I was surprised when I woke. My eyes shot open under the hot sun. Lauren was missing, along with the Jeep. My 1911 still sat securely under my arm, and my knife was in the earth not a foot from me. Passing out was worrying; it had not happened in a long time. I could usually feel it coming on and find somewhere to sleep before I passed out.
It took all day to get to my storage unit. I opted for the dirt bike instead of my truck. After losing two vehicles, it was too much to ask for a third. On my way back to the motel, I pulled into a local barbecue. Three cop cars were parked out front. I walked in and a pretty girl in a red apron directed me to a table not far from where the cops sat. I ordered brisket and listened to their conversation. They were swapping stories and having a good time when their radios started chattering. Something was pacing around some houses in the national park. The description was a four-legged creature.
They packed up and were gone in an instant. I followed, leaving my brisket. I pulled up the general location on my phone and sped after them. I exited the city and drove towards the park. It was ten minutes before I could pick out the flashing lights of the police cruisers; a chopper buzzed high overhead, moving to the east away from their location. Had they called a chopper? I followed their lights through winding mountain roads until I reached the base of a long driveway. The three police cruisers were at the top.
My heart rate increased the moment I stepped off my bike. I slipped my 1911 from its holster. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and a soft drizzle had started. The closer I got to the house, the hollower my gut felt. The lack of noise was not reassuring. I could see the gleam of a light from the house. I crept a little further, then pressed against the side of an old tree and watched. The three cruisers sat motionless in the gravel parking lot: red and blue lights flashing.
After a few minutes, the driver door of the closest cruiser opened and out slipped what I first thought to be a very big dog. It sauntered over to the next cruiser, reached up, and attempted to open the back door. A light came on from inside the car and silhouetted the beast. It had a long neck and a body that resembled a large dog, but its feet were talons. It raked its talons down the window and yanked the door open. Gunshots erupted from the inside of the cruiser. The creature’s head lunged forward and dragged a man’s body out of the car and off behind the house. I could feel eyes boring into me. I kept glancing around, but, like most people, my vision sucked in the dark.
The wind was to my back. A moldy smell like rotten food left in Tupperware way too long wafted to my nose. I glanced backwards and caught two gleaming pink eyes staring at me from deeper in the woods behind me. I twisted, brought my pistol around, and let loose the entire clip in the direction of the glowing eyes. Instinctively, I ejected the spent mag and slid in a fresh one. I released the slide. I broke from where I stood and sprinted towards the house. Branches cut across my face and body. I breeched the trees and passed the cruisers, slamming hard into the front porch screen door. I fumbled with the handle for a moment, then swung it open and slammed it shut behind me. I stared back through the window but saw nothing. Had my silver rounds been effective?
I clicked the lock on the screen door; little good it would do. I walked up the steps to the front door which was cracked open. Holding my gun ready in one hand, I carefully slid the door open. A body lay on the floor in front of me. It was one of the cops from the barbeque joint. He was torn up. Big chunks of flesh were missing from his body in circular scoops like someone had taken a large ice cream scoop and removed a spoonful here and a spoonful there. The old carpet he lay on was saturated with his blood. The echo of his recently deceased soul reverberated through the room.
I shut and locked the front door. The living room was undisturbed. I grabbed his pistol, a Glock, from where it had fallen to the ground. I could tell by its weight that the mag was about half empty. Right in front of me was the kitchen and to my right was a set of stairs. Two sets of bloody footprints led up. One was small, either a woman or a child. Next to them were the taloned tracks of the creature.
I worked my way through the house: first, the kitchen, then up the stairs. The tracks led to a window that was partially open, but all the upstairs rooms were empty. I went back downstairs and studied the kitchen. A cordless phone lay on the counter; next to it was a kitchen knife set, with two knives missing. I peeked out one of the windows and thought I caught a glimpse of movement, but to be honest, I wasn’t sure. It was going to be a long night. I had at least seven hours before sunrise. It was time to get settled.
I rummaged through the kitchen drawers until I came across what my family called the “catch all” drawer. Most houses have at least one drawer or place where all the odds and ends go. I found a hammer, a fist full of nails, and screws. I drove a few nails into the back door, securing it to the frame. Then, I went upstairs and did the same with the bedroom doors. It wouldn’t keep anything out, but it would make a good amount of noise. I balanced a glass cup on the front doorknob to warn me, since I’d run out of nails and screws. With that done, I went around and turned off all the lights except the upstairs hallway. I set one of the kitchen chairs in the back corner of the front room so I could see all the possible entry ways, then sat and waited.
