Monsters in the Midwest (Book 2): Northwoods Wolfman

by Burtness, Scott

  It had taken a healthy dose of Dallas’s not inconsiderable charm to smooth over the group’s ruffled feathers when he dragged Stanley in the day after his first trip to the clearing. The Society, Colton had forcibly reminded him, was secret.

  “But he knew Herb, that vampire I did in. Plus, Stanley’s smart. You said there was book learning to be done. Stanley here loves books, don’t you, Stan.”

  “Oh, heck yeah!” Stanley’s head bobbed in agreement. “T-tom Clancy books, Do-It-Yourself Potlucks for One books, um.” Stanley wrung his hands, at a loss to properly explain just how expansive his taste in books was. “All s-sorts of books.”

  Randall shook his head and Aletia rolled her eyes, but Dallas persisted.

  “Look, we’re a package deal. If I’m in, Stanley’s in. He’ll pull his weight, all hundred and thirty pounds of it. Scout’s honor,” Dallas pleaded, crossing his heart and holding up his other hand. “And he’s seen some weird shit too. Stanley, I told ‘em about the aliens. Tell ‘em about the aliens.”

  Stanley’s eyes went wide as flying saucers. He related the story as requested: leaving school, walking through the soccer field, the bright flash of light, and waking up flat on his back with all of his clothes on backward, even his undies. The telling probably took longer than the story actually merited, but Stanley was so excited to have an attentive audience that he stuttered more than usual. He also pointed out to Dallas more than a few times that if he had known he’d be telling the story, he would’ve brought the umbrella to prove he wasn’t just hit by lightning.

  “I’ll bet he’s even got some weird alien powers now,” Dallas added authoritatively when Stanley’s mouth finally wound down to a stop. “And there was that newbie fee you talked about. Stan here can pay, can’t you, Stanley.”

  While Stanley excitedly pulled a collection of singles and fives out of his wallet, Colton put it to a vote. Aletia shrugged her agreement on the condition that Stanley never, ever be allowed into a fight and stuck to research only. Randall said he’d be fine with Stanley hanging around because he thought his stuttering was hilarious. That left Colton.

  “Well,” the Society’s leader started slowly. “I’m intrigued by the aliens, there’s no doubt about that. It wouldn’t be the first time the Society’s work has tipped in that direction. Also, good hunters usually have a librarian of sorts, someone they can turn to for solutions to tough problems.” He paused, scratching at the few days’ growth shadowing his jaw.

  “Oh, why not? Two can do what one could never, so I guess it works out alright. Stanley, consider yourself part of the team. Just please, please keep this to yourselves. Secret societies don’t stay secret very long if you run your trap about ‘em.”

  Dallas trained while Stanley studied, and both were properly exhausted by the work. Evenings were spent drinking beers in the cabin, swapping stories and good-natured ribbing while genuine friendships blossomed. Dallas learned that Colton was originally from Minnesota but went to college in England. Dallas didn’t hold either fact against him though. The two men were cut from the same sturdy denim and flannel, and they spent hours discussing everything from fixing sticky carburetors to the crappiest receivers in the NFL. Aletia was quickly climbing Dallas’s list of the most awesome woman he had ever met. Even Randall didn’t seem like such a bad guy once you got past his tendency to whine. More surprisingly, Randall and Stanley found they shared a passion for both Jeopardy and Veronica Mars.

  Dallas had never lacked for friends and admirers, but now half the town thought he was crazy. Even the folks that saw him stake Herb would roll their eyes when they thought he wasn’t looking. It made him realize that he had felt very, very alone over the past couple of months. Now, sitting around a small campfire, drinking beers, having a few laughs, he felt something he hadn’t in quite a while. Belonging.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” Aletia held out a beer to Dallas and slid her camping chair closer. They’d had a particularly grueling session on the course and decided to call it a day.

  “Pretty little thing like you, I’ll share them for free,” Dallas winked. “I was just reminiscing. Been awhile since I’ve felt so relaxed. It’s,” he fished for the right word, “nice.”

  “Nice, huh? You never struck me as a ‘nice’ kind of guy. Your friend Stanley, he’s a nice one. I don’t think that boy has a bad thought in his head. But you?” She laughed, leaning back and languidly crossing her long legs. “I’d peg you squarely in the ‘naughty’ box. Muy travieso.”

