by Ben Meeks
I hadn’t thought about the tracks my truck had left in the grass. He turned around, examining the parking lot, and must have noticed the grass pushed down from where I had driven up to the graveyard. Before I knew it, he was walking up the trail and on the way to discovering my truck. That I didn’t expect—well played, mustached man. The wind shifted and I got a scent of him: Old Spice and dog, terrier maybe. I could try to distract him, but I couldn’t keep him away forever, and couldn’t move the truck while they were around. Talking to him wouldn’t help because I couldn’t give him any real answers. He would probably try to arrest me and I couldn’t let that happen. I could always kill him. Sooner or later someone would figure out he was missing and come looking. By the end of it I would have to kill them all. I could see the headlines: Police force murdered, otter taken into custody for questioning. Pass. The thing that made the most sense was to do nothing and wait.
He walked into the clearing and spotted the truck. He drew his gun and moved forward, checking the cab first before moving on to the bed. Finding it empty, he holstered his gun and walked around to the back of the truck, pulled out a notepad, and jotted down my tag before going back to the cab to peer in through the window. I knew he wasn’t going to see anything; I keep my truck clean. He looked around, making sure the coast was clear, and pulled some latex gloves out of his back pocket. He put them on and tried the passenger door— I guess Mister Mustache sees a little leeway with the law. I wasn’t in the habit of locking my doors but there wasn’t anything for him to find except my license, the wooden knife in the glovebox, and my gear bag behind the seat. None of it was illegal. Strange, absolutely, but not illegal.
He rummaged around for a minute before getting into the glovebox. He paused before holding up my wooden knife between two fingers, eyeballing it. That was a problem. If he held it by the handle, I could have a dead cop on my hands. If I changed to human form it would just lead to more questions, why I was in the area and naked to boot. It’s possible the guy that got a glimpse of me at the door could identify me. If so, they would try to arrest me. Just put it back asshole. I scraped the ground with my back legs, sending leaves flying and making some noise to get his attention. He whipped his head up, looking in my direction. I sank down into the leaves. Sitting still, I’m sure he couldn’t see me. After a few seconds without finding the cause of the sound, he put the knife back and closed the door. He put the gloves back in his pocket and stood, facing my direction, watching and listening for what had made the noise. When he was satisfied he wasn’t going to find anything, he gave up and headed back down the trail.
I was stuck there for most of the day before they had finished processing the scene and cleared out. I was itching to get out of there but I waited another thirty minutes after the last car left just to make sure I wouldn’t be followed. I had a new lead and needed to get back to Naylet to report in. I would never have admitted it to her but I was looking forward to seeing her reaction to the news. I would get a thorough round of I told you so’s and she would be a little too smug about it but she would be happy. When I was satisfied the coast was clear, I changed back into human form, got dressed, and headed back to Naylet’s house.
C H A P T E R • 8
There weren’t any lights on when I pulled up to the house. That seemed a little strange, it wasn’t Naylet’s night out with the girls, she didn’t say she was going anywhere, and it was much too early for her to be in bed. Maybe she went out; she does love to point out how much of a life she has outside of me. That might not be a bad thing, between this missing baby and the recent demon issues. A couple days to focus on work might be good, it would get us on that vacation a lot quicker. Still, I had to check in, just to make sure everything was okay.
Leaving the truck running, I got out and headed for the front door. As soon as my foot hit the grass I knew something was wrong. I couldn’t tell what it was. I stood frozen in my tracks looking for something out of place. The lightning bugs were flashing, the katydids chirped, a bobwhite sang in the woods off to my right. I could smell the leaves and earth of the woods. Everything looked the same but it felt differently, it felt empty. The vitality Naylet had cultivated in the area seemed to have drained away. Covering the yard and steps leading to the front door in a few strides I turned the knob and let myself in.
“Naylet, are you here?” I asked the empty room.
