Predatory Animals

by Gabriel Beyers

  Bobby noticed a balcony loft above him. Perhaps it wasn’t a decaying animal that he smelled. Maybe the owner of the house committed suicide or had suffered some unfortunate household accident.

  Though he really didn’t want to go up and find out, he needed the keys to that car. He had no choice. The Pummels and their mercenaries would find their way to this cabin eventually and he couldn’t abide in this stench much longer.

  Bobby climbed the stairs, wincing at every creak. He laid his hand upon the knob, pulled the door tight into the jamb, and turned as slow as he could. He eased the door open and stepped inside.

  Compared to the rest of the cabin, this room was relatively untouched. The only thing out of place was the bed. The mattress seemed to be covered by a large mound of trash with several smaller sacks surrounding it.

  A strange sound lifted behind Bobby and his blood congealed. It was like no sound he had heard before. He turned in a slow arc. His hands were numb and the flashlight hung listlessly in his fingers. He continued to turn until the light raked across the floor, spilling onto the sacks surrounding the bed.

  They were light pink, each with dark blue veins spider-webbing over their surfaces. The sacks churned and pulsated as something living moved within them. In the dark Bobby had mistaken the mound on the bed to be trash, but his heart withered at the truth.

  It was a mound of flesh, swollen and deformed; a living pile of offal; an accretion of tumors; an incongruous melding of tissue with six sacks attached by thick green umbilical cords. The mound of flesh quaked, and two arms appeared at the top. Moments later a woman’s pain-scarred face broke through the surface. She opened her mouth and in a gurgling voice muttered, “They are coming.”

  A rolling scream bubbled up from the deepest part of Bobby’s soul. It filled his mouth like vomit and burst forth like a banshee’s song. Every instinct within begged him to remain silent but he could not. He turned to run, but a man stood in the way.

  Forgetting about his toothbrush-shiv, Bobby struck at the man with the flashlight. He didn’t care who it was. He only wanted to escape the nightmare upon the bed. The man in the doorway caught Bobby by the wrist and, with a simple squeeze, shattered the bones as if they were dry twigs.

  Bobby dropped the flashlight and fell to his knees. The spinning light caused the shadows to dance in a demonic cadence. The man leapt upon Bobby, pinning him to the floor. A putrid odor—the same he smelled downstairs—washed over him like contaminated waters.

  “I wanted to kill you the moment you stepped inside,” he said, his breath reeking of decay. “But Scorpion wouldn’t let me. It said you were a fortunate find.” Bobby thrashed beneath the man, but his kicks and elbows did little to dislodge him. “Scorpion wants you to watch.”

  Bobby tried to push up, but the pain of his broken wrist spiraled up his arm. The air suddenly shimmered like a still pond troubled by a dropped stone and from nowhere an insect the size of a small dog appeared.

  The woman on the bed screamed in pain until the windows quaked and her voice box ruptured. A chorus of sounds, like several strips of Velcro being ripped open, took up the call. The man released Bobby so that he could stand to watch what was spilling forth from the sacks.

  He gave a great weary sigh. “They are free.”

  New Tricks

  Casper sat out on the back porch, sunning himself and watching the children toss tennis balls to the dogs when he got a call from Patrick on his cell phone.

  “Is Maggie gone yet?” Patrick spoke in a hushed tone as if Maggie would be able to hear him otherwise.

  “Hello. How are you?”

  “Hi Cas. I’m great. How are you?” Patrick’s words were short and impatient. “Is she gone?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Hold tight. I’ll be there in a few.”

  Ten minutes later Patrick’s car pulled up the driveway. Casper flagged Tad down as he ran past. “Patrick is here. Will you run out front and tell him to come back here?”

  Tad did as asked and King bounded after him, wagging his thick golden tail.

  Patrick came around the corner of the house, walking with his usual graceful strut. When you were around him long enough you could see that the genius-giant had chosen well to avoid football. He was a dancer through and through. Patrick pulled up a chair and sat down.

  “Sorry about that. I wanted to wait for Maggie to go to work. I figure after yesterday, she’s not too thrilled about letting you play with me.”

