by Cecere, Ryan
Lance observed Roseanne’s apartment window–which the police foolishly left open. Just like Michael Connors, he wondered how an animal could leap out the fourth floor window, land on the ground without killing itself, and just be gone without a trace.
Lance knew there was a trace of evidence somewhere, if he just looked hard enough; and he knew for certain that the police didn’t have the keen eye he did for this sort of stuff. This was no run-of-the-mill case. This was his area of expertise.
He shone his flashlight down the side of the building, looking for some indication of where the creature had gone. The light glided down the building, down to the ground, then by the bushes.
Lance smirked and moved in. He knelt down, examining the bloody trail of paw prints–large paw prints that blended in with the dirt, camouflaged under the brush.
“God, why are police so stupid?” Lance muttered to himself “This is why I get paid the big bucks.”
He snapped a picture with his cell phone and made his way around the bushes to the side street and followed the trail, fading as it went along until it disappeared entirely. Its direction from there was unknown.
Lance dialed a number on his phone; after just a ring, the man on the other line picked up.
“I caught a trail, Kurt. It must be back in Ridgefield.”
Motel
September 5, 2015
10:05 a.m.
Zack awoke that morning with a blistering headache; one that throbbed and rattled his brain like none before. A much needed night, he thought as he forced himself out of bed and into the bathroom.
As he grunted his way over to the sink, head booming on the inside, he could still taste the numerous shots of tequila he’d withstood. Zack wasn’t a big fan of tequila, but it did the trick when needed. Heather insisted that Zack leave his truck parked across from the bar while they take a cab home so the mere thought of Zack getting into an accident wouldn’t be on her conscience all night. She offered for him to spend the night at her house--he declined. Then was taken to the nearest motel where he stumbled in, scaring the motel manager and making the old guy iffy to give Zack a room–which he eventually did, and even helped Zack get to it in one piece.
Zack turned the shower knob to the right, shutting the water off. He grabbed a towel, then tossed on his jeans, a tee-shirt and boots, grabbed his car keys from his jacket hanging on a wooden chair, and walked outside.
The sun shone brilliantly in his eyes; a blinding ray of light when first sobering up. Zack shielded his eyes with his hand, remembering his sunglasses were on the dashboard of his truck.
His hangover felt ten times worse by the time he arrived at the pharmacy. Zack popped open the plastic package and gulped down two pills as he walked outside. He thought about taking the two extras he had brought, but decided against it, to save them for later.
“Ahhhh!”
Zack jerked his head up. The streets weren’t crowded, but Zack seemed to be the only one to notice the ear-shattering scream coming from thin air. Where was that coming from? Zack walked by the alleyway, listened closer.
“Help! Someone!”
Zack dropped the other package of aspirin and sprinted down the alley that led to the pharmacy parking lot. By the time he turned the corner, a woman dressed in a nurse’s outfit lay on the ground, covered in blood. Her body shaking, her hand clenched against the large chunk of flesh absent from her throat.
His jaw fell down in terror. What the fuck? Zack rushed over to the nurse.
“Oh my God…”
She tried to speak, but gurgled on her own blood.
“Shhh. Try not to speak. I’m going to get you help, just stay with me.” Zack pulled his cell phone out and dialed.
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” the operator asked.
“I need an ambulance right away!”
———
Pharmacy Parking Lot
10:48 a.m.
“I came out of the store and heard someone scream,” Zack told Peggy, his arms crossed. “Then I heard it again coming down the alleyway. When I turned the corner…that’s when I saw her.” Paramedics lifted up the stretcher, the nurse in a body bag, and rolled it over to the ambulance. “Her throat was torn into--like an animal attack. She stopped breathing shortly after I called you guys.”
Peggy, who was jotting what Zack said in her notepad, looked up. “You didn’t see anyone around? Any animal? Nothing?”
“No,” said Zack. “It was like whoever--whatever--attacked her was fast enough to disappear before I turned the corner.” Peggy sighed, Zack raised a brow. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” she shut her notepad and pocketed it. “This is just the second animal attack in the last several hours.”
“There was another?”
“Yup. Over at Lomax Manor, that senior building. This lady, Roseanne, I think her name was.” Zack’s eyes opened, his jaw tightened. “You know her?”
“No,” Zack lied. “No. It’s just whatever is doing this, I hope gets caught.”
“So do I. Thanks.”
“No problem.”
Zack turned, making his way back toward the alley. Could it be? The thing that killed Grandma? Is it back? First Grandma… Now her friend, Rose.
Halfway down the alley, he came to a halt. He knelt down, looking at the ground. Paw prints from a dog-like creature traveled down the path, eventually fading away. Zack looked around, to make sure nobody was looking, then snapped a picture on his phone. He stood and with his foot, he wiped away the imprints.
———
Peggy approached Michael with a straight face. “Lemme guess,” she began. “You think this something out of the ordinary. Am I right?”
Michael kept a straight face. “I think we can both agree on the fact that our suspect is far from a human.”
“Yeah, it has to be a wild animal.”
