by Mac Flynn
We slipped back into the car, but I ignored the ignition and turned to Adam. "You sure that was such a good idea telling my dad why we were really here?"
"Honesty is the best policy. Otherwise we would have to waste energy on remembering our lies," he pointed out.
"Yeah, but-well, I don't know. I guess I don't want them to think you're abnormal or anything. Well, any more abnormal than any guy who ever dated me," I commented.
He chuckled. "I'm sure I can't be any more unusual than Stinky Peterson."
I started the engine and scowled at him. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"
"I'm afraid my rampant jealousy won't allow it."
I pulled us out of the barn yard and down the drive to the road. "Uh-huh. How about you take your rampant jealousy and stuff it? After all, I've got more reasons to be jealous. You're a heck of a lot older than me, and you've been married. Also, you won't turn me into a werewolf, and when we get into trouble I really wish I could do half the things you can."
Adam sighed. "I will ponder your request."
I whipped my head to him and I nearly drove us into the snow drifts on the side of the road. I corrected our course before I confirmed what he said. "Seriously?"
He nodded. "Very seriously."
I raised an eyebrow. "Why the change in heart? Only yesterday you were like 'hell no,' and now you're telling me 'maybe?'"
He smiled. "Perhaps it was the influence of your parents. I-I wish to have such an open and amicable relationship with another person, but our differences in species keeps me from being completely open with you."
I snorted. "I never thought my parents would help me with my boyfriend problems. My dad would be disappointed to know he hasn't scared you silly."
"I will have to act terrified when he warns me again to keep care of you."
"Just act uneasy. Terrified is a little overdoing it."
"I will try my best."
In a few minutes we arrived at Old Greg's farm. The property ran along the road and a fence made of wooden slats ran along the opposite side of the ditch. Beyond the wooden fence was barbed wire as far as the eye could see which was a couple of miles. Cows grazed along a strip of spread hay. They lifted their heads and stared at us as we bumped onto the long driveway and passed them. Ahead of us was a large, two-story farmhouse, twice as large as the one owned by my parents, and opposite that was a big barn. Instead of the single open barn with the double doors, there were three partitions in the tall, wide barn, and each had their own double doors. Beyond the barn was more feedlot for his other hundred head, and in the far distance I could just make out the broad backs of the bulls separated from the cows until calving season came.
The barnyard was a mess of truck, sled, and feet tracks, and against the barn was piled enough snow to make a decent sledding hill. Water had been added for extra slickness, and a pile of sleds lay at the foot to await the next play time.
We pulled up behind a beat-up white pickup truck. A man of eighty came out on the porch, and behind him a half dozen kids ages five to ten peeked their heads out. The man had a full head of white and gray hair, and wore coveralls with boots and a thick, fleece-lined coat. He strode to the edge of the porch and smiled at us as we exited the car.
"What can I do for you folks?" he asked us as we came up to stand beneath him.
"I don't know if you remember me, Mr. Greg, but I'm Christina Monet and this is my friend, Adam Smith," I introduced us.
He snorted. "I'm not bound to forget the girl who came two miles to see if she could try her hand at being a matador with my bulls."
Adam turned to me with a bewildered expression. "Did you really try that?"
I shrugged. "I was ten."
"I still can't say whether that was the stupidest or bravest thing I've ever seen, but it's up there with all the trouble my brood gets into," Old Greg quipped. The crew behind him twittered in laughter. He turned to them and waved his hand at the group. "Go on back inside. You're letting all the warm air out of the house." They giggled, but shut the door. Soon enough there was a mess of eyes looking at us from behind the living room curtains. "Grandkids are nothing but trouble, but they do make an old man feel young. Anyways, what can I do for you and your man, Chrissy?"
I snorted at the title he gave to Adam, so Adam spoke for us. "We heard about the attack on your cattle, and were curious to know what happened."
Greg frowned and rubbed his chin with one wizened hand. "That again, eh? Well, can't say I blame you for being curious. I still can't figure out what got them, but it must have been something big."
