by Rick Hautala
He shook his head slowly from side to side, all the while keeping his gaze fixed on his own eyes.
How did I get this cut? he wondered, forming the words silently with his mouth. Where did I get this cut?
“Last night, last night,” he whispered to himself. He wrinkled his face with concentration as he tried to recollect his thoughts and memories. As far as he could remember, he had finished his chores and homework and then gone to bed at ten o’clock.
The dream was coming closer to the surface of his mind. Like an ant that has been buried with sand will scramble free, the dream worked its way up to reality.
Did I go out last night? Late? Once everyone was asleep? he asked himself.
He caught a fleeting image of a ball, a cold blue ball, the moon. Yes! A full moon!
Ned ran his hands over his face as though washing it. He was unmindful of the pain when he pulled the wound open further. Blood wiggled down his cheek, tickling as it touched the corner of his mouth.
The taste of blood! There was a hill, a birch-covered hill. Something lay there by a boulder, dying!
As the image of something dying came closer and clearer, the taste of blood in Ned’s mouth grew stronger until he felt he was going to choke on it.
The taste of blood!
“Ahhhhhhh!” he screamed, watching intently in the mirror as his face contorted with the painful memory. His fingers clawed at his face, leaving white lines that quickly began to well up.
“No! No! No! I didn’t do it! I didn’t do it!” he shouted when, instead of his own face in the mirror, he saw the face of his brother Frank. He was wearing a blank, lifeless grin. He gripped the bureau top until his fingernails bit into the soft pine.
He snapped his head around when he heard a car driving up their driveway. He dashed over to the window and felt a nauseating hollowness in his groin when he saw Police Chief Granger and Deputy Thurston get out of their cruiser and walk up to the porch.
Heavy footsteps sounded on the porch. Downstairs, Ned heard his mother shuffle to the door. “Good morning, Roy, Rick. What in tarnation brings you out this way so early? Come on in. I’ll put the coffee on.”
“No thank you, Mrs. Simmons,” Granger said firmly. His voice sounded muffled, but it carried upstairs.
Ned went back over to the mirror and stared at himself. “It was real!” he whispered in a hollow voice. “It really happened!”
When the face in the mirror started to shift again into the lifeless face of his bother, Ned cocked his arm back and drove his fist into the glass. The mirror shattered into a spreading spiderweb.
“I’m afraid we have some bad news for you, Mrs. Simmons,” Granger said compassionately. Ned pictured his mother easing herself down into the safety of a chair before Granger continued. “Frank was out hunting last night. Reggie Veilleux said he was going to be out by Cushing’s Stream.”
“I know,” Ned whispered to his shattered reflection. “I was there too.”
“After dark. It seems as though he, he met with something.”
“What?” Ellie Simmons shrilled. “What happened to Frank?” her voice echoed like thin metal in the stairwell.
Granger said solemnly, “I’m sorry, Ellie. He’d dead.”
“No! You can’t mean it! Frank’s not dead!”
“He’s at Doc Stetson’s now. Doc’ll check him over, and we’ll call the county examiner later today. You probably shouldn’t go down until later this afternoon.”
“Dead! Dead! No, dear God, he can’t be dead!” Ellie wailed, and then she broke down into tears.
“I’m awfully sorry, Ellie. We ain’t quite sure what happened, but you can be damn sure we’re gonna find out.”
Ned’s mind was filled with the image of his dead brother’s face and the warm taste of blood. “I did it!” he whispered. “I did it!” And suddenly he felt like laughing.
Ned walked over to the pile of clothes he had worn yesterday and began to dress. Quickly, he slid into his blue jeans and flannel shirt. He sat down on the bed and pulled on his socks and boots. His mind was a whirring confusion.
Frank is dead and I killed him!
Frank is dead and I killed him!
His mind kept repeating this in a rising fury.
“Ned,” his mother called softly from the stairs. It was not her usual voice at all; it sounded broken and defeated. “Could you come down, please?”
