“Because he’s useless,” I muttered. “Did you eat?”
“Yeah, what took you so long?”
“I was busy.”
“Doing what?” she tossed a quizzical glance my way.
Trying not to get eaten! “Finishing my chores.”
We headed inside and I decided to wash the dishes, provided my hands stopped shaking. Dishes washed, I headed toward the couch and collapsed on it. The girls were too busy watching Sponge Bob to notice how nervous and jumpy I appeared. Every time I heard a noise outside, I nearly jumped out of my skin. As hard as these encounters were, there wasn’t a thing I could do about my creature stalker.
Cynthia and Nanette sat side by side on the floor in front of the TV. The girls squealed in delight and laughed at something Sponge Bob did.
That weekend threatened to be one of the longest of my entire life. The worst thing, aside from the obvious, was that I’d barely had any time to talk to Kyran during classes and I didn’t get a chance to see him before I left. Bored, I ran upstairs to retrieve my laptop and ran back downstairs to sit on the couch. I didn’t want to leave the girls alone, so I decided to surf the Internet while they watched Nickelodeon.
Turning on the laptop, I decided to do some research. Not knowing what exactly I was up against, I located my favorite search engine, Google, and typed in the specific characteristics of the animal I’d seen. Different results popped up the minute I hit enter, everything from bears to dogs, cats, wolves, and even reptiles. Reptiles? That certainly made no sense. Whatever this beast was, it certainly wasn’t a reptile; that much I could tell. I scrolled down several sites until one particular word caught my attention: werewolf.
Was it even possible? Did people really believe in this kind of thing? I scoffed at myself. How could I even ask myself such a question after what I’d seen? That thing wasn’t exactly a cute and defenseless puppy. What I saw was no wolf, and it certainly was no bear either.
Irritated with my train of thought, I started to close the laptop when a particular picture caught my attention. I scrolled down until the tiny picture was in perfect sight and then clicked on it. The image suddenly grew into a reasonable sized picture of a drawing someone had made of a werewolf. What caught my attention wasn’t the picture itself—no—it was the eerie resemblance the drawing had to the creature I’d seen a little over an hour ago. In fact, the drawing was so stupendously exact that I thought they had to be the same being.
When I clicked on the picture, it took me directly to a link of a webpage that had massive information on supernatural beings. Most of the material was posted by one Al Lowenstein, who had a doctorate in anthropology. The drawing was made by him. He had tons of information and theories about supernatural creatures, and his specialty was werewolves.
There was no way that man could have sketched that picture without ever seeing one of those creatures. The page had a link to a forum. Curiosity won over and I ended up clicking on it. I scrolled down to read what others had written. I’d say ninety percent of the forum comments made no sense whatsoever. They read mostly from “I’m married to a werewolf” to “My husband’s so hairy he looks like a werewolf.” Oh, and my personal favorite, “I think I’m a werewolf because I sleepwalk and wake up naked in the woods without being able to remember a thing.” Two words came to mind: crack head.
Shaking my head, I continued to read and dismiss the many postings. But one particular post stood out from the rest. It was from a B. Smith and the title read: “They should all be killed—eliminated.” For some reason, I was truly intrigued by this one. I clicked on the title, which took me directly to the post.
For those of you who think these creatures, raised from the very depths of hell itself to wreak havoc on earth, aren’t real, let me just say you are sadly mistaken. I was once as narrow-minded as you all are and I paid dearly for it. My husband is dead, killed and eaten by one of these creatures. People might think I’m crazy because I claim a werewolf killed my husband, but no truer statement has ever left my mouth. Trust me when I say they are real and they live among us, appearing normal but hiding what they truly are. Beware of whom you trust; beware of whom you allow into your life. When you least expect it—that neighbor, friend, teacher, roommate, boyfriend awakens you to a world you’ll wish you’d never witnessed.
