by Byron Starr
“Thanks,” Greg said. He waited until Alissa turned around and started back toward the front before switching the plates.
They ate their breakfast in silence. James realized that telling Greg may or may not help catch this creature, but it sure lifted a weight off his shoulders. When James finished his breakfast and had sopped up the last bit with his biscuit, he looked over and saw that Greg had barely touched his food.
“You gonna eat that bacon?”
* * *
Since he was already out, James decided to open up the shop early. Just after nine Greg called the shop and told him he had talked to Carl and they had found Sharon’s body.
At four that afternoon James told Guy he was going to take off early. However, when he pulled out onto Highway 87, he turned south instead of north. James drove about five miles out of town, then took a left turn down a dirt road. He followed it until he came to Sharon Perrett’s driveway. Apparently the Sheriff’s Department had already finished up; there were no patrol cars at the house. This was good. James had no idea what he was going to tell them if they asked what he was doing out here.
James got out and walked around to the back of the house. He walked through the backyard and up to the corral, which was roped off with yellow police tape. He looked in the pen from outside the yellow boundary. It was amazing how familiar this place was, considering he’d never been here. Near the center of the pen, James could see a dark patch where the blood had soaked into the sand. After looking for some time, James walked around the pen and jumped the fence into the pasture. James walked to the back of the barn and began searching the ground for tracks. Since James had seen what had happened through the beast’s own eyes, he knew exactly where to look; however, the rain had washed away most of the tracks. It was not until James looked behind the barn, right up against the outside wall, that he was able to find undisturbed prints. This was where the beast hid from Sharon the night it killed her horse, the night before it killed her. The tracks had been protected from the rain by the eaves of the barn.
James kneeled down and looked closely at the tracks. The beast had perched on all fours while it waited here. He could see that the rear prints looked like those of the forward half of a man’s footprint, except for the oddly placed big toe that was almost positioned like a thumb. And, of course, the claws extending two full inches from the toes. The prints from its forefeet, or hands, were at first hard to figure out. There were four small indentions beside each other, with a fifth to the side. They looked like the prints of a football player’s hand when he was in the classic four-point stance. It didn’t quite look right; the indentions were too close together considering what James knew about the size of this thing, and where were the claws? At first James pondered that maybe this thing had catlike hands, and therefore retractable claws; then he saw another print almost two feet away. This print was an almost perfect hand print. It was the beast’s left hand. Almost half of the print had been outside of the barn’s eave and had been washed away, but the first two fingers and the thumb were in perfect condition. The claws on this print extended more than two inches from the fingers and almost that long on the thumb. James put his hand in the print. The hand itself was about the same size, but the fingers were wider, and about a half an inch longer; the thumb was almost a full inch longer. Then James figured out the first hand print. The reason the indentions were close together was that they weren’t prints of the beast’s fingertips, they were prints of the beast’s knuckles. It apparently folded its claws up in its palm (and on past its wrist, considering the length of the claws), and when it ran on four legs, it ran on the knuckles of its hands.
James was brought out of his intense study of the prints by the sound of a car passing on the dirt road. He thought he would be caught and had no idea how he would explain himself, but, luckily, the car didn’t stop. The close call did, however, convinced James that he’d done enough snooping for the day. He returned to his truck and started home.
* * *
That night the beast returned to Sharon Perrett’s. It loped purposely through the pasture without its usual routine of stopping to sniff the wind. Tonight it moved with a sense of purpose. The beast continued up to the outer wall of the barn, then stopped, and began sniffing the ground. It immediately found what it was looking for; a boot print. It sniffed the boot print extensively, then ambled off toward the woods.
Chapter 5
The Arm, the Hand, the Ring
Despite his dream of the beast investigating his footprint and the fact he knew that Sharon Perrett was dead, James felt much better after telling Greg about the dreams. Now he felt he could let the law do their job and he could get back to his, which was fixing cars. The dreams still prevented rest at night, but James was adjusting. At noon he would take a nap in the garage’s office, and when he got home he would take another. At night he would go to bed with Angie, but after she drifted off to her heavy slumber, he would get up and watch TV. Every now and then James would doze off on the couch and dream of the beast, but mostly James would stay awake until just before Angie woke up. Then he would get in bed and sleep through the last few minutes before his alarm went off. James was still not getting a lot of sleep, but at least he was getting some.
Halloween came and went without incident. Because of all the strange things that had been going on, James had half-expected some strange occurrence on Halloween. Now he felt foolish for having thought such nonsense.
On Monday, the first day of November, four days after Sharon Perrett was killed, Guy told James that Mrs. Baker had called and said she was taking her car somewhere else if it wasn’t finished the next day. Guy told her they didn’t have the parts in yet (he left off the part about him forgetting to order them back on the twenty-seventh), and the next parts truck wouldn’t come through until the fourth. She would hear none of it. Her car would either be fixed by tomorrow afternoon or she would take her business elsewhere.
