by Scare Street
The sheriff and the coroner had informed the people of the town that it was, in fact, an animal that had done this. They assumed it had been a bear, since they had found her car broken into on the side of the road. Only a bear could have been capable of doing a thing like that, and the bears around Norville were known for their savagery.
“You find that thing,” Alissa’s boyfriend had told Sheriff Miller at her funeral. “You make sure it suffers like it made her suffer!”
The poor boy was in tears. She was all he had, and she was gone. Just like that. Of course, being as small a town, everyone was in some way or another affected by Alissa’s death. She was young, and that left a mark.
Sheriff Miller sat in his office, going through the plethora of papers spread on his desk. He had left several cases open, and was focused entirely on Alissa Samuels. He was going through the files, trying to figure out just where to start looking for the animal. He was never big on hunting, and tracking this thing would prove a difficult task for him.
He sat with a hand to his cheek for a moment, before snapping his fingers and jumping off his desk chair. He walked to a small table at the far end of the room, where a landline phone sat. He looked through a big book that sat beside the phone, and quickly dialed a number.
“Hello,” he said. “Ricky Fisher?”
“Yeah,” the voice at the other end of the line replied.
“This is Sheriff Miller. I was wondering if you could help me out with a case.”
“The Samuels girl?” the man asked.
“I see you’ve been expecting my call,” the sheriff replied.
“There aren’t many people around town that know what I know about wildlings.”
“Which is why I’m asking for your help, Fisher. You’ve been hunting these things for years.”
“Suppose you could say that,” Ricky replied, his pride almost audible through the phone.
“So, what d’you say? Will you help me?”
“I can help.”
“When’s the earliest time we can do this?”
“Tonight,” Ricky answered, his tone somber.
“Tonight? Won’t it be better to do this in the morning?”
“Nah,” Ricky answered. “It’s easier to find these things at night. They let their guard down. They stop hiding.”
“If you say so.” Sheriff Miller decided that trusting Ricky Fisher would be the better option. Besides, rumor had it the man knew what he was doing.
The men set up the time and place of their rendezvous and hung up. Sheriff Miller walked back to his desk and collapsed in the chair. He tapped his fingers, already feeling impatient. He was getting somewhere with this case. At least, he thought he was. Ricky Fisher was known around town as the man who hunted wild animals. He had caught more bears than anybody in Norville, and he knew just how to track them.
Miller was certain that if anybody was going to figure out what had gotten Alissa Samuels, it would be Ricky. Of course, there was still a shadow of doubt in him. He had seen Alissa’s body, he had seen how utterly mutilated it had been. He had been an officer in Norville for nearly ten years, but he had never seen anything like that. He wasn’t so sure it was a bear, perhaps something worse.
The idea of something fiercer than a bear being loose in his town sent a chill down his spine. Not only was the thought of several people getting gruesomely killed as such frightening, but he could only imagine the kind of chaos news like that would wreak upon the town. It would be too much for him to handle.
Deep in thought, the sheriff heard his stomach give a low grumble. He checked his watch. Noon. It was just about time for lunch. He pushed himself back off the chair and headed out to grab himself a quick meal. He had a long night ahead of him.
***
Sheriff Miller sat at the bar with a big glass of beer in his hand. He was watching the game passively, waiting for the hour hand to point to seven. He checked the time every five minutes, impatient for the arrival of the night.
“Waiting for someone, Sheriff?” the stout bartender asked, picking up his glass and pouring him another drink.
“I am,” the sheriff replied.
“Are they late or are you early?”
“I’m early,” the sheriff answered matter-of-factly.
“As usual,” the bartender answered. “You need to take it easy there, Sheriff. You’re gonna kill yourself with all that work you’re doing.”
“Just doing my job,” Miller said, stopping to take a sip of his beer. “A job like mine doesn’t end when you’re off the clock.”
The bartender nodded. “Let me know if I can get ya anything,” he said, wiping the bar down.
It was the end of the day and people were walking into the bar at an almost constant rate, which forced Miller to look at the door a lot, awaiting his companion. He checked the time again. Seven o’clock. At that, the door swung open and Ricky Fisher made his way in. The sheriff held his cup up and downed it all in one long sip.
“Ricky,” he called out, wiping his lips.
The man made his way towards him. “Sheriff Miller,” he said, holding out his hand. “Always a pleasure.”
“Likewise,” the sheriff responded, shaking his hand.
“Shall we?” Ricky asked, pointing at the door.
“Please,” the sheriff said, gesturing for him to lead the way.
As they walked out, Miller headed to his own vehicle, expecting they would drive it to the scene.
“No, no,” he heard Ricky calling. “We’re taking the truck.”
Ricky stood next to a dark blue Ford, holding the door open. The sheriff hesitated for a second before climbing in, thinking it would probably be the better option. Ricky followed, and they took off.
“You know where we’re headed?” the sheriff asked.
“Nah, you’re gonna have to lead me there,” Ricky replied.
“You got it.”
They drove on, the sheriff leading the way to the place where they’d found Alissa’s body. When they got close enough to the site, he asked Ricky to stop.
