The Beasts Of Stoneclad Mountain

by Gerry Griffiths

  “Give him a head rub,” Ethan told Mia.

  Mia held Casey tight and reached over with her other hand.

  “But I’d be careful.”

  Mia quickly withdrew her hand. “Why? He won’t bite?”

  “No, but your hand might fall off giving him those rubs.”

  Mia smiled and scratched the top of Blu’s head.

  “So what do you think?” Ethan said.

  “Thanks for the use of the trailer,” Clay replied.

  “Trailer? I’m talking about the cabin.”

  “You’re letting us stay here?” Mia said.

  “Uncle Ethan, we can’t do that.” Generosity was one thing, but Clay couldn’t expect his uncle to give up his place.

  “Son, I insist. Besides, this place is too big for one person.”

  Clay looked around and saw only one other door, which he figured led into a bedroom.

  “But this is your home,” Clay said.

  “Now it’s yours, as long as you want. Besides, it gives me a chance to fix up that old trailer. Been wanting to do it for some time, but never had a reason to. Now I do.”

  Mia stood. “We don’t know how to thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it. I have to go. Got a fence to mend.” Ethan slapped his thigh and Blu came running. He waved over his shoulder as he went down the stairs. He went over to the truck, opened the door for Blu to jump in, and climbed behind the wheel.

  Clay watched as he drove off.

  “I feel so bad,” Mia said.

  “Uncle Ethan has a big heart.” Clay walked over, opened the bedroom door, and looked into the room. “Mia, come see this.”

  Next to the bed was a handcrafted pinewood crib.

  3

  It wasn’t until Caleb Dribble completed coming around the bend that he saw the fallen tree in the headlights, blocking the road. He stomped on the brake, shoving the pedal clear down to the floorboard. The rear tires locked up as the old Chevy truck shook like it was going to come apart, skidding across the hard-packed dirt.

  The front steel bumper collided into the tree. Caleb flung against the steering wheel. A loud squeal sounded from the bed of the truck, followed by a heavy crash against the outside of the cab. Caleb winced from his bruised ribs, turned, and gazed over his shoulder through the rear window that was protected by a metal mesh screen.

  The butcher hog was thrashing about inside the livestock cage, frightened by the jarring impact. In this state, and weighing over three hundred pounds, the swine was extremely dangerous as it slammed against one side of the steel enclosure then rammed against the opposite side, rocking the truck like a canoe about to capsize.

  “Simmer down!” Caleb yelled, furious that the swine was going to injure itself and ruin the meat before he could make the exchange. A pig this size was worth a couple months’ worth of feed and cornmeal. It would hardly seem a fair trade if he were to deliver a dead animal that was beaten to a pulp.

  “I said, quiet down!” But it was useless to try and reason with the frightened animal.

  It was then that Caleb realized the engine had quit. The right headlight was out as a tree limb had bashed out the lamp. He turned the ignition key to restart the truck. The single headlight dimmed as the starter motor whined, but the engine refused to turn over. He switched off the headlight and tried again. This time, he heard a clicking sound under the hood and knew he had drained the battery.

  “Oh, come on!” he yelled, slamming the top of the steering wheel with the palm of his hand.

  The hog continued to batter itself inside the cage.

  Caleb reached for the handle and rolled down the window.

  “Shut the hell up!”

  It was nearing sunrise so there was just enough twilight illuminating the woods around him so that he could just make out the faint silhouettes of the red alders and birch trees on both sides of the road.

  He reached under the bench seat and felt around in the dark. His hand swiped a few empty pint bottles that clinked against one another until he found the heavy cudgel that he sometimes used to conk uncontrollable pigs and knock them unconscious but not enough to kill them. He knew it would be suicide to step inside the livestock cage with the animal as it could pin him up against the steel bars, and if it didn’t crush him to death, it would surely not waste any time making a meal out of him.

  Hogs were known man-eaters.

  Caleb figured he could stand beside the truck, and once the porker was close enough, he could reach in and club the animal on the head. Shut the damn thing up.

