It took a savage to consume another human being…but eating him raw?
The sheriff started to think Luther Cole must have been more animal than man by the time he died.
He turned his attention back to the tree, where his other deputy now glared up at the corpse with folded arms. His cigarette clenched in his teeth, Les Patterson glowered at the body as if personally offended by it.
“Hey, Les?” the sheriff queried. “Was he a friend of yours?”
“Huh?” The deputy jerked himself out of his scowling reverie and looked at the sheriff. “Oh…no…that’s not the problem.”
“So what is?”
Les looked back up at the body for a second, then down at the trooper’s pistol he retrieved from the ground nearby. He had opened the cylinder earlier and declared all the bullets spent.
“I guess I just don’t like it when things don’t make sense. And what I’m seeing ain’t making sense to me.”
“How?” Carl frowned at the deputy. “It’s pretty straightforward. Luther and the trooper trade shots. Luther finishes off the trooper, hangs him up and…has a snack. Then the crazy fart has a lucid moment and realizes he can’t just kill an officer without the rest of us coming for him. So he hobbles back up to his cabin and hangs himself. End of story. Case closed. Ain’t nothing to do now but pick up the bodies and try to get home before dinner gets too cold.”
Carl offered the last sentence in a hopeful tone…not at all liking the downcast look of his senior deputy.
“It didn’t happen that way,” Les replied softly.
“What do you mean? What’s the matter?”
“Well, first of all…” The deputy shone his own flashlight on the corpse. “Look at this body. Does this guy look like he’s been dead longer than Luther? We know the trooper came out here yesterday afternoon. We know he and Luther traded shots. And we know Luther hung himself sometime later…probably before sunset. But this guy looks like he died sometime last night. Several hours after Luther was already dead.”
“Okay,” Carl sighed, “What do you make of this then?”
“I’m not sure.” The deputy rubbed the back of his neck. “You can see where he took a lot of birdshot to the face…which pretty much explains the poor aiming on his part. He may have been half or even mostly blind. And if he and Luther go separate ways after trading shots, he might have been unable to find his way back to his boat. Top it off with him not knowing Luther was injured or dead, and he may have been hiding or stumbling around down here till dark.”
“Alright,” the sheriff nodded, “that makes sense, but it don’t mean Luther didn’t kill him. I know this body looks fresher, but maybe it’s because the chest has been punctured which would do a lot to reduce the bloating. And with his legs like they are, the body bled out instead of filling up with blood. So it looks fresher but it really isn’t.”
“I guess,” Les sighed. He couldn’t have looked more doubtful.
“C’mon, Les. It had to be that way. We’ve been all over this island and there ain’t nobody else here. Now why don’t you relax and help me figure out a way to get the poor bastard down.”
The sheriff had noted Les’s tension ever since finding the body, and now knew why. He supposed the idea there might be a third person on the island would be a little unnerving. The trooper’s body actually did appear fresher, but Carl preferred his answer to the deputy’s. After leaving the shack, they had started at one end of the island and searched it down to this end. They found nothing but the two corpses, and a collection of bones in the waste pile.
If a third party had been involved, they must have owned their own boat and left long ago.
On the bright side, he could now see the sky through the branches above as the fog settled. It already showed a dark indigo and the first stars were peeking out. With the moon starting to rise in the east, they would at least have a little light other than their flashlights to work by.
“Okay, men,” Carl cajoled, “I’ll tell you what. Let’s just take down the two bodies and bag them, then call it an evening. The bones in the waste pile will be here tomorrow, and we’ll be able to see to do a better search in daylight. I’ll call Eddie up at the State Police and tell them to come pick up their man. They’ll probably want to have an investigator out here tomorrow as well. Oh, and nobody tell Earl what we found. I want to keep a lid on this for at least another twenty-four hours.”
“Sounds good to me,” Les shrugged. “C’mon Pete, grab one of those arms and we’ll try pulling this guy down.”
It wasn’t easy.
Stiffness had set in long ago and the dead trooper seemed to resist everything they did. The three men tugged and struggled, having to work the body back up the short limb an inch at a time. They worked hard for every inch. The effort and humidity conspired to have them all sweating in short order despite the chill…but at last they succeeded.
The body slid off the branch with a gristly, sucking crunch.
“And that,” the sheriff puffed, “takes care of that. Les, why don’t you go down to the waterline and signal Earl to come in and pick you up. Take Pete with you, and send him back to me with the tarps in the boat. Oh, and send one of those lanterns from the boat too. Then have Earl run you over to the squad car so you can radio in and have them send up an ambulance for the bodies. Don’t mention the bones.”
“Will do. Will you be here or back up at the cabin? It should take me about thirty minutes to get across to the car and back.”
“Me and Pete will go over the area here one more time, just to be sure we didn’t miss anything. When you get back, we’ll have this guy ready to go. Then we’ll go do the same for Luther.”
“Sounds good. Let’s go, Pete.”
Carl lit another cigarette and watched his two deputies disappear into the darkness of the trees. The beams of their flashlights veered from side to side as they walked down through the woods, and soon the underbrush blocked sight of those as well. Then he was alone, with nobody but the dead man and a couple of hardy winter crickets for company.
