Ebon Moon

  “I won’t do it. There is no reason for us to kill a child. We’ve been lucky so far in having our kills go unnoticed. The murder of a child will only expose us. The locals will send out search parties into the area. More law enforcement will focus their attention on Hope Springs and drive us further underground. It is madness.”

  “Do you so easily forget the ways of our Clan?” Collin’s rage erupted. He suddenly grabbed Sheriff Sutton by the throat. “You will do as I command, mongrel! Bring me the child so I can feast upon her flesh befitting a Wolfkin elder!”

  He gripped the sheriff by the throat with one hand and lifted him off the ground.

  “Collin, don’t!” Roxie shouted.

  “Shut up!” he snapped back as rage caused his body to start transforming into the beast again. “I have grown tired of this half-breed. He forgets his place and who his new master is.” Collin’s voice became hoarser as his emerging claws dug into the sheriff’s throat. “You will do as I say.”

  “I refuse,” Sheriff Sutton hissed.

  “You’ll do it!” Collin flung the sheriff away from him. He slammed against the side of the pickup truck before falling to his hands and knees. Once on the ground, Sheriff Sutton’s facial features shifted into a semicanine form. Fangs extended from his mouth as his eyes flashed red in primal rage. He released an inhuman growl toward Collin and readied to pounce.

  “Stop it!” Roxie stepped between the two. “We are already weak in numbers, and this fighting between us only weakens us more.”

  “Don’t interfere,” Collin said, pushing her aside. “He must learn his place.”

  “You will not harm the child,” the sheriff snarled in a voice changing from human to animal.

  He leaped full force and knocked Collin to the ground. Together they rolled through the powdery dirt, biting and mauling each other. Clawed hands grabbed each other by the throat and choked. Collin’s rage increased, triggering a full transformation into his werewolf form. Howling in anger, he twisted and threw the sheriff away to crash against the side of the rusted oil storage tank.

  “Stop!” Roxie raced to stand between the two.

  Still in beast form, Collin looked down at his sister. She had always provided wisdom to his impetuous nature. He bellowed a roar toward the moon and fought back the animal rage boiling inside. He regained control and became his human form again.

  Badly injured, the sheriff rose to one knee as his supernatural healing mended his clawed flesh and bite wounds. His hateful stare never left Collin.

  “This fighting must stop,” Roxie stated.

  “It’s the pull of the upcoming Ebon Moon,” Collin replied. “Its influence affects us even now. As it grows near, it draws the beast out.”

  Roxie turned to Sheriff Sutton. “Dale, remember the Dark Gift was bestowed upon you. The ability to heal wounds and live longer than humans is in return for your servitude. You serve the Pack first. Don’t forget that.”

  “What you call a gift, I call a curse.” Sheriff Sutton stood shakily to his feet.

  “Then what is it you seek? Is it to be human again?” Roxie laughed and continued. “Do you think your precious Jess and Megan would accept you once they knew what you really are? You bear the Mark of the Beast, and humans will only scorn and fear you. It is the reason we are standing over the ashes of Dominic now.”

  “I know what you say is true.” Sheriff Sutton lowered his head. “It’s just that the two of them remind me of my sweet Angela and little Elizabeth I lost so long ago.”

  Roxie shook her head. “Because you failed to protect your own wife and daughter, you’re now going to protect Jess and Megan? Dale, there is no redemption for you. You cannot wash away your past sins by saving one mother and child. There is too much blood and death on your hands.”

  Collin stepped forward. “Put aside this foolish notion of protecting humans. They are nothing but cattle to us. Your duty is with the Pack.”

  “I can’t.” Sheriff Sutton pointed a finger at Collin. “On my watch there will be no killing a child, do you understand?”