"Could you show us where they were attacked?" Adam requested.
Greg nodded. "Sure, if you don't mind a bit of a walk. It happened in one of the farther fields, and that's why ya see so many of the cows out front. I don't trust 'em to be safe out there anymore. Let me just get Bessie and we'll go." He turned and slipped inside the house.
"'Bessie?'" Adam wondered.
"His ancient rifle," I explained. "I just hope he doesn't have to use it," I added with a mutter.
Chapter 9
Old Greg returned with his rifle and led us past the barn to the far fields closest to the forest. The way was easy to follow. The tracks from the police investigation covered the ground, and I saw the prints of the hounds owned by the sheriff.
"When did you find the animals?" Adam asked our guide.
"I heard 'em bawling at about three in the morning and came out here. Whatever it was must have heard me coming because I saw something dart into the woods and shot at it, but I missed. Damn thing was too fast," he grumbled.
"So you thought it was a wolf?" Adam wondered.
He shook his head. "Nope, I thought it was a werewolf. Some of the folks around here think I'm a little nuts for saying that, but that columnist from that city paper ate it up like it was my wife's apple pie," he commented. He paused and his eyes darted between us. "I haven't told too many people about the whole werewolf thing. I've made most people think it's a wolf, but that thing was too big to be a wolf. 'Course, that writer goes and writes about a werewolf and suddenly I'm a bit of a loon like Eb."
"We'll promise not to say anything, if that's what you wish," Adam swore.
Old Greg nodded. "Yep. Just keep it mum, at least until they prove me right or wrong."
"Any hope of that happening?" I spoke up.
He pursed his lips and shook his head. "Nope, but let's get going. We're almost there, but I can feel a storm coming in my knees." We trudged onward through the messy snow. I knew we'd arrived when I saw the red snow dyed by the blood of his animals. Bits of fur remained, but the carcasses were gone and buried. He gestured to the bloody areas. "Lost two good cows here. That werewolf didn't even bother to finish the first before it killed the second." Adam knelt down and brushed his hand over the blood and fur. Greg moved to stand beside me and nodded at Adam. "He some sort of a wolf whisperer or something?"
"Something like that," I agreed.
"We were told the dogs wouldn't follow the scent. Is this true?" Adam inquired.
"Yep. Just growled and howled. Worthless mutts, and the sheriff saying he didn't know what was wrong with them. I know what was wrong with them, it was that damn werewolf scent, but he didn't want to hear anything about that. Wrote it down as a wolf problem. I'll go along with that until I'm proven right," Greg explained.
Adam stood and brushed off his snowy knees. "And the attack occurred how long ago?"
"Three days ago, and all the stuff with Eb's seeing it and those skiers finding the animals have been in the last week," Greg replied.
"I see. This has been most interesting. Thank you for bringing us out here," Adam told him.
Greg furrowed his brow. "That's it? You just came out here for a gander at some blood and hair?"
Adam turned and smiled at him. "This is only a hobby. I don't take it seriously."
Greg turned us back to the house and we trudged through the snow. "Well, if that's
all you wanted then let's get back before my aching knees give out. Running around herding the cows into the front pastures hasn't been easy, and the hands have been all skittish thinking they're seeing the shadow of that werewolf around the barn," he mused.
"Have they?" I asked him.
He scoffed. "I doubt it. The only thing around here that's spooked is those chickens, and I'll believe there's something prowling around when the cows get jumpy."
We reached the farmhouse and our car. "Thank you again for showing us the kill spot. It can't be easy losing your livelihood," Adam commented.
"Death's a pretty common occurrence around farms, young man. We deal with it as best we can," Greg told us.
There came the sound of giggling, and I saw faces disappear from the window. "At least they didn't see anything," I pointed out.
Greg snorted. "Good thing, too. I didn't want to stand through another funeral."
"Funeral?" I repeated.
He nodded his head towards the farmhouse. "The other day these grandkids of mine had a funeral for one of the chickens my wife killed for dinner. Good thing their pa was around to get at the bird before they buried it or we would've been picking dirt and pebbles out of our teeth for a few days."