And the knowledge he had missed the Cotton Bowl.
“Crap,” he muttered after taking another long drag on his cigarette and looking up at the stars. “I’m getting too old for this. I hate weird stuff, and shit just can’t get any weirder than it has tonight.”
Of course, that was the moment it sounded like every dog and coyote in Cole County decided to howl at once.
***
“What the hell!”
Les stopped midway in the act of tossing the second tarp out to the young deputy standing at the edge of the water and twisted in astonishment to look at the distant shores.
The baying of dogs echoed from all directions, as if every canine within five miles all decided to howl at the same time. A great cacophony of forlorn cries echoed across the mist blanketed waters. The fog had now settled till it hovered a mere foot over the lake’s surface, turning it into a carpet of white under the rising moon. The sudden chorus of howls added the final, wild touch to the spectral scene.
“Holy shit, Les!” Pete face gleamed even paler in the boats lantern light, “What’s going on out there?”
“Dogs,” the senior deputy growled as if it were obvious.
In truth, Les felt a bad case of the creeps beginning to gnaw at him as well, but saw no good in letting the kid know it. He didn’t like what he saw tonight. Despite his deep respect for the veteran sheriff, he just didn’t feel right about the older man’s interpretation of what they found. Between this job and his time in WWII, he had seen far more than his share of corpses. He would bet his last nickel Luther Cole had already been dead for hours before the trooper died.
And now apparently every dog in Cole County had decided to serenade them…or something very, very bad just caught all of their attentions.
“I ain’t never heard nothin’ like it before,” Pete continued in hushed tones, “What would make them do that?”
“Moonrise,” the elder
deputy grunted, then shot a warning look at Earl when the old boatman looked up in surprise. Changing the subject, he tossed the second tarp to the young man. “Listen Pete, just stay focused and get these tarps to the sheriff. I’ll be back in about thirty minutes. Then we’ll get everything together and get out of here.”
“Yeah, okay.” Pete nodded and picked up the tarps. “And while you’re on the radio, find out who won the Cotton Bowl.”
“Sure thing,” Les agreed, “and while I’m thinking of it…Earl, why don’t you let Pete have the kerosene lantern from the boat. It’ll make it easier for them to see while they get the body ready to transport.”
The owner of the boat nodded and used a long boathook to transfer the lantern over to the young deputy. Pete took the light with a look of relief, obviously happier with the greater luminosity of it compared to the narrow beam of his flashlight.
Les didn’t blame him, but had no intention of showing it.
“Alright then.” He nodded. “Now that the doggy chorus seems to have died down some, you need to get back to the sheriff. He wants to get out of here too, and he’s waiting on those tarps.”
The senior deputy watched they youngster square his jaw and nod before picking up the tarps and lantern, then heading back into the trees.
“Moonrise?” Earl scoffed behind him, after making sure the young deputy was gone. “I ain’t never heard ‘moonrise’ get that kind of welcome before.”
“Me either,” Les grumped and sat down near the old fisherman. “But the kid’s had a rough day, and he’s already sort of spooked. The faster we’re all home the better, so let’s get on back to the squad car.”
Earl throttled up the motor and the boat glided forward through the carpet of fog.
Les glowered at the distant shore. He felt a bit of relief at getting away from the island and its grisly contents, but uneasy at the same time. The deputy liked things to make sense. So he felt a little uncomfortable leaving the others back in a situation which made none at all—at least not to him. Carl was an experienced and capable man, but he was beginning to get up in years and all he had for backup was a scared rookie. Despite his relief in getting away from the place, Les wished the sheriff had sent Pete to make the radio call instead.
“Hey Les?” Earl queried as the boat moved through the low fog.
“Yeah?”
“Did you guys leave some kind of light on up at the cabin?”
“Yeah. Luther had a kerosene lantern, and I hung it out front of his shack so it would be easy to find in the dark.”
“Kerosene lantern, huh? Well, look at it now.”
Les turned in his seat and looked back at the dark shape of the receding island. It stuck up out of the mist like a sloping mountaintop poking through the clouds. And at the high end of the prominence, a point of light shone where he hung the lantern next to the cabin.
But now it burned a sickly blue.
“What the hell?” Les muttered again. “When did it start doing that?”
“It looked normal when I came in to pick you up.” Earl stared at the distant light. “So it changed sometime while I was picking you up and leaving the tarps with Deputy Pete.”
Les had a sinking feeling when that “sometime” was.
“But what would cause it?” he wondered aloud. “Some kind of swamp gas? On a hill?”
“Beats me,” Earl shrugged. “My grandma always told me when a flame turned blue it was because the dead were paying a visit.”
“Oh thanks, Earl.” Les glared at the old fisherman. “That’s just what tonight needed.”
“Aw hell, Les,” the old man laughed. “You really are jumpy tonight. Relax! I figure the last thing the Sheriff is worried about back there is spooks!”
