The Night of the Sciurus
A Western Michigan Tale of Terror
Linda Watkins
Contents
PRAISE FOR THE NIGHT OF THE SCIURUS
Acknowledgments
1. The Night It Really Began
2. Several Years Later
3. Neighbors
4. A New Family Member
5. They Call It Wildlife For A Reason
6. August
7. A Little Research
8. The Old Mill
9. The Night Of The Scurius
10. A Mad Dash
11. The Evening News
12. Invasion
13. Escape
14. Main Street
15. Safe Haven
16. Recovery And Cover-Up
17. A New Beginning
18. Chicago
19. Waiting
20. Ben
21. Déjà Vu
About the Author
Untitled
PRAISE FOR THE NIGHT OF THE SCIURUS
“This story is a quick read with events happening fast and an eerie opening that immediately draws you into the plot. Watkins sets up the twist early and provides plenty of mystery underneath as you wonder just what is happening to these squirrels and if a deeper conspiracy is going on behind it. Watkins weaves a tale of fright reminiscent of Hitchcock's The Birds but with the unique twist of squirrels. The Night of the Sciurus is a perfect treat for horror lovers who like frightening tales set in nature.”
~Liz Konkel for Readers Favorite
“Watkins instills that same sense of the absurd and the terrifying in this tale about giant squirrels who are not only huge and aggressive, but who also seemed to have developed an alien and fearsome intelligence. Her plot is a grand one, and her characters are plausible and well-defined. The reader can’t help but get involved in their plight and watch as they fight to survive. The Night of the Sciurus: A Western Michigan Tale of Terror is most highly recommended.”
~Jack Magnus for Readers Favorite
“Linda Watkins has created an absolutely engaging tale in The Night of the Sciurus. Further, it’s a short read. Consequently, I finished it in two sittings straight. It is lucidly written, fast-paced and has a credible plot. I simply couldn’t stop reading once I started. Watkins transported me to the picturesque setting of North Laketon with its stately houses flanked by towering, majestic oaks… The Night of the Sciurus by Linda Watkins is recommended for horror and science fiction fans.”
~ Debjani Ghosh for Readers Favorite
THE NIGHT OF THE SCIURUS
A Western Michigan Tale of Terror
Copyright © 2019 by Linda Watkins
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Characters, incidents, places and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, is entirely coincidental
Editing by Red Road Editing/Kristina Circelli
(http://http//www.kristinacircelli.com/red-road-editing/)
Cover design by Linda Watkins
(www.lindawatkins-author.com)
Created with Vellum
Acknowledgments
This novella is written in homage to all those wonderful old horror movies of the 1950s and early 1960s spawned by the fear of nuclear weapons and the effect of radiation on our planet. I don’t know how many hours I spent as a kid glued to the television watching mutated animals and insects terrorize innocent people.
In addition, of note is that the dog in my story, Petey, is modeled on my dog, Spudley, who passed away in June, 2017. He was my “idiot child” whom I loved with all my heart. I miss him every day.
For Spudley…
1
The Night It Really Began
The little squirrel raced frantically through the streets. As he ran, a bolt of lightning split the sky, followed closely by the roar of thunder. Startled, he stopped, eyes darting this way and that – searching for refuge. He was on the curb of a wide street so close to the big lake that he could hear the waves pounding the shoreline. He wished he could go home, but the nest he lived in with his siblings and parents was no more. While he slept, the wind had ripped it from the branches of the old oak that stood beside the library and tossed it carelessly to the ground. Stunned by the impact, the little squirrel had panicked and now found himself far from his home and family.
A fat drop of rain landed on his head and he knew that if he didn’t find shelter soon, he might die. Throwing caution to the wind, he leapt into the street and dashed to the other side barely missing being hit by the wheels of a large M-DOT truck patrolling the neighborhood.
Safe on the opposite curb, the little squirrel surveyed his surroundings. Across the sidewalk from where he cowered was a large concrete building surrounded by a chain-link fence that seemed to go on forever. He blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to decide what to do.
The rain began to come down harder and, not seeing any alternative, the little squirrel dashed through an opening in the fence and hunkered down in the sheltered entryway to the abandoned factory. He sat quietly for a moment, checking the area around him for any predators. Finally convinced that, at least for the time being, he was safe, he took a moment to relax and shake the rain from his fur.
Once calm and dry, he began to look for food and water. The entryway where he crouched was full of debris – empty liquor bottles, aluminum soda cans, and paper bags that once held potato chips or popcorn. He searched through the litter gathering up a crumb or two, but not enough to fill his empty stomach. Frustrated, he ran around just outside the entryway looking for an acorn-bearing tree. But the only trees he found on this property were long-dead, their branches blackened and brittle.
