by Mae Clair
“We’d go to bed at night and the fields would be whistle-clean,” Wilson said. “Come morning we’d find the shit scattered all over the place. Sometimes there was silver tinsel mixed in. My dad had a name for that too. He called it outer space grass. It always turned up in the mornings the night after we’d see a weird light in the sky.”
Ryan pinched the bridge of his nose. Mothman sightings had quieted down, but lately they’d been replaced by residents reporting strange lights. He hoped Wilson wasn’t going to tell him he’d spied a UFO.
“What exactly did you want to show me?” he asked, trying to keep the man on track.
“It’s just over the next rise.”
Thankfully, the walk wasn’t far. As soon as they crested the hill, Ryan knew exactly what Wilson wanted him to see. A pattern of black-and-white splotches defined the bulk of a large farm animal lying on its side.
“Shit.” His muttered exclamation had nothing to do with stars or UFOs. Blowing out a breath, Ryan approached the cow wordlessly. Wilson and several other area farmers relied on their prized Holsteins to keep their dairy operations running smoothly. All he needed was for some drunk to have gone on a joyride and put a bullet through the animal’s skull. But all thoughts of tanked-up behavior fled the moment he got a closer look at the carcass.
Odd that the kill hadn’t attracted turkey vultures or crows, almost as if the poor thing was too defiled for a scavenger to touch. As far as he could tell there was no visible wound, bullet or otherwise. To be certain, he walked around the animal before squatting to take a closer look at its head.
“Sick, ain’t it?” Wilson asked.
Like something from a B horror movie. Ryan didn’t think an animal had that much blood in its body. The gory mess that had coagulated into a dense puddle under its head had come from its ears, nose, and mouth.
Grimacing, he glanced up at Wilson. “Was this animal ill, Chester?”
“No, sir. Fit as a fiddle.”
“Kind of a weird place to find her.” The cow was in a field Wilson didn’t use for corralling, judging by the lack of fencing. Even odder, Ryan saw no sign of bovine tracks or crushed grass in any direction. And no footprints to indicate the cow had been led there.
“How did she get here?”
“That’s just it.” Looking puzzled, Wilson scratched his chin. “I haven’t got a clue. I put her in the barn with the others last night. That was the last I saw her until I found her this morning.” He shook his head, remorse filling his eyes as he gazed down on the dead cow. “What do you think happened? All that blood… What could do that to her?”
Ryan hated to speculate. “I’ll call the county veterinarian for large animals.”
“You know what he’s gonna say, don’t you?” Wilson looked up, his eyes bulging, face drawn in the early morning light. “Nothing about it’s natural. It’s like her damn brain exploded.”
* * * *
Doreen Sue Lynch stubbed her cigarette into an ashtray and craned her neck to glance out the kitchen window. Her grandson, Sam, had promised not to stray. He’d helped her with the dishes after dinner, then begged to go outside with Rex, a friendly mongrel mix of Australian shepherd and retriever. She’d agreed to take her boyfriend’s dog while Martin’s house was being fumigated for spiders, and Sam would stay overnight because Katie was off visiting a friend.
Not that she minded. She loved having Sam, and Rex was hardly any trouble. Boys and dogs were good together, both bursting with bundles of energy. Even so, she’d have to call them in soon. It was getting late in the evening for an eight-year-old, and she wanted to set a good example as his grammie.
Spying him through the window, she drew in a sharp breath. An eerie green light spilled from somewhere above, haloing him in a cone of brackish illumination. Stock-still, Sam stood as if transfixed, his head tilted back as he gazed up into the weird light. Somewhere out of her line of vision, Rex barked furiously. The sound made the hair on the back on her neck rise, but by the time she reached the door and wrenched it open, the dog had stopped yapping.
“Sam.” Doreen Sue walked onto the rear stoop just as the green light winked out. Like someone throwing a switch. The jarring abruptness left her off-kilter and lightheaded.
It isn’t happening. Not again. Please God, not to Sam.