“We’re gonna have to get off the road,” the sheriff declared. “She was found inside.”
Ricky parked the truck on the side of the road and the two of them got out. For a moment, Ricky disappeared behind the truck and came back with something in his hand.
“You think we’re gonna need that?” the sheriff asked, looking at the hunting rifle.
“Better safe than sorry. Lead the way,” he said, gesturing with his gun.
The sheriff led them into the forest with Ricky following close behind him. It was much darker than he remembered it being. He’d gone into the forest at night several times while he was on the job, but it felt different tonight, calmer somehow.
“This is it,” the sheriff announced, pointing at a patch of red on the ground. “This is where she was found.”
Ricky pulled a flashlight out of his pocket and squatted closer to the stain. He shone the light directly at it and then proceeded to look around it, clearly searching for marks that the animal could have left.
“D’you see anything?” the sheriff asked, bending closer.
“I see something,” Ricky answered. “Not sure what it belongs to, though.”
The sheriff bent down further, resting his knees on the ground.
“You see this right here,” Ricky said, pointing to an uneven part of the ground. “It looks like a print of some kind. I think I see a trail.”
“I’m not sure what I’m looking at here,” the sheriff declared, trying to find the shape Ricky was looking at.
“It’s pretty hard to locate prints with all those leaves on the ground,” Ricky stated. “Not really the best season for hunting.”
The sheriff got back to his feet, rubbing his forehead.
“D’you think you’ll be able to follow the prints?” he asked, looking down at Ricky.
“Yeah,” he answered, rising to his feet as well. “I think I will.”
“Let’s do that, then. It’s the only chance we’ll have at finding something.”
Ricky marched with his flashlight in hand, pointed straight at the ground, the sheriff following close behind him. He kept his eyes peeled for anything that might be lurking in the shadows. Although he’d walked through it time and time again, something about the forest at night always made him uneasy. The subtle sounds and the darkness that fell over it didn’t help either. They walked deeper into the woods, all silent except for the sounds of leaves crunching beneath their boots. Suddenly, Ricky stopped, bending down to the ground yet again.
“What is it?” the sheriff asked, moving in closer.
“The trail ended,” Ricky announced.
“What do you mean it ended?”
“They just stopped. There aren’t any more prints after this point.”
“Is this something that happens?” the sheriff asked, confusion drawn on his features.
“Not unless this thing can fly or climb trees.”
At that, the two of them looked up, almost in unison. The trees rose high above them, towering high enough to cloud the sky from view.
“If it’s up there, I doubt we’ll be able to see it now,” Ricky added.
“So what do we do?” the sheriff asked.
“I don’t…”
They were interrupted by a sound in the distance, something scurrying across the forest floor.
“Did you hear that?” the sheriff asked, looking behind them.
Ricky cocked his gun with one hand and shone his flashlight in the direction of the noise.
“I did,” he said.
“Could this be it?” the sheriff asked.
“Only one way to find out.”
Ricky walked in the direction of the noise and the sheriff followed, waiting to see something in the forest’s gloom. In the distance, he caught movement.
“Wait!” he exclaimed. “I think I saw something.”
Without a word, he grabbed the flashlight from Ricky’s hand and shone it at the trees. In the distance, he could see two orbs reflecting the light back at him.
“What the hell is that?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the orbs.
“It’s got to be the eyes of an animal, nothing else reflects light like that.”
Ricky followed the sheriff, getting closer to the being.
“This could be it, Sheriff,” he said, his voice hushed. “This could be that bear.”
“Are we sure it’s a bear?”
Ricky paused for a beat. “No.”
“So this could be something worse?” the sheriff asked, his eyes still locked with the animal’s.
“It could be.”
Suddenly, as though they were sucked into the darkness, the eyes disappeared. They could hear the sound of something running across the ground, scurrying like a rat.
“Where the hell did it go?” Miller asked, his eyes not leaving that spot.
“That didn’t sound like a bear to me,” Ricky said, disregarding the sheriff’s question. “I don’t think this…”
Before Ricky could finish his sentence, the sheriff heard a deafening cry come from behind him. He turned around instinctively, following the source of the noise. Once again, he heard a soft pitter-patter on the ground, but saw nothing. He suddenly realized that he was alone. Ricky had disappeared.
“Ricky!” he called out. “Where the hell did you go, Fisher?”
The sound of gunshots rang in the air.
“Ricky!” he called as he followed the sounds. “Ricky!”
Suddenly, he heard a loud cry, that of a man in pain, before the forest went silent again. The sheriff stiffened, not knowing what to do. He didn’t know if he still had the chance to save Ricky Fisher, or if it was too late.
As though loose wires had connected in his head, Sheriff Miller turned the light in his hand to the ground, looking for a trail he could follow. He stiffened even more when he saw little droplets of blood trailing the leaves on the ground. Slowly and softly, he followed the trail, careful not to make too much noise.
He took step after step, following what he assumed was Ricky’s blood, hoping to find him before it was too late. He didn’t want to be held responsible for the man’s death. Before long, the trail of blood stopped. Miller lifted the flashlight off the ground, allowing it to shine into an opening within the forest’s shrubbery. The hole was low to the ground, but wide enough for a person to fit through. The sheriff wondered if this was where the creature lived, if this was where it had dragged Ricky.