“I, I heard,” he answered simply, wondering what his voice sounded like to her. He waited, listening, his teeth grinding back and forth.
He went to his closet and took out his sheepskin lined jacket. As he pulled it on, he felt a rush of well-being, vigorous and strong.
Frank is dead and I killed him! his mind repeated. The horror of that sentence was diminishing, and Ned felt a deep sense of joy.
He went into the bathroom and washed the dried blood from his face then he went downstairs. When he came into the kitchen, his mother rose from her chair and, arms spread wide, rushed toward him.
“Oh, Ned! Ned! What are we gonna do? What are we gonna do?” Her face was bright red and looked as though it would explode.
Ned looked down at the floor and shuffled his feet. “I need some time,” he snapped, dodging away from her hug. “I need some time to think.”
Frank is dead and I killed him!
He threw open the door and ran out into the cold morning air. He glanced over his shoulder as he ran and saw his mother standing dazed in the doorway.
“Ned, Ned,” she called faintly, holding out her arms.
He dashed past the barn, forcing himself not to hear her. Vaulting the fence, he lit out across the field.
Those dreams were real!
Frank is dead and I killed him!
The dark, ice-green of the forest seemed to open its arms and welcome him.
.IV.
“You hadn’t heard?” Lisa asked, trying to keep her voice down as she glanced at the other customers in the B&B.
Bob fought to control the shaking in his hands. He had a B.L.T. sandwich halfway to his mouth, and he slowly lowered it and put it on the plate. “Of course I’ve heard. Ned didn’t show up for school today, and by the end of homeroom, the whole school was buzzing.”
“It’s horrible! Do you think, do you think it was the same animal you saw? The one that killed Wendy?”
“What the hell else do you think it was?” Bob snapped angrily. He looked at her tensely.
Lisa was biting her lower lip. “Well, Granger just said it was a hunting accident, and—”
Bob snorted a laugh. “Yeah, sure, a hunting accident! What’s he supposed to say? Well, folks, it looks as though there’s a killer animal out there in the forest. Be careful, you might be next! I’m sure that’d go over really great with the townspeople.”
“Nobody’s seen that animal for about a month now,” Lisa said evenly. “Frank could have been shot or something.”
“Lisa, I just don’t think it’s likely, that’s all. There’s something out there that, that—” His voice broke when the sudden image came to his mind of something that looked like a wolf but had human hands.
Lisa reached across the table. “Bob, what’s the matter?”
Bob shook his head, picked up his sandwich, and tried to take a bite; he suddenly found he had no appetite left. “Let’s go outside.”
He paid his bill at the counter and held the door open for Lisa as they stepped out into the chilly afternoon sunshine. Ice skimmed the puddles on the sidewalk and crunched underfoot as they made their way toward the library.
Bob walked, holding his hands behind his back. He kept his eyes fixed firmly on the sidewalk. “There’s something going on here in town that, well, that I just don’t understand. Ned Simmons has something to do with it, too.”
“There’s a wild dog or a wolf in the woods,” Lisa said forcefully. “That’s what’s going on. It’s killing people!”
“It’s not just that. It’s more than that.” Bob stopped abruptly a
nd grabbed Lisa by both shoulders. “I want to tell you something that happened a while ago, something that will sound absolutely crazy, insane; but when it happened, it was so clear, so real, that no matter what I’ve done to try to convince myself it was otherwise, I still can’t come up with anything else.”
His intensity gripped Lisa, and she listened silently as he told her about what he had seen that same night Wendy Stillman had died: the wolf with human hands.
When he was through, Lisa whistled through her teeth and shook her head. “You’re right,” she said simply. “It does sound crazy.”
“And I can’t think of any other alternative. Either I saw that animal with human hands or, or I had a hallucination. I’m going crazy.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lisa said warmly. “You’re not going crazy.”
“Well, I didn’t worry about it until the night of the Halloween dance. When I saw Ned standing with the red spotlight behind him, it triggered something.”
“Like you said that night, it was the heat, the noise, the confusion.”