Michael snapped his fingers. “Exactly. Except it’s no animal from the natural world. It’s a supernatural being.”
Peggy walked past him, heading to their unmarked car. “I’ve had enough, Connors. I’m reporting your twisted ass to the Captain.”
Michael followed her. Peggy opened the driver’s side door, only for it to be slammed shut by Michael, who leaned against it.
“What are you doing?”
Michael scratched the back of his head. “You’re gonna report me to the Captain?”
“Yeah.” She got in his face. “Wanna know why? Because you’re a loony. And, I’m in desperate need of a new partner.”
“Why can’t you get past that skeptic stage?”
“Because your theories are insane, Connors. There’s no such things as ghosts, and monsters. The real monsters out there are the bad guys—the ones we swore to keep off the streets when we became cops. Don’t you remember that?”
“I remember vowing to protect and serve. Keeping monsters—human or non-human—off the streets is what I’m doing.”
“Oh really?” Peggy took a step back. “We’ve had nothing but unsolved cases since you arrived. How exactly are you keeping “monsters” off the streets again? Right, you’re not because you’re too busy believing in the things children are afraid of; the things that do not exist. What’s next? You’re gonna tell me aliens are real?”
Michael grinned. “I never found any evidence of aliens, but there are tons of eye-witness accounts dating back way before either of our great-great-great grandparents were born. But yes, I do believe in the existence of extraterrestrial lifeforms.” He paused. “Do I think they are out here killing people? No. But something is, and I intend to find out what. So, inform the Captain of my behavior. See how far you get. I doubt he’d find you a replacement anyhow.”
Michael got into the driver seat. “I’ll drive.” He smirked. “Coming?”
———
Lance watched from behind the yellow caution tape, hidden amongst the crowd of bewildered pedestrians. He watched on as Peggy finished talking to the scrawny fellow who cal
led in the attack. Then continued to look on as Peggy and Michael talked. Once they left the crime scene, Lance pushed his way forward, stepping right up to the caution tape for a better view. Blood stained the newly paved parking lot. After a moment, he walked around the crowd, around the crime scene and into the alley. He scanned the ground, in search for the paw prints left by the demonic hound-like creature. Lance found—imprinted in the dirt—one paw print, not fully swept away by the scrawny fellow who tried to cover up the rest of the evidence. He squinted his eyes.
Who’s that kid? And why’d he try to cover this up?
6
Nelson’s House
Noon
“It attacked again,” Lance told Nelson. Nelson was an older man in his fifties. He sat at his desk, with Lance across from him. “This time some Jane Doe. A nurse, going by her uniform. Seems to me like this thing is choosing its victims at random. I can’t find a single pattern with any of the vics, making it impossible to track.”
“That’s because it can’t be tracked,” Nelson informed him.
“Can’t? What do you mean can’t?”
“This creature is very rare. Extremely rare, for that matter. It doesn’t have a pattern to its victims. It attacks at will. Making it very difficult to pin down and vanquish.”
“Well, what the fuck are we dealing with then, Kurt? The only information you’ve given me on this thing is that it got away from you two years ago. And now it’s resurfaced all of a sudden. Why? What is it?”
Nelson grabbed the large, dusty brown covered textbook from his bookshelf and placed it in front of Lance. He skimmed through the book, getting to the mid-way point. He turned the book to face Lance and pressed his finger on the worn paper. “This.”
Lance sat up in his chair. The page of the book read: Hellhounds. Lance gave Nelson a stare. “Hellhound?”
“Demonic hounds, of sort. They don’t have any real motivation. They just attack, and then kill. But,” he waved his pointer finger, “they are territorial creatures. Normally they guard a specific territory, whether it’d be a graveyard, or some deep part of the forest. For it to come out in the open and attack…Something just doesn’t add up to me. Something big must be going down. There’s a reason for everything. This one…this one I can’t quite put my finger on, just yet, anyway.”
“Two years ago, what were its victims? Did they have a pattern at all?” Lance asked.
Nelson thought long and hard. “Nope. Same M.O. as before. Random attacks on random people.” Nelson grunted. “I must be missing something. I just must be.”
“Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. Remember the picture of the footprints I sent to you?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, earlier when I was at the crime scene, I saw this scrawny dude talking to Detective Edwards and he witnessed our Jane Doe’s death.”
“Maybe we should talk to him,” Nelson suggested.
“I don’t think so.”
“Hmm?”
“I followed the direction he was heading, down the alley. When I got there, I saw another trail of paw prints from the hellhound. Only thing is, the dirt was swept away, as if this guy was trying to cover up some evidence.” Nelson closed the textbook and sat back down, a look of curiosity swept over his face. Lance continued, “I’m not assuming anything, but what if this guy had something to do with the attacks? Maybe even be the one summoning it.”
“You know,” Nelson moved his finger along his chin, “now that you mention it, two years ago one of the victims of an attack was an elderly woman—Beth Cassel was her name. She had a grandson who witnessed the hellhound kill her. After that he vanished and I haven’t seen him since.”
Lance leaned forward. “After he vanished, was that the last time you saw the hellhound, too?”
