Blood and Rain

by Glenn Rolfe

  Sonya stared blankly at the dash. Shelly decided to leave her be for the moment and walked over to where the two men stood.

  “No time to fill you in, Shelly,” Joe said. “Sorry, but I need you to get Sonya home right now. I don’t want her out here.”

  She looked from Joe to Dwayne.

  “It’s out there,” Dwayne nodded toward the woods behind the crumpled Camaro. “We need you to take her so we can see what happened to it.”

  “What happened to it?”

  “No time, Glescoe. Get Sonya home,” Joe said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Joe watched as she walked over to the truck, helped Sonya out and led her over to the cruiser. She turned the car around and headed back toward town.

  Joe turned to Dwayne. “I hope you’re ready for this.”

  “To be honest with you, Sheriff, I’m scared shitless.”

  Joe shifted his gaze back to the clump of trees he’d seen the beast run off into after he’d shot it full of silver. He watched for a moment as the tall pines swayed wildly with the storm.

  He turned back to Deputy Clarke and said, “To be honest with you, Deputy, you should be.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Stan Springs stalked the night in bestial form. He thought of the first set of kills this summer. Of those, the man in the car was pretty fun, but shutting up that old drunk in the park thrilled him to the core. Before the start of this killing season, it felt like an eternity since the beast had been at full strength and able to hunt humans. Even when it had last attacked, over seven years ago, the kills had never been as exhilarating as these.

  The beast felt stronger, smarter, better at perpetrating its acts of violence. It stopped and howled at the full moon as it appeared, disappeared then reappeared from behind the clouds above. This night had only gotten started.

  It wondered how its neophyte was fairing? Becoming the beast had filled Stan Springs with anxiety and shame, but its lust for blood was insatiable and far too strong to be ignored. Perhaps they would meet tonight.

  The beast’s priorities turned to Mel Murdock and Sheriff Fischer. It howled into the fierce wind blowing against its thick fur. The werewolf crouched back down on all fours and continued on to its next destination—the home of Sheriff Joe Fischer.

  Shelly Glescoe rubbed Sonya Fischer’s arm in a feeble attempt to comfort the poor girl who had just witnessed the brutal death of her boyfriend. She appeared to be asleep.

  Probably the mind’s way of saving itself from going completely off the deep end.

  Even as she tried to pass on some compassion to the fractured girl, her thoughts were of her own boyfriend and his safety. At this very moment, Dwayne was heading into the dark forest, pursuing the beast responsible for all of this.

  “Please, God, watch over Dwayne and Joe and help them destroy this creature. Don’t let us lose anyone else,” she said.

  Shelly didn’t pray very often—mostly as a last resort against impossible odds—but as she turned off Old Gilson Creek Road and onto Park Street, she was praying harder than she ever had before. She feared the horrors of this night were far from over.

  She hoped and prayed that she was wrong.

  The rain began to fall again. Dwayne Clarke heard its pitter-patter as the heavy droplets hit the canopy of leaves above his head. He and the sheriff made their way through the black forest, one soft step at a time.

  “I can’t see a fucking thing,” Dwayne whispered. He was ready to have a panic attack.

  Who is actually crazy enough to go looking for something like this?

  You, dumb ass, that’s who.

  Joe’s arm halted his forward progress. The sheriff put a finger to his lips and forced him to crouch to the ground.

  Dwayne strained to focus his eyes. A large shape came into view. It was less than twenty feet from them.

  If it could have attacked them, it would have by now. Surely the monster would catch their scent on the air before they were able to find it. It lay slouched against a pine and did not move.

  Joe reached for the Maglite on his belt, aimed it toward the beast and flicked it on. He watched the rise and fall of the beast’s massive chest. Then he reached for his Glock G22, unholstered the weapon, drew it up and aimed it directly at the beast’s head.