Shaking off her vertigo, she sprinted from the stoop and was across the yard in record time. “Sam.” Gripping her grandson by the shoulder, she gave him a gentle shake, drawing his attention from the sky. There was nothing. Nothing she could see. “What are you looking at?”
“Huh?” He blinked as if waking from a fog. “N-nothing. Just a cloud.”
Doreen Sue bit her lip. Sam sounded befuddled and, although he wore a jacket against the crisp October air, he shivered. “Look at you. You’re cold to the bone. Let’s get inside.”
Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, she cast a worried glance at the sky. Nothing is there. Nothing was ever there. “Did do you see where Rex got to?”
Sam shook his head as she led him toward the house.
“All right, you go inside and get warm. I’ll look for him.” The dog’s barking had sounded frighteningly out of control. Nothing like the gentle animal she knew. “I won’t be long.”
Sam hesitated when she held open the back door.
“Grammie?” His expression hadn’t changed, still composed of that same odd blankness as if he moved in a haze.
“What is it, baby?”
“Do you have any paper?”
Puzzled by the question, she cocked her head to the side. “What kind of paper?”
“For drawing. I want to draw the cloud.”
* * * *
Almost ten-thirty.
Katie Lynch switched on the car radio, hoping for a distraction to pass the time. The lack of streetlights and the absence of other cars on the road made it seem later. Only a few miles outside of Point Pleasant, she looked forward to getting home. Her visit with Maureen Patton, a teacher who had taken an interest in her when she was still in high school, had been enjoyable, but she was ready to call it a night.
Stifling a yawn, she jabbed buttons on the radio, cycling through three stations before settling on “Bette Davis Eyes.” At least Sam was staying overnight with his grandmother. Katie’s mom might not be the most reputable person on the planet, but she loved her grandson to a fault. A blessing for Katie, since Sam had no father in his life. Not that she wanted anything to do with Lyle Mason after he’d refused to take responsibility for his child.
Best not to go there. Thinking about Lyle always ticked her off. She was glad he’d packed up and left Point Pleasant over a year ago. In a small town, it was hard not to cross paths with people you knew.
The song ended as she neared the TNT. An old World War II munitions site tucked among dense woodlands, the place was eerie during the day, downright creepy at night. Spotting a car off the shoulder, she slowed to a crawl. The front end of a blue Impala was angled into a shallow ditch, head and taillights dark. A faded “Big Brother is Watching You” sticker was plastered at a lopsided angle on the rear bumper.
Jerome Kelly.
Although the interior of the car was dark, she spied the bulk of someone slumped over the steering wheel. Quickly, she maneuvered off the road and slammed the gearshift into park. A ghosting of cold air struck her in the face as she bolted from the car and raced for the disabled sedan.
“Jerome!” Frantically, Katie rapped on the window. When he gave no response, she popped open the door. A combined reek of stale cigarettes and fast food assaulted her.
With the dome light illuminating the interior, it was impossible to miss the fat beads of sweat clinging to Jerome’s face. Several wire-bound notebooks and a dozen balled up burger wrappers littered the passenger’s seat. He groaned and shifted.
“Jerome, what happened? Are you all right?” He had no obvious signs of injury and seemed too young for a seizure or heart attack
, but what did she know? She’d heard Jerome was a heavy smoker, and tobacco habits exacted a toll.
With a hand on his shoulder, Katie guided him back against the seat. “Jerome, it’s Katie Lynch.” He didn’t seem to recognize her. “Are you hurt?”
He shook his head, working his mouth in an attempt to speak. No blood, thank God. But in the harsh glow of the dome light, his face looked waxy. If only another car would drive past. Her knowledge of first aid was limited to the minor cuts and scrapes an eight-year-old drummed up.
“Jerome,” she tried again.
He closed his eyes, one hand bunched tightly into a fist. “Cold.” Drawing a breath, he pressed it to his chest.
“Are you in pain?”
He mumbled something unintelligible and rolled his head fitfully.
“I’ll get help.” She was going to have to drive to town, find a pay phone, and call an ambulance. She could attempt to take him to the hospital, but feared moving him in the event he had a spinal or neck injury. Especially as disoriented as he appeared. “Don’t worry. I’ll have someone here before you know it.”
