On the dusty boards at his feet, not far from the small opening to the cabin below, lay the body of Poppie St. Pierre. The sight was repulsive, even to an experienced investigator like Nick. The poor victim was bloated from the noxious gasses and microscopic organisms that ate at him from the inside and was ripped to pieces by the birds that had feasted on him from the outside. His eyes were missing, as was most of his flesh, and his intestines were strewn about the dusty floorboards of the attic. Nick could see that the man’s throat had been ripped apart by sharp claws, a sight that was incongruent with the remains of the rest of the man’s family.
It had been months since the two storms had ravaged the area, meaning an exact cause of death would be all but impossible even for the most skilled coroner to determine. Under these circumstances, in this place, with what they had discovered so far, Nick could see that even Sherlock Holmes would be baffled.
The two bodies below lie scattered on the floor, both victims could have drowned in the flood, then been ravaged by the elements; another below may have drowned, yet was somehow placed gingerly on a bed after the waters subsided by who knows and for what reason. Nick figured that the original search party might have moved some of the remains around, but he knew this wouldn’t really explain it. The woman’s body in the back room must’ve been moved there right after the storm for it to remain in the shape in which they had found it. By the time Generation Millennium came here, it would’ve been too late. And now, there was this body in the attic.
Nick scanned the area around him and made mental notes of all that he surveyed. A shotgun lay near the corpse and a spent shell was on the floor nearby. A giant puddle of dried blood surrounded the body, and Nick could see various markings throughout the floorboards. Most of the prints appeared to be from birds, most likely crows, although none were of good enough quality to be sure. Nick noticed a few larger prints that resembled the claws of a much larger predator, though he had no idea what could have made such markings. Upon closer inspection, there appeared to be six fingers and/or toes on each paw, but it was impossible to determine exactly. As far as Nick knew, there wasn’t a creature on Earth that would leave such a mark.
"Fucking swamp monster," he whispered to himself and shuddered at the thought.
Nick knew the others were impatiently waiting below for his return, so he glanced once more around the attic before heading for the opening at his feet. The remainder of the small area was empty, so he started down the ladder, before stopping himself. In the far corner, almost hidden in the shadows, Nick noticed a pile of iron chains. One end looked to be wrapped around and fastened to a wooden post, the other end held an empty shackle.
"What the hell?" he muttered to himself before resuming his way down the ladder. When Nick met the other men, he could see some kind of explanation was in order.
"The other body’s up in the attic," he said. "Probably Poppie St. Pierre. My guess is that the body in the back is his wife and these two up front are the kids. There’s no sign of the search party we’re looking for, though surely they were here by the sign out front."
"Why didn’t the rest of the family go up in the attic?" Kenny asked.
Nick remained silent; he had no explanation – at least he had no explanation that made any sense. He could see there was a reason, a good reason, a big, scary, good reason to not go up there, but he had no way to explain it and didn’t want to try. It really didn’t matter now, he figured. Whatever it was that the family had chained up there wasn’t up there anymore. He wanted to forget all of that now and get the hell out of there.
They needed to find those kids, or whatever was left of them, and then go home. He didn’t get paid enough to hunt down the boogeyman. In any event, the kids had been there, and then they left and got lost. That’s what Margaret had said, and Nick was finding himself believing her crazy story more than he cared to.
St. Elizabeth’s wasn’t a place he wanted to call home, and he had no intention of finding himself interned there for any length of time when this was all over. No, he told himself, not going to do it. We’re just going to stick to the mission and fuck everything else. Don’t know, don’t care what the fuck was up in the attic, and don’t want to find out.
"Let’s get the body bags and get these poor people out of here," Nick instructed. "They deserve a proper funeral."
Kenny and Dennis headed out the door with Kirk trailing behind them. After a few minutes, Kirk popped his head back through the front door and addressed the elder Guidry, "Cap’n, you need to get out here."
Guidry walked out front, followed by the rest.
"What da hell?" he asked. "Where da hell dat boy gone off to?"
The boats sat empty out by the dock. There was no sign of the younger Guidry.
"Frank! Frank!" the men began to shout, scanning the horizon. "Where you at?"