I had to question if my nose was playing tricks on me. A faint scent of spices lingered in the house, the same scent that was on the bunny in the truck. A half-finished cup of coffee sat on the counter beside a few sweet potatoes, peeled but not chopped, as well as a few other ingredients, hinting at the dish that was being made. Pecans, brown sugar, banana, chia seed—I knew this. It was a casserole Naylet makes for breakfast sometimes. It was closer to dinnertime now. That wasn’t the only strange thing. Pictures that normally hung on the walls were in a pile on the table beside the newspaper I had read the night before. Turning the light on, I checked the loft to find it empty. Flipping through the pictures I noticed a couple had been taken out of the frames. One was from about forty years ago, the last time we took a trip to the beach. It was the only physical evidence that I had ever worn bell bottoms, and one of the happiest times of my life.
Maybe whatever had taken Baby Stephanie had come after Naylet; that would explain the smell, but it didn’t explain the pictures. Still, none of this made any sense. Sitting down at the table, I pondered my next move. Nymphs weren’t known for being fighters but if she got away she could disappear in the woods. She probably had some trouble, ran out, and was staying hidden until she knew it’s safe. If she was laying low, she would come out when she heard me. I had to check the woods.
Heading back to the truck, I grabbed a flashlight out of the bag I kept behind the seat and turned to start my search. Stopping dead in my tracks I paused for a second before going into the glovebox to get my knife. I tucked it in my shorts, better safe than sorry, and headed for the storage shed. I didn’t think she would be there, but it was close and I might as well check. It was neat and tidy; she likes to keep things in order like that. Some people might call her O.C.D.; I don’t. Gardening tools hung on the walls, and bags of soil were stacked neatly beside a wheelbarrow in the corner. I made my way around the house. It all looked normal but I found a set of tracks heading off into the woods behind the house. Naylet had made a reading garden by a stream that flowed at the bottom of the hill. The tracks led off in that direction, and from the small tufts of dirt thrown behind the track it looked like she was running. The path wove its way through the woods and down a hill for about two hundred feet, which I covered at full speed. It opened into a mossy area beside the creek, with flower beds scattered around the edges. A bench sat off on the right side. She was nowhere to be found.
“Naylet,” I called. There was no answer.
I held the flashlight low, sending the beam across the ground and discovered a pair of tracks in the grass. It looked like Naylet’s and another set I didn’t recognize. The new set looked humanoid with distinct claw marks around the toes. I didn’t recognize them. Being that they appeared on the ground out of nowhere, whatever it was could probably fly.
There was a chase. I followed Naylet’s tracks, telling the story of how she evaded her pursuer around the entire clearing in large circles. The clawed set took a much more direct approach. Wherever Naylet had gone, this creature followed her, leaving straight lines of tracks with scrapes in the ground from its claws. Keeping up with Naylet was tough, even for me; whatever this thing was, it was quick.
Naylet’s tracks escaped into the creek. It was four feet wide and barely a foot deep. The clawed tracks skidded to a stop, avoiding the water. That was a hint—demons hated water. The stranger’s tracks disappeared, the demon must have taken flight again. That left me with nothing to go on. I was a good tracker, but no one was good enough to track in moving water or through the air. I stepped into the stream, the cold water biting at my feet, and shon
e the light downstream looking for clues. Coming up with nothing, I turned upstream, revealing a figure hunched low in the water, almost completely submerged. I stepped forward, cautiously moving to the side to get a better look. It was Naylet. Only her head and one arm was raised out of the water, shielding her face.
“Naylet, are you alright?” I asked, taking a cautious step forward.
There was no response, not so much as a flinch. She had a stillness with the absoluteness of death. I moved forward a few more steps and could see she was wearing shorts and a red tee shirt, no shoes. Her skin looked to be a light grey color. I was hoping it was a trick of the light, but the closer I got the more I was sure it wasn’t. I didn’t know if it was just in my head, but the whole area took on a feeling of heaviness, like the woods before a hard rain. When I was close enough, I reached out and touched her hand. It was solid and cool to the touch, not living, but as if she had been carved from a piece of stone.
