Ebon Moon

  “This place is creepy,” Terry whispered to the others.

  Mr. Higgins knocked against the door frame. “Elmer, are you here?

  Only silence.

  “He’s not home,” Terry stated. He stuck his head through the open doorway. A stack of UFO magazines were on the floor just inside the door. “Maybe he got abducted by aliens.”

  “Maybe he’s out …”

  A piercing howl stopped Mr. Higgins’s reply short. The terrifying noise grew in intensity and rolled out over the property, sending hundreds of blackbirds flying out of nearby trees. In a noisy erratic cloud, they circled overhead, cawing and dipping in the darkening sky.

  “Tell me that was a coyote,” Sid said with an edge of nervousness in his voice.

  “No coyote,” Mr. Higgins replied.

  “Fuck, I was afraid you were going to say that.”

  Terry turned around and glanced over the front yard. The sunset created deep shadows on the high weeds and rusting junk. The hair on his neck stood on end. Something was very wrong. “You got the pistol with you?”

  “Right here.” Mr. Higgins removed the .38 from his coat pocket.

  “I think you’re going to need it.”

  A deep beastlike growl sounded closer to the house. They looked in unison to see the flash of a dark gray shape dart between the rusted wrecks of two old automobiles.

  “Holy shit!” Sid said. “What the fuck is that?”

  “It’s no farm dog,” Mr. Higgins answered.

  The canine growling rose louder and nearer.

  “This can’t be happening.” Sid’s eyes were wide with terror. “Things like this don’t exist.”

  “You tell the werewolf that,” Mr. Higgins replied, pointing out in the yard.

  A large loping form raced toward them, cutting a path through the tall weeds.

  “Into the house!” Terry shouted.

  None of them hesitated. They charged into Elmer’s living room, and Terry slammed shut the door. The next second something heavy threw itself against the wood, causing dust to shower down from the ceiling. The door nearly splintered from the force of the impact. A horrible bestial snarl accompanied the assault.

  In a panic, Sid stepped back, tripped over a stack of Weekly World News, and fell to the floor. “It’s going to get in!”

  Terry fumbled with the locks and dead bolts on the door. “I can’t hold it back!” he shouted above the growling.

  Again, a heavy force threw itself against the wood, threatening to tear the door off its hinges.

  “Step aside, son.” Mr. Higgins took a firing stance with the pistol. “I just got to get one good shot.”

  Terry threw himself to the floor as the door burst open. A dark hunched shape filled the doorway a second before Mr. Higgins fired the pistol. The crack of the gunshot accompanied by a muzzle flash illuminated the beast. In a microsecond, Terry saw gray fur, canine fangs, and the red eyes of the hunched form. The nightmarish creature let out a grunt and disappeared off the porch.

  “I think I hit it,” Mr. Higgins announced.

  Scrambling to his feet, Terry replied, “You did.”

  He listened for some sound that the beast was near but heard only the cries of blackbirds circling overhead.

  Mr. Higgins remained in firing stance with gun pointed toward the door. “Let’s just wait and see if it returns.”

  “No, let’s get out of here,” Sid said in a low voice as he regained his feet.

  “Quiet, “Mr. Higgins demanded. “Listen.”

  Nothing growled or creaked on the porch boards. A full agonizing minute passed with Mr. Higgins keeping the weapon pointed at the broken door.

  “I think it’s gone,” Terry whispered to the others.

  “I hope,” Mr. Higgins replied. His voice sounded labored, and sweat beaded upon his forehead. “Terry, take the pistol.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Hard to breathe.” Mr. Higgins clutched his chest in pain. “My heart …”

  Terry grabbed the .38 as the old man dropped into a ratty recliner. His rheumy eyes looked up at him. “Keep the gun pointed toward the door, son. You’re in charge now.” His face winced again in pain. “I think I’m having a heart attack.”

  “This can’t be happening!” Sid declared. “This can’t be fucking happening now!”

  “Shut up for a second.” Terry tried to grasp what he should do next as he held the pistol in his shaking hand. He turned to Sid. “Call 911. We need an ambulance for Mr. Higgins.”

