Wasp Canyon

by Danielle McCrory

  The clouds appeared during the hottest time of day, white cotton balls rolling over the mountains and heading toward town. Soon one would be able to see their purple, pregnant bellies, filled with moisture and zapping with electricity. The mountains would get hit first. People in town could see dark sheets of gray pouring down from those clouds and saturating the mountains below. The sheets of gray would creep closer and closer, until the whole sky turned into a windy, swirling gray and the first fat drops of rain hit the earth.

  The rain from the mountaintops would flow downhill, pouring into washes and ravines and surging into town as dangerous flash floods capable of washing cars off the road and carrying away the unlucky passengers to their muddy, watery graves. The water would dump into canyons, creating cascading waterfalls as it poured down the cliff faces of the canyon walls. The water would then careen down the canyon, taking rocks and underbrush and desert soil with it. Even hours after the rain had ceased, the canyon was filled with the sounds of water—running, dripping, and babbling along the canyon floor. The sounds would echo on the cliff walls, the entire canyon sounding like a partially submerged cave deep inside the earth.

  The movie reel flickered on in Jessica’s mind. She was dancing in the rain, and her daddy was standing on the porch. His mouth was moving, but she couldn’t hear a word he was saying. He was starting to get his angry face, though, so she decided she should join him.

  “Why didn’t you come in, Jess? I’ve been calling to you.”

  “I couldn’t hear you, Daddy. The water was too loud."

  Now, sitting in a dark bathroom with the claws of a menacing beast protruding from under the door—a beast Roger Cleary had never believed to exist and had never taught his young daughter about—Jessica knew why the chupacabra was here. She knew that it was driven from the canyon when the rains began, no longer able to hear and hunt its normal prey. The chupacabra relied heavily on its hearing when stalking its victims, and the constant dripping and rushing of water in the canyon interfered with its ability to catch its food. Under normal circumstances, the chupacabra would spend the majority of its life inside the southwestern canyons, traveling from mountain range to mountain range, and only coming out from time to time to snatch the occasional pet or farm animal—maybe an unlucky human if the opportunity arose. But now, with the rain being a constant interference, it was unable to hunt the lengths of the canyon—it was forced to venture out in search of food, whatever that might be. It picked up the available animals in the surrounding desert first, which was why Jessica had not seen any animals during her runs. Eventually it moved on for bigger game—an occasional rabbit or coyote not being enough to satisfy its hunger. It was currently confined to the area immediately surrounding the canyon’s mouth, needing to make it back to the shelter of the canyon before the sun rose each morning. That’s why it attacked that particular town in 1987, and that's why it was attacking Wasp Canyon Estates now. It wasn’t going to stop, not until the rains stopped. Or until something else stopped it first.

  Chapter 56

  The first collision with the bathroom door made a sickening crack! that filled the confines of the bathroom. Jessica sprang to her feet, letting out a cry that she was unable to contain. The chupacabra growled in response, now certain that what it wanted was hiding on the other side of the door.

  Jessica yelled at the top of her lungs, hoping Claire could hear her from the other side of the house. “Claire! Water confuses it! Turn on all the faucets! Claire—”

  Another heavy thud hit the bathroom door, and a hairline crack appeared down the center. Jessica sent Cameron a silent thank you for having solid wood doors installed in his home. She doubted it would withstand that many more blows, though. Jessica strained to hear a response from Claire, but heard nothing but scratching and snarling on the other side of the door. The angry sounds filled the bathroom, making Jessica’s ears ache and head throb.

  She threw herself over the side of the tub, grabbed the faucet, and yanked the brushed chrome nozzle until the water was on full blast. She then rushed to the toilet, lifting the lid and flushing it at the same time. She grabbed the handle of the bidet and turned it on as high as it would go.

  The pounding on the door continued, wood splintered, and the door shook violently in its frame. The chupacabra let out an enraged howl, and slammed its body weight against the door. The door was on the edge of collapse. The pounding and crashing became frenzied, its claws scraping crazily against the wood.