“But right away,” Bob said intensely, “right away, that image of Ned made me think about Wendy! Like, somehow, there’s a connection.”
Lisa shook her head then turned and started walking slowly down the street. “You can’t help it if something like Wendy’s death affected you so. The red spotlight. That was what we were discussing; changing that. I think it’d be normal to connect that with Wendy. It was the last interaction you had with her.”
“So how is it all connected with Ned?” Bob asked. He looked at Lisa earnestly, as though she had all the answers, and that made her feel nervous.
“You want to know what I think?” she began. “Well, I think there’s no real connection. I think you’re making one. Look, you told me about what they did to his truck that night, and then later, you find him tied naked to the cemetery gatepost. I think you just feel sorry for the kid. Nobody should be treated that badly. I mean, I’ve heard of scapegoating, but this seems to be going a bit too far.”
“You should have seen him when he drove away from the school that night. God! His face was so contorted with anger.” Bob shuddered with the memory.
“So, simply, I think you feel sorry for him. Maybe because you’ve been there when these things happen, you feel responsible in some way.”
Bob grunted. “Huh. Maybe.” It rang true to him, but deep down, there seemed to be more.
“Do you want a little bit of cheap advice?”
Bob nodded.
“I think you can offer Ned Simmons friendship. He may take it; he may reject it. That’s fine. But the last thing Ned needs from you or anybody is pity.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Cheap advice, like I said,” Lisa chirped before Bob could continue, “but it’s true. And that’s gonna cost you a quarter.” She held out her hand and smiled smugly.
“I think that’s what I like most about you. You’re so damn practical.” He reached into his pocket, took out a quarter, and handed it to her.
“Your next appointment is next Monday, same time,” she said, assuming a pseudo-German accent.
They were standing at the bottom of the library steps. Bob wanted to get home and correct some papers. He was about to say goodbye and leave when he remembered something.
“Oh, Lisa, you said that you have a lot of books on witchcraft and occult stuff, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Are they in now?”
“I think so. Most of them, anyway. Why do you want that stuff for? Don’t tell me you’re getting into that?” Lisa was standing on the third step, and she scowled down at Bob.
“Oh, no, no. Nothing like that,” he said. He fished in his mind for a lie that would sound convincing. “We’re, uhh, we’re going to be starting Macbeth in a few classes soon, and I wanted to get some background.”
“The weird sisters, huh? Old ‘double, double, toil and trouble!’ time again.”
“Yeah,” Bob replied weakly. “I have to get running, but, well, I guess I can take a look now,” he said, following Lisa up the steps to the library.
.V.
“Have you finished you aisle yet, Alan?” Mr. Pomeroy shouted. He stood at the end of the pet-foods aisle and tapped his pencil against his clipboard.
“Not yet, sir,” Alan said as he angrily shoved a stack of Calo onto the shelf. He added, under his breath so Pomeroy wouldn’t hear, “Not when I have to do mine and Neddie-boy’s aisles, I’m not.”
“Well, hop-to, hop-to. We’ll be closing in a half-hour!” Pomeroy disappeared around the corner, and Alan continued to open boxes and stack the contents on the shelves. He felt some slight sorrow for Ned’s family because of Frank’s death, but he disliked Ned enough not to care too much.
Alan had all of the cartons empty, and he was just picking up the crushed boxes when the lights overhead flickered and went back on.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. The I.G.A. will be closing shortly. Please come to the registers with you purchases now. Thank you for shopping the I.G.A. way.”
Alan ran with the boxes to the backroom, threw them into the trash, and quickly undid the knot on his apron. “Good night, and good riddance,” he muttered, as he hung the apron on its peg and took his jacket.
As he started down the aisle toward the door, he saw Pomeroy still working in an aisle. “Well, goodnight. Do you want me to lock the door?” Alan asked.
“No,” Pomeroy said, rising to his feet, “I’ll be along in a minute. Goodnight.”
