Oakwood Island

by Cormier, Angella; Arseneault, Pierre C;

  The other two nodded in approval as this seemed to be the only thing they could do at this point in order to prevent a panic outbreak on the island. Dr. Randolf went on speaking.

  “If we can, let’s please keep this between us, gentlemen. As you already know, the DNA analysis concluded they’re not any breed of dog we’re familiar with. But there is something else about them we can’t figure out. The saliva had plant secretions in it and some sort of spores, a strange fungus of sorts.”

  Ryan leaned his body forward some more in the chair, getting closer to the pictures that were now spread out on the coroner’s desk. He examined the Stuarts’ crime scene photographs as he asked, “What does that mean?”

  Burke got up from the desk and went over to the window where he opened it a few inches to let some cool fall air whisk into the small, stuffy office.

  “We have no idea what it means,” said Burke. “But we do know it isn’t human for sure.”

  Ryan was perplexed by this news. “Have any of the locals contacted you about this?” asked Ryan.

  “Why would you ask that?” replied Randolf.

  Ryan got up and collected the images and placed them in the corresponding files, reorganizing the lot of graphic images into their respective resting places, within the beige file folders. He answered the question without looking up; avoiding the coroner’s gaze. “It’s just something someone said to me. Seemed to know too much about all this, but he’s just a nosey, old man anyways.”

  Burke and Randolf exchanged glances before Burke said abruptly. “You need to let us know what you hear. Anything at all, Ryan. You call me, understood?”

  Ryan stood up straight as he finished picking up the last photograph. “Of course, and I expect you guys would do the same for me. Anyways, I gotta go visit a certain old man and see why he knows so much. Thanks again, we’ll be in touch.”

  As Ryan left the small office, Harold Randolf looked at Detective Burke and said, “He’s a good kid. I hope he doesn’t do anything stupid like trying to find this thing on his own. He might end up on my table if he does.”

  Burke chuckled and with his usual poor taste in humour replied. “Hell, better him than me!”

  Randolf rolled his eyes dramatically and said “It’s a good thing we didn’t tell Ryan about the notebooks after all. If people knew about those, it would create more panic than we could handle.”

  * * *

  The old dirt road on which the police cruiser travelled was bumpy and surrounded by large trees. The daylight was slowly burning away behind the forest, casting many shadows on the rough patch of road. This path led to and through the centre of the island, a shortcut of sorts for locals that didn’t want to drive all around to get to the other side. It was rarely used, especially this time of year when heavy rains would often create bogs of mud and muck for vehicles to become trapped in. Most residents avoided using the road, unless absolutely necessary.

  Ryan had decided to come pay a visit to Jack Whitefeather at his home in these woods. He had to find out how Jack had known about Norah’s body being discovered. As the police car trampled over small debris and rocks, Ryan finally noticed a clearing come into view on his right hand side. The trees in front of the small old cabin were reduced to about a half dozen. The cabin itself could have easily been believed to be abandoned were it not for the small sliver of smoke coming out of the stone chimney that stood on the side. A large covered porch wrapped itself around the cabin, which stood very close to the ground as there was no foundation to this very old structure.

  It seemed to Ryan that this cabin must have been built when the loggers had first settled on the island, back in the early 1920’s. No power lines led to the cabin and so no electricity came here. He concluded that the facilities were also primitive as he spotted an old outhouse in the backyard near the woods. Jack led a very simple life and that was obvious just by looking at him, but by looking over his property, it was a clear fact.

  Ryan pulled into the driveway, if that’s what it could be called. The dirt was speckled with grass except for two lone tracks that were bare. At the end of the tracks sat an old beat up 1950 Ford truck, red in colour. It seemed to Ryan he had always seen Jack in this truck, from as far back as he could remember, even as a child growing up on the island, he remembered Jack with his old dusty wide brim hat peering down at him with those large piercing eyes. Now, as Ryan drove slowly along those two lone dirt tracks, he somehow felt those eyes on him, rushing through him as would a cold winter wind. He looked around, searching for the source of the stare, but he couldn’t see anybody on the property.

  He brought the car to a stop behind the old Ford truck and reached down to unbuckle his seat belt when suddenly, out of nowhere came a large shadow and a loud “CAW! CAW!” sound. Ryan jumped, spooked by the large crow that had just swooped down and perched itself atop the hood of his car. The crow kept cawing loudly, flapping its wings a few times, as if it was trying to alert others of Ryan’s presence thought Ryan. He stared for a few moments, spooked by the bird’s abrupt appearance. He stepped out of his car slowly, keeping his hands free in case the large crow would try to attack him. He kept his eyes on it, the strange bird holding Ryan’s gaze. The bird cawed once more and Ryan jumped when he heard a voice at the same time coming from behind him.

  “Ryan, I was waiting for you.” Jack was standing a few yards away from him, having emerged from the woods. He was carrying a small deer-skin satchel on a long strap over his shoulder and an arm load of dried wood. Small branches and twigs were among the load. When he got closer to Ryan he stated more than he asked, “Come inside.”

  He ignored the fact that Ryan was nervous, hand on his gun as he stood watching the black bird on the hood, now seemingly disinterested in the officer.

