Only then did the body sag at all. In fact, the heart was still beating, if only slowly. Mack crushed the muscle in his grip, squeezing black ichor out onto the ground. He even went so far as to wring the heart like a washrag. Still holding the heart in his right hand, he strode over to where the head was lying. The monster was staring up at him. Its muzzle-mouth moved soundlessly, unable to draw breath in order to howl or snarl, and its eyes darted around as if searching for something, some kind of rescue.
Mack brought his heel down on the head hard enough to crack the skull. He smashed the head several more times until the skull opened up enough for the blackened, slimy brain to come spilling out onto the ground. With his free hand, Mack scooped the organ up off the ground and gave it as vicious a squeeze as he’d given the brain.
KC arrived with a quart mason jar and an empty Maxwell House coffee can. She dropped the can on the ground and opened the mason jar. Mack stuffed the squeezed dry heart into the jar. KC quickly resealed the jar and gently set it on the ground at her feet. She retrieved the coffee can, popped off the plastic lid, and Mack stuffed the brain into it. KC slapped the lid back on, got a roll of duct tape out of one of her jacket pockets and proceeded to wrap a long strip around the lid of the plastic coffee can. Then, she wrapped the tape around the can lengthwise, firmly sealing the lid closed. As a final action, she used a Sharpie to write something in runic script on the lid. Turning her attention back to the mason jar, she repeated the process that she’d performed on the coffee can.
“Y’all alright?” Mr. Durand called out as he came around the bus, shotgun in hand.
“We’re... okay,” Mack ground out of his inhuman mouth. Speech was possible but difficult in his hybrid form. With a sigh, he released the change and returned to his human form.
Mr. Durand wasn’t exactly pointing his shotgun at them as he approached. He glanced at KC. “You a werewolf, too?”
“No, I’m a dhamphir.”
“A what now?”
“It’s like a vampire except alive,” Mack explained. “We’d be happy to tell you more about it, but I’m naked; it’s cold, and I still need to get hosed off before I can get dressed again.”
Mr. Durand pointed his body at the monster’s body. “Looks like you’ve earned that 500 bucks.”
“Not quite,” Mack sighed unhappily. “I think there are two of them.”
Chapter Four
Lewisburg, West Virginia
Tuesday, October 30, 2018
ONCE HE’D HOSED HIMSELF off and changed back into his slightly soiled clothes, Mack had gotten Mr. Durand’s permission to use some of the lumber he kept for home repairs and a goodly portion of their winter firewood to build a pyre for the creature’s remains. Mack was a better than average handyman. First, he built a frame from some of the lumber and a couple of shipping pallets that Mr. Durand had scrounged to use as firewood or incidental building materials. The frame was then elevated with two concrete blocks stacked up under each corner. Next, between them Mack and KC lifted the headless, heartless body onto the frame. Mr. Durand was impressed by the physical strength they both displayed. Five hundred pounds of dead weight wasn’t an easy thing to move around, and as tiny as KC was, her physical strength was all the more impressive.
Once the body was on the frame and the crushed pieces of the head tucked into the empty cavity where its heart had been, Mack began stacking firewood under and on top of the body. Finally, he fetched a five-gallon jerry can from the bed of his pickup, poured the contents all over everything, and set it all ablaze with a match. The three of them stood together and watched everything burn.
“How you gonna collect your bounty on that thing?” Mr. Durand asked.
“We have its heart and brain to prove its existence,” KC said.
“Don’t wanna take a chance that whatever demonic spirit inhabiting that vessel can use it again,” Mack grunted.
“And you think there’s two of ‘em?” Mr. Durand sounded worried.
Mack nodded. “I caught two distinct scents when we arrived yesterday, so I’m guessing this thing either runs in a pack or has a mate.”
“What was it?”
Mack shrugged. “I don’t know. It smelled like undead, and I’m pretty sure that’s what it is, but silver didn’t kill it, just slowed it down.”
“So, I haven’t been missing, have I? When I shot at it before, I mean.”
“No, sir, you likely pegged it, but it regenerated the damage from the wounds almost as fast as it received them.”
