“Be right there, sweetheart.” As she walked back to the house, she shivered, but not from the cold, it was something else that had frightened her.
. . .
Tom had called over to Joe Wouter and left a message. He meandered past the town plow as he hurried his way to the Willowsby house. Ronny Bowlen had been irrational; the sheriff nearly had to slap him to calm him down. As soon as the deputies got in, Bessy had orders to send them on over.
Tom pulled the shotgun from the rack in the back of the truck, he wasn’t taking any chances. His eyes were focused on the front door which was open just as Ronny had told him. Tom took a deep breath and held it for a split-second, he began to tiptoe up the steps, trying to be as silent as possible; he didn’t want the perpetrator to notice his approach. He took the first, then the second, paused and looked around again. He took the safety off the gun. Suddenly, as his toe gingerly reached for the next step, ruining his covert approach, was Howie speeding to the scene. The sirens and lights were blazing and announcing to the entire valley that a murder had occurred. All Tom could do was shake his head, “Damn fool.”
Howie leaped from his truck and pulled his revolver, fumbling with it and dropping it into the deep snow. It took him a second or two to find it. “Goddamn you Howie, can’t you do anything right?”
“Sorry Sheriff, Bessy didn’t…”
Bessy! What the hell does she have to do with this? Just stay by your truck and keep everyone back.” Tom carefully stepped over the blood splatter and called into the home, “Hey! Hello, is anybody in there?” He looked down at the blood, there was certainly enough gore for the three people who lived there, but where were the bodies?
. . .
Jane had the radio blasting in the car as William and Lilly sang along.
This is Johnny B, and next up in this week’s count is an oldie, Sly and the Family Stone…William never stuttered when he sang. She took the turn onto Petticoat Lane very slowly as the Willowsby house came into sight. William jumped up from the back seat, “What happened? Is my dad ok?” Jane couldn’t answer for sure, “Just sit back William, let me pull up, and I’ll go see what’s happening.” Before Jane could put the car in park, William, with Lilly in tow, burst from the back seat and rushed past Deputy Howie. They bounded up the porch and were struck by the horror of the scene. Tom whirled around, “Kids, who let you up here?” Howie was slipping and sliding up the porch, “Sorry Sheriff- didn’t see them coming.” Before the sheriff could take control of the situation, Lilly noticed something shiny in the corner. Jane stood at the bottom of the porch, “Sheriff, William lives here.”
“Well Mrs. Mueller, do me a favor and take him back with you, I’ll be over as soon as I have answers here.”
As Tom escorted the trio back to their truck, he could see Joe Wouter’s vehicle hurrying its way towards them. Jane turned again towards the sheriff, “Please Tom, let me know as soon as you can, William is frightened to death.”
“I will Jane; I’ll be there as soon as I can. I have my hands full now.”
. . .
Joey and Bobby were still shaken up from the night before as they left Martha’s. Nothing ever affected their appetites. Bobby told Joey he would meet him by the car in a few minutes. He wanted to go by Jessup’s bookstore and pick his brain.
Joey walked over to the covered bridge and lit a cigarette; he hadn’t had one since they had left New Jersey. He took a long deep drag and slowly blew it out; he watched the smoke dissipate over the stream, the gurgling and babbling of the brook below made his mind wandered. A silken voice interrupted, “A penny for your thoughts?” He turned and came face to face with a beautiful girl. No, wait a minute, this is a woman. He thought to himself, my God, this broad could be a porn star!
It became quickly obvious to Joey that he wouldn’t have to work hard to bed this one. She was vibrant and forthcoming; in fact, she was the aggressor. Bobby began calling his name as he stood by the car, Joey turned to her, “I guess this is goodbye, that’s my brother.”
She leaned, coyly whispering in his ear, “Why does it have to be goodbye? Her aggressiveness might have taken aback other men at first, but the brothers loved it. Even Bobby was enthused, “You know we have a hotel room just down the road if you want to party?”
“You mean motel, don’t you?” She flashed a devilish grin and took each brother by the hand.
