by Katie Berry
“We’re not going to start jumping at shadows here,” VanDusen said. “We have no proof at this point…”
“Proof! What other proof do you need?” Christine interrupted, holding up the casting in front of her face once more.
“There’s no proof that thing was involved in any of what happened up here. For all we know, that animal may have wandered through the camp after these guys bugged out, once they were done cleaning their kill. That thing may have wandered through and ate the remains the hunters left behind,” VanDusen ended his sentence nodding toward the casting.
“Their tent’s still here as well as their snowmobiles! Are you blind? They didn’t bug out! They were eaten!”
“We’ll see, little missy, we’ll see…” VanDusen said as he turned and walked back toward his snowmobile. Constable Olsen circled around behind the chief, like a satellite in orbit, dabbing at his boss’s jacket with a muddy rag as VanDusen repeatedly swatted him away.
“I think that went well,” Christine said, exasperation in her voice.
“I think they’ll change their mind when they get those blood samples analysed.” Trip interjected.
“This has got to be what killed those men, and it's still out there somewhere,” Christine said, inspecting the casting once more. The creature’s claws were so long that they projected from the top of the bag. They looked almost as threatening in dental bone as they no doubt were in real life, she thought with a scowl.
Glancing at the sun, which was getting precariously close to the edge of the western mountaintops, Trip said, “I don’t think we want to be out here when that sun sets, just in case you’re right. So we’d best get goin’.”
“You heard the man, Chris, let’s saddle up.”
Remembering her promise, Christine handed the casting to Austin who carefully strapped it onto the back of his sled’s seat, securing it for the ride back down the mountain. She climbed onto the back of Trip’s snowmobile for the return leg of her journey, saying, “Looks like you’re my chauffeur this time, Trip.”
Trip smiled and said, “Yes, ma’am,” then blushed beet red as he started his sled. With a gentle twist of the throttle, he guided them into the tracks left behind by the Lawless Police Department, manoeuvring them back toward civilisation.
Austin paused for a moment before following the others, looking over his shoulder at the abandoned campsite one last time. A sense of dread scuttled across the back of his neck as he watched the remaining daylight melt into the mountain peaks in the distance. The waning daylight cast a blood-red halo around the sun as the first, thin wisps of ice fog curled off the Kootenay Glacier in the distance. Revving his engine, Austin fell in line behind Trip and Christine, his disquiet a silent passenger all the way down the mountainside.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Hey, Dad!” Alex said from the living room floor, greeting his father as he entered the house.
“Hi, buddy! How was your day?” Austin stepped inside, the thick mist from the lengthening evening trying to follow him through the open doorway. After the long day at the campsite, he was looking forward to some quiet time at home with his son as well as a hot meal. As he closed the door behind him, he took a deep breath and knew that his son already had things under control in the food department.
Austin entered the living room and saw his son sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of a thick-legged, glass-topped pine coffee table. “It was okay, pretty boring. I’m just finishing up my homework.” Alex scribbled a sentence in his notebook as he spoke, then glanced up briefly and smiled before diving back into his homework.
“Awesome! Say, something sure smells good.” Austin hung his parka and Lawless City Works ball cap on a hook near the front door.
“Yeah, I thought you might be a bit late, so I put some spaghetti and meatballs on for us.”
“You’re the best, bud,” Austin said to Alex, ruffling the boy’s wavy brown hair as he went through into the kitchen.
It appeared Chef Alex had been busy. On the stove, two pots steamed from beneath gleaming chromed lids. Austin peeked inside of the first pot. It contained a deep red pasta sauce with over a dozen pre-cooked meatballs simmering merrily away. If the empty jar and box sitting next to the stove were anything to go by, this evening’s epicurean delight was courtesy of Catelli Super Vegetable Primavera along with President’s Choice Angus Meatballs. However, Austin knew the sauce was not just regular Catelli Primavera. No, this sauce contained Chef Alex’s favourite go-to ingredient when he cooked things, Frank’s Red Hot Sauce. The bottle of Frank’s next to the pot was looking rather low, and Austin realised he was in for another night of fiery after dinner shenanigans in his gastrointestinal tract.
Thanks to Alex’s mother, Patricia, the boy had a penchant for all things spicy, just like she used to have. Austin’s breath hitched slightly at the sudden thought of his wife, and he stirred the sauce and meatballs a few times, placing the lid back on top. He moved on to the pasta pot. Inside, thin strands of spaghettini roiled in tangled coils, turning over lazily in the gently boiling water. The digital timer displayed on the stove counted down the two and a half minutes remaining. With cooking abilities learned from his mother, Austin knew that the boy’s pasta would be a perfect al dente.
Stepping over to the sink, Austin turned and faced the large kitchen window. On a clear day, it looked out onto a covered deck and expansive yard beyond. Tonight, he saw none of it. With his back to the living room, he closed his eyes, resting his hands on the edge of the sink for a moment. He smiled, wanly, feeling love and sadness mix together all at once. They coursed through his heart in a surge of emotions, overwhelming him as he thought of his son.
