Never Say Sever in Deadwood

by Ann Charles

  Dominick moved over to the shelf-like windowsill, sitting partway on it, one foot dangling. His black pants were made of fine wool, I could tell in spite of the ten feet or so separating us. And those shoes of his were most likely Italian-made. His whole ensemble was rather extravagant, especially for a visit to a derelict middle school in Lead. If he was going to keep calling clandestine meetings like this, he really should try to blend in better.

  He fiddled with a broken piece of plaster on the sill next to him. “I find it amusing how facts are twisted over time until they resemble nothing even close to the truth.” He didn’t look amused, though. More disgusted, judging from that curl in his upper lip.

  “So the myths are wrong,” Aunt Zoe snapped. “Unless you insisted we rush up here to rub our noses in our ignorance, stop wasting our time and share what you know about Violet’s newest problem.”

  Dominick’s gaze turned downright predatory. “I do admire the fire in you, Zoe. We could have been extraordinary together.”

  Aunt Zoe’s eyes narrowed. “No more game playing, Dominick. You gave me your word.”

  He faked a pout for a moment before continuing. “It is correct that a Nachzehrer is a reanimated terror of human origins, but it does not have the tendencies of the fabled vampire. I suspect that part of the myth came from an unlucky observer who witnessed one of the creatures claw its way out of a grave.”

  Yikes! I’d seen enough zombie movies to picture that scene with bone-chilling clarity. “And the thing about it eating its own death shroud?”

  “It is not an actual shroud.” He brushed the piece of plaster onto the floor. “Think of it more like a cocoon.”

  “A cocoon?” Harvey shot me a wrinkled brow. “What sort of critter are we dealin’ with here?”

  “One with astounding vigor and an insatiable hunger,” Dominick answered.

  Harvey leaned closer and said in my ear, “Reminds me of you when yer in heat and yer stallion rides into town.”

  My face warmed. I gave the buzzard the evil eye before focusing back on Dominick. “Go on.”

  “Der Nachzehrer is the final form of an ancient pest left over from a time when violence was a way of life. Back then, survival was a constant battle.”

  How was that time different from the here and now? Since moving to Deadwood and finding out I’d come from a long line of Executioners, I’d been dodging violent killers left and right.

  “Final form?” Aunt Zoe asked. “Explain that.”

  “They are parasitic in nature.” He crossed his arms. “You must think of what we are dealing with here not as merely a dead human brought back to life, but rather a ‘host’ that has experienced a metamorphosis.”

  I didn’t like the words “parasitic” or “host.” Both conjured the idea of tapeworms and maggots, which were high on my list titled “Horrific Shit to Avoid at All Costs.”

  “Are you saying a Nachzehrer is like some kind of mutant being?” I asked, though I wasn’t a big fan of the word “mutant,” either. I preferred talk of kitties and puppies. Hell, even chickens.

  “ ‘Mutant’ fits, I suppose.” Dominick’s foot swung slowly back and forth. “You see, a Nachzehrer will progress through stages before emerging in its final form. The process is really quite intriguing. They start very small, in an egg form, much like a fly.”

  Harvey and I exchanged a look of disbelief, but we both kept our lips closed and let Dominick continue.

  “This egg is carefully implanted in a human host, usually through the ear or nostrils.”

  I cringed. Crap, I had a feeling this biology lesson was going to give me nightmares.

  “Why a human?” Aunt Zoe asked.

  “Because they are the easiest to catch and have the least genetic resistance as a host.”

  I bristled at his tone of superiority, but kept my mouth shut.

  “Once secured inside the host, the egg will hatch.”

  Oh no, please don’t say …

  “A larva then emerges and begins to devour.”

  I tugged at my right earlobe, feeling an empathetic itch inside my ear canal.

  “Devour what?” Harvey asked.

  I made a face at him. Did we have to go there?

  “The host, of course, from the inside.”

  “Dear Lord!” Aunt Zoe covered her mouth.

  The itching sensation moved deeper. I rubbed the skin where my cheek met my ear to no avail.

