by MrAshleyD
****
Man-Eater
Jack Sullivan sit at the round table on the patio of his motel room staring at the notepad in front of him as he strokes his head and twirls his pen. It is early morning and Jack is already dressed for the day as he sits out in the crisp morning air of the small mountain community tucked away in the pines. Jack breaks his gaze from the notepad and looks through the patio door and across the room to the front door. A sudden knock at he front door startles Jack, causing him to drop his pen. He composes himself and checks the time on the cheap Timex watch upon his wrist. Jack jumps from his seat and makes way to answer the knock at the door.
He opens the door to find a well-dressed senior woman with short silver hair and a wild-eyed and nervous look about her. She scans the room and then glances over her shoulder. Jack breaks the silence, “Ms. Perry?”
“Yes. I am the one who called you,” she answers with a raspy voice of a life long chain smoker.
“Please, come in,” Jack Invites, as Ms. Jane Perry makes her way in before he completes his sentence. “ Do you mind having a seat with me on the patio?” She fumbles through the pockets of her dress slacks to retrieve a pack of cigarettes and lighter. She never answers, but follows Jack across the room, scanning as if waiting for something or someone to pop out at her. She lights her cigarette and takes a long drag as soon as she crosses the threshold of the patio and sits near simultaneously with Jack at the table.
“Ms. Perry, I was surprised when you called to speak with me,” Jack announces. “The people of the community haven’t been very receptive to me. So, you do know I’m here too…”
“You’re here to report about the murders that happened in the mountains,” She interrupts exhaling a cloud of smoke.
“Murders,” he asks. “ I was told they were bear attacks.”
“So they say.”
“You think they were murdered,” he anxiously asks. “By who?”
“Not by who, by what?”
“I don’t follow.”
“I’ve lived in this town my entire life and lately there has been some very strange things happening around here.” Jack quickly grabs his pen and begins writing down Ms. Perry’s words.
“Strange,” he asks.
“Well, this has always been a small mining community. It started out with a couple hundred people or so and everyone knew everyone. But, in the last five years, the mine has begun to expand and so has the town. There has been some weird people moving in from back east.”
“What do you mean by weird,” Jack asks as he continues to write.
“You never see them out in the day time. They only come out in the evening and they are not very friendly. Plus, the only work the night shifts at the mine. Just weird people.”
“Do you think one of them could have killed the campers?”
“Their weird, not crazy, but you never know,” she ponders aloud. “Mr. Sullivan this isn’t the first attack like this.”
“Really, because I have never heard of a bear killing four people at one time before,” he responds.
“True, never this many at one time, but my husband Edgar was killed the same way as those men were ten years ago.”
“I’m so sorry,” he says pausing from his writing to see the old woman’s eyes pool with water.
“When I heard how those men were killed, I immediately thought of Edgar. Slashes to the head, chest, and their throats ripped out,” choked up, she pauses. Trembling she desperately lights another cigarette. “I found Edgar the very same way. We were up hiking that weekend and he wandered off to get some firewood. He had been gone awhile before I went to go find him, and when I did I found him butchered like those men.” She stops as he words begin to drown out by sobs.
“Are you sure you want to continue,” Jack tries to console. She composes herself and nods her head.
“I caught a glimpse of the thing that killed him,” she says puffing her cigarette. Jack notices a mortified look of terror upon her face. “It wasn’t a bear. It was tall an hairy like a bear, but it ran upright like a man.”
“What was it,” Jack asks sympathetically.
“I don’t know. The sheriff said it was a bear, but bears don’t run like that. Some has even had the nerve to mock me and say it was Bigfoot,” she exhales as she stamps out her cigarette. “Whatever it is, I’m sure it killed those men.”
“Ms. Perry, I apologize and thank you for your time,” Jack says as he finishes his writing. She stands and gathers herself.
“Mr. Sullivan, I suggest you get the hell out of here while you still can,” she demands. “Whatever that thing is, it is still out there. Lurking, waiting in those woods and I believe this is just the beginning.” She departs the patio and exits the motel room. Jack rocks backward into his chair staring at his notes. Jack grabs his pen, and at the bottom of his notebook, he writes: WEREWOLF?
