Loup-Garou: The Beast of Harmony Falls (The Ian McDermott, Ph.D., Paranormal Investigator Series Book 1)

by David Reuben Aslin

  “Charlie, check out all those coffee cans. Hey, and what’s that? Is that money in them?” Ian exclaimed, temporarily forgetting to keep his voice low.

  Not a second after the words escaped Ian’s lips, the back door flew open and in bounded Jean-Chastel Gevaudan. He was carrying a shovel in his right hand, and with his left arm, he carried four more mud and snow-covered coffee cans cradled against his large chest.

  Upon seeing his unwanted guests, Chastel immediately dropped the coffee cans and began moving swiftly straight for Ian.

  “So you think you can challenge me? Me, who has feasted on man for centuries? Know well who kills you. I, Jean-Chastel, subjugate legionnaire of Samyaza!”

  Chastel raised his shovel and swung at Ian’s head. Ian managed to duck and leap backwards as he fired one round at Chastel, his shot going wild. Chastel’s mighty swing of his shovel missed Ian’s skull by inches. Charlie, who was around ten feet from Chastel, leveled his pistol at Chastel’s face and squeezed. His first shot struck Chastel in the side of his forehead, blood and bone fragments spraying the wall behind him. Not a second passed before Charlie lowered his weapon slightly. Still holding his pistol with both hands, Charlie squeezed off two more rounds in rapid succession. Both were marksman-targeted heart-stoppers. Chastel reeled backwards from the concussive impact, staggered, then dropped onto his knees and onto the floor face down.

  Ian was momentarily stunned. His mind hadn’t caught up with all that occurred in what had been less than thirty seconds. As nerve-charged adrenaline surged through him, Ian began shaking as he stood looking down at Chastel’s body.

  “Charlie, you got him. You got him good! It must not take silver if you get him in the head. Doesn’t take silver if you blow his brains out, I guess!”

  Charlie kept his gun pointed at Chastel as he slowly approached the body.

  Ian went over to the table to have a closer look inside the coffee cans.

  “My God. Charlie, there’s hundreds and hundreds of dollars in these cans. Some of the money looks old. Real old!”

  Charlie was standing over Chastel’s body, watching for any signs of movement as he replied, “Yeah, well, that makes sense. He runs a still. Sells shine to folks, mostly dregs on the rez. He’s been doing odd jobs, accepting only cash for who knows how long. Centuries maybe? He doesn’t put his money in banks; that would create a paper trail. So he buries his money in cans in the backyard and such. He was probably digging up his loot, getting ready to split. You know, needed some traveling money to make good his escape!”

  Ian shook his head. “Yeah, in this economy, I guess even a monster needs money to travel nowadays!”

  Both men laughed nervously.

  Charlie glanced at Ian, who was picking up the cans that Chastel had dropped onto the floor. Ian set the cans onto the table alongside the others, then started emptying the contents of the tin cans onto the table. He marveled at the different currencies and denominations. There were even a few golden coins amongst the lot.

  “Hey Charlie, I wonder if there are more of these money cans still buried around out back?”

  Before Charlie could answer, he was startled to the point of near heart-attack. Charlie let out a very uncharacteristic scream while simultaneously looking down at his ankle, which suddenly felt like it was being squeezed by a vice. Ian jumped nearly out of his skin at Charlie’s shriek. He lost all concentration on the monster’s treasure as he spun around to see what had Charlie so spooked. In an instant, Ian saw what Charlie was seeing. Chastel was not dead, not by a long shot. He was making the change, and making it fast.

  The hand that held Charlie pinned by his ankle was no longer a human hand. It was something else entirely. Hairy, clawed, and thickly muscular. Chastel was rapidly bursting through his clothing. He was getting larger and hairier by the second. His body was morphing, making the change into the beast faster than either could comprehend.

  With no more than a second of hesitation, Ian stepped around Charlie to get a clear shot. Suddenly, Chastel raised his head and let out a piercing howl. Ian fired two silver bullet rounds at point blank range into the back of Chastel’s head. Bone, blood, and brains spewed, and a dark, viscous liquid slowly pooled around Ian and Charlie’s feet. Charlie managed to kick his ankle free from the beast’s grip. Both men stared at a scar-like marking on the palm of the claw that was rapidly reconfiguring into the hand of a man. The marking appeared to be shaped like a five-pointed star.