Nelson looked at Lance. Sonuvabitch.
———
Motel
4:55 p.m.
Zack finished up his phone call with Heather, They set up a dinner date for before he left town. Heather, saddened by the news, promised Zack a good, fun night. She attempted numerous times to get him to stay in Ridgefield, to find a job and live with her until he was able to get back on his feet. He declined the generous offer, telling her that he couldn’t stay in town any longer. The memories were too rough. And, now, with two deaths—one Jane Doe, the other a close friend of his grandmother’s—it was time to leave.
At least that’s the story he stuck with. Not letting her know the truth of where he’d been the past two years, or why he’s back. Yes, he hadn’t visited his late grandmother since her death, that was a reason to return…but not the main reason. He was the only person who knew that information.
Zack stuffed the last of his things in his duffel bag. A knock reported on the motel room door. Zack tossed his bag on the bed and answered.
Lance stood at the door.
“Can I help you?” Zack asked.
Lance pulled out his wallet and flashed his badge. “Lance Chambers, Paranormal Specialist.” From what Zack got a glimpse of, the badge this man held was similar to an FBI badge, but different. It was attached to the wallet, was a silver oval shape with the words Paranormal Specialist engraved on it. On the side, Zack caught Chambers’ name and head shot. “Mind if I come in?” Lance didn’t allow for Zack to answer, instead waltzing right on in.
“Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing?”
Lance scanned the room, seeking anything suspicious; something that seemed ritual-like for summoning a very powerful and rare supernatural being. The motel room had a modern feel to it, one no witch or cultist would be using as a hide-out.
“I asked you a question,” Zack said firmly.
“Yeah, and I heard it.” He turned to Zack. “So.”
“So?”
“Zack Cassel, huh?”
“How’d you know my—”
Lance interrupted. “I’m good at my job, for one. I have some questions for you.”
“Questions? What are you, a cop?”
Lance stood quiet for a moment. Smirked. “Something like that. I deal with the unnatural cases. Ghosts, monsters…and those who summon extremely evil creatures with the use of black magic.”
Zack chuckled, shutting the motel room door. He took a few steps closer to Lance. “You’re crazy.”
“Am I? Or am I the perfectly insane one,” he moved closer, “who figured out that you’re the one behind these murders—and the murders from two years ago.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Course you don’t. So you’re going to tell me that you aren’t the one summoning the hellhound? Don’t even lie to me.” Zack didn’t speak. “You see two years ago, this hellhound killed a few people, then out of the blue the damned thing vanished—poof,” he gestured with his hands, “right after your grandmother bit the dust, and once you ditched town. Weird coincidence, don’t you think?”
Peeved, Zack’s face tightened. “Don’t mention my grandmother again. You don’t know anything about me, pal.”
Lance got close to Zack’s face, spoke softly, still aggressive. “Just admit it. You’re the one summoning this thing.”
“You have two seconds to get out of my face before I start swinging.”
Lance and Zack had a staring contest for a beat. Lance took a step back.
“Watch yourself, buddy,” he said. “Once I catch you in the act, you’re over and done with. Understood?”
On his way out, Lance bumped into Zack’s shoulder.
7
Heather’s House
10 p.m.
The hound barked ferociously. Foam dripping out of its mouth. Its glowing red eyes the only part of its body visible in the shadows. It barked and growled, chomping at the air. Just its presence alone brought fear to the strongest and bravest of men, sending them to their knees, afraid for their lives, knowing that was it for them, that it was moments away from taking their life, leaving them helpless.
Zack had the
same reoccurring dream for the past two years: The demonic hound stood at the foot of his bed, watching him at first, then it barked, growled, foamed. Before his eyes could fully adjust to the dark, it would launch at him, gnawing at his face. Zack felt helpless, like an invisible force held him down and didn’t allow him a fighting chance.
Tonight was no different.
Zack awoke in Heather’s bed, half naked, in a cold sweat, his heart banging against his chest. His breathing inhumanly uncontrollable. It took minutes for his body to calm down, for his brain to tell him it was a dream. He pressed his hands against his forehead, gently punching himself to ward off the evil that entered his subconscious.
Heather awoke and sat up, covering her breasts with the blanket.
“Are you okay, Zack?” she asked with concern, afraid to place her hand on his back.
He took a deep breath, looked at her, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, it was just a bad dream is all. I’ll be okay, I promise.” Zack reached for his pants that lay on the carpet along with Heather’s. “I just need to go outside and get some air.”
“Do you want me to go with you?” she asked. Her hopes of a yes were tossed into the fire with his reply: no.
“Wait.” She held his arm. “Let me get you a glass of water. It’ll help.”
She got out of bed and went to the kitchen. Zack finished buttoning his pants, threw on his t-shirt, then rested his head in the palm of his hands.
———
Lance and Nelson sat in Lance’s car, parked in front of Heather’s. Lance held his Dessert Eagle, loaded with silver bullets.
“What are we doing here, Lance? Staking out someone who could possibly not even be the one summoning the hellhound?”