  As Jack walked off towards the cabin, the crow caught flight and flew off into tall trees behind the structure. The men walked up the decrepit porch steps, a soft creaking noise permeating the quietness of the surroundings. Once inside, Jack placed the twigs near a small wood pile next to an old potbellied wood stove and moved over to the cupboards with his satchel. As he began to speak, Ryan could sense a tone of relief in the man’s voice.

  “You want to know about the beast, don’t you? This is why you come to me?” This sounded more like a statement than a question to Ryan.

  The officer nodded a weak affirmation and Jack turned to face Ryan.

  “If you want to know what this thing is, you must sit with me and trust what I say is truth, as difficult as that will be. It must be told to be stopped, but only if you listen, Ryan.”

  The young officer stared at the old man for a few moments before nodding his agreement. Outside, the cawing of a large black bird echoed across the deserted woods, its cry a mournful song that played on until the sun set its last rays behind the tall trees on Oakwood Island.

  Chapter 10

  Bloody Mayhem

  September

  The black bird sat perched atop a majestic pine in the middle of Oakwood Island. Its black pearled eyes caught and reflected the glint of the dying sunlight that was setting down behind the trees on the property where the old man was collecting twigs and branches to start a fire. In the distance there came a slight rumbling, and under its small claws the crow could feel the vibration getting stronger, approaching their hidden gem of a home in the deep woods of the island. It watched with curious attention as the large car turned onto the property and parked behind the old man’s red truck.

  Swooping down as fast as it could, the wind caught the ebony feathers of the crow’s large wings and made them flutter around its small body. It landed on the hood of the car with a thump but its squawking made all other noises dissipate into the early evening air. Inside the car, the young man stared down the bird, eyes wide and mouth gaped open, breathing quickly. He was caught off guard and evidently surprised to see the crow staring at him from such a close
distance.

  The bird flapped about its wings a few more times and cawed louder than before, making the man inside the vehicle scramble to pick up his gun from the hip holster of his uniform. As much as the bird felt the man should not be in this place, it suddenly felt the warning of the old man in the pit of its stomach. It held back another caw but flapped its wings as wide as it could. The wise old crow waited, staring the young man down as he opened the car door and made his way out of the vehicle. As the bird felt the older man approaching, he knew he was no longer needed. The crow flapped its long spanning wings and in a few swoops of air it was gone high up and above the ground where Jack and Ryan began discussing the matters at hand.

  * * *

  As Jack’s black-winged friend perched itself on the small table in the kitchen, Ryan stood in awe at the creature and the most natural stoop it had made for itself inside the old cabin. Ryan felt uneasy at once, the bird’s features looked strange amongst everyday household items and the simple kitchen gadgets. Jack never flinched as the bird had come in through the window, hardly even glanced its way when it had carried its strong black wings through the open window. Something hinted to Ryan that this was not the first time the bird had visited Jack’s abode, and dare he even think that it was almost as if Jack had known it was going to happen?

  The large brown satchel that Jack had carried across his body lay on the counter near several plants and herbs, overflowing with greenery and pungent odours. Ryan turned his attention away from the collection of potted vegetation and crossed his arms on his chest as he asked Jack to clarify his earlier statements.

  “How did you know about Norah? We had just found her body and nobody in town knew about it.” Ryan eyed Jack like a hawk does to its prey, searching for a flinch, a change in his posture or speech. He waited to see any indication of a change in Jack’s demeanour.

  The older man opened the satchel and out spilled several stems of a green plant that was all too familiar to Ryan.

  Jack replied with the same calm and steady voice he’d always had. “That’s not important.”

  The satchels contents were now being placed into a large tin on the counter by their gatherer. Ryan watched as best he could from a few feet away behind Jack. He knew he needed to get answers from the old man, so he continued on.

  “OK then how do you know it’s not a werewolf? You said that at the Old Mill Restaurant just before you left.”

  Jack glanced over his right shoulder, peering at him through the corners of his dark eyes. “I did, didn’t I?” he said. “There are things on this island that even I can’t explain, Ryan. I don’t know where it came from, but there is something making animals sick and dying on this island and I haven’t found it yet. I have seen many animals feast on the dead ones, and on the decaying and infested flesh near the old trailer. Most of them got sick very quickly. Most of those died, but this one didn’t and I’m not sure why.”

  Jack turned to Ryan, extending his hand in a motion towards the front door, inviting Ryan to lead the way outside. Ryan walked ahead of him as Jack continued, “Once it was a coyote, that much I’m sure of now. But it’s slowly been changing into something no one has ever seen. Now it walks on two legs and it has a taste for human flesh. As a coyote it used to fear man, but now it hungers to feed on us, and does so without fear.”

  Ryan opened the old screened door, making the hinges creak in the process. “I’m glad you said that,” replied Ryan. “I was starting to wonder where I could get silver bullets made.”

  Jack held the door open for a moment, glanced back at the kitchen and waited as the crow flew out of the cabin through the open screen door. He let the door close with a resonating clank against the old wooden frame. The crow swooped and landed on the window ledge near the open door and stood waiting it seemed, watching Jack as he stood on the front porch of the cabin.