  Ian recognized the symbol from what he’d read on werewolves. He took a deep breath, then said, “That star-shaped scar on Chastel’s hand … I believe that’s referred to as the Mark of the Beast in Carpathian and Gypsy folklore. Well, a mark like that on the body is supposed to mean that person has been cursed. It means that person is possessed by a demon. I tell you, Charlie, even in my line of work, I never much believed in any of that sort of thing. But my eyes have been opened. And my mind … My mind has been blown wide open! Never again am I going to summarily dismiss the possibility, well hell, of just about anything. You and I know that the legends were all pretty much true regarding werewolves. That said, think about it. What else could be real?”

  Charlie raised his eyebrows and nodded his head in agreement. He then picked up the shovel that Chastel had only moments ago tried to bludgeon Ian with. Taking a deep breath, Charlie shouted, “This is to be certain!”

  He spun the shovel around in his hands until the shovel’s head was positioned for use as a would-be axe. Charlie then raised the shovel well above his head and in one deft motion swung it down, striking the edge of the shovel mightily against the back of the monster’s neck, completely decapitating the beast.

  “That was for Bud, you son of a bitch!”

  Charlie dropped the shovel to the floor. Suddenly out of breath and breathing shallowly, he clutched his side. The adrenaline surge was wearing thin and fast.

  Right before their astonished eyes, once again the beast began a rapid transformation but this time back to its former human self.

  Ian wasn’t all that undone by what had occurred. It was almost like the supernatural had become natural. Gore and horror had become the norm over the last couple of days, and somehow at the moment, it seemed to be little more than just another day’s work.

  He knew it would take perhaps years of studying all the facts and filling in the blanks with suppositions and conjecture to even begin to comprehend, let alone explain, the very existence of this enigma that was the man-monster Jean-Chastel Gevaudan.

  Samyaza. Chastel said Samyaza. Where have I heard that word before? Well, now’s not the time to be thinking about that. We have much more pressing issues that are gonna require explanations, especially the decapitation of Gevaudan!

  Ian understood with crystal clarity that it was the time for men of action to take any and all steps necessary to keep the two of them from spending the rest of their lives in prison or, perhaps worse, Death Row.

  He looked over at Charlie. It was as though the two men shared the same thoughts. Charlie nodded. It was time to finish this thing.

  Both men exited the cabin. Ian went back to where he’d set the black plastic bag and picked it up.

  Charlie took the bagged head of his dead best friend and began walking towards the shed out back. When he got to there, he opened the door. The stench and flies overwhelmed him and he began to gag. Charlie could take a lot, but this was more than he could bear. Quickly, without stepping inside the shed, Charlie turned the bag upside down and let Bud’s head drop and roll around until it came to rest on top of the other rotting body parts. He then tossed the plastic bag into the shed, closed its door, and hastened around to the front of the cabin. Charlie could have gone through the cabin’s back door, but that would have meant he’d have to step over Chastel’s dead body. He’d been told as a young boy by his grandfather that was bad medicine.

  The storm had nearly passed. The wind was no longer blowing hard, and the snow had stopped all together. Both Ian and Charli
e thought, Thank God for small favors.

  Charlie went back into the cabin. He fumbled through a couple of drawers in its would-be kitchen until he found a knife to his liking. Charlie then went over to the lifeless remains of Chastel’s head. He probed the knife around inside the head until he managed to dig out Ian’s two silver bullets, then put the two heavily-disfigured silver slugs into his pants pocket. Charlie then pulled out his Glock, and at close range fired two shots into the back of Chastel’s head in the general angle as the entry wounds made from Ian’s rounds.

  Ian was out back, dosing the shed with gas. He flinched at the shots. After splashing gas all about the inside of the shed, Ian lit a match and set the shed ablaze. With gas can in hand, he marched around the cabin and rejoined Charlie.