  “Okay, okay.” Sid reached into his jacket and removed a cell phone. He punched in the number and began talking to a dispatcher.

  “Help is on the way, Mr. Higgins,” Terry said, patting him on the arm. “Just take it easy.”

  The old man grabbed him by the hand. “I hope I make it to then … if I don’t … just want you to know … how thankful I am … for believing in me … son,” Mr. Higgins said between gasps for air.

  “I understand.”

  “They want to know our address,” Sid said, holding the phone against his ear.

  Terry picked up a nearby UFO magazine and tossed it over. “Read them the mailing address on the front.”

  Sid returned to his conversation with the emergency dispatcher. Terry stepped slowly toward the splintered doorway. His heart pounded against his throat, and the gun felt odd in his sweaty hands. He had fired a pistol before when his dad took him out hunting, but that was back when he had a dad. His hand shook so badly now that he doubted if he could hit anything at the moment. Reaching the dark doorway, he peered out into the front yard. Dusk had turned into night, and the world outside was shadow and moonlight … with no sign of the monster.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  After he left Hope Springs that morning, Blake Lobato continued down Highway 133 until he reached Morris. Along the way, he drove past Roxie’s Roadhouse and looked over the place. The bar’s isolation made it perfect for his return during the cover of night.

  On the outskirts of Morris, he checked into the Siesta Trail Motel, a run-down one-story strip of rooms with a manager’s office at one end. It seemed to cater mostly to Mexican oil field workers, judging by the amount of pickup trucks with Hispanic detailing parked in the lot. When the greasy-looking man at the front desk asked for his driver’s license, Blake slipped him a couple of hundred-dollar bills instead. The man said nothing and turned over the room key. Apparently, the desk clerk had experience dealing with customers unable to produce ID.

  Blake backed the bike into the parking space before his room. He didn’t want some flunky cop driving through reading his plates. Unlocking the door, he went inside and turned on the lights. A saggy bed, dingy yellow curtains, and a stuffed chair pitted with cigarette burns furnished the room. Nonstop Mexican music boomed through the thin walls from the room next door. When he switched on the bathroom lights, a dozen roaches ran across the tile. The place was a dump, but it would do. He only needed to stay here until after dark.

  Throwing himself on the bed, he watched the ceiling fan go around. He had been up for over forty-eight hours but was too coked up to sleep. He pulled the bag of blow out of his jacket and snorted a couple more lines to keep his high going. Today had been a good day. Not only did he make it to Hope Springs undeterred but, in an incredible turn of good luck, he also encountered Jess and Megan on arriving in town. The only complication was her involvement with the local sheriff. He stared at the revolving fan while imagining coming up on both the sheriff and his wife in bed and beating them to death with his bat. Vividly, he pictured the cracking of their skulls and the blood and brain matter spraying the walls of the room with every blow. A smile crossed his cracked lips. It was a good fantasy.

  Hours passed. He entered some sort of fugue state driven by the coke, exhaustion, and lack of sleep. When he focused again on the external world, dusk darkened the dingy curtains. Blake rose from the bed and contemplated doing more coke but decided against it. His mind needed clarity for wha
t was next. Running the bathroom water, he splashed some over his head and drank heartily using his hand. Afterward, he dressed in his shirt and long black duster, pocketed the field binoculars, and slid the aluminum bat into its makeshift holster.

  It was time to leave.

  An unexpected occurrence interrupted the drive out to the roadhouse. Ahead on the highway, blue and red lights topped a hill accompanied by the wail of a siren. Blake pulled his Harley over to the side of the road as an EMT ambulance barreled past going the other direction. A minute later the sheriff’s patrol car followed at a high speed. The man driving was the same one he had seen earlier in the day. His features looked stern as he went by in a blur of red and blue flashers.

  Blake felt a little disappointed. He hoped to catch Jess and the sheriff together but couldn’t if the man responded to an emergency call. He would still drop in on Jess. He throttled the bike up and continued to Roxie’s.

