriff Sutton said, walking toward the door of the bar. “I’ve had my last say in the matter.”

  FRIDAY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The mornings were the worst.

  Jasper Higgins awoke to the same empty house every dawn since Emma’s death. Yesterday, after his meeting with Terry Newman and Sid Granger, he returned home to collapse on the bed without bothering to change out of his clothes. He slept hard until the first light of dawn glowed through the windows.

  He sat up and put his feet down on the cold wood floor. A northern front had blown in sometime during the night and the frigid wind rattled the window screens. The weather change had also fired up his arthritis again. Grasping the bed post, he eased himself off the mattress and stood on painful legs. A flutter shook his weak heart between beats. He knew it was just a matter of time before the big one would end it for good.

  God, at least, had granted him one more day.

  After turning on the heat in the house, he sat at the kitchen table with a pot of coffee brewing on the stove. He stared at the items he brought in from the truck the night before. The .38 pistol resting atop the family Bible reminded him how he wanted to end his life two nights ago. The Lord had intervened by giving him another glimpse of the unholy creature responsible for Emma’s death.

  Anger as cold as the morning chilled him inside. The sudden feeling of rage surprised him. Why did God allow his wife’s murder? He had been a good man and a devout Christian his whole life. Emma was the most loving and gentle woman one would ever meet, yet she died a horrible death in the jaws of a beast of the Devil. He picked up the pistol and placed it aside. Tears formed in his bleary eyes as his hand ran over the chapped cover of the Bible. In the past, he would have gained comfort from reading the scriptures before the start of each day, but this morning no such peace was available.

  “Why did you do this to my Emma, Lord?” Jasper asked in a hoarse voice to the empty room. “I’m old and my body is failing. I needed her in my last days, and yet evil took her away. I can’t imagine the terror she suffered at the hands of that monster. It’s not fair. She didn’t deserve that.”

  He broke down and cried with his head bowed. He had never known such weight upon his soul.

  The coffee began to percolate in the pot. Jasper wiped away his tears and opened a cabinet door. A forgotten half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s waited amidst the coffee cups. Taking the bottle, he returned to his seat at the table and twisted off the top.

  “Give me a sign, Lord. What is it you want me to do?” For the first time in his life, his connection with God slipped away from his heart. Not only had he lost his most beloved Emma, he started losing his faith. A loving and caring God would not have had Emma suffer such a horrible fate at the hands of a monster. He knew such thoughts were blasphemous, but he couldn’t change his feelings. “Show me a sign or I’ll climb into this bottle and never climb out. I’ll drink the pain away until my last day. This I vow to you.”

  His only answer was the hiss of the burner and the percolating coffee.

  “To hell with you then!” he shouted, sweeping the pistol and Bible from the table. The items clattered to the floor.

  Tipping up the bottle to take a long swig, he stopped when the whiskey touched his lips. His gaze centered on the items he had thrown to the floor. The Bible lay spilled open amidst a scattering of photographs. The pistol rested across two pictures—the grip upon a black-and-white glossy of Emma when she was twenty years old, and the barrel upon the photo taken of the werewolf by Elmer Grosslin. Jasper lowered the bottle. In an instant his heart knew what the symbolism meant.

  God wants me to kill the werewolf.

  His purpose was now crystal clear.

  He stepped over the photos on the floor and poured the Jack Daniel’s into the sink. No longer would he deaden his pain with alcohol. Instead, he would sharpen his remorse and hone his resolve to do the last important act of his life.

  Picking up the Bible, pistol, and photographs, he returned them to the table. He clicked open the tarnished cylinder of the .38 and dropped out the six spent shell casings into his palm. To perform the task set before him he needed silver bullets. But how does one make them? First, he needed silver. He rubbed his hand over the gray stubble on his face and remembered the cabinet where Emma stored the good dishes and silverware. Inside, he found a fine leather box that was a wedding gift from her parents. Emma was so proud of the expensive set because the silverware was pure sterling silver. Opening the case, he found compartments of knives, forks, and spoons. He sat the box on the table next to the pistol. That solved the first step. Silver he had, but how could he melt it?