There was no sign of the boy anywhere.
"Maybe he gone off to take a piss or something," offered Joseph Batiste.
"He’d be back by now," Henry answered. "Somethin’s not right."
They fanned out and searched around the cabin, looking for the lost boy.
"Nick, come see," Kenny said quietly so the others couldn’t hear.
Nick walked over to the boat where Frank had been seen last and looked down at where Kenny was pointing. A few splatters of fresh blood could be seen on the side of the boat, but nothing else.
"What do you make of that?" Kenny asked.
"Not sure, but it ain’t good," Nick replied.
"When Cap’n sees this, he ain’t gonna be none too pleased," Kenny said.
Nope, that he’s not, thought Nick.
The men slowly made their way back toward the boats, and Nick could see the near panic in Cap’n Guidry’s eyes. Nick knew once the man saw the blood all hell was going to break loose, but saw no way to avoid it. No, they all needed to see it, and they all needed to keep their heads together, or things would only go from bad to worse.
"Cap’n," Nick said evenly, "you need to see something."
Kenny held his tongue and looked at his feet while Nick showed Guidry and the rest of the crew the blood marks on the side of the boat.
"Could be from da bait," Guidry stated, not truly believing his own words.
"EEEEEEEEaaaaaaaaaaaagggggghhhhhhhh!!!!"
The roar tore through the silent air and ripped into the hearts of the Swamp Rats.
"Pic kee moi! Fuck me!" Henry shouted in surprise.
"What da hell was dat?" Kirk exclaimed, swallowing some of his chewing tobacco by mistake.
"Whatever it is, it ain’t too far away," said Joe.
They all peered in the direction they determined the sound had come from, then back toward Cap’n Guidry. Nick noticed the man’s teeth were clenched in anger, and his face was beginning to turn red.
"Get in da boats and grab da rifles," he stated. "We got huntin’ to do."
Chapter Twenty-One
Tracking the Beast
The men gathered their firearms and started off in the direction that the unholy sound had come from. They made their way carefully down the overgrown waterway, keeping a keen eye on their surroundings for any sign of the missing Guidry or the beast that took him. Cap’n remained silent, his face tense with worry and anger and his hands tightly clutching the shotgun in his grasp as his eyes relentlessly scanned the horizon. When the boats rounded a sharp bend in the bayou, a large patch of water-lilies rose in front of them, impeding their progress.
"Cut dem motors," instructed Cap’n. "Get dem propellers out of da water; we gonna paddle tru so’s we don’t get stuck."
The crew was already on the task; with the exception of Nick, they were all experienced with navigating through the wetlands. It was not uncommon to find patches of hyacinths or downed trees that could make traveling through the smaller waterways difficult, especially this far into the swamp. Normally, one would go around these obstacles whenever possible, but there was nothing normal in what the men were
doing now.
Pushing through the overgrowth was tedious, but eventually the boats made it out onto open water again. While the men in the back of the boats dropped the motors back into the water in preparation to regain momentum, the others watched carefully down the bayou for any indication that they were heading in the right direction.
"Look over dere," Kirk said, pointing to a small patch of mud sticking out of the water between some cypress trees.
A small bush swayed gently back and forth, as though blown by the wind. None of the men could detect a breeze at the moment. Something had been there moments before, watching them. Whatever it was, it was still nearby.
"Y’all stay back a little," Cap’n told the men in the second boat, "and keep a sharp eye out. We’re gonna have a closer look."
Guidry guided the boat slowly up to the spot between the trees, and Kenny tied them off to one of the boscoyo nearby. Once Nick convinced himself that there was nothing within arm’s reach that could grab him unexpectedly, he holstered his handgun and hopped out of the boat to inspect the area. Cap’n Guidry followed him onto a small patch of soggy dirt, while Kenny stayed behind, his hunting rifle poised for action.
"See anything?" Nick asked.
"Hmmm," Guidry mumbled, "some t’ing was here. Not sure what."