  “The soft organs are consumed first,” Dominick said without even a twinge of revulsion. “This is because the larval form of a Nachzehrer instinctively knows what parts to eat and when so that it can keep its host alive as long as possible.” He shifted, his foot stilling. “While it eats, the larva excretes a type of mucus that acts as a stimulant, reinvigorating the damaged tissues, prolonging the death of the host.”

  The itch moved again, settling in the back of my throat. I swallowed hard a couple of times, trying to make it go away.

  “Within a relatively short time,” Dominick said, “the host grows weak, appearing more and more ill, until eventually the human collapses into a coma. Soon enough, breathing stops, and the heart, too, so the host appears to be dead. But the host is still alive. Well, in a manner of speaking. This signifies the end of the larval stage.”

  I cleared my throat once, twice, and then again.

  Dominick paused, his brow lifting slightly.

  “Sorry. I have an itch in my throat.” I stuck my pinkie in my ear and shook it, rattling the itch away.

  “Maybe somethin’ planted an egg in your ear last night,” Harvey said under his breath, wiggling his eyebrows at me.

  I shuddered and then waved for our teacher to continue his lesson.

  “At this time, the larva goes through a metamorphosis, which in turn spurs a chemical change within the host.”

  Aunt Zoe groaned. “Let me guess, it becomes a pupa.”

  “More or less. This change causes a thin viscous coating to form on the outer layer of the skin. Over several days, it quickly thickens until the whole body appears to be wrapped in a cocoon.”

  “The death shroud,” she said, earning a nod in return.

  “Inside this cocoon, more changes are occurring as the creature takes on its final ‘adult’ form—der Nachzehrer.”

  “So, it busts out of the grave and gobbles up its own cocoon?” Harvey asked, sounding skeptical.

  “Sort of like a butterfly,” Aunt Zoe said.

  Dominick frowned. “More like a parasitic wasp.”

  “Holy shit.” I scratched a new itch on the back of my neck.

  “It is my understanding that the viscous coating is actually full of nutrients the creature needs to sustain itself until it can begin to feed on something else.”

  “You mean someone else.” Aunt Zoe’s eyes reflected the revulsion now lodged in my chest.

  “Correct.” Dominick flicked another piece of plaster off the sill. “As I said before, they are voracious. They need food often in order to sustain their strength and keep their host from decomposing. Their speed is exceeded only by their strength.”

  I covered my face with my hands. “This is madness.”

  “And if one of them critters takes a bite out of …” Harvey trailed off.

  “It could become infected like any other bite, but you will not turn into a Nachzehrer. As I said before, transformation requires the implantation of an egg.”

  My skin wanted to crawl off my bones and go hide under the bed.

  Harvey let out a gargling sound. “Reminds me how a coffin fly will burrow down into a grave to lay its eggs near a corpse.”

  I lowered my hands and glared at him. “Really? You had to go there?”

  “Where do the eggs come from?” Aunt Zoe pressed, her face slightly pale when she glanced my way.

  “Another realm. It is my belief that they have been transported here to create a ‘pack’ needed for a hunt.”

  “A hunt for what?” Harvey asked.

  I knew the
answer even before Dominick looked my way, but still winced in anticipation.

  “A Scharfrichter, in this case.”

  Last November, a partially burned body was found out by the trees along the Mickelson Trail, an old railroad line turned recreational playground. Knowing what I did now, I wondered if someone had tried to burn the body to stop the metamorphic process.

  After doing a crime scene song and dance, the authorities had collected the charred body and stuck it in the meat locker behind Mudder Brothers Funeral Parlor—aka the interim morgue. A short time later, the burned body disappeared after someone (or something) had made short work of the thick cooler door and its heavy-duty lock.

  Fast forward to early December. Cooper stopped by Aunt Zoe’s one evening to tell us about a case of hit-and-run, only in this instance, the driver didn’t “run” after hitting the victim—except for hightailing it to the police after the partially burned victim stood up and growled at him. Then its arm fell off. Then it rushed the poor driver, trying to claw its way into the car with its remaining arm.