"Kids will be kids, but we must leave before the storm comes," Adam spoke up.
Old Greg looked up at the sky and frowned. "I'd say you have a few hours, but don't dawdle anywhere too long, and don't be afraid to come back." He looked to me and winked. "Maybe next time I can show you my bulls."
I snorted. "That sounds great. I'll remember to bring my red cape. Anyway, goodbye."
"Bye."
We slipped into our seats and I drove us down the road. I guided us about a mile down the road before I pulled us over at a barbed wire-and-wooden post gate that led into the far reaches of Greg's land. I turned to Adam and raised an eyebrow. "All right, 'fess up. What did you find?" I questioned him.
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a wisp of brown hair. "This."
I leaned forward and squinted at the fuzz. "Werewolf?"
"Yes, but the smell is slightly strange. It smells of werewolf, but very weak for a creature that Greg described," he told me.
"So a small werewolf?" I guessed.
"Perhaps, or perhaps a newly turned one. Your employer's wife had a similar scent," he explained as he pocketed the fur.
I cringed. "Don't remind me. I never thought I'd get out of that mess with my job."
Adam didn't tease me by reminding me further. His attention focused on the road ahead of us. "From this farm, where is this Ebeneezer's home located?" he asked me.
I nodded at the forest a hundred yards off across Greg's fields. "A couple of miles into that mess. Why? You weren't thinking about going there today, were you?"
"Is there a problem with seeing this Eb?" he wondered.
"He likes visiting people, not being visited, and I know for a fact he's got a rifle and a decent aim when he's sober. Besides, didn't you promise my dad we wouldn't be bothering anyone?" I reminded him.
Adam pursed his lips and forlornly shook his head. "I'm afraid the situation is dire enough to warrant breaking the promise. We must investigate every sighting to confirm my suspicions, but we will try to be as diplomatic as possible."
"And your suspicions are that a werewolf is running loose around my hometown?" I guessed.
"Precisely."
I sighed and leaned over the wheel. "What a strange life I lead. It's even strange enough to affect my hometown."
Adam leaned back in his seat and frowned. "Yes, that is a strange coincidence."
I shrugged and pulled the car onto the road. "Maybe they like hamburgers. Old Greg's place isn't the only one with burger-on-the-hoof around here, and there's a lot of woods, too."
"That may be, but if the werewolf turns out to be a new one then we have two troubles to deal with," he pointed out.
I turned the car onto a bumpy back road that disappeared into the trees. "Well, whatever trouble we find I just hope it doesn't happen during the storm. That's two old guys who told us there's a blizzard coming, and even I can feel it's getting colder out there."
Adam grabbed his car door handle as the road grew rougher and we bounced around like pinballs. "How long will it take to arrive at Ebeneezer's home?"
"About a half hour. I almost hope he isn't home," I added.
I didn't realize I'd regret my wish.
Chapter 10
It was a long half an hour to Eb's house. A quarter mile onto the rough road the car was engulfed in woods that towered over us with their rattling bare limbs that scraped the sides of my car. The potholes were more like small swimming pools and I felt like we were on a slow rollercoaster ride through a haunted fun house.
The trip was bad enough that I was glad when the road opened and revealed Eb's shack. It stood at the far end of the small clearing on cinder blocks, and was made of old wooden slabs slapped together to resemble a building. The yard was filled with trash like old tires, cars, and pop cans. A generator sat beside the shack and was the only source of power for the tiny home.
I parked the car in front of the cinder block steps that led up to the rickety porch and we stepped out. Adam froze and his nostrils flared. "A werewolf has been here," he told me.
My muscles tensed and I whipped my head to and fro expecting one to jump out at us. "How long ago?"
"Last night." Adam lifted his nose and sniffed the air. "It is the same scent as the one I smelled at Greg's place."
"So no double-trouble yet?" I guessed.