I moved around and knelt beside her, my breath catching in my throat. It was definitely Naylet but I had no explanation for what happened to her. Although I had only seen it a couple times in all the years we had been together, I recognized the expression on her face: fear. That was it for me, the tears started to pool in my eyes. I wiped them away and took a breath. There’s no time for that.
“Hang on, Naylet, I’ll get you to Livy. She can fix this,” I said, trying to convince myself as much as her.
I’ve been around a while and thought I had seen just about everything, but this one was new. Naylet may not look that tough, but she was mean as a snake in a pinch, it was one of her many endearing qualities. The tracks told me she couldn’t get away from her pursuer but there was no evidence that she put up a fight either. I only knew one thing about whatever did this to her: it was dangerous. A breeze drifted through the woods from behind me and I was sure I could smell the perfume I had found at the Olson house. It was faint but it was there. I was about to shift into krasis and track down where it was coming from when I was distracted by the sound of a car pulling up to the house. New lights, combined with my truck’s lights, shone over the crest of the hill and through the trees, making it look like a scene from the X-Files.
“Were you expecting company?” I asked Naylet’s lifeless form.
I couldn’t very well go up the hill in krasis without knowing who was up there, but I didn’t want to stay in human form if I had to face whatever was lurking out of sight in the woods. Deciding to keep my human form, at least until I knew who had come knocking, I lifted Naylet out of the water. With one arm under her legs and the other across her back, I carried her out of the stream. In the past I have never had trouble picking her up, she couldn’t have been more than a buck twenty-five, tops. This transformation, however, added the weight of stone and not just the look. It actually took some effort to lift her. Walking toward the hill, I thought of the wheelbarrow I had seen in the shed. I didn’t want to leave her alone in the dark with whatever was out there. It didn’t feel right. I could make it, I just might have Jell-O legs by the time I got there.
Halfway up the hill I heard the slow and deliberate crunching of leaves in the woods behind me, footsteps. I dropped Naylet’s legs, spinning quickly with my light. The beam found something that leapt straight up and disappeared into the night sky with only the flapping of wings and rustled leaves to give away that it had been there at all. I had only caught a glimpse of something, a shadowy figure in the darkness, but not enough to tell what it was. I was right, though, there was something out here.
“Which one of us do you think it’s after?” I asked. Naylet didn’t answer.
Whatever it was, it was gone for the moment. It would be back, though, they always come back. Retrieving Naylet’s legs, I continued up toward the headlights. Maybe that would deter it—I doubt it, but here’s to hoping. Coming over the crest of the hill and into the headlights, I couldn’t see anything but the house illuminated to my left and two sets of headlights shining in my direction. I had to get Naylet into my truck, that was a given, I just needed to figure out who was there and how in the way they were going to get. With no time to beat around the bush, I started walking straight across the yard. Halfway there I caught a whiff of Old Spice and dog, now with a hint of B.O. I knew who it was before I stepped past the beams to find the mustached officer from the church.
He must have had me followed, something I should have noticed, another slipup I guess. It’s not like he couldn’t look up who I was and my home address from my tag if he wanted to. Regardless, I wasn’t in the mood to deal with this. He got out of his Explorer with the kind of smirk on his face I instinctively wanted to wipe off with light violence. He had to have seen me as soon as I came over the crest of the hill. I could have easily gotten away from him but that meant leaving Naylet behind. I would play along for a bit, disposing of a cop and his car is one more thing that I really didn’t want to deal with. I’d get Naylet in the truck and see how far this encounter would go.
“Evening. Detective Farwell,” he said when I stepped past the headlights. He tapped a badge hanging from a lanyard around his neck as he spoke. “Does the owner of this place know you are hauling off their statue?”
“Yes, officer, I assure you she would be pleased to know that I am taking care of it,” I said.
