Copyright © 2016 Kimberly Goss-Kearney
All Rights Reserved.
This book may not be reproduced or transmitted in any written form without the written permission of the publisher. In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher.
Dark Sasquatch~ Wolf Canyon
Written by
Kimberly Goss-Kearney
Edited by
Dianne Marie Klinski
Sandra Gurrero
Social Media
Krysta Garrison
Published by Jericho Publishing
all rights reserved Dan
Dillon
Gordon
Norma
“Other people I used to know may not recognize the new me, I have put myself back together differently...”
Unknown
Honorable Mention being given to those named above: I would not have been able to successfully triumph the many challenges I have been faced with this past year with you. This is the Spiritual Varsity support team who have stood behind me through many hours of frustration, without hesitation or selfishness.
I LOVE YOU ALL VERY MUCH
Dear Reader,
I hope you find all of the same adventure and enjoyment within the pages of this Cold Cat Mountain series that I found in writing it. Cold Cat Mountain came to be a passionate response to a life changing trauma I experienced while in the field of Social Work, and I found as I came to terms with that trauma that we all face monsters. Each of us daily face battles we are not truly prepared for- because isn't that after all the way an authentic hero is shaped? Within circumstances he or she is not prepared to face?
Because we all face our own monsters I wanted to reach out to you and encourage you.
Trust Yourself.
Be Fierce.
Question Everything.
And above all, enjoy the mysteries of the world we live in...
~Kimberly Goss-Kearney~
FACEBOOK: https://www.facebook.com/Sasquatchcoldcatmountain/
COLD CAT MOUNTAIN TRILOGY
BOOK II
DARK SASQUATCH~WOLF CANYON Take the Journey... ~Introduction~
“So often we think we know what dwells
within the world we occupy.
We do not.”
Kimberly Goss-Kearney
“Darkness... When everything that you know and love... is taken from you so harshly... all you can think about is anger, hatred, and even revenge... and no one can save you.” Masashi Kishimoto
~One~
Matilda was gone. Eventually, after a frenzied search for Matilda that yielded no results, the citizens of Stryker dispersed, drifting towards home. Search parties returned to their assigned teams. Others quietly stood guard at the road block, murmuring softly over steaming travel mugs of coffee.
The evening had been wrought with anxiety and loss. The tension lingered in the air much like an uninvited guest lingering too long after dinner. For Blaze it was two-part; she was missing her friend, her mentor, and Shelby had placed her life on the line to save Blaze.
Occasionally, a member of the citizen militia would glance over to Blaze's immobile form, where she swayed silently in the falling snow, alone, staring out at the small circular tree stand where Matilda had last been seen.
In the early morning gray, what Blaze referred to as monster sirens blared one final warning call, then fell silent. Fighting a battle with her own inner monster, Blaze resisted the urge to run into the trees where Matilda had been taken. She knew she would only raise more concerns, and the town’s citizens were all weary.
The militia guarding the road blocks followed orders implemented hours before to ensure Blaze didn't succumb to the pull cryptically warned of during the long sinister night. A magnetic pull victims could not resist. Details of how and why victims were summoned to the trees were still vague, forcing the town to err on the side of caution.
Once again, reassured she would remain as motionless as she had for hours, the militia turned back to their coffee, breathing steam into the early morning air, rifles slung over their backs, holsters low on their hips.
News crews remained lined up at the entrance of the small town, where saw horses with makeshift signs reading “No Entry” stood, blocking their access. Some of the press vehicles sporting well-known logos idled quietly in the early morning chill. Passengers were warming inside following the long cold night during which they had reported the frenzy of activity to the outside world.
It was quiet. Stryker had fallen too quiet. Snow drifts piled against small shop doors, snow covered trees bowing under the weight of the recent accumulation. Still falling, it created a Rockwellian picture of a mountain town awaiting Christmas.
Not one in the throes of terror. The early morning of the day promised little light, pressing in drearily. Blaze stared in shock at where she had last seen Matilda stepping into the dark trees, alone. Compelled.
Several individuals from search parties, as well as Sheriff Walker, had tried to persuade Blaze to leave the scene of her friend’s disappearance. Blaze screamed, pushed, and resisted attempts to bring her to safety, warmth and comfort. Eventually, even Jax Walker had retreated to the Sheriff’s Department to file his reports. He stood near the window of his office in the early dawn light, sipping coffee, watching Blaze unravel within her own self-imposed isolation.
He had requested the EMTs approach her to check for signs of shock. Blaze had resisted them as well. Instead, she stood on weary feet in the falling snow, trying to understand the frenzy of attack and loss she had witnessed. Somehow, her mind refused to accept what she had seen, heard, and experienced. The monster within her feasted eagerly on the memory of the night’s events. With eyes wide, searching, somehow trying to will Matilda back into the very clearing she had disappeared from, Blaze waited.
She limped awkwardly back to the buildings now; slow, but moving for the first time in hours. No one noticed as she tilted her head, shuffling clumsily on numb feet encased within thick boots.