Alan stepped outside and glanced up at the starry sky as he zipped up his jacket. He shivered when a vagrant breeze blew into his face. He turned back and saw Pomeroy walking up and down, inspecting Alan’s aisle. Alan jabbed his middle finger in the direction of the store manager and then walked over to his car.
As he walked up to his car, he noticed that it was sitting at a sharp angle. The back right side dropped down, and he realized immediately what the problem was.
“Oh, Christ!” he said angrily, walking around the back and looking at the flat tire. “I just hope the damn spare is OK.” He had wanted to swing downtown and see who was hanging out. The delay meant that he would have to go straight home. He couldn’t be out past ten o’clock on a school night.
He had the trunk open and was fishing out his spare tire and jack when Pomeroy came around the corner. “Alan, how many times do I—” Pomeroy stopped short when he saw what Alan was doing. “Flat tire, huh? Want some help?”
“No thanks,” he replied, dropping the jack to the ground with a clatter. “I can handle it. You were gonna say?”
“Ohh,” Pomeroy shifted on his feet, “you had forgotten to punch out again. I did it for you.”
“Thanks,” Alan said simply. He went over to the flat tire and snapped off the hubcap. Pomeroy got into his car and drove off with a short toot of his horn. Alan ran his hand over the flattened tire, trying to feel if there was a hole or something. At the bottom of the tire, his hand encountered a wet, sticky foam.
“What the—” Alan said, raising his hand to the streetlight to see what it was. The bubbly liquid stuck to his fingers with long strings. It looked like saliva.
“Christ on a mountain,” Alan said under his breath. He loosed the lugnuts on the tire and then, with some effort, got the car jacked up. He picked up the spare and rolled it over to where he was working. It was then that he saw that the spare too was flat.
“Shit!” he swore, violently punching the flat spare. “Now what the fuck am I supposed to do?”
He stood there beside his jacked-up car, considering for a moment. He knew he would have to call his parents and tell them. If he was late coming home one more time, his father had said he’d take his car away from him. That was the last thing he wanted, next to a flat tire with no spare.
There was a pay phone next to the I.G.A., in front of Drapeau’s Hardware and Lumber. He fished in his pocket for change as he made his way across the parking lot.
>
Alan entered the telephone booth and began dialing his home number. Before he could finish dialing, something slammed into the phone booth with ferocious impact. The phone booth tilted to the side and then righted itself.
Surprised and a bit disoriented, Alan looked around. His first thought was that a car had careened into him, but he didn’t remember seeing the headlight.
When he turned around he saw, to his horror, a snarling dog with its face pressed against the glass. The beast had its mouth open, showing a row of long white teeth. Saliva flecked its muzzle. Its angry growl rose steadily.
“Holy shit!” Alan muttered, as he cowered away from the beast. His dialing was forgotten, and he dropped the receiver, letting it hang.
The animal pulled back and, for a moment, Alan thought it was going to leave. But then, without warning, it sprang forward, throwing itself against the glass. With its paws flashing wildly, it clawed the phone booth glass. The sound, mingled with the animal’s angry growling, set Alan’s teeth on edge.
The phone booth tilted, threatening to fall over as the wild animal pressed its weight against it. Alan was shocked to see that the animal actually seemed to be pushing, its hind feet braced for leverage. Waves of claustrophobia added to Alan’s panic, and he crouched on the floor of the phone booth and whimpered.
His eyes rested on the loose receiver, hanging and swinging back and forth as the booth was pushed back further and further. Alan gripped the phone and started dialing.
The animal outside let out a terrifying growl and increased the fury of its attack. Suddenly, the glass of the booth burst inward. Flying shards lacerated Alan’s face and hands. His fingers waved wildly as he tried to complete his call. A paw reached in and snagged the back of his jacket.
“Help me! Help me!” he screamed, even while he was dialing. “Help! Help!” He spun the dial with the last number just as the booth rocked precariously and then started to fall. Alan turned. He was still gripping the receiver, and when he turned, the wire ripped out of the phone.