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It had been about two hours when I heard tapping come from upstairs. I focused on the sound and tried to get a feel for where it was originating from. It sounded like fingernails striking glass, probably the window at the end of the hall. I took a deep breath in through my nose and stood up from my chair. I walked to the base of the stairs. The tapping paused. I climbed the stairs until I reached the point where my head just barely broke level with the second floor. Movement caught my eye. A taloned hand was stroking the glass, almost aimlessly. I trained my gun on the widow. The claws raked against the bottom of the glass as it pried the window open gingerly. Rattling came from the front porch.
An idea popped into my head. I rushed down the stairs, bent over the fallen officer, and pulled out his taser and its extra cartridge. The upstairs window opened. I backed myself into my corner. A creature leisurely ambled down the stairs. I leveled my gun and emptied my 1911 into its center mass. Tufts of hair blew out its back as my rounds ripped through it. It crumpled at the base of the stairs. It didn’t move.
The scraping at the porch door stopped, then resumed at a window to my right. I looked back to the base of the stairs and instinctively leveled the taser at the blur springing at me. Its body locked up; the current took the thing on a ride. It shook and writhed as the current passed through its body. I dropped my 1911, pulled the Glock from my jacket, and emptied the rest of the mag into its flat face, blowing each eye out along with part of its nub of a nose. I picked up my 1911 and loaded another mag, pocketing the old one. I pointed it at the beast as I let go of the taser trigger. It didn’t move. I cautiously slid my foot towards it and touched its body; it was dead. I could clearly distinguish its softer ring from the dead officer’s. I thought I had felt something leave its corpse after I shot its head. I let out a soft sigh. Good. Not many things, even in my strange world, could keep going with a head full of lead.
I changed out the taser cartridge with a fresh one. I walked over to the cop and took his extra mags for the Glock. I should have already done this. I swapped one out and pocketed the other. I pulled the front door open, stepping onto the porch. The creature looked wary, its pink eyes blinking, standing to the right side of a cop car.
I unlocked the screen door and opened it. The creature stood there just looking at me. Was it really going to let me just shoot it? I raised the taser and fired. Amazingly, both barbs struck, and the creature fell to the gravel. I walked over to its writhing body and dumped the new mag into its head. I reloaded the Glock then let up off the taser. I nudged the creature with my boot; it was still alive, barely. I pulled the taser again, set the barrel of the Glock right over its eye socket, and fired three more shots. I checked again. It was dead.
I went back into the house, walked upstairs, and followed the bloody footsteps out the window. I climbed out onto the roof. The footprints were hard to follow, but there were clear scrapes alongside. The bloody prints stopped at the peak of the roof where small lines of blood ran down either side of the roof indicating they had stood there for some time. I looked around, but there was no sign of anything or anyone. The helicopter that flew off earlier... had it picked this person up?
I needed to get going; this was a mess—dead officers and creatures’ bodies. Soon back up would be here, and if I didn’t want to sit in an interrogation room, I had better leave. I pulled out my phone and called Chris. He picked up right before his voicemail. “Yes,” his voice was gruff and rugged.
“Chris, it’s Anthony. I have a situation in Tennessee. Some local officers are dead, and I’m not going to be able to whisk the monsters’ bodies away.”
“I will be there in five hours. Send me your location. You aren’t being held, are you?”
“No.”
“Are you still at that location?”
“Sure am. Cops should be showing up any minute.”
“Ditch the location until I get down there. I don’t need another Pennsylvania incident.” My mind went back to the jail cell and long interrogation with the state investigator before Chris came and cleared things up.
“I’m on my way out,” I told him, “Pack a taser. If you run across these things, it will give you a chance to blow its brains out.”
“How many are there?”
“I killed a few, but there may be more.”
“Well, if you need a hand, don’t be afraid to ask for help. I have dealt with a few strange things myself.”
“Will do,” I replied. He hung up so quickly, I didn’t beat him to it. I like Chris. He cut through red tape, and as my “boss” he gave me free reign over my work as a private contractor. He has three monsters to his name, or ‘anomaly’s’ as the government liked to call them. He was the most experienced supernatural agent they have at the FBI.
I made my way to my dirt bike and had to sit in a ditch as cop cars flew past me and up the driveway. I pushed it down the road half a mile before daring to start it up.