Moondeath

by Rick Hautala

  He moved his head down, kissing her stomach as he worked to unfasten her pants. The snap came open and then the zipper slipped down.

  Again, he looked up at her passive face. Then he tugged on her pants, working them down her legs. They were tight-fitting, and he had to pull hard to get them over her hips. When he gave a sharp tug, Julie’s hand slipped from beside him and flopped onto the dirt floor. Ned looked at her hand for a moment, lying there with its fingers stiffly opened. He gave the jeans a final yank, threw them onto the floor, and then took Julie’s hand and laid it on her chest. It looked like it was reaching for her throat.

  “There, there,” he whispered, sitting back on his heels and running his hands over her body. “I just wish you had listened to me. We could have done so much! We have the power and can use it!”

  He stared at her face for a long time, feeling a deep glow of contentment. Then he slowly, lovingly rolled her panties down. With the thin garment hanging loosely in his hand, Ned stood up and regarded Julie. He was transfixed by her vacant, glassy stare. Then, slowly, he undressed and lay down beside her.

  “Oh, you’re so cold, so cold,” he whispered, pulling her to him and glorying in the feeling of their naked bodies pressed together. “You need to get warm. I can make you warm. I can give that to you now.”

  When he lifted her up and hugged her close, her head fell backwards and her mouth gaped open, expelling a wave of putrid gas as Ned’s hug compressed her stomach. Her arms were beginning to stiffen, and he had to bend each at the elbow until they encircled his waist.

  A low, rumbling groan escaped his throat as he rolled Julie onto her back, pressing his weight against her. With his knees, he spread her legs wide and entered her.

  “We could have done so much together with the power!” he said between grunts as he began to pump his hips.

  Tears welled in his eyes when, vaguely, he realized what he was doing, realized that Julie was dead. But he was swept up in a raging, spinning desire, and he held Julie’s corpse tightly until he shuddered and spent himself.

  Chapter Fourteen

  .I.

  Thursday, January 15

  Ted Seavey sat on the edge of his chair, his feet laced through the rungs. He pressed his head against the cold glass of the kitchen window, which was opened about two inches. A cold draft made the lace curtains billow in and out. Ted squinted his eyes with concentration as he listened to the clamor coming from his henhouse.

  His fingers were drumming on the stock of his Winchester rifle, which lay across his lap. He cocked his head around and asked, “Hey, Edna, did you call?”

  “He said he’d be right over,” Edna answered from the next room. Ted shifted his gaze back to the window. Edna, a slouching, graying woman, walked into the kitchen and rested her hand lightly on her husband’s shoulder.

  “Christ, I wish he’d get here,” Ted muttered. His fingers were still dancing along the edge of the gunstock.

  Edna was about to reply when a sudden, terrified squawking sound came from the henhouse and cut her off.

  “Lord God Almighty! It must be tearing the place apart,” Ted said, not looking around at her. He could see her faint reflection in the window. She had one hand raised, covering her mouth.

  There was a loud crashing sound; boards splintered and chicken wire tore. Hens clucked wildly. Even at this distance from the house, it was almost deafening.

  “I hope you told him I wasn’t goin’ out there alone,” Ted said.

  Edna drew up a chair beside him, sat down, and said, “I told him.”

  “Get a sweater on if you’re gonna sit here by this open window,” Ted snapped. “You want to catch a cold or something?”

  Edna got up and went into the living room, returning soon wearing a cardigan and holding out a sweater for Ted.

  “Did Roy say when he’d get here?”

  “As soon as he could,” Edna replied patiently, sitting back down beside her husband.

  “Ummm.”

  There was another, even louder explosion of wood from the henhouse. The clamor continued without pause as Ted and Edna sat listening tensely.

  .II.

  It was after eleven o’clock before Granger pulled into Seavey’s yard. Coming into the driveway, his headlights swept across the face of the barn, cutting the shadows in a wide arc as he turned around in the driveway and stopped the cruiser. Only one light, in the kitchen, was on. The pale blue glow of the full moon washed the roof and the snowy field behind the house.