“I need to do some research,” KC declared.
“Want me to set up the antenna for you?” Mack offered.
“I can do that. You just keep an eye on the fire. What can I fix you to eat?”
“I would kill a Bigfoot for one of those DiGiorno pizzas in the freezer,” Mack snickered. He pulled a protein bar out of a jacket pocket. “This’ll hold me in the meantime. Thanks, babe.”
“You’re welcome, babe,” KC grinned back.
“Ain’t you tired?” Mr. Durand asked. “I mean, I’d be dead tired after rasslin’ a Bigfoot to death.”
“I am, but I can keep going. One of the benefits of being a werewolf.” Mack opened the protein bar and held it up. “One of the downsides, though, is I am almost constantly having to eat, almost three or four thousand calories a day. More after a night like this.”
“So, um, how did you get to be a werewolf?”
“Oh, I was born this way.” Mack took a big bite out of the protein bar and chewed for a minute. “See, just about every mythical monster or animal or people you’ve ever heard of are real, and our Earth is at the center of a complex multiverse of alternate realities, which opens up the possibility of even more weird things finding their way here, but even though the myths are real, they ain’t always accurate.”
“How so?”
“Take my kind, for example. Werewolves were created back before human civilization as we understand it now even existed, or so I’m told. We’re living creatures, living weapons really, designed for the express purpose of killing critters like whatever that is. All them stories about people being bit by werewolves or making deals with the devil to become werewolves, all that stuff isn’t us. It’s the specific kind of undead we were meant to fight against, a thing called a barghest.
“Barghests are demons that inhabit a human host, changing it to suit their needs. Thing is undead can’t subsist off human food. They have to have life energy to maintain their existence. Different undead feed on life energy in different ways. Ghouls, for instance, eat flesh. Vampires drink blood. Barghests eat hearts.”
“What about the full moon?”
“Werewolves celebrate the full moon, but we’re not tied to its cycles. We can change when and wherever we want. Within reason.” Mack took another bite of his protein bar. “Barghests can shapeshift whenever they want, too, and they can go out in the daylight unlike a vampire, but they are tied to the phases of the moon. See, a barghest is kind of a schizophrenic demon. Part of it is an intelligent being that imprints the memories and personality of its host, kinda becoming an evil, predatory version of who that person was in life. The other part of it is the ravening beast that hungers for life force, and the two sides of the demon are constantly in conflict. The beast part is weakest at the new moon and strongest on the full moon. Full moon rolls around and the reasonable side loses control to the beast’s hunger, so what barghests like to do is consume a human heart during the new moon. Then, when the full moon rolls around, the beast isn’t as overwhelmingly eager to feed.”
“What about your wife? KC said she was some kind of vampire.”
Mack chewed on another bite of protein bar for a second before answering. “Dhamphir are to vampires what werewolves are to barghests. Legends call dhamphir ‘half-vampires’ because they used to believe that a recently turned vampire was still capable of impregnating a human woman.”
“But the truth is something else, right?”
“Yes,
sir. Dhamphir were living weapons designed the same as werewolves, just they were designed to fight vampires the way we were designed to fight barghests. Vampires, real undead vampires, can’t turn into bats or wolves or clouds of mist. They can mesmerize their victims kinda like the way a snake can do that to a mouse. They’re strong; they’re fast, and the only way to kill one is to destroy its heart or cut off its head. Silver is poisonous to ‘em. So is dogwood, but any kind of wood or metal stake through the heart will paralyze them. Pull the stake out, and they get all bitey again. Best way to deal with one is stake it, decapitate it, and burn the body and head separate. Of course, that will kill anything,” he chuckled pointing to their bigfoot bonfire.
“Will its mate come tonight?” Mr. Durand wondered.
“Odds are unlikely. Undead ain’t animals, especially higher undead. They’re smart, and the other one will come along tomorrow and watch us if it ain’t already keeping an eye on us now. We killed one of its kind, so we’re a threat now. That’ll give it pause.” Mack shrugged. “If not, I’ll have to kill it the old fashioned way, same as this one.”
“You sound unsure.”