Guy wanted James to leave early in the morning and drive to Beaumont for the parts. James would have to get up at around four in the morning to make it to Beaumont and back in time for them to fix her car.
James told Guy he wouldn’t do it. He wasn’t about to leave Angie and Jimmy at home alone after what had happened to Sharon Perrett. He said he’d leave at seven and they could have the car ready first thing Wednesday morning. Guy called Mrs. Baker and told her what they had decided, but she wasn’t happy. She said she would be by to pick up her car the next day and not to expect any more business from her or any of her kin.
* * *
When James got home Angie met him in the doorway.
“How was work?” she asked.
“Fine, I guess,” James answered with a shrug. Pausing for a brief peck on the cheek from his wife, James stepped inside and hung his cap and jacket on the coat rack just inside the door.
“I talked to Mrs. Georgia Baker at the store today,” Angie said once James was inside.
“Really?” James said dryly. “What did she have to say?”
“I overheard her and Juanita Martin blabbing away about how slow Baldwin’s Garage is now that it was never this slow when Ike was still around. I told her right quick that y’all do almost twice the business now and that y’all still have cars ready in half the time.”
“You didn’t,” James said as he rubbed his sleepy eyes.
“I did,” Angie replied with an impish smile, then her face turned serious and she added, “The old bat shouldn’t have been running her mouth, James.”
“Actually, we have been behind the last couple of weeks, and her car should have been ready a week ago.”
“She said she was going to pick her car up tomorrow and take it to Jasper.”
James nodded.
“Unless you fix the car tomorrow.”
James shook his head; he could see where this was going. “No can do. We don’t have the parts in.”
“I called and talked to Guy this afternoon. He said you could pick u
p the parts in Beaumont and be back in plenty of time to have her car ready.”
“You sure have been busy today,” James commented.
“You should go,” Angie said, ignoring James’ comment.
James took a seat on the couch, placed his head in his hands and began rubbing his temples. “I would have to leave early in the morning, and there’s no way I’m going to leave you and Jimmy alone after what happened out at Sharon Perrett’s place.”
“James, they’re saying it was a pack of wild dogs or something. I don’t think a pack of dogs are going to come in the house and attack us,” Angie replied, leaning over the couch to rub James’ shoulders.
“They’re not sure what it is. It may be a serial killer or something.”
“If someone breaks in, I know how to use the shotgun. You’ve worked too hard to build up the business to run off the entire Baker clan over something like this. You know once Mrs. Baker and Mrs. Martin start gossiping about you up at Alice’s Beauty Shop there’s no telling how much business you could lose.”
“No one believes a word they hear from that place.”
“That’s not true. Some people take small town talk like it was the gospel truth. All it would take is a couple of dissatisfied customers and you could lose half your business to the shops in Jasper. Word of mouth is how you built your reputation. You can lose it that way just as fast.”
“Angie, there’s no way ...”
The discussion continued for thirty minutes before reaching a mutual truce, then, just before they settled in for the night, the argument started anew. James was adamant, but Angie was persistent. In the end James found himself too tired to argue. He agreed to leave for Beaumont early the next morning. It would be the worst mistake of his life.
* * *
Angie always tried to wake up before James went to work, even when he had to get up earlier than usual, but James wasn’t in the bed next to her when the alarm went off at 3:40 the next morning. When Angie walked into the living room James was on the floor cleaning his old double-barreled shotgun.
James glanced up at her.
She yawned and stretched, causing her nightshirt to rise up revealing her frilly red underwear. Angie rubbed her eyes and said, “Good morning.”
James put a shell in each chamber, closed the breach, and set the gun on the couch.
“You’re really taking this seriously aren’t you,” Angie commented, plopping down on the couch.
James didn’t reply. He acted as if she hadn’t even spoken. He stood, walked to the window overlooking the front yard, then turned back to face his wife, “Angie, I want you to listen to me. After I leave, I don’t want you to open that door for anybody, okay?” He paused. He had more to say, but he didn’t want to worry her too much. On the other hand, he certainly wanted to make sure she was on guard. “Not even me,” he added.
“What?” Angie asked, looking at James like he was completely out of his gourd.
After a pause, James decided to tell her. “I’ve been having dreams about that thing that killed Sharon. It can. ... well ... disguise itself.”
“Is that why you haven’t been sleeping well?” Angie asked
“Yeah,” James answered, then continued. “Do you understand? Don’t open the door for anybody. If someone comes to the door, including me, call the sheriff’s office; they can send Greg. He’s on duty, and I’ve talked to him about all this. I also asked Greg to drive by every now and then. And take the shotgun into the bedroom with you after I leave.”
Angie’s face grew more serious and awake as James talked. This was good. She was taking him seriously. He was worried she might think it was some sort of joke. When he finished, she asked, “What have you seen in your visions?”