  “You’re clear. It’s me she’s pissed at.” Casper sighed. “She says I’m going through some post-retirement midlife crisis. That I’ve reverted to some little boy that goes around trying to prove himself.”

  Patrick considered this a moment. “She may be right. What did you say to that?”

  Casper refused to look over at Patrick. He couldn’t bear to see that colossal grin spread when he admitted his stupidity. “I told her to mind her own business.”

  “Bet that went over well.”

  “Yeah, I think that one slip of the tongue bought my ass a lifetime spot on the no sex list.”

  Patrick leaned forward and clasped his hand over his lap. “You know, an apology might go a long way to fixing your marriage. But what do I know?”

  When Casper didn’t answer, Patrick looked out to the pen. “I see the dogs didn’t like their prison,” he said, pointing to the large hole the dogs had dug under the fence. “They killin’ again?”

  Casper clenched his jaw tight. “Yep. Yesterday I found another skunk and three squirrels. Today it’s a possum and another cat. I keep telling Maggie that we need to get rid of these dogs, but she won’t let it go. That’s what we fight about more than anything else. Well, that and my midlife crisis. I think she likes the dogs more than she does me.”

  “No offense, but if I had to choose which I’d rather cuddle with, you or the dogs, then you’d be sleeping outside, my friend.” When Casper didn’t laugh, Patrick cleared his throat. “The cat didn’t belong to your crazy neighbor, did it?”

  “I hope not, but I’m not going over to ask.”

  Shadow hopped up onto the deck, walked over to Casper then rolled onto her back.

  “Get out of here.” Casper shooed her with his foot. “I don’t want to rub your belly.”

  “I don’t see what you have against these dogs.” Shadow trotted up to Patrick and grunted as he rubbed her ears. “Maggie’s right. Look at your kids. See how happy they are? There’s only a short period in our lives when our love is as unconditional as a dog’s. You’re a good dad. I know you don’t want to take that away from your kids.”

  “No, I don’t.” Casper watched Sky catch a tennis ball in midair. “But you know what I see when I look into the eyes of those dogs?”

  “What?”

  “The same thing I saw in the eyes of those man-eaters at St. Francis.”

  “The cats or the guards?”

  “Take your pick.”

  Patrick picked up Shadow (which looked like a toy poodle in his large hands) and sat her in his lap. “They’re just being true to their little doggy hearts. Sure it sucks to clean up dead animals and fill in the holes they dig, but don’t try to change the nature of the beast. You won’t win that fight. Besides, I would have figured a military man like you would appreciate an animal that’s smart as well as strong.”

  “That’s why I keep you around.”

  “I’m going to ignore all the racial implications involved with calling me an animal, and remind you that you forgot to say how good looking I am as well.”

  “You are a handsome man.”

  “Thanks.” Patrick set Shadow down and she leapt from the deck like a black bullet to solicit more pettings from Lucy. “So, do you hate all dogs or just these three?”

  Casper stood up and pitched his cold coffee into the grass. “Did you come over just to grill me about the dogs? What does it matter?”

  “No, I just came over to hang out. But seeing as how we have saved each other’s l
ife at least once, I like to think of us as friends. And I wouldn’t be much of a friend if I didn’t try to get through to your stubborn ass once and a while.”

  “Who’s stubborn?”

  “You’re as stiff-necked as a mule in the mire. Your wife likes the dogs. Your children love the dogs. All you have to do is tolerate them.”

  Casper shook his head. “I tolerate them. I just don’t trust them.”

  “Why, cause they behave like dogs? I’ll give you that they are a bit territorial, but they seem great with the kids.”

  After Casper said nothing, Patrick sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What is it? What aren’t you telling me?”

  “It’s nothing,” Casper said. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me. Don’t let my size and good looks fool you. I’m also quite the genius.”

  Casper laughed. “Don’t forget humble.”

  Patrick held out his hands as if to say I gotta be me, but remained silent.