“I had the element of surprise this time. It wasn’t expecting a werewolf to show up. The other one will have a good idea now.” He finished off the protein bar and tossed the wrapper onto the bonfire.
JUST AFTER SUNRISE Mrs. Durand had come out and insisted that Mack and KC join them for breakfast. Then, she’d taken a whiff of Mack’s clothes, insisted that he change and bring all their dirty laundry into the house to be washed, too. Mack didn’t argue. He was too tired. He had stayed awake the entire night not only watching that the bonfire didn’t get out of hand, but also walking the perimeter of the farm, looking for signs of the other creature. The fire had finally burned down, and the dead creature was little more than a collection of bones and ash.
Following Mrs. Durand’s directive, he retreated to Busster to change clothes and fetch the duffel bag with their laundry in it. KC was set up at the bar-top table with her laptop, staring blankly off into space. Mack didn’t bother her. Dhamphir didn’t sleep, but they did dream, and he recognized that look as KC being in a waking dream. Last night, an hour after she first left, KC had brought him a whole DiGiorno Supreme Rising Crust Pizza. Apparently, if the dishes on the bar-top were to be believed, she’d cooked one for herself, too. Despite the fact that he was a trained chef and was happy to cook fresh food for them, they did eat a lot of frozen pizza and TV dinners because such fare was convenient and filling.
When he returned a few moments later, changed into blue jeans and a long-sleeve blue polo, Mack asked, “Nice dream?”
“So far,” KC mumbled. Then, she closed her eyes and gave herself a shake. When she opened her eyes she treated Mack to one of her spectacular smiles. “Good morning, baby!”
“Mrs. Durand has invited us to breakfast, and by ‘invited’ I mean politely ordered us to show up for breakfast and bring our laundry,” Mack reported.
KC closed up her laptop and unplugged it from the charging cable plumbed into the wall of the bus. “Well, alright, then!” She paused as she stood up and placed a hand over her stomach.
“Need to feed the demon?” Mack asked.
KC nodded, looking a little nauseous. “I forgot yesterday.”
“No worries,” Mack declared as he grabbed a Yeti mug from the shelf above the sink. He opened the fridge, grabbed a styrofoam cup from one of the bottom shelves. “Deer alright?” At KC’s nod, the cup went into the microwave for a minute or two. Meanwhile, Mack opened up a packet of some kind of protein mix and poured it into the Yeti. Then, he added the contents of the heated styrofoam cup, blood from a deer he’d recently harvested, stirred it all up together, capped the Yeti, inserted a thick, dark blue, hard plastic straw, and handed it to KC. “Slainte.”
“Slainte,” KC repeated as she accepted the mug and took a strong pull from the straw. “Mm... dhamphir protein shake. Yum,” she added with a deadpan lack of enthusiasm.
“I thought you liked deer,” Mack teased as he grabbed the laundry bag from where he’d dropped it.
“I do,” KC protested. “It’s like cow, but it’s all I’ve had for the past two weeks. We need to find a butcher and stock up on a little pig blood, maybe some chicken for variety. I’m just saying.”
“Well, whatever you do, don’t grab one of the Durands’ chickens and try to chug it like a Red Bull,” Mack said as he opened their front door.
“Don't be stupid, Hieronymus Llewellyn,” KC scolded. She only used his real first and middle names when she wanted to annoy him.
“Don’t be a brat, Kayleigh Chanelle,” Mack retorted with a sly grin.
KC paused on the top step giving her a slight height advantage and looked down into Mack’s grinning eyes. “Thank you for fixing my blood shake, babe.”
“You’re welcome, babe.” Mack glanced at the laptop cradled under KC’s arm. “You discover something?”
“Yep, but let’s wait until after breakfast,” KC suggested.
“As you wish.”
“If you call me ‘Buttercup’, I will divorce you.”
“BACON. IS THERE A better smell?” Mr. Durand sighed with pleasure and gave Mrs. Durand a kiss on the cheek as he made his way from their coffee machine to the kitchen table to place cups in front of Mack and KC.