She started to turn away, but he snagged her wrist and held fast. The panicked edge to his expression terrified her.
“Jerome, I have to get help.” She hadn’t gotten a good look at the front end of the car but didn’t think it had been damaged. Maybe something had startled him and caused him to drive off the road. Deer were common on the back byways of Point Pleasant. Far more insidious than local wildlife, the Mothman was said to lurk within the dense labyrinth of woodlands and ponds that comprised the TNT. Maybe the monster had forced Jerome into the ditch.
Worried, Katie pried her hand free. Jerome was probably in a state of shock, which would explain his confusion and the glazed look in his eyes. “I’m going to drive into town and call an ambulance. I promise I won’t be long.”
He reached for her again. “Cold.”
“I’m sorry, Jerome. I wasn’t thinking.” After shrugging from her coat, Katie draped it over his shoulders. The material wasn’t heavy, but it would offer some comfort until she returned. “I’ll be back as fast as I can.”
Before she could move, a revolving light sliced through the darkness in a welcome swath of red. Highlights blinded her briefly before the vehicle rolled to a stop behind Jerome’s disabled car.
“Thank God.” Katie breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the Mason County Sheriff’s emblem on the driver’s door.
“Do you need help, ma’am?” the deputy asked as he stepped from the car.
She nodded. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Not to worry.” He pulled a heavy-duty flashlight from his belt, flicking on the beam as he approached. She had a vague impression of dark hair and a strong jaw.
“Were you involved in an accident, ma’am?”
“No. I was driving home when I came across Jerome’s car. I think he’s hurt.”
The deputy cocked his head to look into the car. “Sir, are you all right?”
Jerome turned, blinking against the flashlight. “Cold.”
“That’s all he keeps saying. I gave him my jacket, but—”
“I’ll radio for an ambulance.” Turning away from her, the deputy headed back to his cruiser.
Katie clung to Jerome’s car, hovering in the open doorway. With a grunt, he pawed her jacket from his shoulders and thrust it at her. “Take this.”
“But I thought you were cold.” In the background, she heard the deputy requesting an ambulance. Clutching the crumpled jacket in her arms, she bit her lip.
She didn’t know Jerome that well. He was a frequent eater at the River Café inside the Parrish Hotel where she worked, and she’d occasionally see him around town. He always bobbed his head and stammered a greeting, noticeably awkward. Probably because he kept his nose buried in books on UFOs or unexplained phenomenon. He’d once told her friend Eve he’d moved to Point Pleasant to be near the Mothman.
“It shouldn’t be long now.” The crunch of gravel announced the deputy’s return. “There’s no need for you to stay, ma’am. You’ve done all you can.”
“I-I don’t know.” It didn’t feel right to leave, almost as if she was abandoning Jerome. She cast an uncertain glance in his direction, noting he appeared to be resting peacefully now, eyes closed, almost as if he’d drifted to sleep.
“I’ll stay with him until the ambulance arrives,” the deputy assured her.
She couldn’t leave him in better hands than a law enforcement officer. At last, she nodded. “I’m so thankful you were driving by, Deputy….”
“Brown.” He smiled slightly. “I’ll make sure he’s looked after.”
A sudden sense of well-being flooded her, banishing the last of her reserve. She was so lucky the deputy had come along. Of course he would take care of Jerome. She had absolutely nothing to worry about now that he was there. Smiling, she walked back to her vehicle, Deputy Brown’s flashlight bobbing along beside her.
Her feeling of security lasted a good two miles down the road, then swiftly departed as abruptly as it had arrived. A flutter of fear skipped through her stomach and she tried to shake it away. She had nothing to worry about. Jerome was with Deputy Brown. He was safe.
Except she couldn’t recall a single feature of the deputy’s face.
* * * *
Jerome Kelly was still on Katie’s mind as she drove to her mom’s hair salon the next morning. Sam would be spending another night with her mother, since Eve Parrish and Sarah Sherman had talked Katie into a girls’ sleepover at Eve’s place. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done anything so frivolous. She’d almost said no, but Eve and Sarah had been insistent, so she’d eventually relented.