She entered the room first, the mess before her didn’t seem to faze her. As the brothers stood sentry by the door, she entered, and with a sweep of her hand, she threw the brothers dirty clothes from the bed. She seemed to purr as she turned. With her unusually long index finger, motioned for the two to come to her. Her moves were slow and methodical. Joey moved in rapidly, his hand boorishly reached down for her. She grabbed his hand, and with that long finger, she placed it over his lips, quieting him. Bobby stood back and watched as she knelt before Joey and slowly unzipped his pants. He was raging, her long fingers nimbly reached inside. Her hand deftly stroked as Joey leaned his head back as far as he could and moaned aloud. It was all too much for Bobby; he began to tear his own clothes off. Holding Joey’s manhood, she moved his body to the center of the bed and shoved him down. She stood and slowly removed her pants; every pore of her body was erect and anxious. She was bristling with lust. Instead of taking a moment to remove her panties, she simply pulled the bottom aside and mounted him. She was a raging inferno. In a split second, Joey was incapable of moving as she rode him harder and harder, she violently thrust her body down upon him. Bobby jumped on the bed, desperate to get attention from this incredibly sexual beast. Her tongue enticingly flickered in the air, inviting Bobby to kiss her; it slithered deep into his throat. She reached down and grabbed him, the movement of her hand paralyzed Bobby with raw excitement. While she held the two brothers in the throes of unimaginable pleasures; long, stiff, grizzled colored hairs began to rise along her spine. Her eyes became smaller, a raging fire inside her turned them an intense, bloody red. Her canines lengthen, saliva dripped from the sharpened points. The men were absorbed in a haze of pleasure like they had never experienced before, unconscious of their surroundings. Meanwhile, the beast began to take form, its shoulders lurched forward, thickly muscled and powerful. Neither man could feel the nails lengthen, becoming pointed and sharp. The beast’s intentions were entirely different now; recharging its lifeline was foreign. Instead, it sensed revenge. As Joey was about to climax in a volcanic eruption, his eyes opened for a split second. The massive beast before him seemed unreal, he opened his mouth, but he was spellbound. The beast leaned forward, its eyes inches away from its victim’s face. Its tongue rolled from its snout between the rows of razor-sharp teeth. It licked Joey’s face, he now knew this was no dream of passion, this was a nightmare. The beast could taste his fear, causing it to growl ominously for what was about to occur. Its madness erupted, the rage inside of it was unleashed with demonic fury, its talons slashed back and forth. Blood meant to signify revenge was sprayed and splattered across the room. In seconds the room became darkened by the crimson hue of the dying. The two brothers were savagely ripped apart, and in a last momentary act of savagery, it tore the manhood from each and crashed through the window of their room, galloping off into Bald Mountain. The love and care the two brothers had for each other was now just a waning memory.
CHAPTER 20
MR. SMITH AND MR. WESSON
“For they cannot rest until they do evil; they are robbed of sleep till they make someone stumble.”
-Proverbs 4:16
Jane’s pleas fell on deaf ears as the two scampered up to Lilly’s room. Casper followed hastily, desperate to know what was afoot. As Lilly closed her door, William became despondent, “I kn…kn…know it…it’s…”
“William, you don’t know anything yet.
” She reached over and hugged her friend; the tears flowed like never before. He had lost his mother and now, down deep, he felt he had also lost his father. A mere few seconds passed before sorrow was replaced with anger. If it was his father, he knew his stepmother was behind it. Both children knew that few adults would believe their secret. It would be up to them, but William became disheartened again, how could they face such a beast? Lilly flashed a devilish smile; she reached for her Hello Kitty backpack that seemed unusually unwieldy, what sought of bubblegum was inside? She stopped for a moment and pushed the back of her desk chair under the doorknob, preventing her mother from barging in. She snuggled up close to her friend and unzipped the bag; she reached inside and struggled to remove the heavy, blue-steeled revolver still holding five silver bullets. “Wh…where did yo…you find that?”
“When we got to your house, it was lying by the front door, snow had partly covered it, so I guess they didn’t notice it yet.”
“Yo…you will ge…get into tro…”
“Trouble?” She flashed the cutest smile, “that’s my middle name. Now we can go after the monster and kill it.” Even William knew how foolish those words sounded coming from a ten-year-old girl. He also knew that she had to pay; he knew she was behind all the murder and mayhem in Brunswick. She put the revolver back inside her backpack and hid it in her closet. The two would have to plan their next move.
. . .
Tom left Wouter alone at the doorway of the Willowsby house as he went back to his truck, he had a pad in the front seat, he needed to jot down all the details of the scene while they were still fresh in his mind. Over the radio the voice of Elias came in loud and clear, “Sheriff, Sheriff, come in please.”
“Elias, its Tom, I’m over by the Willowsby house. It’s a potential homicide.”
“Well sheriff, we have another problem, just got a call from the motel in town, there’s a double homicide. Seems as though it happened within the hour.”
“My God, I’m on my way.” As Tom put the receiver down, he sat stunned. Shit like this was only supposed to happen in Philadelphia.
As he pulled up into the parking lot, in between the mountains of plowed snow, he could see directly into the room. The reddish tone of the room signaled death. A maid was leaning against her cart just outside the crime scene, all alone she was sobbing uncontrollably. Where was Elias? He radioed over to Bessy, “Sheriff, he should have been there over ten minutes ago.”
Elias had been over at the Poesten Kill when the call came in about the motel. He dumped the cup of Martha’s lukewarm coffee into the virgin snow, strapped himself into the driver’s seat, and activated every bell and whistle his deputy’s truck had. That part of the country road was narrow and treacherous, the plow hadn’t been that way for hours, and there were drifts across it as high as his front bumper.