The boy’s kindness, wit and confidence constantly surprised Austin, but he realised they were just a few of the many things he’d inherited from Patricia. There was that, but the boy also had a keen intelligence and wisdom that sometimes seemed far beyond what someone his age would typically possess. He was immensely proud of his son and loved him more than life itself. Like most parents, Austin would move mountains for the boy, if needed.
After both of Alex’s remaining grandparents passed and then his mother, all within a year and a half, Austin was now the only anchor the boy had left in this large, lonely world. His son was helping so much around the house, sharing the chores, and Austin was grateful. It had been a challenge at first for both of them. They had been overwhelmed and needed time to process the shock and grief. But little by little, each day, they relearned once more how to carry on with their lives, despite the vast black hole at the centre of both of their personal universes.
But almost greater than the pride for his son was the sadness. It dwelt behind every fond memory, tinting them with grief. Each time he stumbled across another of Patricia’s belongings that he had missed sending to the thrift store, it would reopen the wound still fresh in his heart -- a sense of utter desolation and loss that cut through to the very core of his being. He stood motionless, his eyes still closed at the sink, adrift in a sea of melancholy. There were so many things he missed about Patricia -- her hugs and kisses, her gentle caresses, her musical laughter, and the warmth of her body next to him in bed at night. But above all else, it was Patricia’s smile he missed the most. Her radiant, glowing smile that always flooded his heart with joy each time he witnessed it, even after twenty years of marriage. A rush of memories overwhelmed him suddenly, and he leaned heavily on the edge of the sink, bowing his head deeply.
When he had moments like this, reflecting on the past eighteen months, it was as if all the events of their lives together were jumbled up, playing over and over on a looped track inside his head. It took him on a rollercoaster ride, twisting him up toward the peaks of overwhelming joy as he remembered their loving moments together and then rocketing him toward lows of gut-wrenching sorrow when he thought of her premature passing.
The symptoms had begun just after Patricia’s forty-fifth birthday. At first, she forgot the odd appoint
ment. It didn't seem like a big deal. Not something that concerned either her or Austin very much. She put it down to stress caused by her job as a nurse at the hospital and her exhaustion from some of the long hours she put in there.
But over the next few months, she started forgetting more critical things, like Mother’s Day, Father’s Day and then eventually Alex’s birthday. One evening, Austin had talked her into getting herself tested, his concern growing deeper each passing month. He’d watched the changes in her demeanour. She’d once been so easy to laugh and smile. His day had always been elevated every time he had the pleasure to witness either one. His shoulders heaved again.
Everything changed just after Thanksgiving the previous year. Patricia grew more and more impatient and irritable, less able to shrug off the caprices of life when they arose. The smiles came fewer and farther apart until one day, they stopped altogether. It had been as if the part of her that experienced joy and happiness was now gone forever lost in the vast labyrinth of her deteriorating mind.
Then the diagnosis came back. Patricia and Austin had been dumbstruck — Early-onset Alzheimer’s. Over the next dozen or so months, his wife fought long and hard against the disease’s debilitating effects. Austin could never remember exactly how many months that it had taken for the disease to kill her because they were all a jumble of raw emotion. The one thing he recalled clearly, however, was that there were not enough of them.
Ultimately, Alzheimer’s left her pale, thin and bed-ridden at the hospital’s extended-care wing, tended by the same people with whom she used to work. Near the end, when Austin would visit, she would ask if she knew him. He would smile and tell her that he was her husband. She often seemed surprised at this news as if she were unsure if he were telling her the truth or not.
However, for the longest time, there was always one person that she never forgot, and that was her son, Alex. He had been a golden ray of sunshine -- a beacon of clarity and lucidity, in an increasingly cloudy mind. Whenever she saw him, her eyes brightened from the dimness that was encroaching upon her, love flooding her face at the sight of her beautiful, amazing boy.
But eventually, even Alex receded into the fog that now comprised her mind. She no longer spoke, her face a blank slate, not responding to anyone or anything. One cold evening in February, as Austin held her frail hand, talking to her about the highlights of their life together, he knew things had changed with Patricia. She now only stared at the ceiling, her eyes empty and unblinking, breathing shallowly. The spark of recognition that sometimes danced near the corners of her eyes had gone out.
Alex talked to her next, his eyes heavy with tears, telling her of his latest academic achievements and of his making captain on the junior hockey team. But there was no recognition of any of this from Patricia. She continued to breathe shallowly and stare at the ceiling. It seemed her body had only been a shell, and the vibrant, beautiful woman inside was now long gone.
Austin received a call at home later that night. He remembered feeling numb as he told Alex. They had both been devastated by the news. Though they knew it was coming, it was still a shock. The anchor of love in their life was gone, leaving them both emotionally adrift.
But little by little, over the ensuing weeks and months, they had started to heal. Alex began to gradually come back to the boy he’d been before — as if he sensed that, though his mother was no longer physically with him, she would always be there for him, in his memories and in his heart.