  Deputy Dwayne Clarke saw the thing that should not be lying in front of him. It was massive, covered with a thick black fur. It was lying on its back as the rain poured down upon it. The sheriff had his gun aimed at the creature. Clarke raised the shotgun he’d carried out with him, moving into position next to Joe.

  “Is it—”

  “I don’t think so. Not yet, anyway.”

  Together, they began to creep forward. They stopped ten feet from the thing.

  Dwayne couldn’t believe his eyes. This was something from a Stephen King novel. Yet there it was, fighting for breath, dying before them—a werewolf. A real, honest-to-God, fucking werewolf.

  “It’s dead, Sheriff.”

  Joe aimed his gun between the creature’s closed eyes.

  Dwayne looked at him. “I think it’s dead, Sheriff.” He reached out with his right leg to kick the massive body.

  “Get back, Dwayne.”

  Despite Joe’s direct order, Dwayne stepped forward and kicked the beast. “See, it’s dead.”

  The beast clutched on to his calf.

  Dwayne screeched.

  Joe stepped past his deputy, placed the gun directly to the monster’s forehead—its yellow eyes opening as he did so—and pulled the trigger. He emptied all ten rounds of .40-caliber silver bullets into the head of the beast.

  The loud explosions barked then died against the soundtrack of the storm raging against the forest. Deputy Dwayne Clarke lay on the ground curled into a fetal position, his hands over his ears.

  Joe’s normally steady hand trembled. There were a series of clicks as he kept pulling the trigger of the empty weapon. He couldn’t believe he had killed this wicked thing again.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the voice of Barlow Olson, “You can’t just shoot these things. The silver will fuck the shit out of ’em. Drop ’em out of commission for a long-ass time, but it’s not enough..” Joe’s authentic Masahiro Yanagi Katana sword was laying in the backseat of his truck.

  He looked down at Deputy Clarke, who was only now uncurling himself. Joe waited until the Deputy got back to his feet and handed him his keys. “Go to my truck. In the backseat is a duffle bag. Inside the bag is a samurai sword. I need you to grab it and bring it back here as quick as possible.”

  Dwayne was looking at the crimson-splattered area the creature’s face had once occupied. It was like looking down at a mess of bloody hamburger.

  “Dwayne. Go. Now.”

  Dwayne pulled his eyes from the gory sight. “Right. A sword. In your truck? I can do that.”

  “Well, stop fucking staring at this pile of shit and go.”

  “Yes sir, Sheriff. Are you sure you want to stay out here…alone?”

  “I’ll be fine as long as you get your ass in gear.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Joe stared down at the body of the werewolf. It seemed an odd thought, but for some reason, as big as this thing was, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it had been even bigger before. He guessed it could have been altered in its rejuvenation period, between when he buried it and when it rose from the dirt grave, but that didn’t feel right. It wasn’t possible that this could be a different werewolf…was it?

  A deep cold spiraled through his soul and spun a knot in his ulcer-ridden stomach.

  Deputy Shelly Glescoe pulled into the sheriff’s driveway and she caught sight of something out of the corner of her eye. Some kind of large animal disappeared around the corner of the house. She thought of the werewolf. Her hands shook as she reached for the radio
.

  “Sheriff? Dwayne?”

  “Shelly?”

  It was Dwayne. She tried to keep her voice low and steady. “Dwayne, I think it’s here.”

  “What’s there? Where are you?”

  “I’m sitting in the sheriff’s driveway. Something huge just darted behind the house. I think it’s the werewolf.”

  “Uh, I don’t think so. I just watched Joe blow its head into oblivion. We found it half-dead, laying a little ways in the woods here. You probably just saw a dog. I think Joe’s neighbor has a—”

  “Listen to me, Dwayne Steven Clarke. I know what I just saw go behind this house was too fucking big to be a Goddamned dog. Hell, it was too big to be a fucking bear. The werewolf is here. It’s here. What the fuck do I do, Dwayne?”