  “I’ve been having strange dreams,” Casper said. He didn’t want to talk about this; he hadn’t even mentioned to Maggie, but Patrick had worn away at his walls. “Ever since my swim in the river I’ve been dreaming about these dogs. About them hunting.”

  “Things that irk us have a way of showing up in our subconscious. It seems natural to me.”

  “Patrick, I dreamt about them before they ever came here. Don’t you find it weird that I dreamed of three dogs and not too long after, three dogs show up at my house?”

  “Coincidence, that’s all.”

  “I also dream about what they kill. I told you that today they killed a possum and a cat. I know that, not because I’ve found the cat and possum, but because I dreamt about it. Just like all the others.”

  Casper could tell that Patrick didn’t believe him, but he was already spilling his guts and couldn’t find a place to stop.

  “It’s more than the dreams, though. Sometimes, when I’m calm and still, I can see through the dogs’ eyes. Like I’m inside their heads.” Casper wanted to laugh at the madness of his own words, but the look in Patrick’s eyes made him hold back. “Sometimes I wonder if they’re really dogs at all.”

  Patrick frowned in concern. “Okay, you might be slipping into Crazytown just a bit.”

  “Fair enough,” Casper said. “Would you like to see something spooky?”

  Patrick gave a wary nod.

  Casper looked around the back yard. Beth and Lucy were throwing tennis balls to Sky and Shadow, but Tad and King were still at the front of the house. “Pick something a dog can fetch. Make it unusual, but it has to be close by.”

  Patrick looked very worried now. “Uhm, okay.” He thought for a moment. “How about a flower.”

  “Any particular kind?”

  “The orange ones you have planted around your flagpole.”

  “That’ll work.” Casper leaned in close to Patrick and whispered, “King, bring me a snapdragon.” He sat straight with his arms folded over his chest.

  Patrick looked around as if he suspected to see a hidden camera. “Well, I don’t know how spooky that was, but it sure was weird.”

  “Be patient.” Casper pointed over Patrick’s shoulder. “There you go.”

  Patrick stood to his feet. The yellow lab turned the corner clutching an orange snapdragon in his teeth by the stem. King climbed the stairs onto the deck then stopped and stared up and Casper.

  “Give it to Patrick,” Casper ordered. King turned, set the flower down on Patrick’s feet, and then sat down wagging his tail.

  Tad came around the corner, climbed the stairs and looked down at the flower. “How did you get him to do that?”

  “I didn’t,” Patrick said his eyes fixed on the snapdragon. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you two were playing a joke on me.”

  Tad watched the silent play unfolding in the two men’s expressions. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” Casper said. “It’s about time for lunch. Go tell the girls to go in and wash up.”

  Tad did as he was told, and when all three children were inside Patrick reached down and picked up the flower. “I’ll admit that was impressive. Does that work for all dogs?”

  “Just those three,” Casper said. “I don’t seem to have any control over other animals, including my wife and kids.”

  Patrick set the snapdragon on the deck rail. “You should tell the dogs to stop all the killing and get your asses booked on Oprah or something?”

  Casper smiled but he did it more to put Patrick at ease than for joy. “I’ve tried telling them to stop. It’s the one order they won’t obey.” He considered a moment. “Well, that and they won’t leave.”

  “Why do you think that is?”

  Casper shrugged. “I’m not sure why they won’t leave. As far as the killings, maybe they are honing their skills.”

  “Honing them for what? Some kind of doggy Olympics of Death?”

  “I don’t know, but that’s why I don’t trust them.”

  The sound of a car coming up the driveway cut the awkward silence. Tad stepped up to the back door. “Dad, Officer Wicket just pulled up.”

  “Thanks. Would you tell him to come back here?”

  Moments later, Dale Wicket stepped through the back door, shook Casper’s hand and clapped Patrick on the back.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” he said to Patrick. “That saves me a trip. I’ve got some news for you two, but it’s off the record.”

  “Aren’t you on duty?” Casper asked a bit too harshly. He didn’t mean to pour his anger out on Dale. But there was something strange brewing around him; he could sense it like the coming rains. Dale had been the one to pique his interest in the Pummels, and now he just wanted to cast a blanket over the situation and pretend it didn’t exist.