  “You’d have me pretty well pegged, although I don’t think you’ll be getting any gold stars for sorting that out. I’m not a real complicated fella.”

  “Nice and simple, hmmm? Usted no tiene complicaciones? So that means you’re single.” It was a statement, not a question, but Aletia still raised an eyebrow.

  “Me? Yep. Not that I haven’t wanted to find a good woman and settle down someday. Just seems like I do pretty well at the first part but kinda stink at the second part. How about you?” Dallas asked.

  “How about me?” Aletia replied.

  “So, you and Colton… you know.”

  “Know what?” she responded with a grin.

  “Well, I just sorta figured, I mean. It’s just. You know…”

  “You keep telling me ‘I know’ something, but I still haven’t figured out exactly what it is you think I know.”

  Dallas exhaled and tried to find his footing.

  “Seems like you two must be an item, is all. I mean, I get Colton being a monster hunter. Even Randall. You, though… Well, it just seems like a nasty business for a pretty lady like yourself to be wrapped up in. I did the math. You plus Randall equals not frickin’ likely, so that leaves you plus Colton.”

  Aletia looked shocked and then laughed. “Por Dios, how I love misogynistic men. Dallas, here’s some free advice. Never make assumptions. It makes an ass out of you and ‘umption.’ Now, where do I even start?”

  She took a drink of her beer and drummed her fingers on her thigh.

  “Let’s clear up the basics. First, you suck at math. I’m not out here because I’m with Colton or anyone else. I’m out here for me. Second, have you bothered to think about why any of us joined the Society?”

  Dallas reflected. The question had never really occurred to him. The group just seemed so natural, like they’d been tracking and killing supernatural creatures their whole lives. The idea of them doing something else, of having lives before this, hadn’t crossed his mind.

  “Guess I never gave it much thought,” he conceded with a shrug. The conversation lapsed as the two drank their beers.

  “So?” Aletia prompted.

  “Okay, I’ll bite. Why are they out here?” he asked.

  “You’ll have to ask them.”

  “Um, okay. But why are you? I mean, if you’re not with Colton, what are you doing in the middle of the Northwoods in a busted up cabin, running around an obstacle course, and acting all badass?”

  “Acting badass? Is that what you think? This is just an act? Increíble!” Aletia’s voice lost its playful tone. She set down her beer, stood and reached up to pull at the collar of her shirt, exposing a snaking scar that ran the length of her collar bone.

  “See this? Wendigo. Could’ve taken my head off.” Pulling her shirt back up over her shoulder, she pulled at the hem to expose the side of her stomach.

  “Hydra. Well, one of the heads,” she said, pointing at an oval of small, round scars. Sitting down again, she rolled up her left pant leg to expose a jagged scar that wrapped around her ankle and halfway up her calf.

  “Keelut. Inuit spirit that manifests as a hairless dog with really sharp teeth. And this one,” she continued, pushing up her right sleeve to expose a scar that looked like another bite, “was an African rompo. Take the worst parts of a badger and a bear, and stick them on a skeleton body. Scary as hell. They eat corpses, but I was doing an out-of-body spirit walk. The shaman who was supposed to be watching my back until my spirit
and body were reunited had just gotten cable and was watching the Sopranos. Lucky for me, he got up to take a piss outside and happened upon the rompo before it had done more than sampled my arm.”

  Aletia pulled her sleeve back down, leaned forward, and glowered at Dallas. “There are mucho mas, but we’d have to be in a more intimate setting for you to see them. Now, do you still think I’m just acting badass?”

  Dallas started to sputter an apology when Colton sauntered over and saved him.

  “She showing off her scars again? Pretty great, aren’t they?” Dragging his camping chair into place, Colton settled in. “Usually, Tia only starts baring her scars when she’s pissed. What’d you do?”

  “I didn’t do anything!” Dallas protested, looking at her for confirmation.

  Aletia glared at him without speaking for a long moment before calmly turning her back and walking over to where Randall and Stanley sat playing Scrabble.

  “Looks like you got on her good side,” Colton observed. “Did you take the scenic route or just drive straight there?”

  “Aww, hell. I didn’t mean to get her all worked up. Not even sure what I did wrong.”

