Moondeath

by Rick Hautala

  The cat! That white cat that was sitting on the cemetery post!

  He looked back down the road toward the high school. He knew he could cut across the football field and come out on the back side of the cemetery. He also realized that he’d be foolish to go back there and look for the cat.

  Why? he wondered. It’s just an ordinary cat. Probably just sitting there waiting for a mouse to pounce on. He was being silly letting something like that bother him.

  So if it’s so silly, why was it so unsettling?

  He looked back and forth, up and down the silent, dark road.

  So what’s the problem? he asked himself.

  The problem was, that white cat had scared the shit out of him. Worse than seeing that wolflike dog.

  “So why get so damned worked up?” he asked himself softly. He stuck his hands into his pockets and started down the road toward his house. He felt a vague uneasiness, a pulling at his back that made him want to turn around and go to the cemetery, but he resisted.

  Suddenly, a shiver crept along his back. He pulled his collar tighter but the feeling didn’t go away. It spread out into a chilly tickling along his scalp.

  He looked over his shoulder at the blackness that filled the road like ink. A breeze shifted the trees, and the moon, shining through the leaves, spotted the road with a shifting pattern.

  He was reassuring himself that he hadn’t seen anything moving on the road behind him, that he was letting his imagination run away, when he realized with a start that he did see something on the road behind him: a dark shadow that seemed to absorb the scattered moonlight.

  “It’s nothing, nothing at all,” he whispered to himself.

  And then the “nothing” shifted closer to him and began to growl softly.

  The darkness obscured the shape, but Bob was positive that this was the same animal he and Lisa had seen the night before. They stood there, about fifty feet between them, facing each other off. Then, uttering a low rumble, the animal flattered onto its belly and started slinking toward Bob. The moonlight caught the animal just right, and Bob could see the animal’s hackles raised like battle spears. The snarling grew louder as the beast inched closer.

  Bob realized with a sinking feeling that it would do no good to run. The animal could bring him down in ten paces. Instead, Bob stood still until the animal was within twenty feet of him. When he saw the baleful green glow in the beast’s eyes, Bob suddenly jumped forward and yelled.

  “Yah! Yah!” he shouted, waving his arms wildly. “Get! Get on! Get!”

  The animal stopped moving, but continued to worm its belly against the asphalt. The rising rumble in the beast’s chest told Bob that his scare tactic hadn’t worked.

  “Jesus Christ,” Bob exclaimed. “That is a goddamn wolf!”

  When Bob said this, the animal let out a loud yelp that sounded almost as if it had been hurt. Bob watched as the animal crouched, preparing to jump. Bob raised his hands to his throat in a futile protective gesture.

  “Christ Almighty!” Bob said softly, and again, the beast made another pained sound.

  Just as the growling had started again, Bob heard a screech of tires behind him. A blast of light swept across the road and illuminated the scene in front of him.

  He saw the beast, caught by surprise, as it reared back on its hind legs, almost standing up.

  A wolf doesn’t do that! Bob’s mind screamed.

  And then, in the brief flash of light, the animal did something that made a strangled cry catch in Bob’s throat. The animal covered its eyes with its paws to protect them from the sudden glare of light. But what made Bob cry out was that what he saw were not animal paws. They looked like human hands!

  Even as the thought registered, the animal dashed off into the woods.

  “Christ Almighty!” Bob mumbled, wiping the sweat from his forehead. The chilly night air made him shiver.

  The car came up behind him and skidded to a stop inches from him. He was still standing there numbly in the center of the road. He spun around quickly and shielded his eyes from the light.

  “Bob? Are you all right?” Lisa’s voice called to him from behind the glare. “What are you doing, trying to get yourself killed?”

  He walked over to the passenger’s side and slid into the seat without a word.

  “What’s the matter?” Lisa asked. Her voice was agitated. “You look as pale as a sheet. Are you crazy or something?”

  “Maybe,” he muttered. “I just saw, saw something that startled me. That’s all.”

  “What? What did you see?” Lisa asked.