“She would be, you say? So she doesn’t know you are taking it?” Right then I knew this guy wanted to bust me for something, par for the course. Unfortunately for him that’s not going to happen tonight.
“Yeah, I’m afraid she’s not here at the moment. I hope she will be back soon. She had mentioned that she wanted it taken care of and I wasn’t busy so I thought I would do a favor for a friend. You know how it goes,” I replied.
“Oh sure,” he agreed. “It’s awful Christian of you. Do you attend church regular? I go to Inclusive Assembly of Christ, over by Canton. Have you ever been there before?”
I set Naylet down by the truck and opened the tailgate. “I might have been by there once or twice.”
“I was hoping to talk to you about something that happened there today,” he said, squinting at me.
“Of course, officer, I would be happy to come down to the station and talk to you. Does tomorrow afternoon work for you?” I knew it wasn’t going to be this easy.
“I’m a ‘rip the bandage off’ kind of guy. We could straighten it out right now,” he said.
I had just finished heaving Naylet into the back of the truck and closed the gate when, for the second time, I heard shuffling in the woods. Again they came from behind me. I turned and put my arms up on the tailgate with a foot up on the bumper. I was going for a casual look but really, I was preparing to launch myself at whatever would come out of the woods.
“Sir, can you step over here, please,” Farwell said.
I didn’t have time for this. I could tell from the look on his face that he was about to stop beating around the bush and get down to business. Something was out there and if I didn’t get him out of here he could be killed—or worse, he could live, and that would be a real mess. Maybe Thera would consider an exception to the “protect life” rule if she knew how inconvenient it was for me. On second thought, probably not. I walked away from the truck, to get between him and the footsteps. Standing with my back to him I looked into the woods for a few seconds and smelled the air. It was out there.
“Sir . . .” Farwell said, trying to redirect my attention from the trees.
I was about to turn around to tell him that I didn’t have anything to discuss tonight when I was interrupted.
“Is there a problem, officer?” a woman’s voice said from the trees.
I didn’t recognize it or the young woman it was attached to. She was in skinny jeans and a form-fitting black tank top. Her dark clothing, combined with her dark complexion, made her seem to appear out of nowhere as she stepped out of the trees. She had long thick dreadlocks reaching almost to her waist and wasn’t wearing shoes. I already figured she was up to
no good, but the lack of shoes sealed the deal. You have to be careful around people that don’t wear shoes. They are either going to be the salt of the earth or some monster that will try to eat your face; there’s not a lot of in between. I moved back to my truck to put myself between Naylet and the new visitor.
Farwell’s hand had instinctively gone to his gun. It lingered there as he spoke: “And you are?”
“I’m Naylet Kirtane. I live here. I overheard your conversation and I can clear up this little misunderstanding. You see, I did ask him to move the statue for me. I’m afraid I have been thinking some more about it and have decided to keep it. I’m sorry to put you through all this trouble, Obie. Be a dear and set it over by the shed please. I will find the perfect place for it tomorrow morning. I promise you I won’t bother you with it again.”
My lip curled, I couldn’t help it. “Not going to happen.”
I had squared up with her, put a hand on the tailgate to emphasize my point.
“Obie,” she exclaimed. “What has gotten into you? I assure you, officer, he’s not normally like this. What’s the matter, hun?”
“Don’t call me that.”
Farwell had moved away during this process. He was speaking softly and trying to be discreet while we were distracting each other. It almost worked. “Hey, it’s Ryan. I’m okay but need a couple marked units at my location,” he said and started walking back in our direction. “Ma’am, this is getting a little heated. Could you go inside and let’s take a few minutes to calm down, then we can get this figured out.”
“Marked units . . . he is referring to police cars?” she asked.
It might have been a rhetorical question but I answered it anyway. “Yep, he’s got backup on the way. Guess you better scurry back to whatever shithole you crawled out of.”