The post was both intriguing and disturbing. Why would someone bother to leave a message no one would believe anyway? I mean, let’s face it, people don’t believe in anything anymore, and reading this sure wasn’t going to help matters at all. This person could be someone whose favorite pastime was to annoy the readers of Mr. Lowenstein’s webpage. Her postings all read the same. She posted the same message over and over again on every new topic. And at the end of every post her signature read…
B. Smith
Carter Lake, Iowa
Why would this person leave a last name, an initial, and possible location of residence as a signature in all her posts? Did she want people to contact her? Or was this a person posting a false name in order to throw people off? I was perplexed, but nevertheless quickly found a pen and piece of paper to write down all this information. I needed to find out whether or not this B. Smith was a real person or just another wacko looking for her fifteen minutes of fame. I could manage to do anything if I set my mind to it, and I had already set my mind to do this. I added the page to my favorites so it would be easy to find, and then shut the computer off.
Once my laptop was off, I turned to look at the clock just above the chimney. It was well past seven o’clock. At that point, my phone was dead and so was I. The activities of the day caught up to me quickly and I was soon feeling tired and lethargic. Lying face down on the couch, I rested my head on both arms and watched the girls as they continued to be entertainment by Sponge Bob and his pals. My eyes started to feel heavy and it took a lot of effort to keep them from closing. The last image I remember seeing before dozing off was of one of the cartoon character’s hitting himself on the head with a hammer.
Horrible images assaulted my mind while I slept.
People screamed in terror, running scared, many covered in blood, some dying. The beasts, several of them, were chasing after the terrified people. A woman stood alone amongst the chaos. Her head was bowed, her long, sandy-colored hair covering her face. She whimpered as the beasts ran by her as they sought their meager meals in desperation.
An innocent woman dropped to the ground screaming as one of the beasts leaped on top of her, and with one single bite ripped her throat apart. The young woman nearby watched through the veil of her hair as many innocent people lost their lives. There wasn’t a thing she could do. These animals were bloodthirsty and people were their favorite prey. One particular creature dislodged itself from the activities and regarded the woman with interest. She wanted to run but her legs wouldn’t work. She was paralyzed, glued to that particular spot on the ground.
The beast ran toward her, leaping over another fallen victim. Ferocity glittered in its dark eyes. She was going to die like the others. The creature stopped just inches away from her face, its hot breath pushing her hair away to reveal her face. The girl was…me!
I stood there watching this beast stare at me with such raw hunger I thought it would devour me whole. My limbs wouldn’t move, every muscle completely paralyzed by fear. It growled at me—the most terrifying sound I’d ever heard in my life. My entire body shook with the sound of its growl. It lifted one hand-like paw in the air. Just as I thought it was going to tear the skin away from my skull, it charged forward instead, tucking me beneath its massive arm and ran on two legs toward the dark, scary woods…
“No! No!” I awoke with a start, sitting up on the couch, fearing I was going to come face to face with the beast of my dream. No one was there. The living room was empty except for me. The TV caught my attention. I realized with a start that Nanette and Cynthia weren’t sitting in front of the TV like they had been before I fell asleep.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The clock above the chimney marked ten o’clock. Thinking the girls might have headed upstairs to go to sleep, I rose and ran to their bedroom in hopes that I would find them there. They weren’t in their beds and my heart began to leap as panic began to build inside of me.
Where were the girls?
I ran back downstairs, through the living room, toward the front door. The door was closed and still locked. A faint whimper caught my attention. Frantic, I ran from the front door and headed toward the kitchen where the back door was located. I didn’t need to reach the entire length of the kitchen to see that the door was wide open. Jesus! Please let them be okay!
“Nanette! Cynthia!” I called to them, and to my relief I heard a response.
“We’re over here, Marjie,” Cynthia called back. As soon as I made my way to the back porch, I saw the girls sitting on the steps playing with our two missing dogs Sassy and Kennel.
“Look, Marjie, Sassy and Kennel came back!” Nanette’s happiness was more than apparent.