  Granger sat for a moment and scanned the darkness. He rolled his window down before snapping on the spotlight and running the thin, intense beam over the barnyard. The beam of light darted about the face of the barn, cutting the darkness like a heated knife.

  Everything was quiet now, but Granger could see that the henhouse had been almost totally destroyed. All of the wired windows were tore out, and the door was hanging on one loose hinge. There were feathers and what looked like blood all over the ground.

  For a moment, Granger thought Seavey had gone to bed. Then the back porch light snapped on and Ted stepped out into the cold. He leaned forward, hanging on the door, and waved Granger in.

  Granger shut off the headlights and the spotlight, and killed the engine. He debated leaving his shotgun in the cruiser, but then picked it up before opening the door. He left the box of ammunition on the front seat.

  “I didn’t see much—moving, that is,” Granger called out as he came up the pathway shoveled out of the drift of snow.

  “You should’ve heard it half an hour ago,” Seavey said, stepping back as the police chief entered the house. He cast an apprehensive glance at the destroyed henhouse. “It’s been quiet now,” he added, almost under his breath.

  Granger stepped into the toasty warm kitchen and nodded a greeting at Edna.

  “It sounded like there was a whole pack o’dogs out there,” Edna said.

  “You didn’t see anything, though, huh?”

  Ted and Edna both shook their heads. “If you think I was gonna go out there and take a look, well…” Ted said.

  “Well, let’s go take a look now,” Granger said. “I’ve got a flashlight in the cruiser, and ammo.”

  As they left the house, Ted let Granger lead the way.

  When they returned half an hour later, Edna met them at the door. The tension didn’t leave her face until they were both inside and the door was closed and locked. Then she smiled weakly and walked over to the stove to heat up some coffee.

  “You wouldn’t believe it!” Seavey said, looking at his wife with amazement on his face. “It looks like a bomb went off in there. Dead chickens everywhere. None of ’em left alive. The coop’s about good for firewood, that’s all.”

  “You didn’t see the animal?” Edna asked.

  “Nope.”

  Ted took the bullets from the chamber of his rifle and then stood it up in the corner beside the refrigerator. Granger sat down heavily at the kitchen table, placing his shotgun and flashlight in front of him.

  “Saw some pretty good tracks, though,” Seavey said, shaking his head. “Some damn big ones.”

  Granger sighed and scratched his head. “Course it might be deceptive. Those tracks might look bigger in the snow than they really are. Still…” he whistled through his teeth.

  The pot on the stove began to boil, and Edna reached down two cups. Seavey was over by the window, still staring out at the moonlit snow.

  “No. No coffee for me, thanks,” Granger said, rising slowly to his feet. He hiked his pants up and bounced on his heels. “I don’t want to be up all night. I just might take a swing out around the loop, though. See if I can see anything.” He zipped his coat up and made for the door.

  “You want me to come along?” Seavey asked.

  “Naw.” Granger swung the door open. “I doubt I’ll see anything. ’Sides, it’s after midnight. You get some sleep. But drop by the office tomorrow, OK?”

  “Sure.”

  “Good enou
gh. Goodnight Ted, Edna.”

  .III.

  As Granger drove away from the Seavey’s, he scanned both sides of the road carefully for any sign of the animal. Looking out at the still, calm night, he found it difficult to believe that somewhere out there was a killer, an animal that had killed four residents of Cooper Falls. It was out there in the forest somewhere, and Granger knew with a gut-wrenching dread that he would have to find the beast and kill it, soon.

  He reached out and picked up the radio microphone. He pressed the button to talk, but then remained silent. No sense in calling in when there was nothing to report. He placed the microphone back on its clip as he turned onto Farthling’s Loop Road.

  He drove slowly, watching the high sides of the snowbanks, stopping now and then to scan the woods with his searchlight whenever he saw what might have been tracks. He kept thinking about the amount of damage done to Seavey’s henhouse and the size of the tracks in the snow. If the tracks were any gauge, he figured the animal must weight close to a hundred and fifty pounds. The paws had measured close to six inches across.