  “Back the fuck out of there and go wait for us at the end of Park. Just get yourself and Sonya out of there. I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but just get out.”

  “But Mel…Mel is in there, alone.”

  “Get Sonya out of there, and then go back for Mel…or wait…fuck…just get Sonya out of there. I’m on my way.”

  Shelly put the car in Reverse as the guilt of leaving Mel in the house alone nibbled at her guts. She sped down Hilton Street backward, stopping at the end of the block. Sonya was out cold. She grabbed her shotgun from the floor by Sonya’s legs, got out of the cruiser, locked the doors and started back to the sheriff’s—back toward the werewolf.

  “Sheriff!”

  Joe heard Deputy Clarke yell. Another chill swept over him. “What is it?”

  “Shelly just radioed. She says the werewolf is behind your house. I’ve got to go. You’ll have to come get your sword.”

  “Dwayne?”

  “Sorry, Joe, it’s Shelly. I have to go…” His voice trailed away.

  Joe knew there was another one. That’s why this one looked different—it was.

  He knew he should finish the job with the one lying at his feet, knew that if he didn’t he ran the risk of it not being here when he returned, but the overwhelming fear for his daughter’s safety overrode every sensible thought on the subject. He broke into a run. He’d have to hope blowing half of the damn thing’s head off would do the trick.

  Less than a minute later, he was burning down the wet road after Deputy Clarke, racing to protect his daughter from a real-life monster. It would take him at least ten minutes to get to his house from here. He hoped that wouldn’t be too long.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Melanie Murdock awoke in darkness. She could hear the storm outside, the wind howling as the rain whipped against the windows. She remembered that she was at Joe’s.

  I must have fallen asleep watching TV.

  She searched the blackness around her. She scanned the dark room for the red LED lights of a digital clock, something to give her an idea of how long she’d been asleep. She found nothing.

  She remembered the cable box. It should be on the shelf underneath the TV, showing the time. She sat forward, trying in vain to find the red digital numerals.

  Of course, the storm must have knocked out the power.

  She stood up, placed her hands on the couch and used it to guide herself back toward the computer desk. She couldn’t remember if she’d seen a candle there or not. She thought that she had.

  She crept along, not knowing the layout of the room. She bumped her shin on the edge of the coffee table, and made her way around it. She reached out, her fingers connecting with the leather back of the chair that sat at the computer desk. She reached to where she remembered the monitor being, found its edge and wiggled her fingers behind it, to where she thought she may or may not have seen the candle.

  Her mind told her something was going to grab on to her hand and bite it. It was a childish fear, but that didn’t stop her from cringing as she fluttered her fingers behind the monitor.

  Thunder rumbled.

  She yanked her hand back, startled in the dark by the suddenness of the roar. She felt the house tremble. Her heart rate was sky-high. There was no candle on the desk. She decided to check the drawers.

  After a few minutes of making contact with paper, pens, paper clips and what felt like a chessboard, she came up empty-handed.

  Where the hell is everyone?

  Shelly Glescoe crept down the street, crouched over, holding her pistol out before her with both hands. She was drenched from the rain that whipped across her face. The whole way down the street, she kept repeating to herself, “Please, please, please, please don’t be the werewolf.”

  She passed the sheriff’s closest neighbor’s mailbox, bent down on one knee and tried her best to scan the perimeter for signs of any movement. The lights in the sheriff’s house were no longer on. The porch light was dark, as well.

  “Where to next?” Heath said.

  “Can we go to Sonya’s? I know you want to drink, but I feel like we should be there with her and Alex.”

  “You’re just gonna be pissed at me all night if I say no, right?”

  “Something like that.”

  “You’re the boss.” Heath put the car in Drive and hit the road.

  Kim dialed Sonya’s house.

  “Hello. Fischer residence.”

  “Ah, hi, is Sonya there?”

  The line went dead.

  “Hello? Hello?” Kim tried the number again. Nothing.

  “Weird.”

  “What is it?” he said.