  Jessica whirled around and grabbed the nozzles on each side of the sink faucet. She cranked them on, then methodically moved to the other sink and did the same. The room filled with the sounds of running water, although the sound of the door’s destruction was still deafening. Jessica had one more faucet to turn on. She ran to the shower door, yanking it so hard that she thought she might tear it from its hinges. The hissing and growling had taken on a different pitch, no longer muffled by the door. The chupacabra had made an opening in the door now, its frenzied growls even louder as it struggled to get inside. Here’s Johnny, she thought.

  Jessica crawled into the shower stall. She unlatched her QuikFit from her wrist, hit the Spotify button, and tossed the watch across the room toward the toilets. She shut the shower door, grabbed the faucet of the shower, and turned it on. Cold water poured down on her, drenching her shirt and making her hair stick to her face. She could hear AC/DC begin playing somewhere on the other side of the room. She crouched down in the shower, shaking uncontrollably, and pressed herself against the far end of the marble stall. She couldn’t see out through the opaque glass—hopefully that meant it couldn’t see in either. The shower was darker than the bathroom, and she tried desperately to blend into the dark shadows furthest from the glass door.

  The bathroom door gave a final crack and fell from its hinges, falling to pieces on the bathroom floor. The growling stopped at once, the door no longer an obstacle in the chupacabra’s path. Jessica sensed the presence of the creature inside the bathroom, even though she wasn’t able to see its bulk through the opaque glass. AC/DC was playing the intro to “Back in Black”. The shower’s cold water pelted Jessica’s bare arms and her soaked clothes clung to her thin frame. She felt her skin break out into yet another wave of gooseflesh. She pressed herself against the marble, squeezed her eyes closed, and waited.

  Chapter 57

  Moser shot down Wasp Canyon Road at a speed that it was not intended for. His car bumped and jostled as he scanned the right-hand side of the road with growing panic, looking for Jasper’s front gate. At last he saw the familiar wrought iron. There was a chain lying in a pile in the dirt next to the gate, the metal glinting in his headlights. He turned into the driveway, swerving to miss the chain, and hit the gate with some force. The gate shook from the blow, and he suspected that Lynette would later be chastising him for the damage done to the front bumper.

  Moser’s Cadillac bounced along the dirt driveway leading to Jasper’s house. Cacti and desert trees passed by on either side. Finally, he made out the red glint of taillights in the driveway. A beat-up Chevy Malibu was parked there, empty and dark. He didn’t know if this relieved him or further increased his sense of dread. She was inside alright, but he wasn’t sure what state she was in. He thought of Kilburn’s squad car parked outside of Arlington’s house, with the headlights still on. That night had not gone so well for Kilburn. Not at all.

  Moser parked behind the Malibu, his tires skidding in the dirt as he jammed on the brakes. A small cloud of dust appeared in his headlights. He flipped them off, not wanting to alert any animals in the vicinity to his arrival. For better or worse, he had arrived. For better or worse, he was going to go into that house and face his fears. Moser stumbled out of his car, feeling the comforting weight of his firearm pressed against his hip. He walked toward the house. With the headlights off, it was difficult finding his way to the front door. He squinted against the darkness, using the moonlight to guide him. From somewhere inside the house, he h
eard screaming. His hand went to his right hip and he pulled out his Glock 19, a gun he hadn’t unholstered in the line of duty in nearly eleven years.

  Moser reached the front door, which looked beat three ways from Sunday. The door appeared to have given way in the center, but the metal etching that wove its way through the wood had kept it in place. He tried to open the door. Locked. Fucking locked. He could hear an immense amount of banging and breaking coming from inside, and something else. Water? Is the water running in there?