Sustenance, he discovered, in this old mill, would be a problem. Nothing grew at this abandoned place – not even the hardiest of weeds.
Disappointed, the little squirrel put his hunger aside for the moment and, recognizing his great thirst, began to search for a source of water. This was less of a problem than food. The rain left puddles everywhere and, exhausted, the little squirrel stopped at one of them and began to drink.
However, fate was not kind to this little squirrel. Out of all of the puddles that littered the property, he chose the wrong one. The one he drank from was not left by the rain. No, this one was always there, water generated from an underground spring. Water that had once been clean and clear. But now, as it bubbled to the surface, it mixed with multiple pollutants and chemicals left behind when the old mill was shut down. As a result, by the time the water reached the surface, it was toxic.
And still, the young squirrel drank.
The microbes in the water didn’t kill him immediately. On the contrary, when he finished, he felt refreshed and ran off, away from the mill, to find his family or start a new one.
He traveled quite a distance for such a small creature and finally came upon a place that seemed like squirrel nirvana. It was a residential neighborhood, the homes surrounded by dozens of impossibly tall oaks – trees full of plump, juicy acorns and long branches just waiting for a new nest.
The little squirrel built his home in one of them, mated, and had litter after litter of other little squirrels - creatures completely unaware that somewhere inside of them the toxic water from the mill had caused a gene to mutate, not only once, but again and again. And, as they played in the branches, this family of squirrels was oblivious to what horror this mutation would eventually bring t
o them and, more importantly, to the unfortunate humans who shared their habitat.
2
Several Years Later
North Laketon, Michigan
THE HOUSE SAT at the end of a long, curved driveway. Surrounded by a vast expanse of lush, green lawn, it was flanked by unbelievably tall, majestic oaks. I turned my car up the drive and stopped. This was my moment. I sat quietly taking it all in as I listened to the sound of birds singing in the treetops. It was almost too good to be true. This place – this paradise – I could now call “home.”
Tessa, my nine-year-old daughter, squirmed happily in the backseat.
“Mommy, is this our new house?” she asked, eyes wide with excitement.
“Yes, honey,” I answered. “What do you think?”
Before she could answer, a loud “Roo, roo, roo!” came from the seat next to me.
I laughed. “I think Petey likes it.”
Petey was our English Setter who always rode shotgun. He now sat with his head out the window, long tongue hanging out the side of his mouth, eyes flashing with anticipation.
Smiling, I restarted the car and proceeded up the driveway toward the garage. As I drove, I surveyed the house.
It was a large stucco, built in the 1920s. Using the word “stately” to describe it did not fully do it justice. I idly pinched myself as I brought the car to a halt in front of the garage. I couldn’t believe this house was ours. I wasn’t rich and I hadn’t won the lottery. Recently divorced, I was just a working, single mom. But the depressed real estate market in Western Michigan combined with a small inheritance from my father and child support from my ex made it possible for me to qualify, put twenty percent down, and buy this property.
“Mommy, can I get out?”
I swiveled in my seat, grinning at my daughter. “Yes, Tessa. You can go explore the backyard. But don’t let Petey out yet. And, don’t pull out any of those white flags. They mark the boundary for the electronic fence. His collar is probably in the house. Once we get it, you and Petey can play. Okay?”
Tessa nodded and I gave her the go ahead to tumble out of the car.
I turned off the engine, watching her run behind the house. Petey was panting furiously and I gave him a quick pat on the head.
“In a minute, boy,” I whispered. “Let me find the keys.”
The realtor had given me instructions that the house keys would be in the garage, in the first drawer of the workbench. I found them easily and, taking a deep breath, opened the door to my new house.
Stepping inside, I found myself in a hallway leading to an expansive, tiled entryway. I took a moment to marvel at the exquisite workmanship of the flooring, then walked to the large country kitchen. Sliding doors from the dining area led to the backyard and I peered out to check on Tessa. She was sitting on the edge of the deck, gazing at one of those huge oak trees.
“Tessa,” I called, opening the door. “Go get Petey. Make sure he’s properly leashed and bring him here.”
Tessa smiled and ran off to get the dog.
On the counter was the paperwork from the electronic fence company and a collar. I checked the layout of the fence and, when Tessa returned, secured the collar around Petey’s neck.
“Take him out now, sweetie, and walk him just inside all the white flags. If he goes over, the collar will beep at him and, hopefully, he’ll correct himself. Otherwise, he’ll get a ‘zap.’ But don’t worry, it won’t really hurt him.”
“I know, Mommy,” Tessa answered patiently. “I watched Daddy do this when we had the fence put in at our home in Ferndale.”