Katie parked at the Parrish Hotel, then walked the few short blocks to her mom’s salon. It wouldn’t officially open for business for another half hour, but the stylists would be setting up stations with supplies for the day. Cutting down an alleyway, she held her coat shut against the morning air, then headed for the rear door.
Whisking a hand through her hair, she swept it from her face as she stepped inside. Her mom had been after her for weeks to color or cut it, but Katie liked the simplicity of her shoulder-length, blond locks, so easy for scooping into a ponytail. The curse of being the daughter of a hair stylist was having a mother who liked to experiment with the latest trends. Katie had endured several cuts she’d hated while growing up.
“Mom?” Sidestepping a box filled with shampoos and conditioners, she closed the door behind her. The pungent scent of perm solution and hair spray lingered in the air, reminding her of the hours she’d spent here as a child. Like the antiseptic smell of a hospital, the odor was a constant fixture, just as it had been when she’d sat in the back at a small table reading. Too many of her summers had passed that way while her schoolmates were outside playing. “Mom, are you here?”
“Out front,” her mother’s voice directed her.
Katie wound her way through the lunch room and past the supply closet into the main salon. It wasn’t overly large—three stations, including her mom’s, plus a small reception desk with a few chairs for waiting—but Doreen Sue had done her best to make the salon appealing. Right down to the butterscotch paint, hardwood floor, and glossy framed pics plucked from magazines. Katie doubted there was anyone in Point Pleasant who would request one of the radically teased hairstyles sported by models with sunken cheeks and pouty lips, but her mom seemed to think they made the salon more upscale.
“I swear it looked like the sky had a tail.”
Katie stepped into the room in time to hear Wanda Perry, her mom’s closest friend and head stylist, voice her observation.
“A streak of fiery red, angled to a point.” Wanda puffed on a cigarette before crushing the butt into an ashtray on the reception desk. “It was the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen. Like something from a sci-fi movie.”
“Or the Twilight Zone.” Valerie Hall a
rranged hair gel and mousse at her workstation. Looking over her shoulder, she whistled a few notes from the famous theme song.
“Don’t poke fun.” Katie’s mom flitted around, arranging magazines on a side table positioned between two chairs. Frowning, she paused to fluff a wilted plant that looked like it hadn’t seen water in a week. Eve, who had a love of all things green and growing, would have cringed at the neglect.
“Strange things happen around here. Have for years,” Katie’s mom continued, but her frown dug deeper. She seemed edgy.
“You mean like the Mothman?” Valerie dropped into her chair and twirled around with a grin. “Hi, Katie. You’re just in time to hear Wanda’s tale of UFOs.”
“I never said I saw a UFO.” Wanda lit another cigarette. “Just that the sky looked weird.”
“What are you talking about?” Katie asked.
“Didn’t you notice how strange the sky was last night?” Wanda exhaled a stream of smoke. “Odd colors after sunset.”
“Probably was the sunset,” Doreen Sue said. She shook her head dismissively. “Light refracting, that sort of thing.”
“It was a colored cloud with a tail,” Wanda persisted.
Valerie laughed and spun her finger in a circle beside her ear. “I think you’ve been inhaling too much perm solution.”
Wanda lobbed a magazine at her. “Just because you didn’t see it.”
Still laughing, Valerie caught the magazine with both hands and dropped it into her lap. A sly grin curled her lips as she flipped through glossy pictures of layered cuts and bobs. “What do you think the preferred hair style is for extraterrestrials?”
“Cut it out, you two.” Doreen Sue waggled a finger at them. “You shouldn’t poke fun at people who have seen UFOs.”
“You’re right.” Valerie sobered, sitting straighter in her chair.
An awkward moment of silence followed during which Katie shot a sharp glance at her mother. Most people knew her mom had claimed to see a UFO in the mid-sixties, back when Point Pleasant was overrun with tales of the Mothman and nightly flying objects.
“I didn’t mean to be disrespectful, Doreen Sue,” Valerie said.