“I’ll tell you all about it when I get back. For now just promise me you won’t open the door for anybody after I leave.”
“I won’t,” she answered with her eyes wide and her lower lip slack. James could see he was scaring her, which was good.
“I can stay if you want me to.”
Angie paused and almost asked him to. He had scared her and she knew how much safer she would feel with him here at home. However, she hesitantly replied, “No, you need to take care of this.”
“Are you sure?” James asked, “Or I can take you and Jimmy with me.”
“We’ll be fine,” Angie said, this time with no hesitation in her voice, “and Jimmy doesn’t need to miss school. We’ll be okay.”
James sat for a while and almost decided not to go. He almost decided to tell Mrs. Georgia Baker that she could take her car and park it right up her fat ass. But he didn’t.
James got up, and this time it was his turn to stretch his mouth in a yawn. He looked at his watch and said, “Looks like I’d better be getting on the road.”
“Don’t you have time for breakfast?” Angie asked.
“Nope. I need to be on the road so I can be back in time to fix the old hag’s car before she comes to get it.”
“All right,” she said with a yawn of her own.
She got up and followed him to the door. James put on his cap and his old flannel jacket, then opened the door, letting in a gust of cool air. Still standing in the door, James turned and gave her a kiss, “Remember, don’t let anyone in.”
“Okay, okay, hurry you’re freezing me.”
Angie shut and locked the door behind him. As James walked to his truck, he heard her knocking at the window. He turned and she blew him a kiss from the window beside the door. He smiled and returned the gesture, then continued on to the truck.
She watched through the window until his taillights disappeared around the corner. Then she yawned again and started back to bed. She got halfway down the hall, then returned to the living room and picked up the shotgun and carried it with her to the bedroom.
James’ strange warning had made Angie a little uneasy, so for once in her life, she wasn’t able to go right to sleep. She kept playing what James had said over and over in her head. What had he seen in those visions of his? One thing was for sure, when he came back from Beaumont she was going to sit him down at the kitchen table and get him to tell her everything.
Angie rolled onto her side and closed her eyes. Still, sleep remained just out of reach. After tossing and turning for several minutes, she finally started to drift off when she heard a knock at the door. At first she thought it was her imagination, but then she heard it again. She got up, grabbed the shotgun and went back into the living room. James must have forgotten something, she thought.
“Angie, I’m home,” James’ voice came from outside.
As Angie passed through the living room, she set the shotgun on the couch. “Just a second.”
Angie peered through the peephole, and saw James, “What’s the password?” she said smiling playfully.
“I forgot my key to the shop.”
Remembering James’ strange advice, she went over to the window beside the door for a better look. It was James all right, and when he saw her looking at him through the window, he blew her a kiss.
Laughing, Angie unlocked the door.
As she opened the door, she said, “Honey, you really should think about ...” but that was all she got out before a clawed hand grabbed her throat.
* * *
James yawned again as his pickup turned onto Highway 87. Despite his new sleep schedule, he still wasn’t getting enough sleep. For three weeks he’d been running on about two hours of real sleep and this morning his fatigue was really standing up and making itself heard; he was having trouble just keeping his eyes open. He passed through Newton and had just passed the city limits sign on the other side of town when his head dipped to his chest. He woke up immediately, but he had nodded off just long enough to see a clear a picture in his mind — a picture of his own front door. At first it didn’t register on James what he had seen, then he slammed on the brakes.
Angie! Jimmy!
James turned the truck around and tore off back
to town. Driving like a madman, he rocketed through Newton, running the town’s one red light without slowing. Though he was pushing the old Chevy as hard as he could, it seemed like forever before his headlights shone upon his familiar drive. He slid past the drive and slammed on the brakes. The pickup slid to a stop right in the middle of the front yard.
The door’s open!
James got out of the truck in a rush, knocking his cap off as he slammed the pickup’s door. When he was no more than halfway to the door he saw her. All that was visible from behind the partially open door was her left arm, covered in blood. The sight of that bloody arm, the bloody hand and the ring on it drove James right over the edge.
Chapter 6
Maybe They’re Right
Greg had passed by the Taylor’s house at 4:15 a.m. and saw nothing out of the ordinary. He continued on down the road for several miles before turning around. About thirty minutes later he passed back by the house on his way back to the highway. This time James’ truck was parked in the middle of the yard with its driver’s side door open and the headlights on.
Greg whipped the patrol car into the driveway.
The front door was open, and he thought he could vaguely make out what looked to be a figure lying in the doorway. Inside, Greg thought he could see movement.
Greg radioed for backup and stepped out of the car. He didn’t take his gun out of its holster, but he did unfasten the safety catch. He took out his flashlight with his left hand, so his right hand would be free, and walked toward the door.
“James! Ang ... Oh, Jesus.” He saw the bloody arm in the door.