  “Nothing, nothing,” he answered. “I just let my imagination get carried away, that’s all. It was just a raccoon or something in the woods.”

  “Ohh?”

  “Yeah.” He felt the tension unwinding and took a deep breath. “Hey, what are you doing out here anyway? I thought you went home.”

  There was still a concerned crease across Lisa’s forehead, but she smiled and jabbed her thumb toward the back seat. “It seems as though you left your briefcase in the library this afternoon. I forgot to give it to you earlier. I didn’t think you’d want to go to school tomorrow without it.”

  “Oh, God, yeah. Thanks,” Bob said, fighting to keep his voice steady. He reached the briefcase from the back seat. “Thanks a lot.”

  All the way to Bob’s house, his mind continued to dwell on the image he had seen, trying to absorb it; a wolf, a wolf with human hands!

  Chapter Seven

  .I.

  Friday, October 24

  Bob had slept over an hour later than usual. It was just seven-thirty when he finished shaving and came downstairs for breakfast. He looked blankly out at the falling rain as he fried his eggs.

  School had been cancelled for the rest of the week. Wendy Stillman’s funeral had been yesterday, and the whole town was still in shock. The weather for the funeral had been overcast, threatening rain, which did not come until after dark.

  Bob sat at the breakfast bar glumly eating his eggs. The breakfast had not filled the hollowness he felt in his stomach.

  He didn’t hear the car drive up to his house, so he jumped when he heard heavy footsteps on the porch. Looking up, he saw his early morning visitor through the door window.

  “Deputy Thurston,” Bob said, rising and going to the door. “Come on in.”

  Thurston entered and eased the door shut behind him. He followed Bob back into the kitchen.

  “Care for a cup of coffee?” Bob asked.

  Thurston said, “Thanks,” and took off his yellow rain slicker. He hung it on the back of the chair before sitting down. Bob got two cups from the cupboard and filled the tea kettle with water.

  “I hope instant coffee’s OK,” he said. He looked over at the puddle forming under Thurston’s chair.

  “Sure.”

  Bob put some coffee into the cups and then leaned back against the countertop. “It’s kind of a nasty day to be out so early. What can I do for you?”

  The kettle started screaming, and Bob poured the hot water into the cups. He put one in front of Thurston and then sat down, pushing away his egg-stained plate.

  “Well,” Thurston said, fingering the coffee cup, “you could start by answering a few questions for me, if that’s all right?”

  “Yeah. Sure,” Bob said, feeling a lump of tension in his throat.

  “I didn’t see you at Wendy Stillman’s funeral yesterday,” Thurston said solemnly. “I was wondering why.” He took a tentative sip of coffee and eyed Bob over the rim of the cup.

  Bob felt himself shrink under the stare. “Well, I, uhh. Wendy was one of my better students, and I just didn’t think, didn’t think I could handle it.” He made a conscious effort to relax, but still felt tight.

  “’S that so?” Thurston said softly. He took a noisy sip from the cup.

  “Do you guys have any idea who, who did it?” Bob asked.

  “We have some ideas,” Thurston replied, a bit too quickly, B
ob thought. “Have you got any ideas?” Thurston countered.

  “I. I don’t know,” Bob replied. He lit a cigarette and noticed that his hands shook.

  Thurston stared at him with a cold, analytical glare. “What have you heard?” he asked. His voice was tightly controlled.

  “Some pretty wild stories, some of them,” Bob said.

  “Like the story you told Granger about seeing a wolf out on Old Jep’s Road that same night?”

  “I saw something,” Bob said. He turned his eyes away and took a drag from his cigarette.

  Thurston shifted in his chair and leaned forward. “The best we can figure, the Stillman girl was killed between nine-thirty and eleven o’clock, when she was found. Now, you say you saw something on your way home, about ten-thirty.”

  “What I saw looked like a wolf,” Bob said forcefully.

  Thurston was silent as he studied Bob with an unblinking stare. Finally, he said, “Maybe you saw a human wolf?”