  The place was busy. The gravel parking lot was full with more vehicles pulling in. Blake steered his bike until he found a line of parked motorcycles. He backed his Harley into the end of the line, shut the engine off, and decided to sit and watch the place. Muffled karaoke music seeped out of the roadhouse, increasing in volume every time someone opened the door.

  Where was his Camaro?

  He searched the lot and spotted it parked under a streetlight. Sliding off his bike, he crossed over to the car and peered through the side glass. A smile crossed his lips. When Jessica ran off, he seriously doubted he would ever see the car again. He figured she would sell it for cash. He tried the doors. Locked. He hadn’t thought to bring his spare key when he left Chicago. Thanks to his law enforcement training, he knew how to jimmy the door open but didn’t want anyone coming up on him breaking into the car.

  For now, he would just sit and wait.

  * * * *

  Carrying ice-cold bottles of beer, Jessica pushed her way through the cigarette smoke of the crowded bar. Customers occupied all but two of the thirteen tables. To aid her in remembering who ordered what, Jessica gave each table a number in her mind. Table two had a one-legged farmer who tipped well and smiled at her every time she went by. Eight had a group of bikers who were going to some rally in Tulsa. A young couple, more interested in making out than drinking, occupied table five.

  She reached table six with their order. The occupants laughed loudly at a dirty joke as she put the bottles down in front of them. “Eight dollars.”

  The nearest man quit chuckling long enough to put a ten in her hand. “Keep the change, gorgeous.”

  “Thanks.” She smiled and returned to the bar where Roxie served customers with expert efficiency.

  “You’re doing fine, Jess,” Roxie said, taking the ten and making change. “The customers like you.”

  “I hope so.” She put the two dollars in her steadily increasing tip jar under the counter. “It does get busy in here pretty quick.” Jessica glanced over the rest of the tables. Number four would need a refill soon. The other customers had full beers and seemed content to listening to the karaoke. On the stage, Pearl sang an excellent version of a Mary Chapin Carpenter song while couples two-stepped to the music on the dance floor.

  “How do you like our little bar?” Roxie asked.

  “I like the tips, but I’m not used to the cigarette smoke.”

  “If you need to step out for some fresh air, I can watch the place for a bit.”

  “Okay.” Jess grabbed up the bottle of cold water she’d been sipping on all night. “I’ll be right back.”

  Crossing through the back room, she stepped out the exit door into the cool evening air. The back door closed, replacing the noisy crowd with the sound of crickets in the country. She had never seen what lay behind the building and discovered a thick grove of trees bordered the back property of the roadhouse. A worn footpath cut through the woods leading toward the dark shape of an old barn in the distance.

  Jessica closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the fresh night air.

  A dry crackling in the nearby underbrush caused her to reopen her eyes. Turning toward the sound, her blood froze. A dark figure stood in the shadow of the trees.

  Blake! her mind screamed. Oh God, it’s Blake!

  The man stepped from the shadow into the moonlight, but his face remained half-hidden. Unnaturally dark eyes stared at her. Jessica gasped in shock.

  “Who’s there?” she called out in a nervous voice.

  “Collin,” the shadowed figure replied, taking another step closer. Moonlight shifted to show his face and shoulder-length black hair.

  “You gave me a fright,” Jessica stated. She had been too busy to notice he wasn’t in the bar when she stepped out.

  “I just came out to see the moon,” he stated.

  She glanced up through the trees at the hazy orb hanging in the starlit sky. “It is beautiful tonight. Is that what you call a harvest moon?”

  “I like to think of it as a hunter’s moon.”

  “I heard someone in the bar saying there’s a lunar eclipse soon.”

  “In two nights.”

  Collin had never shown any interest in talking before. Jessica sensed this was a time for a little conversation. She didn’t particularly like the man, but he was her boss. Best to keep things on good terms, she decided. “I saw your drawings on the wall of the back room. They’re really good. You have a lot of talent.”