  “Don’t worry yourself too much. Tia’s taken a shine to you, which means she’ll give you just enough rope to hang yourself with and then give it a sharp tug.” Colton shook his head in admiration. “She’s a gem, a beautiful, multifaceted diamond. Careful though. Diamonds also happen to be tougher than tough. So,” he drawled, settling more comfortably into his chair, “what were you two talking about, anyway?”

  “Well, honestly, we were talking about you. I mean, not just you, but all of you, and the Society, and how you all ended up here. And not just like, ‘Wisconsin’ here, but, you know, ‘all over the world hunting monsters’ here.”

  “Ah, that,” Colton said. Giving Dallas a sideways look, he asked, “Did she happen to tell you?”

  “Nope. I might’ve implied that she was maybe just out here doing this monster hunter stuff because of the possibility that, um, you and her might be, uh, you know...” Dallas trailed off lamely.

  “Me and Tia?” Colton exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. “Lord knows I’ve dreamt that dream more than a time or two. Fortunately, I’m also just the right amount of smart to know that if you juggle knives, you won’t end up playing piano at Carnegie Hall. Nope, you’ve got nothing to worry about, partner. At least, not from me.”

  After a thoughtful sip of beer, Colton looked more closely at Dallas. “Did she tell you why she joined the Society?”

  Shaking his head, he explained, “I started to ask, but then things kind of took a turn. Now I’m curious. Why did she join up?”

  “That’s for her to share, not me. Just be a little more careful the next time you ask her, so you don’t end up with a cracked jaw or broken wrist.”

  After laughing at Dallas’s disgruntled look, Colton slapped him heartily on the back.

  “Don’t pout. It doesn’t suit you. Now drink up. We’re celebrating, after all.”

  “What are we celebrating?” Dallas asked.

  “The fact that you’re on your way to becoming one helluva hunter. The Society really is lucky to have you.”

  Dallas felt his face flush as he smiled a broad smile.

  “Damn right. So, can we change the name to the Monster Mavericks?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Demon Demolition Squad?”

  “Nope.”

  “Frickin’ A-Team. Not the A-Team, that’s taken. But Frickin’ A-Team. I bet we could use that. Or maybe A-Squad?”

  A few beers and suggestions for names later, Dallas finally called it a night and headed home. It was still called the Society, but there as always tomorrow.

  Chapter 15

  The Get’n’Gobble was busier than a confessional at the Second Coming. The Packers were playing the Patriots, so folks were hurriedly stocking up on cholesterol and corn syrup before the game, Dallas and Stanley included.

  “M-maple bacon donuts, Dal?” Stanley asked, holding up the package for approval.

  “Put ‘em in the cart, and stop asking stupid questions,” Dallas replied, heading for the chips.

  “Okay den. You g-get us some chips, and I’ll make for the bean dip.” On a mission, Stanley raced down the aisle and rounded the corner. The crash of two carts colliding caused Dallas to turn his head just in time to see the bar of Stanley’s cart ram him squarely in the gut.

  “Stanley!” he heard Lois cry out.

  “Oh, hey Lois,” Stanley answered with a wide grin. “Shopping for the game, too? What’cha got? Wow. You g-got some funny ideas about game food. What’s with all the green stuff?”

  “It’s for Herb. Herbs, I mean. Just, you know, getting some herbs. And I’m fine, thanks for asking.”

  Dallas could hear the smile in Lois’s voice and realized with a pang that she wasn’t upset with Stanley. It rankled. Stanley didn’t save her life, he did. Even so, Dallas was the only person in town Lois had a beef with.

  “Herbs, huh?” Stanley asked. “That’s good, that’s good. I always p-put the herbs in the hot dishes, or a nice goulash, or cereal. What’cha making?”

  “Um, it’s sort of a, well… I mean, I wasn’t really cooking, exactly.”

  “Laundry. Got it,” Stanley approved with a hearty thumbs up. “You got basil? Basil’s great for getting the p-pit smells outta your shirts, yes sir.”

  As Stanley moved back, Lois stepped into sight. Besides that morning at Ronnie’s the previous week, Dallas hadn’t seen her much around town and was struck again by how she’d changed.