  “You won’t need any silver bullets. I can tell you it won’t be easy to kill but first we need to find it.” Jack looked down at the crow as it swiftly flew up onto his left shoulder, its small claws holding itself upright on his fleshy perch. Turning to face the crow, the old man says to it softly, “You know what you need to do my friend, go find it for me...Go!”

  The crow suddenly took flight and disappeared behind the large trees surrounding the property. Ryan stood stunned at what he just saw, but before he could say anything, he turned to notice Jack had sat down in one of his handmade chairs, made out of tree branches. Jack lit a cigarette, but not before pointing to the chair next to him. “Sit.”

  As Ryan sat down in the ornate chair next to Jack, the strong odour of the cigarette smoke fills his nostrils and he recognizes the smell. The smoke held a distinct aroma that Ryan knew all too well from his younger years and from the marijuana busts he’d had to partake in while on the force.

  Jack smiled a wide grin and spoke. “I know you haven’t had any since your prom behind the dugouts at the baseball field, but it won’t kill you. Besides, don’t worry, son. I only use it for my arthritis.” He looked off into the distance, peering into the woods, searching for something that was not there. Ryan picked himself up from the wooden chair, dusted off the front of his trousers.

  “I gotta go now. Let me know if you find it, but don’t do anything stupid, Jack.”

  As Ryan drove away from the cabin, he could see Jack smoking away while sitting on the stoop in his rear view mirror. “Now that explains a lot,” Ryan muttered to himself as he buckled his seat belt and turned onto the dirt road.

  * * *

  The Jenkins house stood secluded from the mainly populated area of Oakwood Island. Alone and apart from other homes, it was a sad reminder of the curse that had plagued their family for centuries. It had served Norah well to keep her sister Amy away from anyone she may have harmed with her abilities. Over the years, there had been a few mishaps, scares mostly when someone came to the house without calling first. Only one house had been close enough for Amy’s mind to reach with her abilities, but it had mysteriously burned down a very long time ago. That had been a blessing in disguise for the Jenkins, who always worried about Amy affecting their neighbours.

  Today however, the seclusion that had served Norah so well in keeping her secret also kept her a prisoner. It had been several days now that Amy had kept Norah chained in the basement of their home. Norah tried to not think about the searing pain that was coming from her ankle. The scrapes and bruises it held from struggling to get the chain off of her foot were unbearable every time she moved. She knew if she could get the chain off she could then reach the pieces of the old bed frame that Amy had eventually damaged and she could use those pieces to hack away at the door.

  She knew she had to find some way to escape, as her food was running low. Amy had brought down a bit of food before leaving; indicating some small bit of humanity was still left inside of her somewhere. The food was running low now, and some was even going bad. The apples were rotting and what was left of the bread had so much mould on it that none of it was good anymore.

  In the back of her mind, Norah knew her sister Amy was now dead somewhere on Oakwood island. She felt her twin sister’s death as fresh as she felt the metal chain rubbing against the raw and swollen skin of her ankle. She knew she had to escape soon, or else she would herself meet up with her sister in Death’s earthly garden.

  Norah sat terrified, unsure why she couldn’t focus her mind on forming a plan, of finding her thoughts clearly as she had always been able to do before. Her thoughts jumped from one to another, from a series of disturbing visions and sounds to her own voice making its way through. It kept reminding her to keep focus on hatching a plan to escape.

  Norah looked up at the dark stairway that led to the door out of the basement. There she could see shadows dancing against each other, making a mockery of her with their vivid movements as she remained immobile and trapped in the small space she had once held her sister cap
tive. As her mouth opened, a faint voice that she could hardly recognize as her own escaped and made the shadows in the stairs dissipate in all directions.

  “Help.....” she said in a feeble voice now worn out by the screaming she had done earlier. The house remained as quiet and dead as her deceased sister Amy.

  * * *

  A few miles away from the Jenkins’ house, a large murder of crows sat perched in a few trees high above the forest. The breeze carried an eerie quietness for the most part, except an occasional cawing from a random bird. The large group would have appeared very odd to any onlookers, the massive amount of black feathered creatures all in one spot, so eerily quiet. Suddenly there came a ghost of a sound as all the birds took flight at once, something having seemingly spooked them away from their high perch in the forest.

  Once all the birds were gone, one lone crow stayed behind and peered out into the distance. It sat alone on a branch high at the top of the trees, and there it stood for a long time, waiting, listening and looking. It did all these things for one reason only, and a reason that only one living man understood as he himself sat in a trance-like state in his small cabin miles away.

  The lone crow finally took flight after what seemed like an eternity in the tree, and off it flew towards the outskirts of town, where Lawrence Watson and his family had been mauled to death. The crow took flight with the hope it would find what it looked for on the other side of the island.

  * * *

  The early evening light created the perfect backdrop for the little girl playing in the back of her parent’s house near the edge of town. She sang softly as she skipped around at the side of the yard, chasing her little dog Max, while her parents and other family members were busy with the BBQ in the back of the house. Little Jenny Randolph’s scent had caught the beast’s attention moments before, and it suddenly charged out of the woods, directly towards her.