  “Someone, not Sonya, but a woman, picked up, and then the line went dead.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Deputy Shelly Glescoe bit her bottom lip as she thought about Mel Murdock sitting alone in that blackened house. She was apprehensive about approaching the place sitting in total darkness. It was the only house on the block without power. She did not want to move. She was fine sitting here holding her gun, soaked from head to toe, scared to death. She knew something had knocked the power out in the sheriff’s house, and it wasn’t the storm.

  Her mind told her to sit and wait, but her body betrayed her. She was back up on her feet and heading around toward the backside of the house before she could stop herself.

  She crept to the corner of the home, leaning back against the white-vinyl siding. She gripped her pistol tightly with both hands, drew in a deep breath of the cool, moist air and steadied her nerves as she looked around the corner.

  She smelled and felt the horrid breath of the monster; her mind barely had time to register the disgustingly warm aroma of death before she could react. The shock of its presence held her for the few seconds it took the beast to grab her by the back of the head, smash her face into the side of the house and hurl her backward through the air by her wet ponytail.

  As she crashed to the ground, she registered the pain in her face. Her nose was definitely broken, and so was her left cheekbone. She had landed on something hard and couldn’t catch her breath—she was guessing broken ribs. She was having trouble staying conscious, until she heard the growl.

  Grrrrrrr

  Her eyes fluttered open, fighting to remain that way, with the heavy raindrops landing on her face, making the simple task difficult. The beast rose up before her, and she screamed.

  Mel heard something that sounded like a woman’s squeal come from outside, though it was hard to differentiate with the howling wind and pounding rain whipping against the house. Still, the shriek sounded more human than she wanted it to. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and even though she couldn’t see details of the objects around her, she could make out shapes to avoid as she headed toward the door in the back corner of the spacious kitchen.

  She placed her nose to the glass, her hands wrapped around the sides of her eyes as she looked out. She didn’t see anyone.

  She could make out an old metal clothesline blowing in the wind. It was hitting up against a small wo
oden building that looked like a storage shed. She was surprised the old clothesline had lasted this long. It looked ready to bust apart and fly away. There was a knocking sound caused from one of its bending metal corners bouncing off the side of the shed, but nothing that looked like it would make a screech like the one she had heard.

  Of course not. That’s because it came from a person. It was a scream, not a screech. Somebody’s hurt out there.

  She cursed her mind for being overactive, and then cursed herself for spending too many Friday nights watching horror movies. She moved down the hall off the kitchen, trying the light switch at its entrance, knowing it wouldn’t work. The dark hallway led to a bathroom. She saw a window on the far wall and slowly made her way over to it. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt like there was something waiting for her.

  Paranoia, Paranoia. Something’s coming to get me.

  Fitting lyrics from some stupid song she couldn’t remember the name of scrolled across her mind. She placed her back against the wall and peered out, being more cautious than she had reason to be. She could see the neighbor’s fence and a light coming from a second-floor window.

  The house next door had power. She looked diagonally across the street. Lights were on there too. The fear and panic that had been threatening her paranoid mind for the last twenty minutes took hold of her. She felt a cold chill scrape its icy fingers of dread deep into her spine. Her hands began to tremble as she slid her rump down the bathroom wall to the floor.

  Something banged against the wall behind her.

  She jumped. She began to crawl on her forearms, her belly touching the cool floor, away from the wall, scurrying close to the ground like a private on a boot-camp obstacle course. Her mind raced with terror. She crawled up next to the toilet, wrapping her arms around it, and stared wide-eyed over her shoulder toward the window across the room. She saw a flash of lightning cut through the blackened sky and waited for the thunder.

  The deep rumble that followed was much too loud and much too close to be from the storm. She let go of the body of the toilet and sunk down behind it as far as she could get. There was no place else to hide, and her fear wouldn’t allow her to stand up, lest she be seen by whatever manner of death stalked the dreadful night outside.