  As he grabbed for the door handle, he glanced at the side mirror mounted on the outside of the door.

  A huge figure stood by the rear fender. It had to be eight feet tall as its head was the same height as the top of the livestock enclosure. Caleb reached for the knob to wind up the window then froze when he saw the thing moving toward the driver’s side of the truck.

  Caleb edged away from the window and scooted slowly across the seat. Even with all the hog’s hurly-burly, he could still hear the approach of heavy footfalls. As it got closer, Caleb could smell the creature, a musky stench, as vile as an outhouse’s crapper pit.

  A huge, black fur-covered hand clamped its fat fingers down on the window frame of the door. It was three times the size of Caleb’s hand and looked like a gorilla’s with chipped brown fingernails instead of claws.

  Caleb was trying everything imaginable not to scream, especially when the door buckled as it was pulled out, snapping off the locking mechanism. The door remained on its hinges and swung out a few inches then stopped as the hand let go and disappeared into the darkness.

  Caleb retreated to the other side of the cab and raised his heavy stick in a feeble defense. He glanced into the side mirror on the passenger door.

  Another creature was standing by the rear bumper on that side of the truck.

  “Oh, Jesus.”

  The hog was going crazy, sensing a new danger.

  Caleb stared in the side mirror and watched in horror as the monstrous beast grabbed the steel door to the cage and tore it off the hinges. When the creature’s image in the side mirror disappeared behind the truck, Caleb turned and looked out through the rear window of the cab.

  Caleb watched as the hog was dragged out of the cage. He looked back at the side mirror. One of the creatures was holding the flailing hog up by one of its hind legs—all three hundred pounds—dangling it with only one hand.

  The hog squealed as it struggled to get free.

  Then, with one mighty swing, the creature slammed the hog up against the side of the pickup, killing it instantly.

  Caleb heard the limp body fall to the ground. There were fierce snarls and the rendering of flesh as slopping innards plashed on the dirt.

  The carnage continued on for more than ten minutes. Caleb was too frightened to move. After they were through ripping apart the hog, he feared he would be next.

  He closed his eyes, trembling, waiting for the inevitable.

  But after a few more minutes, he couldn’t hear anything but songbirds chirping as dawn broke through the trees.

  Caleb pushed open the door and stepped from the truck. He walked warily around to the back. A blood trail of gore led into the woods.

  He started to run, slowly at first, then faster and kept on running, the entire two miles back to the hog farm, never once stopping.

  4

  A man’s voice called out, “Ethan, come in. This is Roth, over.”

  Ethan tried to roll over in his bed but something was pressed up against his chest, preventing him from moving.

  Again, the man’s voice boomed in the small trailer. “Ethan, pick up!”

  Ethan opened his eyes and saw that it wasn’t even daylight yet. He sat up in the queen-size bed that took up almost the entire bedroom. He glanced down and saw Blu sprawled out, still fast asleep.

  “If I have to get up, so do you,” he said, and gave Blu a slap on the rump.

  Instead of awakenin
g with alarm, the coonhound opened his eyes gradually and stretched out his legs.

  “Lazy bones.” Ethan crawled across to the foot of the bed and stepped into the hallway. He passed the bathroom and closet and went into the living area where a battery-operated shortwave radio was sitting on a small table in front of the couch. Ethan picked up the hand mike and pressed the talk button.

  “What is it, Roth? Over.”

  The speaker crackled and then Roth said, “I need you to come out and clear my road. Can you do that? Over.”

  “Sure. When?” Ethan asked, clicking off his microphone.

  “As soon as you can.”

  “I’ll be out there in an hour.”

  “An hour’s good. Over and out.”

  Ethan tossed the mike on the table. “Blu! Get your sorry self up!”

  He turned on the propane stove and placed a coffee pot on the burner. Walking back to the closet, he grabbed a shirt, a pair of jeans, and boots, got dressed, and went into the living area.

  Ethan was pouring himself a cup of coffee when Blu finally joined him, yawning and stopping to scratch his side with his rear paw.

  “About time.”