***
“You ready?” The sheriff knelt by the body and raised the end of the tarp-wrapped figure a couple of inches. “Just slide the strap under here, then we’ll buckle it tight like we did the other two.”
He watched as Pete did as instructed and nodded in satisfaction at the result. Then he snugged the belt firmly in place and buckled it down. They were done. The trooper’s body now lay ready to transport.
“Not bad.” Carl nodded and climbed to his feet. “We didn’t take much time at all. Les probably ain’t even over to the squad car yet.”
“Probably not,” Pete agreed. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking I’ve had about enough of this damn place.” The sheriff folded his arms and scowled at the surrounding woods.
“Yes sir,” the deputy agreed with feeling. “Don’t tell Les, but those dogs scared the living hell out of me.”
“No problem. We’ll just keep that between us,” Carl sympathized. He was almost, but not quite, willing to admit the sudden chorus damn near gave him a heart attack as well.
The baying had died down over the past ten minutes, but every now and then some distant dog or coyote would still let loose with a tortured howl. In some ways, now the symphony had concluded, Carl found the intermittent cries just as bad.
“As a matter of fact,” he concluded, “why don’t we go on up to the cabin and bag Luther right now. If we hurry, we can be done and waiting for the boat with the bodies ready to go. Grab your flashlight. We’ll leave the lantern here by the body.”
“Sir?”
“It’ll help us find this place again in the dark. We’ll bring Luther’s body back here because this is where Les is going to be expecting us.”
“Right,” Pete acknowledged.
The rookie didn’t look happy about returning to the cabin, but Carl figured there weren’t any happy places left on this island. He set off toward the upper end of the hill with the young deputy bringing up the rear. Staying busy and keeping things moving would help Pete’s jitters, and the sheriff figured it wouldn’t do his nerves any harm either.
In truth, he wanted to get back to civilization in the worst way now. Something “bad” floated in the atmosphere tonight, and despite every objection from the logical side of his mind, his instincts told him they were no longer alone on this island. He had scoffed at Les’s concern earlier, but things had changed. Something made those dogs go crazy earlier. Now his gut told him that “something” now lurked nearby.
Carl learned a long time ago to listen to his gut.
The sheriff’s every nerve keened at alert as he eased through the brush. Once he even shushed Pete when he stumbled on a root, earning him a puzzled look from the young deputy. He felt slightly silly about it, but his tension was at a level he hadn’t felt since night patrol back during the Great War. And due to his heightened sense of alert, he almost suffered a heart attack again when the second loud sound of the evening occurred.
A thundering bang cracked through the darkness…causing Carl to nearly jump out of his skin, and the deputy to draw his pistol before realizing he gripped his rifle in the other hand.
“Any idea what that was?” Pete whispered as he re-holstered his sidearm with a sheepish grin.
“Yeah.” The sheriff fought to get his breathing back under control and squinted ahead. “I know exactly what it was. It was the front door to Luther’s shack.”
“What?” The deputy’s weak grin froze, then disappeared as the implications of that settled in. “How?”
“I don’t know, but something just slammed the hell out of it. We definitely ain’t alone no more, so stay sharp.”
“It could be Les,” Pete offered.
“Not a chance. Les won’t be back for another ten minutes at the earliest.”
“Christ! Then what could it be?”
“Easy there…” Carl tried to offer a little reassurance he didn’t feel himself. “It’s most likely some moonshiner who had his own beef with Luther paying a visit. What we heard was probably him high-tailing out of the cabin once he got a good eyeful of what was in there. Still, be careful.”
Pete nodded, seeing the sense in that.
Carl wished he believed it.
He
motioned Pete to follow and continued onwards, but at an even quieter pace than before. They were getting close. Glimpses of light from the cabin began to wink between the trees ahead, but Carl found reason for consternation in it as well. The sickly blue illumination coming from the direction of the shack evoked a disturbing childhood memory.
When candles burn blue and dogs cry with fear,
Get thee a bible, for spirits draw near.
The old ditty sung by his grandmother was the very last thing Carl would have liked coming to mind at the moment. He shook his head in anger at his own silliness. Things were crazy enough tonight without that kind of thing. Besides, it wasn’t a candle…it was a damn big lantern, and those dogs had been clear across the lake. If there were such things as ghosts and one caused all this, it would have to be the damn King Kong of spooks.
The sheriff motioned for Pete to slow down, and they made their final approach to the area of the cabin with cautious stealth. A couple of minutes later, they once again found themselves with backs to tree trunks as the peeked around at the shabby dwelling.
“See anything, Sheriff?” Pete hissed from his position.
Carl held up a finger for quiet and listened.
“No,” he whispered back, “but I heard something moving behind the house. Be still.”
The two waited, and after another minute their patience bore fruit. The sound of a branch breaking, or wood splintering, came from the darkness behind the cabin. A couple of heavy footfalls followed, causing Carl to wonder exactly what the hell they dealing with. It had to be human, nothing else made footsteps like that—but it sounded heavy. Very heavy. And there came a guttural grunt he couldn’t imagine coming from a human throat. What the hell could make sounds like that?
Shades: Eight Tales of Terror Page 7