“What’re you girls doing out here alone?”
“We aren’t alone, the dogs are here with us.”
Yeah, being with these dogs was worse than being alone, for all the protection they provided. Buggy bolted up the steps toward me, hoping I would give him attention since the girls were already occupied with the other two dogs. I wasn’t having it after he’d so shamelessly abandoned me to my own fate in the woods earlier; I decided I wasn’t speaking to him.
“You girls know you’re not supposed to open any doors or go outside after dark! What were you thinking?” My voice came out louder than I had intended.
“Sorry, Marjie, but you fell asleep and we didn’t want to bother you.”
“I don’t care if I was asleep or not, you don’t open any locked doors, especially at night!” The girls looked at me with guilty expressions on their faces and I immediately regretted my harsh tone. I never yelled at them, not even when they angered me. “I’m sorry, girls. It’s just that I was really scared when I woke up and couldn’t find you.”
“It’s okay, Marjie, we should have woken you first. But when we heard the dogs barking we were so happy we just ran outside.”
“Yeah, Marjie, we’re sorry.”
I accepted their apology and made a mental note never to fall asleep while on babysitting duty again. I was a lousy babysitter.
“Okay, girls, get inside, it’s time for bed, so go take a shower and put on your PJs.”
They nodded and headed upstairs to their bedroom. I took a good look at the two dogs that had made a miraculous reappearance after being missing for a few days and I frowned deeply. Where had they gone to? Did it really matter? They were home now. Exasperated, I made sure to feed them and give them clean water and went back inside and locked the door. Now that Buggy had company he could sleep outside. After all, it would do no good to have him inside; it wasn’t like he would protect us or at least warn us of any impending danger.
After the girls’ showers, I tucked them in and turned off the lights. With a day such as the one I’d had, a long and relaxing bubble bath was in order, so I filled up the tub with warm water and poured in some lavender-scented soap. Within minutes, I was lying in the tub, completely covered by warm water and the bubbles that accompanied it. I willed my mind and body to relax and after some effort, I was somewhat at ease.
Not even for a single second did I allow my mind to drift toward my beasty stalker. I feared that if I started to think about him I would have a mental breakdown. The past thirteen months of my life had been hard enough, and as if that wasn’t enough, two more challenges had been tossed my way: Kyran and my unwelcome pest of a pet. To make matters worse, I had no idea how to handle either of them.
After my fingers began to wrinkle from the long time spent soaking in water, I decided it was best to get out of the bathtub before my entire body began to wrinkle also. I drained the tub and tossed all my dirty clothes, along with the towels, in the hamper. I combed my hair with slow strokes, taking time to untangle my long hair. It was only eleven-thirty at night but it felt like two in the morning. What to do now? I wanted to sleep but was scared out of my mind. What if that thing came back and ate us while we slept?
If I expected a decent night of sleep, I was sadly mistaken. I awoke the next morning feeling like a zombie. I hardly got any sleep at all. The same horrific nightmare I’d had during my light nap the previous night kept coming back with a haunting vengeance.
Right after the accident, I was assaulted by a barrage of nightmares nearly every week. They only got worse when images of the creature appeared before me. During those months, I tried to convince myself that whatever I saw the day of the accident was no more than a huge bear. Now I wasn’t so sure anymore. The rest of the girls couldn’t remember the creature itself. Claire remembered seeing something on the road but she couldn’t make out what it was. Now the creature had reappeared and was stalking me.
I was in the middle of a very dangerous game of cat and mouse and that thing was no nice little kitty. The worst was the fact that I had no one to speak to about my experiences. I mean, my parents already thought I was depressed. Imagine their reaction if I came up to them and said, Dad, Vicki, I saw an animal the other day that bore an incredible resemblance to those werewolves from that movie Underworld, and I think it wants to eat me. What do you guys think I should do? Yeah, I could see that conversation going well. Dr. Lawrence would have a field day with me for sure. I’d end up in the nut house with Dr. Funny Pants as my ongoing therapist. So not happening!