Austin usually kept most of his emotions in check, not wanting to burden the boy further. Somedays, he felt such a sense of longing and loss that he had to mentally slap himself and tell himself to get a grip before he was overwhelmed by emotion once more. He’d been coping reasonably well, most of the time. But every once in a while, it caught him off guard, and he had to stop and take a slow, deep breath. He stood a moment longer at the counter, still not looking out the window, but looking inward, his closed eyes feeling heavy with unshed tears. Taking the edge of his shirtsleeve, he wiped at the corner of one eye for a moment, not wanting Alex to see him like this.
“You okay, Dad?” Alex’s voice gently inquired at his shoulder.
“Yeah, just had something in my eye,” Austin lied, still rubbing his sleeve against the corner of one closed eye as he smiled at the boy.
“That sucks, doesn’t it. I hate it when that happens.” Seemingly satisfied, his son gave him a small pat on the back, then continued to the stove to dish up the pasta. Alex placed a couple of empty bowls down at the kitchen table. He knew his dad was having a hard time some days and was trying his best to help him out wherever he could. Sometimes it was by cleaning the bathroom, and other times it was by doing the laundry. Tonight, it was cooking dinner so that when his dad came home from another long day, they could relax and watch the hockey game together.
Alex drained the pasta into a colander in the sink, then dumped the sauce and meatballs into the pasta pot and poured the spaghetti back on top. He stirred the meal for a little bit and said, “So what’s new out on the roads, Dad? I didn’t get a chance to ask yesterday.” From the counter, the boy handed his father a spoon and knife, adding, “Sorry, the forks were all dirty.”
“I think I’ll manage, thanks.” Sitting down, Austin placed his cutlery on the table in front of himself. “Well, we had another scratch and sniff yesterday, a messy one.”
“What happened?”
“Ray Chance hit a raccoon.”
“What? How much of a mess could that possibly make?” Alex inquired, eagerly.
“It was the size of a black bear.”
“What?” Alex’s eyes went wide.
Austin related the incident with the raccoon, meeting Christine, and the tale of Geraldine Gertzmyer’s turkeys. He left out the part about the slaughter at the campsite since he didn’t want his son to worry, or for word to get out and cause a panic until they were confident of the threat.
This was exciting news to Alex. “Wow, a raccoon as big as a bear? How is that possible? What do you think it ate to get that big? Do you think it’s some sort of mutant caused by radioactivity and it got into some illegally dumped toxic waste barrels, or something like that?”
Austin smiled. Thanks to Patricia, his son had a passion for old horror and sci-fi movies from the fifties and sixties, and this seemed like a reasonable assumption for the boy to make. “I don’t know about that,” Austin responded. After a moment, he continued, “According to Christine’s colleague down on the coast who’s a zoologist, that sort of animal hasn’t been seen around these parts for about fifty-thousand years or so.”
“Whoa! Really?”
“Yeah, I know, how is that possible, right? The conservation officer sent some samples down to her colleague to have them analysed. Perhaps when she hears back, we’ll have a better idea of how this thing survived so long.”
“Well, Dad, despite this conversation about exploding mutant raccoons from beyond time and scraping them off of the highway, I think I’m feeling pretty hungry right now. How about you? Are you ready to eat?”
“You bet, son,” Austin said, smiling at the helpful person his son was becoming and knew that Patricia would be proud.
Alex gave his dad a thumbs up and was just about to lift the pot of spaghetti and meatballs from the stove and bring it to the table when the phone rang. He detoured and picked the faded yellow handset off the wall instead, saying, “Hello, Murphy Residence, Alex speaking.” He listened for a moment, then said, “Yes, he is. Just a moment, please.” He quickly handed the receiver over to Austin with a concerned look on his face.
“Austin speaking, go ahead.” As he spoke, he attempted to untangle the twisted, coiled cord that was attached to the old, princess-style handset but gave up after several frustrating seconds.
“Hey Austin, it’s Trip.”
“Hi, Trip! What’s shakin’?” Austin could hear loud music thumping in the background of Trip’s phone call.
“I’m just down at Frostbi
te Fred’s,” Trip said, speaking loudly.
“I know, I heard!” Trip was at the local sports bar on the main highway, one of his favourite after-work haunts.
“Sorry, it’s a little loud here, it’s open mic night!” Trip raised his voice a little bit more to be heard. “Anyway, so check this out; the door flies open and in staggers the Wilson kid blabbering away about a monster trying to eat him. He was white as a sheet. Looked like he had some pretty severe frostbite on his hands and probably his feet as well.”
“Really? Did he say when or where this happened?”
“Well, the only thing I caught was that he’d been out in the bush somewhere, something about a cave, and I think he said his dad, Willy Senior, got attacked and eaten by this thing. Said he was almost killed, too, but got away while it ate his dad. He was pretty incoherent.”
“Jesus! Did you get a chance to talk to him?”
“No, but I saw the shape he was in and got on my cell right away to call Emergency Health Services. Anyway, as the kid was talking, Oscar Olsen, who I neglected to mention was off duty and having a few drinks at the bar as well, gets on his cell phone right away and starts having an animated discussion with someone on the other end. I thought maybe he was calling EMS as well. The kid was still rambling pretty badly at this point.”