  The Lois that moved to Trappersville about a year earlier was a vibrant spitfire of a women. Tanned and toned, trimmed in bright nail polish, eyeliner and lipstick, hair like liquid sunshine, a mouth that could tame a lion, and a laugh that swept all the shadows from a room. Looking at her now, standing behind her grocery cart and talking to Stanley about herbs and laundry and whatever else fell out of Stanley’s head, she was as beautiful as ever. Even so, Dallas still noticed differences. Like a light on a dimmer, or a fire burning down to a bed of embers, something in Lois just wasn’t as bright as it used to be. As Dallas looked, he tried to put his finger on what it was that he saw. Was it the slightly hunched set of her shoulders, the shadows under her eyes that the bright blue eyeliner couldn’t quite hide, or the way her smile didn’t go quite as deep as it should? Whatever it was, it made Dallas suddenly lonesome.

  Lois turned her head. Their eyes met, causing Dallas to flinch involuntarily. The smile she’d had for Stanley dropped and shattered like an upended carton of eggs. Lois’s lips moved, her hand gestured…

  Dallas looked at the jar of olives. There were green olives inside the clear glass jar. Olives stacked haphazardly on top of one another in the yellowish liquid. Olives. Green ones. His eyes moved of their own accord to the next row of jars. Black olives. Like green ones but black. Lots of them in a jar. Lots of black olives just filling up the glass jar, right up to the lid screwed on top.

  He nodded to himself. Olives. Green ones and black ones. Check, check. Olives.

  “Dallas?”

  Stanley’s voice sounded far away. He wasn’t saying ‘olives,’ which was weird. There were obviously olives here, so what else was there to talk about?

  “Hey Dal? B-big D? You okay?” Stanley asked.

  A voice responded. It sounded familiar, but he couldn’t quite place who was talking.

  “Olives, Stanley. Green ones. Black ones. Olives in jars,” the voice said. A pretty reasonable voice, too, seeing as how there were definitely olives in jars, right there on the shelf.

  “I, uh, I thought you hated olives, Dallas,” he heard Stanley say again. Who was he talking to? More importantly, why was he talking about olives?

  “The hell you talking about, Stanley?” Dallas asked, turning to look at him. The second that his eyes stopped looking at the jars of olives, the air around his head seemed to pop. Sticking a finger in an ear and gi
ving it a wiggle, he squinted first one eye and then the other as he focused on Stanley’s face. “It’s game day. No time for nonsense, and definitely no time for olives.”

  “You were just,” Stanley started, before stopping, looking confused, and trying again.

  “I was t-talking to Lois and tr-tried to get you to come over. She’s got a lot of herbs in that cart of hers, and a lot of them herbs are ones I’ve been talking to Randall about. Herbs do a lot of stuff, you know. Uff dah. You start looking at herbs, there j-just ain’t no limit to what you can do. So I was telling Lois about the herbs I was learning about, and I was g-gonna have you tell her about the chupacabras and clurichauns and zombies and werewolves and d-devil dogs and Bigfoot and,”

  Dallas cut in sharply. “Lois was here? When? What were you doing telling her about all that stuff? Secret Society, remember? Vince Lombardi on game day,” he cursed, shaking a finger at Stanley. “You gotta lock that shit down. Remember what I told you about the aliens?”

  Stanley’s face fell as he started to sputter. “B-b-but Dallas, you know I was abducted. I was! I got the umbrella. It wasn’t no lightning storm. Them aliens, they took me, pretty as you please. T-took me up and shot me back and they was real and you know they was real!”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know, Stanley. I know,” Dallas soothed, trying to ignore the strange looks a few other shoppers were slipping their way. “But you gotta remember what I told you, right? Remember what we talked about?”

  Stanley looked down at his feet and scuffed the linoleum tiles with a loafer. “Yeah, I know. ‘Aliens don’t like people talking about ‘em. They’re very private types, and if I talk about ‘em too much, they’ll come back and take my T.V.’”

  “And you like your T.V., don’t you?” Dallas coaxed.

  “Yeah,” Stanley admitted. “You’re right, Dal. I won’t t-talk about the aliens so much.” Sudden concern drove the chagrin from his face. “Oh crappers, Dal. I told the Society all about ‘em. You d-don’t think they’re coming b-b-back, do you?”