The scream of his siren was muffled by the powdery mix blanketing everything in sight. He slipped and skidded as he drove as fast as he could. Normally it would be an eight-minute run, but he calculated in his head that it would be closer to half an hour. He entered the darkest part of the forest; there was room for only one car at a time on this narrowest part of the road. Tree limbs laden with vast amounts of snow dropped their bombs onto his windshield one after another, making visibility nearly impossible. At a bend in the road his tires suddenly got traction, he got the truck up to forty. The trees seemed to have a conscious and through the brilliance of the snow, a dark and ominous aura grew from the pines, maples, and oaks. Just as another limb laden with snow was preparing to drop on Elias, out of the corner of his eye, he detected movement. It all happened in a split second; it started with a slight shimmer as if the air was being warped and twisted. Then, in a flash of pale, silvery light, a small girl appeared before him, dressed in a dainty nightgown, rag doll under her arm. He did everything in his power to avoid her. Slamming on the brakes caused the truck to spin out of control, the driver’s side crashed sideways into a massive oak; then bounced off, sliding over the slick forest bottom, it slammed into tree after tree. It stopped its careening, resting in a hidden ravine nearly forty yards from the road. A limb above, ensuring the job had been done, dropped a covering of snow atop Elias’s windshield. His head rested on the steering wheel, the safety bags on his truck had not deployed. Blood slowly dripped from his forehead; the shadowy girl stopped for a second and looked upon the decimated truck. She then silently faded off into the forest.
. . .
Tom felt deep sadness when he saw their faces; he had come to like the pair, albeit Bobby and Joey had been intent on driving him crazy. The evening Banger brought them in, Tom knew the brothers were harmless. He had lived with those glib ways and accents when he was in Philadelphia. That had seemed so distant, it had been refreshing to hear them again. He looked at their ravaged bodies; it looked like a bevy of prostitutes had gone psycho on them. But realistically, who or what would do this? Tom was not aware of a single lady of the night in Brunswick, or even Troy for that matter. Besides, this couldn’t have been done by human hands.
Joe hadn’t completed the Willowsby house yet when he arrived at the motel, “Holy Mother of God, it looks like they used a hose to spray the walls with blood.” Tom was equally shocked, “Have you ever seen so much blood before?” Joe’s eyes dropped down to where they’re genital should have been, “Does this leave much doubt? This was no madman. Jack the Ripper has been dead for a century, and I didn’t pass a pack of wolves roaming on Main Street. As crazy as this sounds, it has to be something supernatural.”
“Yeah, a werewolf.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“I would. Joe, start to do whatever you do here, I’m going over to Jessup’s bookstore, I need to arm myself with whatever will kill this thing, and right now! I have no idea what that will be.”
. . .
Balin was awaiting the beast in the morgue. He had never seen it so angered. He knew that this was the most important cycle of the moon for the beast; it needed to feed to keep its enduring spirit vibrant and young. It seemed wounded, not physically, as it grunted and growled. It dragged its heavy limbs, dropping something on the ground, as it disappeared into the dark recesses of the cellar. Balin seemed amused as he reached for the remnants of the kill. He lifted them both high in the air, allowing him to examine the victims’ manhood from all angles, “My, my, quite impressive.” He dropped them both into a large jar of formaldehyde and placed them on a shelf laden with other trophies. He slowly licked each finger, savoring any blood that was left. How he hated the normal man. The beast had promised him the strength and virility that Balin had always coveted. Now he had little patience left. He had done great evil for the beast, and he would not wait much longer…
. . .
Jessup lugged a stack of old dusty books from the bowels of his cellar. He went to the front door, turned the sign to signal closed and locked it. In the back, there was a small round table that barely fit two chairs. He opened to the passages referring to Limikkin. He tilted his reading glasses, “Now Tom, this is what we are dealing with.”
“A Limikkin, is that an Indian name for a werewolf?
“No, this is a shapeshifter, who in fact often changes into a wolf to do its bidding.”
“Six months ago, when I was back in Philadelphia, if someone would have been telling me about this, I would have locked them up and called for the twinkie mobile.”
“The twinkie mobile?”
“That’s South Philly for the padded wagon.”
Jessup grimaced, diving deeper into the book, “Look, this is interesting. It says that you can easily tell a skin-walker from a real animal, as the skin-walker is unable to move completely naturally in animal form. For some unexplainable reason, even a well-seasoned skin-walker cannot obtain the perfec
t animal gait or leave the proportionally correct sized animal tracks.” (2)“Believe me Jessup, when I run into this thing, I’m not going to be looking if it walks funny. Come on now, how can we kill it?”
OK, this is the part that deals with that. Hmm, let’s see; a skin-walker can only be defeated if one can discover his or her human identity. This is possible if the skin-walker is tracked back to his or her home, or, in some stories if a skin-walker is wounded and the same injury is later noted on a human. It is said that if a Mohawk was to know the person behind the skin-walker they had to pronounce the full name.”
“But we don’t know who we’re dealing with?
“Yes, we do, this is the Skywoman that I told you about at Martha’s.”
“So, all I need to do is say, Hey Skywoman…bang you’re dead!”
“No, you need to use her real name.”
“And what’s that?”
“It is,” as Jessup annunciated the syllables, he hushed the tone of his voice, “Atsi’tsiaka:ion.”
A Wistful Tale of Gods, Men and Monsters Page 19