Nick looked down to where Guidry was pointing and saw fresh claw marks in the muddy earth. He had a sense of déjà vu at the sight of six toes per print, but kept himself in check. Nick could feel sweat pour down the back of his neck and instinctively reached for his Glock as he quickly scanned the immediate vicinity for any sign of danger. Guidry noticed the detective’s reaction, but kept quiet for the moment.
"We better get back in da boat," he said. "We wastin’ time just standing around."
Nick wasn’t about to argue and happily complied with Cap’n’s order. Kenny untied the boat, and they drifted back to where the others sat waiting for them.
"See anything?" asked Joe.
"Somet’ing was dere," answered Cap’n. "Left some fresh tracks in da mud. Not sure what it was, but have an idea it might be what we after."
"Eeeeeeeaaaaaagggghhhhh!"
The crew jumped at the unexpected, terrifying shriek.
"Cho! Co!" Kenny exclaimed. "What the fuck was that?"
"It sounded like it coming from over there," Henry stated, pointing to an area just beyond sight down the bayou.
"Let’s go," Guidry stated.
The men fired up the engines and cruised down the narrow waterway in the direction of the terrible roar. They had their guns out and ready to fire at whatever they encountered, but no one saw a thing. After a little while, they were forced to cut the engines and stop the boats, their way blocked once again by an overgrowth of vegetation.
"Voila merde!" cursed Henry. "Not again."
"Detective," Joe said, "you see dat?"
Nick saw. Everyone saw. The circles of green lilies jetting up out of the water in front of them were covered with patches of sticky, red liquid – blood – most likely Frank, Jr.’s blood.
"Fils de pute! Son of a bitch!" Kirk stated before spitting a huge glob of tobacco laden saliva over the side of the boat.
"Coo-wee! Over dere!" Dennis exclaimed, pointing toward the moss covered trees up ahead.
The men looked up, only to see an empty space amongst the shadows.
"There’s nothing there, Skinny Mullet," Henry said.
"Dere was something dere a minute ago. I saw it," protested Dennis.
"What did you see?" asked Joe.
"I saw….I don’t know," answered Dennis.
"You don’t know what you saw?" asked Henry.
"It don’t matter what I saw. I saw somet’ing. It was dere. It’s still here, somewhere," Dennis replied.
"And how you know dat?" Joe asked.
"’Cause it’s quiet, too quiet," Dennis said. "Just like back at dat house. Dere’s somet’ing out here dat don’t belong. You all know what I’m talkin’ about, even if ya don’t wanna say it."
"Tuat t’en grosse bueche! Shut your big mouth, couyon!" Cap’n said. "Dis ain’t no time for children stories. Henry, y’all go have a look see, and be careful. We stay out here dis time, but no worries, anything come creepin’ gonna get blasted real quick."
Henry guided his boat up to the spot where Dennis indicated. Kirk dropped the anchor over the side and followed Joe onto the stretch of dirt under the trees. Henry and Dennis stayed in the boat and kept watch. After a few minutes, the two men returned and they made their way back to where the others waited.
"See anyt’ing?" Cap’n Guidry asked.
"Just some gator tracks," Joe said.
"Dat’s bullshit," interrupted Dennis. "It ain’t no gator I saw. Gators don’t stand up when dey walk."
Before Joseph could reply, Kirk chimed in, "I hate to say it, but Dennis is right. Dem tracks weren’t made by no gator."
"How you know that?" Kenny asked.
"’Cause ain’t no gator I ever seen got six toes," replied Kirk.
Cap’n Guidry looked at Nick.
"You know some t’ing, dontcha, Detective?" Guidry asked. "I t’ink it’s time you told us what was in dat attic."
Chapter Twenty-Two
Qui C’est q’ Ca?
Nick took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts for a moment before speaking. He didn’t want to tell the others what he was thinking. Hell, he wasn’t even sure what his thoughts were anymore.
There was one thing he knew, he didn’t want to spook the rest of the crew into abandoning the mission. It was bad enough Frank, Jr. had disappeared. There was no way they were going to just let that go. But Nick had been sent out there to find the kids missing from the search party, and he had every intention of seeing it through, Frank or no Frank, monster or no monster. Nick knew if he showed back up empty handed, he would be looking for a new job, a new place to live, and a new girlfriend. He hadn’t come this far to give up now.