"Not yet, but-"
"What was that?" I yelped as I jumped a foot in the air.
It was the noise of a sharp bang. I ducked down and expected old Eb to emerge from the woods armed and drunk. "The door to the cabin is open," Adam informed me.
I peeked over my closed car door and saw the front door was indeed open. The burgeoning wind grabbed it and again banged it against the door frame. I stood and sheepishly grinned at Adam. "I knew that."
"Is the door often left open?" he asked me.
I shrugged. "I didn't visit him much at all when I was a kid, so I don't really know."
Adam crept up the block stairs and kept low to the porch. He craned his neck and his sniffer flared and twitched. The scene was as if a man thought himself a killer rabbit stalking his prey. "It is safe to go inside. No one is around."
We walked into the interior and I clapped my hand over my mouth. The whole place was a mess of broken furniture, cracked windows, and dirty clothes. A cot stood at the far end beside the rock chimney, and to the left was an old gas stove powered by the generator. Overhead was a single light bulb. I tried the switch, and it flickered on.
I wish I hadn't turned it on because it revealed dark blood stains smeared across the walls. I pointed a quivering finger at the smears. "Is that-?"
"Human blood? No. It is the blood from the cows," he told me.
I slumped my shoulders and sighed. "That's some good news."
"I am afraid I will have to ruin the good news with the news that I cannot smell any recent signs of your neighbor," Adam informed me.
I cringed. "You don't think he was attacked, do you?"
"Let us go outside." Adam led the way outside and searched the ground around the shack. The ground had no fresh snow, and tracks several days old were visible to us. He stopped at large, wolf-like footprints on the opposite side of the shack from the generator.
"Werewolf?" I guessed.
Adam knelt down and brushed his fingers over the tracks. "Yes. By the scent these are the most recent, but I can find no tracks from the man."
"So what do you think happened to him?" I asked Adam.
Adam pursed his lips and shook his head. "I fear the worst has happened."
I cringed. "So wolf chow?"
"Yes, unless the werewolf did to him as my creator did to me."
"You mean a werewolf might have dragged him off and made him into another werewolf?" I g
uessed.
"That is a possibility, but one we can't confirm unless we follow the trail," he replied.
A chill wind blew past us and I pulled my coat closer to myself. "How about we stop making evidence against ourselves around here and go tell the sheriff something's happened to Eb?" I suggested.
Adam pursed his lips, but gave a nod. "You are correct. If we hide this from the authorities then when the missing man is discovered killed we will be the primary suspects."
"That's what I said, so let's get away from this spooky place and get back to civilization." I grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the car. In fifteen minutes we hit the main road and drove toward town. The sky above us was dark with thickening clouds, and I turned up the heater as the temperature dropped. "I think our old-man barometers are going to be right."
Adam leaned in his chair, leaned against his door, and held his chin in his hand. "So it seems."
"You think you can still find that wolf trail that led away from Eb's place?" I asked him.
"Perhaps, if the wind is not too-" A heavy wind hit the side of the car and tried to push us into the next lane.
"Whoa, girl!" I called to the car as I pulled it into the correct lane. "You were saying?" I quipped.
"I was saying that the odds of our finding the trail are not good," he corrected himself.
"Even with that super sniffer of yours?"
"Even with my super sniffer."
"Dang."
A few minutes later we reached town and I drove us to the small office of the sheriff. It was a low, deep, brick building, one of the oldest in town. The back held a few cells for the resident drunks, and the front was filled with desks. We stepped inside and I saw Sheriff Wyman himself seated at the front desk. The town was small enough there was need for only a sheriff and about five deputies.
Sheriff Wyman looked up from some paperwork and smiled at us. "Well, well, if it isn't the stamp stealer."
I walked up and glared at him. "I was just testing you guys. Besides, you had others."
"Another tale of your daring mischief?" Adam guessed.
Sheriff Wyman nodded. "Yep. This little girl here came with her class of fifth graders and pilfered one of our official stamps with our seal. I was a deputy at that time and made the arrest."