  Dale seemed not to notice the edge in his voice. “Yes, but it can’t wait. I don’t want you to hear this from anyone else.”

  “There’s this crazy new invention called the telephone,” Casper said. “They even come in the portable, cellular option. You could’ve saved the gas and just called.”

  “No. I don’t want this going where someone might overhear. It’ll be in the paper by tomorrow, I’m sure, but not everything. This is just between us, and this conversation never happened. Got it?”

  Casper and Patrick glanced at each other before nodding. Dale looked around to make sure the kids weren’t listening in. “Someone stabbed Sly Felton last night.”

  Patrick’s face lit with shock. “Is he dead?”

  “Almost, but no. He’s at Shadeland Hospital. He has a punctured lung, lost a lot of blood, and is in the critical care ward.”

  Casper remembered the look in the eyes of the Pummel’s mercenaries. The stabbing didn’t shock him as much that Sly Felton had lived. “Who stabbed him?”

  “Don’t know. He hasn’t woken up yet. Doctor says he might not. It’s pretty touch-and-go right now.”

  Patrick’s knees bounced incessantly. “Where did they find him?”

  “In the woods outside of St. Francis.”

  Casper could see something shimmering behind Dale’s eyes. “It’s a wonder he didn’t die out there,” Casper said. “How did you manage to find him?”

  A faltering smile touched the corner of Dale’s mouth. “I might have been doing some coon hunting in the area and came across him.”

  “Coon hunting, huh?” Patrick asked with a laugh. “And they believed that bullshit?”

  Dale shrugged. “Spying on sinister people after they had a ruckus with my friends didn’t sound so good. So I embellished a bit.”

  “Did you see who stabbed him?” Casper asked.

  “No. I was watching the back gate when it opened and a golf cart went shooting up the road like its ass was on fire. I followed the cart and found it at the bottom of a ravine with Sly Felton not too far away. Luckily I was parked close by so I was able to get him to the hospital.”

  Dale’s face changed, like a clou
d passing before the sun, bringing a sternness to his features. Casper knew that look well. He had worn it many times himself. “You came to order us to stay away from St. Francis, didn’t you?”

  Dale nodded. “Yes. I’m sure they saw me drive away with Sly. No need to poke a pissed off dragon. There’s going to be an investigation now. It wouldn’t do you two any good to get caught snooping around.”

  Patrick raised his hands. “I got no problem with that.”

  Casper did. “I never figured you for a hypocrite, Dale.”

  Dales face flushed a bit. “Goddamit, Cas. This isn’t the time for any of your Semper Fi bullshit. I’ve warned you already. What’s it going to take to get through to you? Maggie’s life? Your kids’? It’s time to bow out and leave things alone.”

  “Dale’s right,” Patrick said. “The cops are in it now. Let them investigate.”

  “Are you going to be part of the investigation?” Casper felt like chewing his tongue off. Dale was right, but knowing that couldn’t quench his anger. The smug face of Arthur Pummel rose in his mind.

  Dale shook his head. “Most likely no. They’ll assign a detective. If I’m lucky I’ll be able to grab some info, but I have a feeling I’m going to be locked out.”

  Casper caught something disturbing in Dale’s eyes. “You think they’ve paid your bosses, don’t you?”

  Dale turned to watch the dogs sunning themselves in the grass. “Yes.”

  “That’s not good,” Patrick said. “The Pummels know that you’re on to them. They’re not going to buy the coon hunting story. Do you think they’ll try to buy you?”

  “I’m not worth buying,” Dale said, nervously stuffing his hands into his pockets. “If they are as bad as we suspect then I think they’ll just take me out. And if they have no qualms putting a hit on a cop, they sure as shit won’t lose sleep over knocking you two out of the picture. That’s why as of right now St. Francis is off the menu. If we quit poking the dragon then maybe it will go back to sleep.”

  “What if it doesn’t?” Patrick seemed washed clean of his normal bravado. This did more to douse the angry fire than anything else, and suddenly fear gripped Casper.