Before she could flinch, membranous wings clawed open, grabbed the air. The coal—now the flying thing—swooped once around her head and disappeared into the frozen night.
Her eyes followed the blur until vertigo pulled and she had to grab her knees to keep from falling off her improvised chair. The wet logs grouped by the fire made slippery furniture.
Bracing her legs, she realized that the beer was getting to her—definitely; she’d have to slow down soon. Her balance was going. She chuckled and then looked across the fire at her companions. They were gaping at her.
“What?” She frowned, searching their shadowed faces. Some instinctive memory brought a hand up. She swatted the air in front of her. “What?”
“Holy shit, sweetie!” her boyfriend Randy howled. “You must be wasted!” He laughed. “That bat almost took your eyes out!”
“What bat?” Kelly struggled to regain her composure. She straightened her back then gathered her long hair behind her shoulders with a left and right swing of her head. She squinted into the icy pine branches above. The tall red trunks disappeared into ragged darkness.
“Wasn’t a bat, anyway.” She tried to recover, remembering only a flame-etched shape. “Too cold...it was a blue jay!”
“A blue jay? Ah Kelly!” Mike Keeshig was her older brother. He slapped his thigh and took a long pull on his Old Milwaukee. The American beer tasted bitter and cheap, but he preferred spending his money on the ladies at the Sweetwater Inn. Beer was all the same anyway if it was cold enough.
He chuckled, scanning the shadows overhead with his large brown eyes. The wind had the high branches swaying; they knocked against each other with hollow tones. Stars showed in a few jagged gaps, burning in the dark blue winter sky. “Was a bat—I saw it. A big one too!”
“Nah,” Kelly said, grabbing a fresh can of beer from a hole in the snow beside her—she almost tumbled off her seat again. Their snowmobiles had run down a good flat place for a fire near an old fence line. The cedar rails burned hot and the parked machines formed a good windbreak across their backs. They were miles from the highway with nothing around them but snow, shadows and bush. “Was a whiskey jack then…”
“Ah shit sister, some Indian you are,” Mike chuckled, pushing his black hair from his face. “Grandfather is right. We’re not fit to hunt poodles!”
“Grandfather never hunted no bats!” Kelly stabbed a finger across the fire. “What do you know anyway? You couldn’t hit a bat with a baseball!” She laughed at her own joke.
“Only a bat flies that close to a fire, blind like they are,” Mike said, scowling.
“True,” Randy agreed, nudging Mike’s elbow. He was hesitant to join the discussion knowing how angry Kelly could get when she was opposed. But he shrugged and hoped she was drunk enough to forget it. “And owls would hate the light.” He started asking Mike for a smoke but his friend suddenly shot a hand upward, pointing.
“There!” Mike lurched to his feet—trying to steady his footing on the uneven snow—his beers were getting on top of him too. “Right there.”
All three watched a black, finger-winged creature flap out of the shadows. In the flickering firelight they could see it was a bat—the venous membranes crimson. It was a big one too and in the queer light its eyes reflected red.
In the open silence of the frozen forest, against the low crackle of flames they could hear the leathery snap of its wings as it crossed the fire pit. The light tossed a creepy shadow high on the trees as it came straight at Kelly again. Her eyes were wide, glinting orange. Her whole body leaned away. There was no doubt she saw it this time.
Then there was a loud snap—something strong—like a flag blowing in a windstorm and the hard blunt shape of an owl hurtled across the open space. Its broad wings smothered the branches overhead with darkness. Talons reached out like demon’s hands and tore the bat from its flight. The smaller creature disappeared behind a flurry of feathers. The owl, crisp wings hissing in the frigid air, climbed the wind out of sight, into the high branches of the pines beyond the reach of firelight.
“Did you see that?” Randy was up dancing and pointing into the trees in his excitement.
“Course. Course.” Kelly snapped out of her paralysis, took a couple of hesitant steps toward him, and then ran for the shelter of his arms. Randy watched the trees, sucking foam from the top of his beer can. He’d dropped it when the owl attacked.
“But I never saw nothing like it before.” Mike put his hands over his hat brim to shield his eyes, moved well away from the fire studying the branches against the stars. “No bat and owl—that’s crazy!” He chuckled, “Blue jay! Kelly, for Christ’s sake.”
“Do you think…” Kelly started, but was silenced when a tattered scream tore the night. The sound bounced off the frozen bark, off the snow and crackled in the hard winter air around them. Before they could react or speak, there was a powerful ripping sound high up in the trees—a gushing wet rending noise—and then nothing.
Mike pointed. Fifteen feet from them, at the edge of the firelight, a crisp pattering crackle began—something dripping—followed by a heavy thump. A branch maybe, some pinecones, had fallen and broken the surface of the snow. They shielded their eyes against a spangled curtain of frost that drifted down on them.