“Uh, you want it in your mug?” the farmer asked with a little confused nod toward KC’s Yeti.
She shook her head. “This isn’t coffee. It’s a protein shake made with deer blood instead of milk or water.”
Mr. Durand blanched a little. Then, he shrugged. “Compared to a psychotic bulletproof bigfoot, what’s one more weird thing?”
“We’re just so relieved to be rid of that one!” Mrs. Durand declared as she started taking up the bacon. “Last night, after all the excitement, why, that’s the first truly good night’s sleep I’ve gotten since I don’t remember when!”
“Speaking of sleep, did either of you get any?” Mr. Durand asked with clear concern written on his face.
“I can actually go 36-48 hours without having to sleep, and KC doesn’t actually sleep at all. She just has a waking dream either before sunset or just after sunrise,” Mack said as he sipped the strong black coffee in his mug. “This helps, though.”
“Unlike you see in the movies, dhamphir and our vampire counterparts don’t actually sleep. During the day vampires go into a kind of torpor, but they’re awake and aware of their surroundings. They’re just significantly weaker than they are during the night, and if there’s any sunlight around, they’re weaker still. Direct sunlight can and does kill them,” KC explained. “I’m physically weaker out under the sunlight, unless I’ve consumed about a pint or so of fresh blood, but at least I can go out in the sunlight. My mother has to use SPF 1000 sunblock or she crisps like that toast. It’s not that bad for my sisters, but they do sunburn super easy. I guess that explains why my family never went to the beach during summer vacations.”
Mrs. Durand set plates of eggs, bacon, toast, and hot grits on the table in front of everyone. “What about your father?”
“He burns, too, but that’s because he’s a pale Irish academic, not a dhamphir,” KC chuckled.
“Will it bother y’all if I say grace?” Mr. Durand asked.
Mack blinked. “No, sir. I’m Baptist, and KC was raised lapsed Catholic.”
“More like my mother was Roman Catholic; Dad was Irish Episcopalian, but they’re both college professors, which means they’re also borderline agnostic, so we never really attended church with any regularity, but both sets of my grandparents were devout, so when my sisters and I visited them, we got to experience church life,” KC said. She paused and took a breath. “Yeah, so all that just to say I’m a believer; we regularly visit different churches in our travels, and unlike a vampire, dhamphir aren’t offended or harmed by prayers or religious symbolism.”
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Durand chuckled. “I honestly wasn’t thi
nkin’ ‘bout you bein’ a dhamphir when I asked. I was more concerned with y’all bein’ Millenials. You can’t always tell with young folk nowadays.”
“Say the blessing, Mr. Durand, and then let me tell you about all the hippies, hipsters, and tree-hugging vegan granola munchers we’ve met in the skoolie and tiny house community,” Mack suggested.
ONCE BREAKFAST WAS done and the dishes cleared away, KC set up her laptop on the kitchen table and began talking about her research.
“I had to dive into the Paraweb, visit a few forums, and start some threads to try and generate some kind of lead on what it is that we’re dealing with. I was hoping there’d be a Program field agent on hand with one of their Pokedex databases who could answer all our questions.”
“Uh, what’s a ‘paraweb’ and what kinda index?” Mr. Durand interrupted, but he did raise his hand like he was in school.
“Ever heard of the Dark Web?” KC asked. Both Durands nodded. “Well, the Paraweb is part of the Dark Web, a magical internet hidden among all the dark and evil stuff going on in that part of the internet. You have to have a special add-on to Torrent just to access Paraweb sites, and that add-on will only work from a special chip that you have to install in your computer. It’s all very secretive and squirrely, but it allows people like us to communicate and share information without it getting too widely known.”
“And the ‘Pokedex’ is the nickname for this database that Program agents carry around loaded onto laptops or tablet computers, and it’s so heavily encrypted that the computer program will only work on the Program-issued computer or tablet that it’s first loaded onto,” Mack added. “Anyway, the Pokedex is really just a list of various monsters, supernatural beings, criminal and terrorist organizations, even individual people or groups who could be potential threats to either America’s national security or the security of the Accords.”
Cassandra Case Files Page 4