  He filled a thermos with coffee, and put some peppered pemmican into a paper sack for later. He drank some more coffee and put the cup down on the drain board.

  After he slipped a black woolen cap on his head, he put on a heavy jacket. He grabbed his Colt Sauer thirty-ought-six and tucked the rifle under his arm. As soon as he opened the door of the trailer, the frigid air funneling down off the mountain hit him in the face like a wintry slap. He turned up his collar and let Blu pass before he closed the door and went down the steps.

  Ethan went over to the truck, opened the driver’s door. Blu jumped in and curled up on the freezing vinyl in the middle of the bench seat. Ethan put his rifle on the gun rack mounted over the rear window.

  He got in and started the engine, switching on the defroster as the cold engine idled. Satisfied that the engine had warmed up, he put the transmission into gear and drove over to the cabin.

  He got out leaving the door open, went up to the cabin’s front door, and gave it a couple heavy thumps. “Clay! Get up, son!” He waited for a few seconds more then pounded again. “Time for work!”

  He could hear footsteps in the cabin.

  The door slowly opened and Clay peered out. “Uncle Ethan?”

  “Grab some clothes. We’ve got a job.”

  “Uh, yes, sir. Be right out.”

  Ethan let out a sharp whistle. “Blu, get over here.”

  The dog jumped down from the cab and ran around the front of the truck and dashed up on the porch.

  “You stay here.”

  Blu lay on the porch by the front door, with his head down on his front paws.

  “That’s a boy.”

  Ethan walked back to the truck and got behind the wheel. He liked that his nephew hadn’t balked. He almost had to laugh when Clay came bumbling out, almost stumbling over Blu, as he tried fastening up his trousers with one arm in his jacket. He hopped on one foot not having his boot on right and opened the passenger door. He climbed in and shut the door.

  “Morning, Uncle Ethan.”

  “Didn’t interrupt anything, did I?”

  Clay gave him a shocked look as he shivered.

  “Just funning with you, son.”

  Clay glanced out the passenger window. “You leaving Blu here?”

  “Thought you might like him watching over your family.”

  “Thanks, Uncle Ethan.”

  “Here, this should warm you up.” Ethan handed Clay the thermos.

  Clay removed the cap, unscrewed the stopper, and poured a cup of steaming coffee. He took a sip and held the cup with both hands to get some warmth.

  “Mind you don’t spill,” Ethan said, stepping on the accelerator as they headed up the hill.

  “Mia and I really appreciate you letting us stay in your place. Casey slept like a rock in that crib you made.”

  “Glad to hear that,” Ethan said, taking a turn and heading up a rutted road that snaked through the trees. The stiff suspension and the oversized all-terrain snow tires on the International Scout made for a bumpy ride, especially whenever Ethan had to change gears when the cambered track got tricky whenever the throughway narrowed. The last thing he wanted was to bottom out on the drive shaft and screw up the u-joints.

  “What’s up in here?” Clay asked, finishing his coffee and putting the cap back on the thermos.

  “Roth Becker’s hog farm. Called me on the shortwave this morning. Needs us to help clear his road.”

  Ethan slammed on the brakes as they made a turn. The truck rattled as the big tires locked up and the Scout stopped short of hitting the tree lying across the road.

  The livestock truck was parked on the other side with its hood up. Roth and Caleb were both in front of the grill, bent over the engine compartment.

  “Come on, I’ll introduce you,” Ethan said, opening his door. Clay got out on his side. They walked over to the fallen tree. The trunk was three feet in diameter, the limbs and branches tapering up, the topmost part toppled into the brush.

  Ethan and clay climbed over and walked over to the truck.

  “Roth, Caleb, like you to meet my nephew, Clay,” Ethan called over.

  The two men raised their heads and turned. As Ethan got closer, he could see an old car battery on the ground. Caleb was tightening down one of the cables on the post of the replacement.

  Roth wiped his hands with a rag and stuck out his hand. “Please to meet you,” he said and shook Clay’s hand. Caleb raised his hand in a curt wave and slipped on the other battery cable connector.