Of one thing I was absolutely sure: I wasn’t going to allow myself to become mentally unable to cope with my new problems. I came a long way in the past year and I couldn’t allow myself to crumble once again. I needed to find answers. First, I needed to put a name to the beast I kept seeing. The big question here became, what the heck is it? I didn’t have an inkling of what it could be. Even when the obvious answer seemed to be making encore appearances inside of my head over and over again, I refused to even consider that possibility. Werewolves weren’t—couldn’t—be real.
Since Vicki decided to spend her day off visiting her mom and her older sister, she planned to take the girls with her, which made my time even more valuable. More than likely she would be gone all day which would give me plenty of time to concentrate. So after taking care of all my chores—that were harder than usual and took twice as long, since I didn’t have my pitchfork to aid me with the hardest part—I headed up to my room and locked myself inside. All I needed was my laptop, my printer, notebook, pens and pencils, my iPod, and my cell phone. I had to do some more research on Dr. Al Lowenstein and find out who this B. Smith was.
Once the laptop was ready, I searched through my favorites list until Dr. Lowenstein’s page came into view and I clicked on it. The page opened up immediately and I began to read different posts from people who claimed they’d seen mysterious animals they couldn’t identify. More than half of the posts I dismissed rapidly, because it was obvious they were written by people who had nothing better do with their time but post stupid nonsense.
Next, I read the two and a half pages of introduction Dr. Lowenstein provided. He claimed that during his thirty years of career research he’d traveled to many places and accumulated hundreds of stories of supernatural occurrences and experiences. The study of the supernatural and the unexplained being his favorite pastime, he decided to create his current webpage that had over a million subscribers and the number was rising fast. His topics varied from ghosts and angels to vampires and werewolves, and more. Most of the information he posted seemed vague and not very specific, even for a man that claimed to have hundreds of stories to tell. It almost looked like he was trying not to give out too much information.
Wanting to investigate more about Ms. Smith’s claim of a murdered man in her hometown, I typed in Carter Lake, Iowa in Google and waited until it started giving out results. After that information came up, I then typed in B. Smith to
narrow the results. The amount of names and addresses that popped up were overwhelming. B. Smith could be anyone. I needed to find something that would stand out, something specific. But what?
God help me, I was already restless. I felt like I was going on a wild goose chase. Determination alone kept me from slamming the computer shut and giving up. I needed to do this; I felt like my life depended on it. Many articles caught my attention, but the minute I read the first two sentences, I knew they were useless. For about an hour, I kept at it. My eyes itched and watered from staring at the computer for so long but I still persisted.
After about two hours of searching articles of the area, I was ready to give up for the day. That was until one headline caught my attention—WOMAN CLAIMS WEREWOLF KILLED HER HUSBAND. I nearly cried out with excitement. I clicked on the headline and the newspaper article opened up. The moment I read the name of the supposed wife of the victim, Beatrice Smith, my mind screamed bingo! Apparently, you could find most anything on the Internet nowadays.
The article spoke of how Beatrice Smith claimed that werewolves mauled her husband, killing him and eating some of his flesh. The body had in fact been found in the middle of the woods partially eaten and badly mauled by an unknown animal. The police first suspected her of being the true killer but had no proof that she’d actually committed the crime. An autopsy later confirmed the injuries were consistent with those of a predatory animal. The woman was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder after her husband’s sudden death, and was believed to be on the border of having some schizophrenic disorder also.
Something told me this woman wasn’t crazy like the people of her hometown believed her to be. Maybe, just maybe, she’d seen something that had caused such an impact on her life she could no longer function properly. How was anyone to know if what she saw was real? I certainly didn’t, but I was willing to find out. I wrote down everything that I thought was of relative importance. My biggest problem of the moment was how to speak to this Beatrice Smith.
Secrets of the Moon Page 14