  At that point, Aunt Zoe had informed us we most likely had a Nachzehrer on our hands, but the only help she could offer was how to kill it. However, if the myths were wrong about its origin, then …

  “How do you kill a Nachzehrer?” I asked Dominick.

  “You must sever the head from the body.”

  Come on! “Can’t I just burn it?”

  “That has been tried before. Unfortunately, the creature’s flesh contains some sort of fire retardant. The skin will smolder, but fire will not destroy the creature.”

  That explained what was found on the Mickelson Trail. “But it can lose a limb?”

  “That limb will regrow with time and the proper nutrients.” He stood, pulling a pocket watch from inside his coat. He glanced down at it before tucking it away again. “The only way to execute a Nachzehrer is by severing the connection between the spinal cord and the brain.”

  “And what about placing a copper coin in its mouth?” Aunt Zoe asked. “Is that necessary?”

  Dominick sneered. “A silly fable.”

  “When you say ‘pack’ …” I began, returning to the reason a Nachzehrer was currently roaming about the Black Hills.

  “How many are we talking?” Aunt Zoe caught on to my train of thought.

  “Typically …” he paused, rubbing his jaw. “I’d say no more than three. Although I once heard of a pack of four.”

  “Why so few?” Harvey asked. “Wouldn’t they be of the more-critters-the-merrier notion?”

  “Well, for one, Nachzehrer eggs are extremely difficult to obtain, not to mention transport. There are only a handful of known queens in existence, and it takes years for them to produce what tends to be a small cache of eggs.”

  There was a queen Nachzehrer? Eek. I really needed to find a new vocation.

  “For another, the creatures can be a touch unruly.”

  I scoffed, thinking of the taxidermy shop and all of the bites taken out of the animals’ hides.

  “The bounty hunters that opt to use Nachzehrer for the hunt can control only a few at a time. When there are too many in the pack, they have been known to turn on their master and devour the hunter as well as the hunted.”

  Served the bounty-hunting bastard right. “Are they used solely to hunt Executioners?”

  “No, they will hunt other hybrids and purebreds alike. However, it is a well-established fact that the blood of a Scharfrichter is a rare treat. It will stir a frenzy in many different breeds of pests and demons.”

  I’d heard that before, only it came from a certain uppity Scharfrichter who’d been dead for well over a century and had recently saved me from a demon-copulation disaster.

  Dominick pointed at me. “You must find the Nachzehrer that was spotted last night.”

  Now he was starting to sound like Cooper, damn it.

  “You must use the creature to lead you to the bounty hunter that bred it, along with any other pests brought into this realm. We cannot have this vermin running loose. It will bring more trouble to the Black Hills.”

  “You mean due to more law enforcement showing up?” I asked. Deadwood and Lead certainly weren’t big enough for more than one Detective Hawke trying to pin crimes on my ass.

  “I mean before more hunters show up to join the hunt. Killing a Scharfrichter is an impressive feat.” When I stared at him, he added, “You cannot let the number of your enemies grow beyond your ability to keep them in check.”

  Yeah, I’d heard that warning before, and experienced the same tightening in my gut then as well.

  I looked at Aunt Zoe. “This is nuts, you know. Parasitic creatures using human hosts like some kind of macabre puppet. You can’t make this shit up.”

  She put her arm around my shoulders. “Be that as it may, you have a job to do.”

  Harvey was still eying Dominick. “You think there are more than one of those critters runnin’ around these hills?”

  “It is possible. As I said, three is the typical pack size.”

  “Along with a hunter leadin’ the charge?” Harvey pressed.

  “Correct.”

  Harvey turned away, muttering, “Gonna need me some more dynamite.”

  “Or not.” That thought made my gut tighten, too.

  Aunt Zoe gave me a squeeze and then stepped away. “Will the hunter require decapitation as well?”

  “Not necessarily, but removing the head does tend to be the most reliable method for eliminating life from most creatures.”

  I let out a high-pitched laugh. “A decapitation a day keeps the Nachzehrer away.”