  Ian stood in the front doorway as he watched Charlie throw one after the other of Chastel’s three glass hurricane oil lamps at the cabin’s inside walls. The glass globes and bases shattered from the forceful impacts, splashing the lantern glass and its previously-contained oil across the walls and all over the floor. Charlie then motioned for Ian to come inside and empty the rest of the gas from the can he held all around inside the cabin. Ian did just that, then the two of them, convinced that a blaze created by this much accelerant should no doubt totally consume the place, stood a couple feet outside the front doorway.

  Charlie said, “You got some matches left, I hope!” Ian nodded. Charlie took a deep breath. “All right then, Ian. Strike one up and torch this fucker!”

  Ian threw the empty gas can into the cabin. It landed right next to the torso of Chastel. He then retrieved a match from his coat pocket, struck it, and tossed it inside the cabin. Both men turned and ran a hundred feet back, Ian supporting Charlie. In less than a second, the entire inside of the cabin became transformed into an explosive, raging inferno.

  Chapter 44

  The Story

  Charlie turned to Ian. “Okay. Ian, it happened like this. Acting as my deputy, you and I came up here after getting a distress call for help from Bud. Bud said he had strong evidence the murderer was Chastel. But by the time we arrived at the parking lot of Little Merwin, we found Bud’s rig and the T.V. people’s van had been torched. On Bud’s theory, we came up here to question Chastel. Chastel had been busy torching his shed. You know, torching the remains of his victims that he’d put in the shed, including Bud’s. When we caught up to him, he’d already dug up cash to help with his getaway. He was inside his cabin, front door open. He’d been busy dousing the place with gas and lamp oil, and he was about to light the place up. He must have figured that by torching his cabin, he’d get rid of any other incriminating evidence. While still inside the cabin, he must have spotted me near the entrance. You were behind me. Ian, that bear skin rug. That will help explain some of the sightings of the beast and further the story of his overall craziness. You see, I’ll say Chastel was wearing what looked like a bear-skin rug pulled all around him. The head of the bear sat on top of his head like a hat. Anyway, Chastel then struck a match and tossed it over his shoulder, which started his cabin to burn. He then picked up the shovel that he’d been using to dig up his money and came at me. I shouted at him to stop, drop the shovel and all that. He didn’t. I drew my weapon and fired several shots. I’ll let them determine the number of shots from ballistics if it even comes to that. Anyway, I’ll say I believe that I hit him in the chest and maybe near the back of his head as he was spun around from the impact of the chest shot. How many times and exactly where I shot him I can’t be certain. It all happened so fast. Ian, I dug out your silver slugs and shot him in the holes your bullets made. Now, my gun is a much larger caliber than yours, so that should cover that well. And the fire will make determining most things very difficult. I’m intentionally gonna stay vague and inconclusive on certain aspects of my story. They get very suspicious if you’ve got a clear answer for every little detail. Anyway, now here’s where my story does get a bit thin, but that’s okay. These things rarely if ever make total, inside-the-box sense. Anyway, we both saw Chastel get sent backward spinning around from the impact of my shots. He staggered around inside the blazing cabin and appeared to me to, though I can’t be certain—now this is important. Ian, I saw this part. You didn’t. It looked to me like he fell backward onto his shovel. I’ll let them try and prove otherwise. You know, how it managed to decapitate him. The amount of impact that it would take, angles and all that. One thing’s for sure. Stranger things have happened. Oh, and Ian, don’t get too concerned. The thing they want more than anything is for the bad guy to have been caught. They won’t admit to it, but it is nevertheless the truth. Even better, the perpetrator faced ultimate justice. Closure is what they all want. It’s what they need! Especially the victims’ families. They need to assign blame to a real bogeyman, a monster if you will. You know we have that covered. More than anything, they want all this to just go away. We have that covered as well. Ian, believe me. The powers that be will want to close this case as fast as possible, that I assure you. You and I will be the only ones who will ever know the whole truth. But think about this. What would be less believable? Our lie, our cover story, or the actual truth. Don’t bother answering; we both know the answer to that. Ian, this story is the only way. At the end of the day, the guilty person was brought down and judged the only way possible.”