  Bob jumped as the image of the animal’s paws—hands—came back to his mind. “Wha—what?”

  “Well, she might have been bitten by a dog, savaged some by this animal that’s been bothering the farmers around, but there’s evidence that she had been molested, raped.”

  “What?”

  “Doc Stetson did an autopsy.” Thurston leaned closer to Bob and spoke in a secretive voice. “Now this is kind of confidential, so I don’t want you adding it to those stories circulating around town, but Doc says someone put the boots to her before they killed her.”

  “God! Raped and then murdered?” The thought staggered Bob, and he dropped his head into his hands and stared blankly at the countertop for a moment.

  “Seems as though,” Thurston said. He looked at Bob and cocked an eyebrow. “I just want you to refresh my memory. When was it you saw her last? Wendy Stillman, that is.”

  “When we were decorating for the Halloween party. She was helping us with the—”

  “Us? You mean you and Mrs. Carter?”

  Bob felt his face redden. “And some students. Wendy left before everyone else did.”

  Bob had forgotten entirely that he had seen Alan Tate, or someone, leave the lighting booth before Wendy came down. The shock of Thurston’s revelation had driven it completely from his mind.

  “Did she leave with someone, or alone?” Thurston asked.

  “Alone,” Bob replied quickly. He got up slowly, stunned, and filled his coffee cup with cold water. He drank it in two big gulps. “We, we stayed and cleaned up after everyone else had gone home.”

  “We?”

  “Mrs. Carter and I.”

  “Ohh.” Thurston nodded his head. “And did you go home alone or with someone?”

  Bob’s anger suddenly burst. He took a menacing step toward Thurston before he got control of himself. “Look, that’s my personal life. I don’t have to answer anything about it. And I resent your prying into my private life.”

  “You don’t have to answer that question,” Thurston replied coolly. “Not at all. Look, someone has been killed in this town, and that makes me and Granger nervous. It makes a lot of people nervous. You’re not under suspicion for anything.” Thurston pointed an accusing finger at Bob. “’Cause if you were, I’d have hauled your ass down to the station by now. And you can be damn sure you’d answer my questions there! I’m just trying to find out how Wendy Stillman died, that’s all!” He brought his fist down hard onto the countertop, making the cups rattle.

  “You mean what killed her, don’t you?” Bob asked coolly. Seeing Thurston get so agitated had a calming effect on Bob. “What killed her!”

  Thurston smiled and snickered softly. “Yeah, right. Your wolf, huh? Look, I don’t want to debate that point with you right now. I think it’s bullshit thinking there’s a goddamn wolf in the area.”

  “Just check it out!” Bob said forcefully. “It’s another line of investigation. Like you said, someone’s died in this town, one of my best students, and that makes me nervous, because whatever got her came awful damn close to getting me too!”

  “Yeah, well,” Thurston said, rising. He took his coat and shook it before putting it on. “Well, I’ll be in touch if I have any more questions.” He tipped his head back and finished off his cup of coffee. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  He left, slamming the door behind him.

  .II.

  The rain stopped by three o’clock that afternoon, and the sun was shining through the raft of clouds as it set. It was nearly twilight as Ned walked home slowly from the I.G.A.

  He was feeling better than he had in weeks. He felt whole, rested, refreshed. He walked briskly along Old Jepson’s Road, swinging his arms and whistling a tuneless song. His lips were dry, and he had to wet his lips continually to keep the notes from fizzling away. With jaunty skips, he avoided the leaf-choked puddles along the roadside.

  Suddenly, he stopped, the tune cut short. He knelt down and stared into one of the muddy puddles. Leaves dimpled the surface of the water and the mud on the bottom was irregular, but he clearly saw his reflection in the water.

  The face looking back at him was pale, washed out, almost, he thought, as though he had lost some of the substance just below the skin. His cheeks were hollow. His eyes were dark and receding beneath his scowling brow. He could see that his lips were chalky and cracked, and as he stared at himself he ran his tongue over them again.

  He tried to smile at himself, letting his mouth widen slowly, but the grin looked more like a grimace.