  “Just random etchings of a lost home.” He stepped closer, revealing the dark pupils of his eyes were wide and intense.

  He’s high on something, Jessica decided. What is it? Meth? Crack? Coke? Probably came out here to get a fix.

  “I guess I better get back to work,” Jessica said, cautiously taking a step back.

  For the first time, Collin showed a thin smile. “You’re needed inside.”

  “Roxie’s probably swamped with customers by now.” She put her hand on the doorknob to the back door.

  “Tell sister I’m going to …” He paused to step back into the shadows. His voice grew deeper and hoarse. “… take off for a while.”

  He turned and ran down the wooded path before disappearing into the dark.

  Jessica let out a nervous exhale. She wasn’t sure what to make of her awkward encounter with Collin. Obviously, Roxie’s brother was strung out on something, which explained his strange behavior. She was glad he left and didn’t try to come on to her. One night in Chicago, she had a crackhead try to follow her home. It scared the hell out of her. She didn’t want anything like that to happen here.

  Returning to the smoky environment of the bar, Jessica found Roxie running back and forth serving tables.

  “I’m back,” Jessica announced above a girl doing a painful rendition of a Reba McEntire song on the karaoke stage. The singer was terribly off-key and out of time with the harmony.

  “Good.” Roxie put four more bottles of beer on the counter. “These go to the bikers at the table against the wall. They’ve already paid.” She next placed a bottle of water next to the beer. “Can you take the water to Pearl?”

  “Sure can.” Jessica gathered up the order.

  “Did you happen to see Collin while you were out? I need him to bring a case of Bud from the cooler.”

  “Only for a second. He said to tell you he had to run off.” Literally run off, Jessica thought to herself. I wonder if she knows about her brother’s drug use.

  Roxie frowned. “I’ll just do it myself.”

  Jessica took the beer to the table of bikers. All were burly men over the age of fifty with gray beards and large bellies straining against leather vests. Jessica wondered what need drove middle-aged men to turn into Harley riders. Probably overcompensation for the fact that they needed Viagra as well.

  “There you go, guys,” she said with a smile, placing the bottles on the table.

  One of the bikers reached out and put an arm around her waist. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

  “Jess.”

  “Well, Jes
s, can you tell the girl on the stage to stop strangling the cat?” The rest of the table burst into laughter.

  “Why don’t you grab a mic and show her how it’s done?”

  “I could fart better singing than that.”

  Another round of raucous laughter shook the table. The girl on stage ended her song and gave the loud group a dirty look before returning to her chair.

  “Well, here’s your chance to show us.” Jess nodded toward the empty stage.

  One of the men slapped the biker on the back, and they roared in laughter together. Jess used the opportunity to slip out of the man’s arm.

  Her next stop was Pearl, who was sitting at the karaoke machine programming in songs. “I brought you some water,” she said, handing over the bottle.

  “Thanks, Jess.” She took off her reading glasses and rubbed her eyes. “I can’t see the screen without these damn things. How’s it going so far?”

  “Everybody seems like they’re having a good time.”

  “Let’s hope it stays that way.” Pearl took a swig from the water bottle. “It’s a full moon tonight, which means the freaks are going to come out of the woodwork.”

  “So I hear.” They’d be hard to beat what I just saw outside, Jess told herself.

  “Uh-oh, here we go.” Pearl nodded toward the front door. “The circus begins.”

  Jessica followed Pearl’s gaze. Four new people had just entered the place, all dressed in a retro style reminiscent of the eighties right down to ripped jeans and cheap black sunglasses. The one girl in the group—for some reason Jessica couldn’t fathom—had her blonde hair tied so it stuck straight up on her head. They made their way to sit at table thirteen.

  Jessica let out a sigh and went to wait on them.

  “What would you like to drink?” she asked. All four looked up at her in unison with eyes hidden behind dark shades.

  “Hi, Jess.” The girl slid off her glasses to show she was Debbie Miller. “Remember me? We talked at the Dollar Store earlier today?”

  The skinny trailer trash, Jessica reminded herself.

  “I remember.”