  Ian, who had his head bowed during most of Charlie’s little speech, raised his head and looked Charlie square in the eyes, then confidently nodded.

  “Charlie, of course you’re right. Your story is basically identical to what I was going to suggest. Absolute truth in this case would land us both either on cell-block C or in the nut house. And like you said, what really matters is the guilty person was caught. And on behalf of Bud and all the victims, justice was served best as possible. That’s our story front to back. Anything beyond that goes with me to the grave. You have my word!”

  Charlie looked deep into Ian’s eyes and knew Ian spoke the truth. “Say Ian, what was it that Chastel called himself? Something like a legionnaire for Samy-something?”

  Ian paused for a second before replying. “Charlie, I think he said Samyaza. I believe that’s the name of a demon. A fallen angel cast from heaven for raping human women, creating giants and beast-like creatures called nephilim. To be cursed by the Mark of the Beast must have something to do with demonic possession. What’s especially frightening to think about is, well, if werewolves exist, then it makes a certain amount of sense that many other legends dismissed as myths may have their basis in fact. Maybe werewolves, vampires, and all sorts of things that go bump in the night. Maybe much of it is real. Maybe werewolfism and vampirism spread like an infection through bites and stuff. But not so much an infectious disease as we understand it. But that’s how the demon transmits, takes possession. What’s that the Bible says? ‘I am Legion, for we are many!’”

  Charlie listened intently to what Ian was saying. It was unnerving just how logical it sounded based on what he’d seen for himself.

  Ian continued, “The good news is, if demons, and I guess Satan too for that matter, do exist, then so must the angels, and that would mean so does God! I think it’s time we both consider getting a little more religious!”

  Charlie nodded then said, “Well, right now, all I want is to get the hell—the heck that is—down off this mountain. And I may need some help. I’ve got a whole other mountain to climb when I get back to my office. A mountain of paperwork to fill out. I’ve got to tell Jenny why Bud never went up north to that meeting and tell her a believable version of how he got killed. Then I’ve a number of agencies and people to contact, not to mention call an emergency council meeting to appear before. I suppose they’ll make me sheriff official-like. It’s not like they’ve many other choices. And I’ve got to arrange to have a burial ceremony for Bud. It’s gonna be a hero’s ceremony! He gave his life going after Chastel. The fact is, we never would have got him if he hadn’t.”

  Ian bowed his head and nodded.


  “Ian, I don’t suppose you want to stick around for a couple days for Bud’s ceremony, do you?” Ian smiled but shook his head. “Nah, I figured not. Probably best you get the hell out of these parts soon as you can anyhow. That way the majority of the storytelling will come from me. It won’t be much, regardless of the few inconsistencies that might raise some eyebrows regarding my, our, story. There’s enough evidence burning in that shed of Chastel’s to convict anyone. Like I said before, they’ll file this as case-closed as fast as they can. Odds are, you won’t even be contacted. I’ll just have you fill out your statement of the facts when we get back to the station.”

  The two men continued watching the cabin burn. It was the first time all day they’d felt warm. The cabin was totally consumed by flames and would no doubt burn right to the ground.

  Ian was the first to turn away from the cabin. He shook his head, saying, “It’s amazing how fire cleanses just about everything. Let’s get out of here!”

  Chapter 45

  The Descent

  About halfway down the trail that led to Little Merwin and Harmony Falls, Charlie’s side began hurting him so badly he could no longer keep going on his own. Charlie had to swallow his pride and ask Ian to help him walk. Ian was glad to help his friend but knew it had to be serious for his proud friend to require his help to walk.

  The wind was no longer much of a factor, but it had started raining again. It was still only a few degrees above freezing. The snow on the trail was melting fast, and it was muddy and slippery, making traveling difficult, especially downhill.

  Ian took Charlie’s left arm and put it around his neck for support. The two men continued their trek down the mountain, occasionally stumbling and slipping. They even fell once. Charlie laughed about it as they picked themselves up totally covered in mud.

  “Ian, too bad we don’t have a helmet camera rolling. I’m sure we look funny enough for America’s Funniest Home Videos, or at least it would be a hit short on YouTube!”