Mike pulled his flashlight out of his pocket, played the yellow beam past the edge of the firelight in time to see a dark stain burning through the surface of the snow, collapsing it—and then he gasped. A big brown wing with white-flecked feathers lay at the base of the tree. The torn stump steamed, a tangle of wet, ripped muscle.
“Holy shit!” Randy moaned, tightening his grip on Kelly.
She backed up to the fire, pulling Randy with her, gasping a warning as Mike walked toward the mess in the snow. He grunted, inspecting the stains and turned the light to the ruined wing. Then the flashlight beam slid up the giant tree trunks and into the branches. In the yellow light they could see thin dustings of snow falling on him.
“Forget it, Mike!” Kelly called after him. Her breath was coming in gasps. She tightened her grip on Randy. Adrenaline was washing the alcohol out of her system. She didn’t want anything to do with this Crocodile Hunter shit—you know how that ended up! Then a strangled cry burst from Mike and he dropped his flashlight. His bulky silhouette suddenly barreled through the snow toward them.
“No fucking owl! No fucking BAT!” he cried as he passed them, and then jumped onto his snowmobile.
“Go. Go. Go. NOW!” Mike shouted, turning his sled’s engine over. The machine roared twice and he was tearing over the snow to the north.
Kelly looked at Randy, jaw hanging stupidly—their expressions twisted over Mike’s behavior. Is he kidding? Then a rain of drifting snow, branches and twigs started falling on them—knocking new plumes of sparks from the fire. Their disbelieving looks dropped when heavy, scrabbling sounds came from the trees directly above them.
They looked up.
Something was moving through the high branches backlit by a half moon that rode the snow clouds like a sailing ship. Something big, and it was climbing down.
They ran.
Kelly’s snowmobile started right away. Randy’s hesitated—died—started and stopped before he swore and leapt behind Kelly on her Yamaha. The pair roared away from the fire into the winter night.
Neither of them turned to see the large dark shape move effortlessly out of the tree. They didn’t see the silhouette shifting against the blaze.
End of this eBook sample.
The story continues in
BENT STEEPLE
G. Wells Taylor
Discover other titles by G. Wells Taylor at
Smashwords.com:
The Apocalypse Trilogy
Zombies, Angels and the Four Horsemen fight for control of the World of Change.
Book 1: WHEN GRAVEYARDS YAWN (A FREE Wildclown Novel)
Book 2: THE FORSAKEN
Book 3: THE FIFTH HORSEMAN
Wildclown M
ysteries
Detective Wildclown’s case files in the World of Change.
Book 1: WHEN GRAVEYARDS YAWN (A FREE Wildclown Novel)
Book 2: WILDCLOWN HARD-BOILED
Book 3: WILDCLOWN HIJACKED
Book 4: MENAGERIE – A Wildclown Novel
Book 5: THE NIGHT ONCE MORE – A Wildclown Novel
THE CORPSE: HARBINGER (Adventures of a Long-Dead Detective)
The Variant Effect
Old heroes battle a toxic zombie menace from the past.
Book 1: SKIN EATERS: (FREE eBOOK)
Book 2: GREENMOURNING
Book 3: COMING 2016
The Variant Effect: PAINKILLER (FREE Novella)
Dracula of the Apes
This trilogy picks up where Dracula left off and Tarzan of the Apes began.
Book 1: THE URN (FREE eBOOK)
Book 2: THE APE
Book 3: THE CURSE
Horror Fiction
Modern twists on vampires, ghosts and monsters.
BENT STEEPLE
MOTHER’S BOY
MEMORY LANE
The Gene Spiral Series
Frankenstein revisited.
6 – PORTRAIT OF A 21ST CENTURY SNUFF FIGHTER
Translations
WHEN GRAVEYARDS YAWN (Polish Language Version)
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
G. WELLS TAYLOR was born in Oakville, Ontario, Canada in 1962, but spent most of his early life north of there in Owen Sound where he went on to study Design Arts at a local college. He later traveled to North Bay, Ontario to complete Canadore College’s Journalism program before receiving a degree in English from Nipissing University. Taylor worked as a freelance writer for small market newspapers and later wrote, designed and edited for several Canadian niche magazines.
He joined the digital publishing revolution early with an eBook version of his first novel When Graveyards Yawn that has been available online since 2000. Taylor published and edited the Wildclown Chronicle e-zine from 2001-2003 that showcased his novels, book trailer animations and illustrations, short story writing and book reviews alongside titles from other up-and-coming horror, fantasy and science fiction writers.
Still based in Canada, Taylor continues with his publishing plans that include additions to the Wildclown Mysteries and sequels to the popular Variant Effect series.
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