  “Yer losin’ your vertical hold, Sparky.”

  Harvey didn’t know the half of it. “Why are you helping me, Dominick? What’s in this for you?”

  “Your skills will be needed for what I believe is yet to come our way.”

  I smirked. Of course. My kind were merely tools in his eyes. Weapons to be used when necessary and then tossed aside. “And how will I catch a Nachzehrer? Using bait?”

  I’d used bait in past hunts, including putting my own butt on the line when it came to catching the lidérc.

  “That is up to you. You should know, though, that the creatures can smell Scharfrichter blood from a great distance.”

  A screeching sound came from out in the hallway, drawing Dominick’s gaze for a moment. And then his frown. “You will start the hunt for them today,” he said, rising and ushering us toward the doorway.

  “I will not,” I said to him in the hallway. “Today is my day off. I will start the hunt tomorrow.”

  Or maybe Saturday. Then again, I had a busy weekend coming up with that dang Paranormal Realty premiere on Sunday. Monday would work better.

  “Waiting is foolish,” he chastised, standing in the light spilling out through the classroom door.

  I held my ground, both physically and mentally. “When I hunt is my decision, Dominick.”

  Harvey opened the outside door and held it for us while Aunt Zoe lingered at my side.

  “Besides, I still need to find that damned imp of yours.”

  He shook his head as he backed deeper into the shadowed hall. “Imps are very tricky. You’d be better off starting with the Nachzehrer. They will be a less challenging foe, even as a pack.”

  Really? A pack of voracious parasites were easier to catch and kill than one little imp?

  “Who I execute first is also my decision, not yours.”

  He needed to understand that I would not heed his orders now or in the future, nor would I be his tool to use when and where he chose.

  “Your stubbornness will be the death of you,” he growled as he stepped back into the murky shadows, leaving me with one final warning. “Time never waits for anyone, Scharfrichter, and neither do bounty hunters.”

  Chapter Five

  Two hours later of “time” having to hold its horses …

  “Violet, are you still in the tub?” Aunt Zoe’s voice came throug
h the bathroom door. “You have a phone call.”

  I lowered the book I was reading about a female mountain climber struggling to make a round-trip summit of K2, the second-highest and the deadliest peak in the world. Like the heroine, I wondered if I would survive to tell my tale after my toils here in the Black Hills were all over. If it would ever be over, of course. Judging from the multiple volumes of my family’s horror-filled history, I wasn’t so …

  “Violet!” Aunt Zoe knocked this time. “Are you okay?”

  After checking to make sure I had enough bubbles to hide my hills and dales, I placed the book on the floor outside the tub and grabbed the washcloth hanging nearby.

  “I’m reading a book,” I said in lieu of an answer while draping the cloth over my chest. “The door is open.”

  Aunt Zoe stepped inside, closing the door behind her. She looked at the book on the floor. “Cold Horizon? You’re reading that in the middle of winter?”

  “It’s exciting.” And romantic.

  “You’re supposed to be relaxing on your day off.”

  “I am. Climbing mountains is less stressful than hunting and killing monsters.”

  “If you say so.” She brought my cell phone over. “He says it’s urgent. It’s muted.”

  “Is it Doc?” I asked as I took the phone, unmuting the call.

  She shook her head and moved over to the sink counter, apparently intending to hang out and listen in on the call.

  Sending another questioning look in her direction, I hit the speaker button. “Hello?”

  “Who is this?” Cornelius Curion’s voice came through the speaker loud and clear.

  “You called me, Spirit Miser.” I used the name Prudence had given him after she’d paid a visit to the locked-away parts of his psyche and found a prison filled with ectoplasmic degenerates there.

  “Are we sure about that?” he asked.

  Were we …? Actually, I wasn’t since I had been enjoying a bubble bath when the actual connection was made.

  “There is the possibility that you used remote viewing to visit me mentally,” he continued. “And then instigated a telepathic link to communicate your need to talk to me. We cannot be positive who really called whom without further investigation and testing.”