  Collin’s eyes bore into the sheriff’s. “Let me tell you what I do understand. You’re only one of the Bitten and thus cling to your human side more than a Pure Born. You have feelings toward this mother and child and wish to protect them. So be it. But I also know we share the same hunger. Mark my words, Sheriff. When the moon goes dark tomorrow night, so will the beast inside. The hunger will take over and your beloved Jess and Megan will be nothing but meat on the bone to you.” Collin laughed and added, “You will beg me to let you feed on them.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Terry Newman tried to call Sid from the hospital in Stillwater. No answer. Even though it was early in the morning and he had very little sleep, he decided to swing by Sid’s place. The sun just broke over the horizon as he parked the old F-150 behind Sid’s gray pickup in the drive to the garage apartment. He knocked on the door until it shook in its frame. Again, no answer. He found the door unlocked and entered.

  Sid lay sprawled across a rumpled bed with iPod earphones blaring music so loud its muffled tones were audible from across the room. Dressed in a faded Rob Zombie T-shirt and a pair of white briefs exposing his skinny white legs, he slept with his head crooked to one side, leaving a pool of drool on his pillow. A tray with a bag of weed and papers sat on the bedside table. Terry shook Sid’s shoulder, causing him to snap open his bloodshot eyes.

  “What the fuck?” Sid yanked the earphones out and set up.

  “You listen to that crap even when you’re sleeping?” Terry Newman sat down on the edge of the bed.

  “Yeah, so what?” Sid ran his hands through his greasy hair. “Man, I really should learn to lock the fucking door.”

  “You think you’ve got it bad. I’m the one who got to see you sleeping in your tighty-whiteys. Not a Kodak moment.”

  Sid blinked at the digital alarm clock next to the tray of pot. “Dude, it’s fucking six thirty in the morning.”

  “I know.”

  “How’s Mr. Higgins?”

  “Dead.”

  Sid shook his head. “Oh, man, that’s rough. I knew you and the old guy were close. I’m sorry. Are you all right? You need a hug, dude?”

  “Not while you’re in your underwear.”

  Sid rose from the bed and found a pair of jeans from the floor. “That old guy was tough. He fucking killed a werewolf last night,” he said, sliding his legs into the pants.

  “It still leaves us with a problem.”

  “Werewolf is dead,” Sid said, sitting back down on the bed. He reached over and grabbed the pot tray. “Problem solved, right?”

  “Oh, man, are you going to smoke weed this early in the morning?”

  “Rise and burn is what I say.”

  “Well, our problem is that the werewolf Mr. Higgins shot last night wasn’t the only one. There’s still another one out there.”

  Sid stopped rolling a joint and looked at him. “You’re shitting me.”

  “Mr. Higgins told me on his deathbed. The one he shot was gray, but the werewolf that killed his wife had black fur.”

  Sid put aside the pot tray and stood excitedly to his feet. He began pacing back and forth across the room. “I guess it’s possible. In The Howling there was a commune of werewolves living together. A whole pack of the ugly fuckers could be in the area. You know how cool this is? If werewolves exist, then other supernatural shit is real, too. Vampires, ghosts, aliens, everything we thought as bullshit is real.” He stopped and looked at Terry. “Fucking cool, man.”

  “That might be true, but who nearly crapped in his pants upon seeing the werewolf last night?”

  “Dude, it scared me to death. Werewolves are some frightening shit.”

  “I promised Mr. Higgins right before he died that I would try to stop them.” Terry looked down at his hands. “I’m going to do it, too.”

  “How do you propose to do that? The sheriff took the gun with the silver bullets. We got
nothing.”

  “We warn people.”

  “Hey, dumbass, do you remember what Sheriff Dickhead said he would do if we started telling others about werewolves? He’s going to throw our asses in jail.”

  “I have to do it,” Terry replied. “Mr. Higgins made me promise. He wrote out his last will and gave me his entire estate. It’s out in the truck. He wants me to sell his farm and put the money in my college fund.”

  “That’s cool.” Sid sat down again on the bed and grabbed his pot tray. “Let’s celebrate with a toke.”

  “Dude, there’s more werewolves out there and they’re going to keep killing people.”

  “So what do you want me to do about it?”