  Whatever the hell was going on, he needed to get his ass in there—not stand around like an imbecile in the driveway, looking around and scratching his balls. Moser scanned the front of the house, hoping for an easily accessible window so he wouldn’t have to go around to the back. Like Kilburn did, he thought with mounting horror. Caught on the side of the house and torn apart. Damn thing drank his blood, too. Moser shook his head—he was not going to let thoughts like that stop him now. He was going to face this thing, once and for all. At least he wouldn’t go down with his gun still in its holster.

  He stumbled through the darkness toward the left side of the house. He chose the left for no particular reason except that the moonlight was brighter on that side. He could still hear banging sounds coming from the house’s interior. It sounded like a whole demo crew was tearing the place apart.

  Moser reached the edge of the house and grabbed the wall to steady himself. His heart pounded in his chest as terror became dangerously close to taking over. He took in a deep breath, wondered if it might be his last, and stepped around the corner of the house and into the darkness of the desert. He began to run.

  Chapter 58

  Brian Johnson was singing about nine lives and cat’s eyes. Other than “Back in Black” and the sound of running water, Jessica heard nothing. She couldn’t even hear the chupacabra’s breathing anymore. She knew it was there, though, standing in the center of the bathroom. The putrid stench of it hung in the air, the increasing humidity in the room making the smell into a horrible soup. Jessica bit into her hand, suppressing the urge to vomit. One wretch and that would be it—game over.

  The chupacabra went for the QuikFit. Jessica heard a horrific crack as the toilet was ripped from the wall, and then gushing water pouring onto the marble floor. Brian Johnson stopped singing. It had found the QuikFit. She wasn’t sure if it had swallowed it or simply broken it, but the classic rock disappeared from the bathroom all the same. Now there were just the gurgles and hum of running water.

  The seconds ticked by with agonizing slowness. The chupacabra stood in the center of the bathroom, not moving. It must be working, Jessica thought, trying not to let herself become too hopeful. The sound of the water—so much in such a small space—it doesn’t know where I am. She stared at the shower door. She hoped from the outside it just looked like another wall, not a space worth investigating. The chupacabra grunted in rage and confusion, the sound exaggerated in the confines of the bathroom. Jessica could hear the clicking of its claws on the tile as it began to move. Not towards me, not towards me, not towards me, she prayed. She pressed herself as far into the shower’s shadows as she could, drawing her feet against her body.

  It was near the glass door now; she could make out its shadow across the opaque surface. The spines of its vertebrae stood up harshly from the curve of its back. Oh God . . . Daddy . . . please make it not hurt, ok? Please let it be fast. Tears fell from the corners of her eyes and were washed away by the cold spray of the shower.

  The shadow faded away from the shower door. Jessica blinked, dumbfounded. She realized that deep down she had not expected it to work. But it was moving away from her—it was actually moving away. It was still in the bathroom; however, its snarls now sounded more confused than enraged.

  Jessica heard something big shatter somewhere else in the house. The chupacabra let out a howl of what sounded like triumph, and launched itself out of the bathroom. It hit the wall opposite the bathroom door with a splintering bang. Jessica heard clicking and growling as it ran down the hallway, the sound fading away. She was left alone in the ruins of the bathroom, water pouring from every faucet. Her mind was running on a loop again, only this time it kept repeating: Claire, Claire, Claire . . .

  Chapter 59

  Jessica threw the shower door open. The bathroom door was in tatters, strewn across the marble floor. Jessica stepped out of the shower, her hands shaking and wet hair plastered to her face. Her boot was logged with water and considerably more heavy. It squished as well as clunked as she took each step. There was a large indentation in the wall opposite the bathroom entrance. She stepped out of the bathroom in one quick motion and faced the T-junction in the hallway. Nothing there except more chunks of ruined doors. The closet door was also in shambles.

  She could hear water running down the hallway—Claire’s doing. Had she knocked something over while turning on the faucets? Oh God, was it killing her right now? Jessica ran down the hallway toward the great room. The weight from the waterlogged boot turned her run into an exaggerated limp, reminding her eerily of her hobbled run out of the canyon. She slipped on the wet marble and almost slammed into the broken table at the T-junction. Jessica caught her balance, straining every muscle in her thighs to do so. She turned the corner and entered the hallway with the skylight overhead. The hallway was still filled with the chupacabra’s horrible stench, but any other sign of it was gone. Jessica slowed as she neared the great room.