"The only thing up in that attic was Poppie St. Pierre’s rotting corpse," Nick said at last.
"Da only t’ing?" Dennis asked. "I find dat hard to believe."
"Believe what you want, it’s the truth," Nick said firmly.
"We seen tracks just like y’all seen," Cap’n Guidry stated. "Six toes on each. See any t’ing like dat up in dat attic, Detective?"
"Yeah, maybe," Nick said. "It was hard to tell. The body wasn’t in the best of shape."
"The ones downstairs probably drowned, I’d say. Don’t even want to guess how the one in the back got there," said Henry. "What happened to the one in the attic?"
"No telling," Nick answered. "Like I said, the body wasn’t in the best of shape."
"I’m guessing he didn’t drown, d’oh," Cap’n said. "Ain’t dat right, Detective?"
"No, I’m guessing he didn’t drown," answered Nick.
"You seen any t’ing else up dere dat might explain dis?" asked Guidry.
"There were some chains."
"Chains?" asked Joe. "Why was dere chains? What was in dem?"
"Nothing," answered Nick. "At least, not anymore."
"Ga-lee! Dem stories be true!" Dennis said. "We best get out of here whilst we can; it gonna be dark soon."
"We ain’t goin’ no wheres!" Cap’n said. "Not without Frank."
"I hate to say it, Cap’n, but you know as well as the rest of us, Frank is gone," Henry said.
"Pic kee toi! Fuck you!" Guidry said between clenched teeth. He lowered his gun, tightening his grip on the firearm, and said to everyone present, "We ain’t leavin’ my boy out here. We gonna find him and we gonna kill dat t’ing dat took him. Any of you got a problem with dat, you gonna have a problem with me."
No one said a word. The Swamp Rats averted their eyes from Cap’n’s angry glare and situated themselves to continue the search. Nick looked down at the body bags at his feet and shuddered – ‘just in case’ indeed. Now wasn’t the time to remind everyone of what they were here for, what they were getti
ng paid to do. Instead, he kept his mouth shut, opened his eyes and looked toward the horizon, and hoped against hope that things would start looking up.
The afternoon wore on, and the light began to dim as the sky became covered with dark clouds. After awhile, it began to drizzle. Everyone thought it would be a good idea to head in and try to find some shelter before the sun set and the weather got rougher – everyone but Cap’n Guidry. He just sat stoically in the back of the boat, one hand on the rudder and the other one clutching his shotgun. The Swamp Rats resigned themselves to their unwelcome fate. The only place they were heading was further into the swamp.
"Cap’n," said Kenny as they glided past a thick grove of cypress trees, "there’s some markings on the trees."
The crew inspected the vegetation as they passed and saw what Kenny was referring to. Scratched onto the trees at various places, they could see sharp claw marks indented into the bark.
"Just like a bear makes," Nick said.
"’Cept that wasn’t no bear dat made dose," Dennis said.
"Dumb beast fucked up," Cap’n stated. "Now we know where he’s headed."
It was difficult, if not impossible, to track an animal through the swamp, even for those as experienced as the Swamp Rats. Land was scarce and only rose above the surface of the water in patches sporadically. The water was dark and thick with sediment and teeming with snakes and other unsavory creatures. Mosquitoes and flies swarmed everywhere, sucking the blood of their victims indiscriminately and spreading disease. Spiders, snakes, and worse lurked seen and unseen within striking distance at all times. The oppressive heat smothered the group, causing sweat to soak into their clothes, the sticky residue acting like glue for the putrid aroma of male body odor mixed with rotting vegetation and stagnant water.
Without clearly discernible landmarks and with the meandering bayous that became impassable at regular intervals, it was all one could do not to get lost. The crew was now so far into the swamp, they were now in uncharted territory. With the steady drizzle that only threatened to get worse and the few hours of daylight quickly fading, the desperation of the men was increasing by the minute. When it looked like all hope of finding their way was lost, they came across the markings. Now, all they had to do was let the beast’s own mistake be his downfall. Things were beginning to look up.
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