  Roth motioned to Ethan that they should leave Caleb to his work. The three walked over to the downed tree.

  “Don’t mind him,” Roth apologized.

  Ethan glanced over and saw Caleb slam the hood down and walk over to the driver’s side. As he opened the door, an empty pint glass bottle fell out.

  Clay pointed to a large stain in the road. “Uncle Ethan, look at that.”

  Ethan, Roth, and Clay walked over to a patch of blood-covered intestines, trodden in the dirt. A gory trail led into the trees.

  “Damn things could have at least left something,” Roth said.

  “One of your hogs?” Ethan asked.

  “Even tore up my cage.”

  Ethan looked over at the steel rung door, lying on the ground near the back bumper of the truck. “You know, I could probably fix that for you.”

  “I’d appreciate it. I got some cured gammon I could trade.”

  “Sounds good.” Ethan looked over at the tree in the road. “Looks to be a cord or two. How about Clay and I cut that up, give you half, and you can toss in some salted rashers.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “So what happened? Was it a bear?”

  “Caleb swears it was a pack of skunk apes.”

  “That so,” Ethan said.

  “You mean, like a bigfoot?” Clay asked.

  “Folks around here believe in a lot of things,” Rolf said.

  “Maybe it’s time to get Caleb off of the juice,” Ethan said.

  “I keep trying, but the man’s possessed.”

  “My money it’s a rogue bear.”

  “Well, then, we better stay vigilante. I can’t afford losing any more of my stock. Be seeing you,” Roth said and walked over to the truck where Caleb was waiting.

  Ethan watched as Caleb started up the truck, made a u-turn, and then drove off down the road.

  “Clay, go fetch the chainsaw out of the back of my truck.”

  “Sure thing, Uncle Ethan.”

  Ethan watched his nephew scurry over to the Scout. He went to examine the fallen tree. It was a red cedar, a fine wood for chests and roof shingles. It seemed a shame to just cut it up for firewood. The twig-like leaves were a lush green, and by the looks of the thick branches, the tree was healthy.

  He walked along its length
to the base where the roots were encased in a large clump of dirt, which if the tree were uprighted, would fit precisely in the three-foot-deep hole in the ground. A puzzled look came over his face as he kept staring down at the hole.

  Clay came over, lugging the chainsaw. “Uncle Ethan. Something wrong?”

  “This tree didn’t fall on its own accord. Something shoved over.”

  5

  Mia opened her eyes and saw the faint light on the frosted panes of the bedroom window. The cold air in the room chilled her face, and when she gasped and blew out a puff of air, she could see vapor coming out of her mouth. She glanced over and saw the covers drawn back next to her. She vaguely remembered Clay jumping out of bed to answer the door then coming back for his clothes and kissing her on the neck before hurrying out of the room.

  Reluctantly, she kicked off the heavy blanket and swung her bare feet onto the floor. It was like stepping onto the frigid surface of an iced-over pond. She immediately snatched up a pair of thick socks and put them on.

  She slipped on her robe and looked down at Casey. He looked cozy, fast asleep in his red sleeper pajamas and his matching red woolen cap, snuggled under his quilt.

  Mia decided not to wake him just yet. He would need changing, but it was too cold to undress him. She certainly didn’t want to start her day with Casey bawling, and decided that she had to find a way to warm the place up.

  But first, she stepped into the small washroom just off the bedroom. She poured some water from a pitcher into a porcelain washbasin and splashed her face. After she dried her face, she sat down on the toilet seat resting on top of a five-gallon bucket and relieved herself. She removed the seat and put the lid on the bucket.

  Mia stepped out of the bedroom, leaving the door opened just a crack in case Casey should wake up, and went into the kitchen area. She bent over and opened the cast-iron door on the wood-burning stove. There was a remnant of charred wood lying in five inches of gray ash.

  A wooden crate was next to the stove with everything Mia would need to stoke up a new fire. Mia grabbed a hand trowel and scooped out the ash into a pail. Once she was done, she wadded up some paper and placed it inside. Next, she laid in two logs in one direction then placed two more on top in the other direction.