Her grief held its own kind of silence, one Blaze was not immune to. It was a silence tearing at her mental fabric as she strained her ears, listening. Even the sounds of a once-alarmed community had fallen within the gnarled fist of an extreme calm, a soundless vacuum, lacking life.
She stopped and twisted in a slow circle. Facing Cold Cat Peak, Blaze stared up, even as it stared back, unblinking, clouds pregnant with snow concealing the sharp tower. With the loss of hope pacing circles in her frenzied mind, Blaze turned and headed back to the silent town. The road on which she stood was deserted. No vehicles. No new foot prints dotted the sidewalks. Even Stryker’s street lights were dimming.
As the day slowly emerged, she stood solitary in a mountain town with monsters at large.
The village itself was shuttered, the town’s occupants huddled behind locked doors. The curtains of tidy homes were drawn tightly against the day.
At the edge of town, she paused and faced the large bay doors of the Search and Rescue building. Turning back, she faced the trees once more. Hot tears traveled down her face and she angrily shook her hand from the over-sized sleeve of her coat, swiping at her face with the cold fabric.
With no one near, she bit her lip and took a step toward the dark tree line. In the silence, she jumped slightly as a pine limb collapsed beneath the heavy snow, landing near her
feet. The remaining limbs swayed slightly in the aftermath, eventually becoming as still as their surroundings.
Recalling Matilda’s swift disappearance only hours earlier, Blaze continued toward the trees, allowing her eyes to roam the scene of the abduction. She recalled the moment; baffled that her friend had raised no sounds and had left behind no remnants of herself during the dark hours of the night in which they'd searched. She'd simply stepped into the trees and vanished. The exact same way as all of the other victims Matilda had been trying to assist.
Blaze kept walking, unaware she had become numb to the cold, but also to reality, and fear. She touched a pine bough at the tree line, rubbing it between her fingers. Snow sifted softly to the forest floor.
There was nowhere for her to be. Hours earlier, everyone had been searching, helping her, encouraging her. Now that she was alone, no one would know or care if she too, disappeared. Blaze tried valiantly to lock onto something in her own life worth hanging on to.
She couldn't.
She had already re-arranged her life; changed it without looking back. Matilda had become the epicenter of whom she was evolving into; a reluctant Cryptozoologist.
With Matilda gone, she was completely alone. Alone, and lacking in knowledge. She could not return to her former life; the disease she referred to as her inner monster had seen to that. Social Work caused the monster in the closet of her mind to tear and shred at her inner core, until she was unable to competently proceed. Somehow, cryptozoology soothed her inner beast; satiated it. Appeased it.
Glancing at her sleeve as if in a dream, Blaze noticed she had lost track of time as she turned thoughts over deep within her mind. Snow had rapidly accumulated on her left arm as she’d stood staring, thinking.
Longing replaced mourning as she drifted mentally. Watching someone simply vanish was the epitome of suffering. Closing her eyes, she leaned back against a tree, sliding slowly downward onto the white forest floor. She whispered Matilda’s name, tipping her head back. Exhaling her grief into the silence.
Within that silence something whispered back. Heart surging in fear, she tried to stand and tripped forward, awkwardly supporting her upper body on her hands in the deep snow. Frozen in place, she spotted something through the low hanging tree boughs just inside the small grouping of pines where Matilda had last been seen.
Using her elbows to remain low to the ground, she pulled herself forward under the lowest limbs, and into the clearing on her stomach. There, in the circular opening of pines was a single stump, sporting the accumulating snow fall like a white top hat. At the base of the stump lay one of Matilda’s boots. The brown coloring of the boot clashed rebelliously against its white surroundings, an exclamation mark tossed adrift in the silence of the forested enclave. With trembling, cold fingers Blaze reached for it, dragging it back through the snow until it was secure and snug against her.
She dropped her face toward the boot and felt a stirring within her chest. Raising her head, looking out into the clearing, she squinted. The boot hadn’t been there during the early morning hours of the search. She had searched the area twice herself.
Slowly, she rose on numb feet, the rest of her body wincing in pain. Her heart rate increased, and she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand upright.
She was being watched. Leveling her gaze upward, clinging to Matilda’s boot, Blaze quietly and purposefully exposed her teeth in a primal, unplanned response. What little knowledge she'd accrued during her time with Matilda had taught her to attune to when she was being observed.
Suddenly, a rush of air burst from her lungs, and she screamed in anger, throwing Matilda’s boot back into the clearing. It landed with a soft thud in the rising snow and slowly disappeared. Turning in a circle she screamed again, throwing her arms out, as if to invite attack. She screamed until her voice was hoarse and she was barely able to emanate a whisper. Stumbling backward, she somehow remained upright as a new heat coursed through her veins, her breathing harsh in the wintry morning air.
A challenge had been issued. One that she had responded to. Turning her back boldly toward the clearing, she pushed through the limbs, scattering snow, letting it fall to the ground ahead of her as if paying homage to her resolve. A resolve she wasn’t aware she had been capable of.
Without words or a greeting to rest anxieties the militia might have, Blaze stormed into the Sheriff's Department and slammed the door behind her.