  The large vase in the foyer had fallen over. Shards of broken pottery littered the floor, the wilted flowers lying in clumps across the tile. Jessica stepped over a sizable piece of ceramic and into the foyer. She searched the great room for signs of the chupacabra, but saw none. After the darkness of the shower, the moonlit great room seemed impossibly bright to her. She looked down the long hallway toward the other wing of the house. It either went down there or back into the desert. And where the hell is Claire? She didn’t hear screaming, so she was fairly certain it hadn’t gotten to her yet.

  Jessica was about to go down the opposite hallway in search of Claire, when a head popped up from behind the kitchen island. Claire stood in the center of the elaborate kitchen, her hands gripping the thick countertop. The kitchen sink was running on full blast. Jessica made a final look down the long, empty hallway, then carefully stepped over the broken remains of the vase and half-limped/half-dragged herself across the living room to the kitchen.

  “Claire, what the hell?” she whispered as she came into the kitchen. “What happened?”

  Claire reached out and grabbed Jessica’s hands with a fierceness Jessica had not felt before. “Why are you wet?”

  “I hid in the shower.” Jessica’s eyes darted around the great room for signs of movement. “I told you to get out of here,” she whispered, turning her attention back to Claire.

  “I tried to go out a window. They all have those freaking sunshield things on them. They’re screwed in from the outside. There’s no way I could get out without making a bunch of noise. Plus . . .” she paused, looking down as if ashamed, “I couldn’t leave you, Jess. Not in here alone with that thing. I heard you say to turn on the water, so I turned on all the bathroom faucets and came out here. I could hear it breaking things down your hallway so I decided to try the old ‘knock shit over and hide’ routine. I knocked the vase over, ran over here, and hid. See how it likes being the one that gets tricked,” she finished, breathless.

  “Well, where did it go?”

  “Down the hall. You were right—the water really seems to be confusing it. It almost stumbled into the front door. Then it turned and ran down the hall.” Claire lowered her voice even further, grasping Jessica’s hands until they hurt. “We need to go. Now.”

  Jessica looked at the remnants of the glass wall, the great room now open to the night air. If they went running out there, without the cover from the sounds of running water, it would get to them for sure. Once it finished looking down the other hall it would almost certainly co
me back in here, then run out the broken window to look for them. The sound of them running through the desert in the dark will be hard to miss. It will catch them long before they make it around the house and to the safety of Claire’s car.

  “Without the help of the water we don’t stand a chance. We need to hide.”

  “Hide? But you said not to—”

  “That’s before I knew about the water. If all the water keeps running, it will get disoriented and go elsewhere. Just like in the canyon.”

  “Wait—what?”

  “Later. Now quick, before it comes back. Grab a phone so we can call 911.” She pointed to the phones lying on the carpet. “And help me get that fucking gun off the damn wall.”

  “How do you even know if it’s loaded?”

  “Because Cameron once told me to always be prepared. An unloaded gun is not being prepared.” Jessica limped across the living room with Claire hurrying after her.

  “How long do you think we have?” Claire whispered, scooping a phone off the ground and heading to the chair closest to the fireplace. They shoved the chair up to the bricks and Jessica climbed on top. She reached up with both hands, her fingers sliding across the rough bricks and mortar. Her fingertips touched the stock of the gun. She stepped onto the armrests of the chair, straddling the seat. Water slushed out of her boot, drenching the chair’s cushion. She shoved her hand upward again, her fingers wrapping around the double barrel of the shotgun. She lifted and pulled the shotgun from the wall. The weight of it dragged her down and she stepped heavily onto the seat of the chair. Claire grabbed her arm, steadying her. She helped Jessica step down from the chair.