  “I came here for your help. Put the weed away and use some of your last remaining brain cells to help me think of something.”

  “Okay,” Sid said, looking at the ceiling. “Obviously, we can’t go to the sheriff, but we still got the picture Crazy Elmer took of the werewolf saved on my computer. We can use it to warn the locals. Make them aware of the danger. That way they can take up their pitchforks and torches and hunt for the monster, metaphorically speaking, of course.”

  “That’s not bad, man.”

  Sid crossed to his computer and brought up the picture on his screen. Terry realized Mr. Higgins had been right. The fur of the werewolf in the picture was much darker than the one they saw the night before.

  “We can put the picture on a flyer. Pass it around and tell others about the werewolf,” Sid suggested.

  “Kind of like when someone loses a dog.”

  “You got it.”

  Sid formatted the picture and hit print. The printer began spitting out the flyers one by one, and he grabbed them up. “I made twenty, man. That’s enough to get the word out. But you know what?”

  “What?”

  “This is really going to piss the sheriff off.”

  Terry shook his head. “I don’t care. We’re doing this for Mr. Higgins.”

  “Where do you want to pass them out?” Sid asked as he slipped on his shoes and grabbed a hoodie jacket with an ICP logo of a hatchet man on the front.

  “Hope Springs,” Terry answered.

  “Why there?”

  “Deer season just opened up for bow hunting. My dad used to take me when he was around. Dottie’s Café in Hope Springs is where most of the farmers and hunters in the area congregate and have breakfast this early in the morning. We warn them first.”

  “I was going to suggest the local Wal-Mart, but we’ll do it your way.”

  * * * *

  Dottie’s Café was busy when they arrived. A line of muddy pickup trucks complete with gun racks lined the parking spaces in front of the diner. A group of hunters dressed in ghillie suits huddled around the back of one truck discussing a freshly killed deer lying in the bed. The only parking left was across the street.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Sid asked as Terry shut the F-150 engine off.

  “No,” Terry replied, opening the driver door. “But we have to do something. There’s another full moon tonight.”

  “Can’t we just go to the paper?”

  “The Gazette doesn’t come out until Monday.”

  “We’re going to get our asses kicked by a bunch of redneck crackers,” Sid commented as he followed Terry across the road to the diner.

  “Let me do the talking.”

  Terry’s heart pounded as they made their way to the front door of the café. What he was about to do was going to take balls. He wouldn’t have put himself in this position if it wasn’t for Mr. Higgins and what he had seen last night.

  Locals packed the place and occupied every seat. The air smelled of greasy fried bacon and hot coffee as waitresses ran to and fro attending to the noisy crowd. The place reverberated with the clatter of plates and a dozen conversations going at once. Terry knew he was going to have to shout to get everyone’s attention.

  Sid tugged on his jacket sleeve. “Did you ever think that one of them might be the werewolf? Hell, all of them could be werewolves. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I’m going to do this.”

  “Okay, it’s your ass.”

  “When I start talking, you hand out those flyers.” Terry swallowed hard and cleared his throat. “Excuse me,” he called out above the noise level in the room. “Excuse me.”

  The place grew instantly quiet as all faces turned in his direction. Even the waitresses stopped to hear what he had to say.

  “My name is Terry Newman, and this is my friend Sid Granger. We live over in Morris. Last night we encountered something that I think everyone needs to be aware of.”

  Sid slipped past him and started placing flyers on the tables.

  Terry continued now that he had everyone’s attention. “What I’m about to say is hard to believe but, please, bear with me. My friend and I saw something last night. The picture on the flyer should give you an idea of what it was.”

  “What the hell is it?” one hunter asked, peering closely at the flyer.

  Terry answered, “It’s a picture taken of a strange creature after it killed a cow.”

  “Who took it?” Another asked.

  “Elmer Grosslin.”

  Sporadic laughter erupted through the diner.

  “You mean Crazy Elmer?” More laughter.

  “Listen to me, please,” Terry replied. “Mr. Higgins came to us and asked for our help.”