  He thought he had an answer.

  Jasper grabbed up the items and walked out the back door of his house. The cold wind buffeted him as he crossed the farmyard to his workshop in the back. Stepping inside the cluttered room, he switched on the fluorescent shop lights overhead. Everything was a mess. A jumbled collection of farm equipment parts, pipes, tools, wiring, power cords, etc., covered the two workbenches. As of late, he used the shop to cut his signs, which left the floor covered in thick sawdust. He cleared a space on one workbench and pinned a black-and-white picture of his beautiful Emma on the corkboard over the bench.

  She would oversee his new project.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “No!” Jessica screamed as she struggled against the gray duct tape holding her wrists firmly in place to the arms of chair.

  “Don’t fight it, Jess.” Blake’s voice came from a shadowy silhouette in a dark hall. Though she couldn’t see his features, she knew it was her husband. Megan stood before him. A look of total fear shone in her eyes as tears ran down her face.

  “Blake, what are you doing?” she called out.

  “Do you still love me, Jess?” He asked, producing the .357 magnum pistol and placing it against Megan’s temple. “Do you?”

  “Don’t do this, Blake!” Jessica tore at the tape holding her in the chair.

  “You didn’t answer the question, baby.” His face had become a dark void. In a voice distorted to something guttural and animal-like, he asked again, “Do you still love me, Jess?”

  From somewhere beyond the nightmarish scene, she heard, “Mommy, wake up.”

  Jessica opened her eyes. She lay on her bed in the trailer with Megan softly nudging her shoulder. The terrible dream about Blake faded like broken cobwebs into the shadows of her mind.

  “I’m awake,” she said, turning her head. Megan, dressed in a T-shirt, was on the bed next to her.

  “You were talking in your sleep, Mommy. Were you having a dream?”

  “Yes.” She reached out for her daughter. “Just a bad dream, baby.”

  “I’m cold.” Megan nuzzled up close.

  Jessica pulled the blanket over her. The interior of the trailer had turned much cooler through the night
. She glanced at the window. A pale gray light lit the curtain and the walls of the bedroom. Her watch said it was 7:38.

  “Why is it so cold, Mommy?”

  “I guess summer is over and fall is here.” She hugged her daughter to her under the blanket. “Mommy will keep you warm, baby.”

  “Did you have fun with the sheriff?” Megan asked.

  Jessica thought about the events at Roxie’s the night before. Everything seemed surreal as though it, too, was part of a vague dream. She recalled meeting him, dancing the two-step, and kissing in the parking lot after the bar closed. She touched the tip of her tongue to the roof of her mouth. The end still felt raw and scratched.

  “I had a good time,” she replied. “Did you like being here with Nelda?”

  Megan nodded. “Uh huh, she let me color and we made hot chocolate. It was fun.”

  “Sounds like it.” She tickled her daughter, who giggled under the blanket. “Now let Mommy up. I’m going to go turn on the heater and warm the trailer.”

  Jessica slipped out of the bed and pulled on her jeans. The achy tinge of a slight hangover pounded at her temples. Running her hands through her blonde hair, she walked barefoot into the living room and opened the panel over the heater controls. Turning up the thermostat, the heater rumbled into life under the trailer. Warm air began blowing through the vents.

  “How about breakfast, baby?” she called down the hall at her daughter.

  No answer.

  “Megan?” Jessica asked again. Still no reply.

  A sense of dread centered in her stomach.

  “Baby, how come you didn’t answer Mommy?”

  She quickly returned to the bedroom and froze in shock.

  Sitting on the bed, her daughter held the .357 magnum pistol in her hands. Jessica forgot she had hidden it under the pillow last night. Megan looked up at her with innocent blue eyes.

  “Is this Daddy’s gun?”

  “Megan!” Jessica shouted. “Put it down!”