“You’re right. I’m sure you know just what to do. But keep a good hold on his leash. We don’t want to lose Petey first day here. I know he’d love to chase all those squirrels. Okay?”
“Yup! Come on, Petey, let me show you our yard!”
I watched them for a couple minutes to make sure Tessa knew what she was doing and,
satisfied that the dog was in good hands, I turned to the task of unpacking our stuff from the car. The movers were scheduled to arrive sometime the next morning, so tonight Tessa and I would be “camping out” on air mattresses.
I moved our suitcases and other necessities into the master bedroom, then sat down to check my cell.
There was a confirmation from the moving company which made me breathe a sigh of relief. They would arrive at nine a.m. with all our worldly goods. There was also a message from the local cable company confirming our appointment to install internet, television, and phone service the day after tomorrow. Emails from my ex and from my new employer were also noted.
I sent a quick text to my ex to let him know we’d made it to North Laketon okay, then did the same for my new boss. I also confirmed that I would be in the office on Monday and would meet with him at nine
I was a journalist and I’d secured a position working as a feature writer for the Grand Rapids Press. My “beat” would be Muskegon and the surrounding lakeshore area. This was convenient, since our new home was located close by. North Laketon was something of a bedroom community, populated mainly by young and middle-aged professionals such as myself. It was situated on a peninsula between two small lakes. The “big lake” – Lake Michigan – was only a couple miles away. The street we lived on was one of two circles that were divided by a busy two-lane roadway that led in and out of the town. About a mile down this road was the Four Corners area that held most of the city’s retail establishments. It was a small town and, I hoped, a good place to raise a child.
I walked to the living room, mentally moving the furniture that would arrive tomorrow into place. Gazing out the front window, I thought about the events that had brought us to North Laketon. I was a Michigan girl, born and bred. After receiving my M.A. in Journalism from the University of Michigan, I worked for several years at the Detroit Free Press. It was during a press conference I was covering that I met my ex-husband, Larry. He was a designer for the Ford Motor Company and was there to expound on Ford’s latest innovations.
We dated for a couple of years, then moved in together. When I found out I was pregnant with Tessa, we tied the knot. Unfortunately, while the knot was tight on my end, it began to fray on Larry’s and, just after Tessa’s seventh birthday, I discovered that those late nights he’d been keeping weren’t at the drafting table, but, rather, were in the bed of our neighbor, Amanda Marx. Mandy was married to a marine who was deployed in Afghanistan and I guess she got tired of sleeping every night in an empty bed and borrowed my husband to fill the gap.
Larry swore up and down that it was over and that he loved me and Tessa. Mandy moved away and we, once again, settled into a charade of marital bliss. Unfortunately, Larry proved to be a serial adulterer and it wasn’t long before I caught him with his pants down again. This time, however, his pleas fell on deaf ears. I kicked him out and filed for divorce. The decree was granted six months ago and, needing a fresh start, I pursued a job in Grand Rapids. Larry and I had joint custody of Tessa and in August she would go back to Ferndale to join him for the rest of the summer. I planned on making every minute with her count before that happened.
My reverie was interrupted as Tessa, with Petey in tow, came running into the room.
“I’m hungry, Mommy!” she exclaimed.
Laughing, I glanced at my phone. It was five o’clock and we hadn’t eaten since a fast food burger at noon.
“Okay, kiddo,” I said. “How about we go out for pizza? I think I saw a place on the way in.”
“Yes, yes!” Tessa cried.
“But first,” I replied, “we have to take Petey for a short walk so he can relieve himself and give him his dinner.”
“Sounds like a plan, Mommy. Let’s go!”
3
Neighbors
THE MOVERS CAME the next morning as planned and I spent my time getting things organized. I had arranged for garbage and recycling service to begin a few days after our arrival and, for the first pickup, I had plenty of stuff. Around dusk, I w
as wheeling my overflowing garbage can out to the curb when I noticed the man who lived across the street doing the same. When he saw me, he stopped, smiled, and strode across to greet me. He was older – I guessed in his late sixties or early seventies.
“Hi,” he said. “You’re new here, right?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Well, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Henry Jaworski. And, you?”
“Brooke Davis.”
“Nice to meet you, Brooke. You have a little girl?”
I smiled. “Yes, her name is Tessa.”
“I’ve seen her running around. At our place, it’s just the wife and me now. Our kids are all on their own. Daughter moved to Chicago and our son stayed on in Ann Arbor after college.”
We chatted for a moment longer and I was about to make my excuses and return inside, when my attention was diverted by two squirrels chasing each other merrily across the lawn.
I laughed. “They’re so funny. And big. I don’t believe we grow them that large back where I come from.”
Henry’s face grew serious as he watched the squirrels scamper up one of the tall oaks.
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