  “You’re talking about Jasper Higgins?” A large burly man interrupted. “The old drunk who makes signs by the highway?”

  “Yes.” Terry paused and added, “He died in the hospital last night.”

  “Serves him right for murdering his wife,” the man replied.

  “He didn’t do it. The thing in the picture did.” Terry felt he was losing control of the announcement. He plunged on in the same disastrous way as he did asking Becky Warren out the day before. “Last night we saw the creature break down the door to Elmer Grosslin’s place.”

  “What is this thing you’re showing us? The picture is pretty grainy and hard to see,” an old man asked at the counter.

  “A werewolf.”

  The entire diner erupted into laughter.

  “It’s true,” Sid interjected. “We both saw it with our own eyes.”

  “What have you two boys been smoking this morning?”

  “Last night Mr. Higgins shot it with a silver bullet before it ran off. The werewolf may still be alive and wounded. What’s more, there are others. That’s why I’m here to warn you. There’s a full moon tonight.”

  “You hear that, boys? We better get home and make our silver bullets,” a hunter shouted to the others in the restaurant. The place filled with raucous laughter and jokes about werewolves. Terry looked at Sid and shrugged.

  “Hey, you stupid rednecks!” Sid suddenly yelled above the noise. “Pull your heads out of your asses and listen to my friend!”

  The place went quiet again.

  “Boy, what did you just say?” the burly hunter asked as he stood towering over Sid.

  “I think he just called us stupid,” another hunter chimed in.

  “Did you say that, you skinny little fagot?” The large man crossed his arms.

  “What I meant so say was …” Sid looked the big hunter up and down. “Shit!”

  He threw the rest of the fliers into the air and ran for the door. Deciding it was also best to leave, Terry followed the fleeing Sid out of the café and into the street. Behind them the little diner roared with laughter.

  “Let’s get the fuck out of here!” Sid shouted over his shoulder while running for the passenger door of the F-150.

  Terry unlocked the driver’s side and hopped in.

  “I don’t think that went as well as I had hoped,” he said to Sid, sliding in the passenger seat.

  “No shit, Sherlock,” he replied, and then his eyes went wide as he looked over Terry’s shoulder to the diner. “Start the f
ucking truck! Here comes Farmer John. He’s going to kick our ass!”

  Terry glanced in the direction. A tall man dressed in blue bib overalls and a flannel shirt walked up to the driver widow of the truck. He tapped lightly on the glass.

  “Dude, start the truck. Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Sid hissed.

  “Let me see what he has to say,” Terry replied, cranking down the window. To the man outside, he asked, “Yes?”

  The stranger studied the two of them with his hazel eyes and held up the flier.

  “My name’s Sam Olson,” he said. “And I believe you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  “Is that coffee I smell?” Jessica asked, sitting up on the couch where she and Megan had spent the night in the living room of the Olson farmhouse. The sunlight of dawn highlighted the front curtains with a gauzy kind of glow.

  “I’ve got a fresh pot brewing,” Nelda replied quietly from the next room.

  “I’ll be right there.” Jessica slid from under the covers, careful not to disturb Megan. Tucking the blanket tighter around her daughter, she said, “I love it when she’s sleeping like this. She looks so peaceful and calm.”

  “Megan’s been through so much,” Nelda replied. “She’s a strong child.”

  Barefoot, she followed Nelda into the cozy farm kitchen. The older woman poured two cups of fresh steaming coffee while Jessica curled up on a wooden chair at the kitchen table and hugged her knees to her chest. The morning still carried the hint of a chill. Dressed in jeans and the tight black top from the night before, she knew her blonde hair was a slept-in mess but didn’t want to deal with it until after coffee.

  “There you go, dear,” Nelda said, putting the filled cups on the table.

  “Thanks, Nel.” She picked up a cup and brought it to her lips. “Where’s Sam?”

  “He’s gone into town to have breakfast at Dottie’s. He tends to do that on Saturday mornings when he wants to catch up with the local farmers.”