  He stretched out his hand toward the puddle, letting his hand form a tensed claw. His fingers got closer to the water, and he had a brief image of someone else’s hands reaching slowly for his face. His fingers touched the water, and his reflection shattered into a dozen ripples.

  With a barely audible whimper, he jerked to his feet. He started to walk away rapidly when he heard a car coming toward him down the road. The steady hum of the car’s engine was muffled as it dropped into a dip in the road. Then, as it crested the hill behind him, Ned chanced a quick look over his shoulder.

  He immediately recognized the black Mustang convertible. He continued walking, never breaking his stride, as the car bore down on him from behind. He held his arms stiff and clamped against his sides. The tightness in his stomach spread into his chest and crotch.

  The car was rapidly closing the distance between them. Ned wished wildly that the driver of the car would not even notice him walking along the roadside; he also wished that she would stop and pick him up.

  When the car was close behind him, the driver gave a quick toot on the horn, and then the car sailed past Ned, leaving him with an uncomfortable prickling at the nape of his neck. The car was a short way down the road when Ned saw the brake lights flicker and then stay on. The car pulled over to the side of the road.

  Ned watched as the backup lights came on, and then the car started coming toward him in reverse. When it was right beside him, the passenger’s side door opened. For a moment, Ned considered lighting out across the field, running before he had to speak with her. What would he say? he wondered wildly. How could he ever talk with her, face to face?

  “Hey, d’yah want a ride, or are you into walking?” Julie Sikes called to him, leaning across the front seat to hold the door open for him.

  .III.

  Bob ran the zipper tab up to his chin and snuggled into the collar of his jacket to break the chill. He was sitting at the top of the hill in Pine Haven Cemetery. The sun was low in the west behind him, but already the gravestones below him were washed with shadows. The only sound, as he sat cross-legged beside a large marble column, was the steady flapping of a flag on one of the gravestones.

  He had been out walking in the woods all afternoon. He was trying to sort out his reaction to Wendy’s violent death and his feelings for Lisa Carter. There was much he wanted to think about and much he wanted to forget. He hadn’t been too surprised when, once the sun started to set, he had walked in the direction of the
graveyard.

  Bob could look down from the hill and catch a glimpse of the town to his right. He was soothed and calmed by the small spectacle it presented. All around town, lights were being turned on. As he watched, the string of streetlights that marked Main Street came on. Peace and quiet and gathering night lay upon the town like a soft blanket.

  But as he looked out over the town, Bob was filled with an unnerving foreboding. He remembered that day in the park, when he had been going to see Lisa in the library, and an uneasiness came over him. What he felt now was much like what he had felt then, when he watched the thick cloud pass overhead; but now the feeling was much more intense, still as vague as that day, but much more intense.

  He noticed that he was breathing rapidly and that, in spite of the cool evening air, his face was bathed in sweat.

  He got up slowly and started down the hill toward the road and home. He wanted to be home before it got dark and he would have to hurry.

  .IV.

  Hunching up his shoulders, Ned looked into the car and stared at Julie. “Su—sure,” he said, sliding onto the seat. “Thanks for st—stopping.”

  The sweet smell of marijuana filled the car. Julie gingerly held the nib of a roach to her lips and inhaled noisily. “Wanna hit?” she asked, holding the roach out to Ned.

  “Ahh, no. No thanks,” he mumbled.

  She shrugged, took another whistling drag, and then dropped it into the ashtray. “It’d do you some good,” she said, lazily smiling. Ned shrugged. Julie dropped the car into gear and pulled away.

  Ned sat back in the seat uneasily. He kept his hands folded in his lap, trying to hide the bulge in his pants. The setting sun glinted on the still wet road, giving it a slippery, sealskin glow. The tires hissed like tearing paper.

  Ned kept stealing fleeting glances at Julie as she drove silently. His eyes kept wandering from her face to her bulging breasts. The warm tightening in his crotch made him shift uneasily. He found it almost impossible not to reach out and grab her.