  “One hell of a big fucking animal,” Granger whispered softly.

  He came to where a fire road branched off to the right, just about at the point where the Loop Road began to curve back toward Bartlett Road. The snowbanks were flattened down where snowmobiles had crossed the road. The fire road headed east out toward Martin’s Lake, about a mile away.

  Granger stopped the cruiser and got out. He had his shotgun clutched in one hand, his flashlight in the other. Puffing, he climbed up onto the snowbank and took a look around.

  The wind moaned deeply in the pines, sending ghostlike sprays of snow sifting down from the branches. Granger’s pencil-thin flashlight beam danced in and out of the shadows, revealing nothing. His grip on his shotgun loosened slightly. The peace and stillness of the night remained unmarred. Granger sighed to relieve the tension he felt building, then turned back down toward the cruiser.

  Once he was sitting behind the steering wheel again, Granger felt safer. He took a pad of paper from the console and jotted down: “Farthling’s Loop. 12:35 a.m. Not a damn thing.” He put the pad of paper down and picked up the radio microphone.

  “Rick, this is Roy. You got your ears on? Over.”

  He waited, tapping the steering wheel as he listened to the static of the radio and the faint chatter of a trucker out on Route 43. Thurston did not respond.

  “Rick, you there? Over.”

  His eyes darted from the radio to the snowbank as he waited.

  Suddenly, as though it had moved into place in the time it took him to blink his eyes, he saw it: the animal standing at the top of the snowbank. It squared its shoulders and looked down at Granger with a cold, hard green glint in its eyes.

  “Holy ole Jesus Christ,” Granger muttered, letting the microphone drop to the floor. It continued to sputter static.

  Granger couldn’t take his eyes away from the animal as it stood tall and proud, the wind puffing its pale gray fur. The animal threw its head back and let loose a long, wavering howl.

  Moving slowly, Granger went to pick up his shotgun, but then he realized that he would probably have a better chance of dropping the animal if he used his service revolver. He knew damn well that the .38 was no good for a distant target, but with the beast no more than fifteen feet away from the cruiser, Granger wasn’t concerned with getting any closer before firing. He drew his pistol and was just bringing it to bear on the wolf—

  Christ, yes! Granger thought. I know a wolf when I see one!—when the animal disappeared behind the ridge of snow.

  “Come on, you fucker,” Granger said angrily. He sat counting the seconds with slow precision as he cocked the pistol’s hammer back and held it close to the window. He debated swinging the spotlight around, but before he could, a streak of silver off to his right caught his attention. He twisted around to look, scanning the side of the road anxiously.

  It’s close! he thought. It’s coming in close!

  He leaned across the seat and tried to pierce the darkness, but all he could see was the ridge of snow and the forest beyond. Just then, a massive weight slammed into the driver’s side of the car. The cruiser rocked on its suspension. Granger turned around and reflexively shielded his face as the window glass shattered. Granger saw the wolf no more than six inches from him, snarling loudly as it battered with flailing paws the spiderweb patterns of the broken window.

  “Cock-suck-er!” Granger shouted, waving his hand at the animal. The revolver in his right hand was momentarily forgotten, until he felt its weight. Teeth flashing, the wolf was punching at the window with its snout until a small hole appeared in the center of the spiderweb. Then it reared back and pressed against the window with its full weight.

  Granger swung the revolver up just as the window exploded inward. Flying fragments of glass lacerated Granger’s face. The gun discharged with a hollow, thundering blast. The bullet tore through the door and ricocheted from the frozen asphalt. Granger’s face stung with dozens of slices from the glass, and it took him a few deadly seconds to realize that he hadn’t hit the wolf.

  The animal thrust its head into the cruiser. Its foam-flecked jaws opened wide and grabbed Granger by the shoulder with a vicelike grip.

  Granger yelled as searing pain flooded his body, splashing along his nerves like acid. Again the gun exploded, this time ripping off the spotlight.