Jax Walker turned and faced her, feeling a peculiar dread.
There was quite possibly a new monster in town.
“And this also," said Marlow suddenly, "has been one of the dark places of the earth.” ― Joseph Conrad
~Two~
Gordon eased slowly from his saddle, indicating for Dusty and Pat not to speak. To Gordon's left, John held a rifle, cautiously surveying the surroundings of the thickly wooded mountainside. From the back of his horse, resting the butt of the 30-06 on his left thigh, John watched Gordon study the trees. Uneasy, the animals side-stepped in the snow, nostrils flaring as they pranced, leaving small snow banks gathered around their dark hooves.
Moving a limb from where it had fallen to the forest floor, Gordon held it up and twirled it, examining it carefully in the dim morning light. Squinting, he slowly turned it over in his gloved hand, stopping when his eyes settled on what he searched for. One side of the thin branch was covered in a line of blood. Looking off in the direction the creatures seemed to be traveling, Gordon shook his head.
Wolf Canyon. Exhaling slowly, he pushed his hat back. It was without doubt the deadliest and most isolated region of Cold Cat Mountain. There were two ways in, one if an individual was in a hurry, and only one way out.
He passed the red stained limb to John, and pointed in the direction of the isolated canyon without speaking. Swinging lithely into his saddle, Gordon soothed his mount. Storm began to prance uneasily as Gordon pondered his options, knowing their small mounted posse was not prepared to pursue the Cryptids into Wolf Canyon.
As Storm breathed heavily into the thin, early morning light, a movement to their right prompted John to take aim. Standing up in his stirrups, he tracked the movement of something dark, something huge, through the thick pines using his scope. He waited patiently for the opening to take a shot.
When a tall pine swayed heavily at fifty yards ahead, he fired with confidence. The scream that followed filled the mountainside and reverberated around them, causing snow to fall from the tree tops. Rolling their eyes back in fright, showing only the whites surrounding their dark pupils, the horses fought for purchase against the reins keeping them in place by the experienced riders. Gordon felt a stirring he didn't recognize. Acting on instinct he spun his horse toward his grandson Dusty and Pat.
“Ride!” With no idea what might follow, the men gave the horses their rein to navigate through the thick trees. Snow flew from beneath their hooves at a breakneck pace. Twisting in his saddle to make sure John was following, Gordon spurred his horse down a game trail, motioning for the group to follow.
Another scream erupted, vibrating their spines with a guttural impact. Gordon turned only his neck to glance over his left shoulder, leaning low over the saddle. Cold air rushed past his face causing his light eyes to water. The momentum of their retreat curled back the brim of his felt cowboy hat. He held fast to his black gelding, tightening his thighs.
Behind them, gaining rapidly, was something he had not anticipated. Turning back, Gordon made sure his grandson was in the clearing ahead before he brought his own horse up short. He turned on the advancing shadows, pacing them through the trees. Another shot was fired by John. Gordon took aim as well, standing up in his stirrups, breathing slowly as dark creatures sprang from the tree line.
“A grief without a pang, void, dark and drear, A drowsy, stifled, unimpassioned grief, Which finds no natural outlet or relief,
In word, or sigh, or tear.”
―
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
~Three
~
Blaze emerged from the tiny shower room of the sheriff's department unaware she had company awaiting her in Jax Walker’s office. As she strode in with urgency, a man dressed in a black suit jacket and white collared shirt came swiftly to his feet, hand extended. Without acknowledgment Blaze moved past him, eyes forward, advancing toward the coffee pot. Jax cleared his throat uncomfortably as she turned her back to the strangers in the room. Smiling nervously to the immaculately dressed visitors, he shrugged slightly, while still conveying polite refusal to poke at the beast pouring her coffee. He had seen the look in her eyes when she had thrown open the door of his office earlier that day, and had no intention of stepping into the center ring with her for the sake of random strangers.
Catching her worn reflection in the mirror above a small side table, Blaze inwardly grimaced, then followed that with a stern chastisement for caring. People she loved and cared about were in need, outside in the cold elements of the mountainside. Her friends were missing. It didn't matter what she looked like, or that her dark hair was only half tucked inside the towel around her head, falling in wet curling clumps over her right shoulder. Her eyes were red, her nose was red. The right side of her face was swollen and the cheek bright red, side effects from the Trigeminal Neuralgia. Shrugging inwardly, she thought of the cold temperatures in the mountains, temperatures that humans could not withstand for long. She had plans to formulate, people to find. Pursing her lips she turned to face the occupants of the room. The sweatshirt she’d grabbed read “Butt Kicker” in bold, white print across the front.
Sheriff Walker leaned back against his desk, trying not to enjoy the scene unfolding before him. A slight grin turned up the corner of his mouth. It was clear Blaze was exhausted, and it was clear she was formulating a recovery plan for the missing. She ignored her own appearance and diligently doctored her coffee while gazing out the department’s window up at the dark peak of Cold Cat.
Wolf Canyon: Cold Cat Mountain Book II (Cold Cat Mountain Trilogy 2) Page 1