With his hand clenched tightly around the flashlight, Sheriff Miller walked closer to the hole, illuminating it even further. He couldn’t see what was inside, all he saw was darkness. Instantly, he heard something shuffling behind him.
He turned around at once, shining his flashlight at the forest. In the light stood the creature; human-like, pale, nude, with the blackest eyes. Its mouth was drenched in blood, open to reveal its sharp teeth. The sheriff shook at the sight, but couldn’t bring himself to move. He stood still before the creature, his heart beating hard in his chest, his breathing heavy.
It looked like nothing he had ever seen in his life. He watched as the blood dripped from its mouth and onto its bare chest. Miller tried to speak, make a sound, make a move, but it was as though his body had frozen solid. He was used to dealing with the grotesque, but this was a sight he’d never seen, and he couldn’t tear himself away.
The creature made its way to him, its long arms dangling by its sides. The sheriff eyed it from head to toe, taking in every detail; the blood that clung onto its nails, the bones sticking out from under its skin, the way it moved like the undead. A part of him knew this was the end for him. He could see it in the creature’s eyes that it meant to rob him of his life.
Standing directly in front of him, the blood in its mouth still trickling, it lashed out. In one swift movement, it grabbed Miller’s wrist, digging its nails into him. He screamed in pain, bones cracking and skin opening, the warmth of his blood trickling down his arm. He dropped the flashlight, letting it fall to the ground and illuminate nothing in particular.
At once, the being grabbed Miller by the neck, pushing him to the ground. It had him pinned underneath its weight, its dark eyes staring into him. It stayed on top of him for a few moments, staring at him. Already, he could feel himself losing blood, he could feel himself getting lightheaded as the creature bent closer. He could smell the blood on its breath, and he knew that his blood would soon take place there.
All of a sudden, the creature got off him, loosening its grip on his neck. It walked towards his feet and grabbed him by the ankle. He watched as it moved, his body too weak to fight.
The creature dragged him by the ankle, pulling him across the ground. Miller watched as the tall forest trees turned into complete darkness. He knew, at that moment, that the creature had pulled him into the hole he had seen earlier; he knew this was where it kept its victims.
Inside, he could see nothing, but the smell of blood lingered heavily in the air. He was starting to feel faint, could feel the blood he was losing take its toll on him. He let go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding as the monster let go of his ankle. He could see nothing, but he could feel its movements all around him, each more threatening than the one before.
He heard a few final shuffles, before everything went quiet. He couldn’t move, afraid of what he might find in the depths of the lair. He waited, hoping the creature had gone to find yet another prey.
Hearing nothing for several minutes, the sheriff began to move, pulling himself up with all the energy he could muster. Darkness enveloped him. He couldn’t even locate where the opening to the underground cave was. He could feel himself slipping out of consciousness as he rose to his feet. He felt the cave ceiling with his hand, careful not to hit his head.
Slowly, he felt the cave collapse around him, the walls closing in on him. He fell to the ground again, his world spinning. He couldn’t let himself become this thin
g’s prey. He couldn’t become its next meal.
As the thoughts flooded his head, his body weakened. Darkness was pulling him in, consuming him. He couldn’t fight to stay awake anymore; he was losing blood quickly. Lying on the ground, he stopped fighting, allowing his eyes to close as he thought about them finding his body in the forest, just like they had Alissa Samuels.
* * *
What Goes Around, Comes Around
By A. I. Nasser
Ayman Salem was having a terrible morning.
For starters, his alarm had failed him and he had woken up an hour later than usual. He had spent twenty minutes looking for the suit he had picked out for the day’s meeting, only to find his dog nibbling away at the blazer. His breakfast had been burnt and he had had to run down ten stories because the elevator hadn’t been working. Needless to say, walking out of his building, sweating and out of breath, and seeing his car blocked in by a double parker, was not a welcoming sight.
He asked his doorman about the owner but got a shrug and a shake of the head in return. The doormen to the other buildings had no idea whose it was, either. Two had tried to help him push the car out of the way, but the clutch was up, and it didn’t budge. Ayman contemplated taking a cab to work, willing to pay the fifty pounds he knew the fare would be. He felt for his wallet and couldn’t find it, realizing he had left it upstairs. The idea of walking up ten floors was dismissed immediately.
That was the thing he hated the most about Cairo. No matter what changed, no matter how civilized people claimed they were, there were always those who had no regard for anyone else. Looking at his watch, he realized that even if he left at that moment, he’d still be half an hour late. Fighting the urge to strangle his doorman for letting someone double park in the first place, Ayman felt something nudge at the back of his mind.
He quickly walked toward his car, opened the trunk, and threw his laptop in. He rummaged in the glove compartment for stray cash, came up with about twenty pounds, and made his way to the rundown hardware store next to his building; the only place open that early in the morning. He bought a small hammer, pocketed the change, and returned to the double-parked car with conviction. Without breaking his stride, he smashed in the driver’s window, released the clutch, and pushed the car into the middle of the street, leaving it there.