  The strength quickly drained from Granger. After the second shot, his revolver dropped to the floor. He felt himself being dragged jerkily toward the door as the wolf pulled viciously on his shoulder. The throaty growling of the wolf, although almost at his ear, was sounding fainter, as though at a great distance. His eyes, fixed on the glow of the headlights on the snowbank, began to lose focus. The light grew brighter and brighter in pulses, and the view grew less distinct until it began to recede, like the view through the wrong end of a telescope.

  Granger became aware, dimly, of a hollow, thumping sound beneath the angry growling of the wolf. When the sound came in conjunction with stinging stabs of pain in his head, he realized that he was being pulled roughly the broken window. His head banged repeatedly against the roof of the cruiser. His body jostled wildly in time with the savage pulls of the beast.

  Just before Granger sank down into merciful unconsciousness, he heard a grating, crunching sound, and then the long, drawn-out echo of someone screaming.

  .IV.

  The wolf dragged the flopping body of the police chief out through the window and up over the snowbank. Once out of sight from the road, the animal settled down and ate its fill.

  .V.

  Bob’s mind clicked rapidly. Whenever Mr. Jack Summers called you into his “inner sanctum” on a Friday afternoon and asked you to make yourself comfortable, you could be damn sure he wasn’t going to ask you how you liked the new carpet that had been installed in the office.

  No, Bob thought, aware of the tight grip he had on the arms of the chair, that isn’t what he’s going to do.

  Summers leaned out of the office and said something to his secretary, then eased the door shut and took his seat at the desk. Except for a manila folder in the center of the ink blotter, the desk was clear.

  “Well, Mr. Wentworth. May I call you Bob?”

  Bob nodded.

  “Bob. We haven’t really had much of a chance to talk, you and I, have we?”

  Bob shook his head, feeling stupid and awkward. “Uhh, no. We haven’t.”

  “Too bad, too bad,” Summers said, leaning his elbows on his desk and steepling his fingers. He gave Bob a cold, hard look before continuing. “Well, you see, the reason I’ve called you in today is, well…” He searched the ceiling as though he had lost his place on a cue card. “I’ve been hearing some vague stirrings, some rumblings, you might say, that have me quite concerned.”

  “Oh?” Bob managed to say, hoping to keep this a dialogue.

  “Yes.” Summers leaned forward slightly and stared into th
e pyramid of his fingers. “Now it’s quite difficult for me to believe that what I’ve heard is true. But what I’ve heard, and the people I heard it from, have me concerned and, well, I thought we both might benefit from a little chat. You understand.”

  He knows! Goddammit, he knows! Bob thought. The casual tone didn’t fool him. He knew he was being manipulated, expertly manipulated. He knew he would have to keep his guard up.

  “What I’ve been hearing, from more than one source, I might add, is that you have not been quite prepared in your classes lately; that for the last two months or so you have, shall we say, let things slide.” He leaned forward even more and arched his eyebrows.

  That isn’t all you’ve heard, I’ll bet, Bob thought. A sour taste filled his mouth. “I, I wouldn’t say so,” he said softly, irritated by the weakness in his voice.

  “Really?” Summers’ eyebrows went up further. “Of course, I wanted to speak with you first, to hear what you had to say about it before I said too much. But, as I said, these reports have come from a number of sources. Your last evaluation was not the best and—” He tapped the manila folder with his forefinger. “And your lesson plans have been skimpy at best.”

  Bob shifted back in his seat and loosened the grip on the chair arms. Don’t let him get to you, he thought.

  “I wonder,” Summers went on with a more menacing tone in his voice. “I can’t help but wonder exactly how much you are getting done in your classes.”

  “I’ve been having some personal problems lately,” Bob said, “but they have not affected my teaching.”

  Take it easy. Don’t let him get to you!

  “You leave your personal problems outside the door as soon as you walk into that classroom, Mr. Wentworth,” Summers said firmly. “I am concerned only with your performance in the classroom, nothing else.”