Night of the Wendigo

by William Meikle

  Diced carrots. Why is it always diced carrots?

  All other thoughts were pushed from his mind when he saw what sat on the ramp just ahead, placed at the head of the trench that was the main focus of the dig.

  At first Mike thought it was a totem pole, a smaller wooden version of the big one over in the park. But as he got closer he realized with horror that these weren’t faces carved in wood…these were heads, three of them, frozen into place on top of each other, glued together by bloody chunks of ice. He had to walk down the side of the trench to see the full effect. He soon wished he hadn’t bothered.

  The top head was male, an African-American with a beard etched pure white by frost. His eyes were milky white, reflecting what little light there was like silver mirrors. The eyes looked extra large, straining out of their sockets, staring over the dig. Black frostbitten lips hung loosely away from teeth that looked too white against the blue of his flesh. His nose was gone. From Mike’s experience of clearing up bar fights it looked like it might have been bitten off.

  The middle was a young white woman, caught and frozen in permanent fear. She too was almost blue, but she only had deep black holes where her eyes had been. Something had also taken her ears…ripped them from her, leaving behind slivers of torn, bloody flesh.

  The third, and bottom, was the worst. It was an oriental male. His eyes, white and unseeing, somehow spoke of acceptance and sadness. His lips had been torn from his face, leaving behind only frozen bloody pulp that looked like beef mince. But that wasn’t the worst. An erect severed penis jutted out from between his teeth like some obscene joke cigar.

  Mike couldn’t take his eyes off it. He was still standing there, dumbstruck, when Mina and her forensics team arrived ten minutes later.

  * * *

  Jackie Donnelly didn’t often run late, but when she did, it was spectacular. Normally the alarm clock was enough to get her up, but yesterday had been one of the toughest days on the dig. She’d shifted tons of mud, and spent hours afterwards in the lab starting to catalogue the finds. When she’d got home she’d fallen asleep in a hot bath, which was stone cold when she woke, disoriented. She’d dragged herself into bed and slept the sleep of the just.

  But she’d forgotten to set the alarm.

  She’d only woken fifteen minutes ago, late and hurried to distraction. She’d already partially flooded the bathroom, poured hot coffee across the kitchen floor, torn three buttons off her favorite shirt, and fallen down the front stairs of her apartment block. Luckily the fall had done no more than wound her pride, and amuse the postman.

  Now she ran full pelt for the dig site while juggling a piece of undercooked toast in one hand and her cell phone in the other, trying to dial Dave Jeffers’ number.

  “Come on Dave, pick up.”

  She took her life in her hands and dodged traffic to get across the road, bringing a chorus of horns and curses, but she didn’t slow, even as she turned into the dock itself.

  Old Tom tried to stop her at the dock gates.

  “Ms Donnelly…wait. You shouldn’t be going down there this morning.”

  Jackie ignored him.

  “Ms Donnelly,” he said again, more insistent this time. Just then a radio station van pulled up beside the guard room.

  “Hey man,” someone shouted, “How much to let us through.”

  “Fifty bucks,” Tom said.

  “WKMC told us twenty.”

  “That’s inflation for you son. Fifty bucks now. It could be a hundred in five minutes time.”

  Jackie was able to slip past.

  “Ms Donnelly…”she heard Tom call at her back. You really don’t want to be going down there.”

  She slipped under the stop barrier and out onto the dock. Life was just too short to show the same pass to the same old security guard every day. Especially one as lecherous as Old Tom. If she had to watch him do that thing with his false teeth again, she’d scream.

  She ran full tilt along the dock, listening to the phone ring at her ear.

  “Come on guys,” she shouted. “Answer the damned phone.”

  No one picked up. She brought the phone closer to her face, checking the number. That meant she didn’t notice that the normally empty dock was full of television crews, radio vans, policemen and gawkers. She ran straight into the back of the crowd and bounced off a man who luckily was built like a brick wall on steroids.

  “Hey. Let me through,” she shouted, trying to push her way through the scrum. “I work here.”

  The huge man turned and looked down at her.

  “Lady, ain’t nobody works here no more. They’s all dead.”

  The piece of toast fell to the ground unnoticed.

  “There must be some mistake…”she started.

  “No mistake, Miss. There are cops and paramedics and all sorts of shit out there. The last one to come back said there was no rush…they’s all dead.”

  “Dead? No! What’s happening here?”

  “I told you”, the big man said. “Some drug deal went wrong and they’s all dead. Cut up bad I heard.”

  The tall man next to him sighed theatrically. He used a large pair of binoculars and jumped up and down to try to see over the heads of the crowd. “It was a team of archaeologists from the university. They probably uncovered some old plague…I saw the CDC guys go in ten minutes ago.”

  The guy with the binoculars looked like he was spoiling for a fight, but Jackie couldn’t wait to see the inevitable outcome. She pushed through the crowd, all the time trying to dial Dave Jeffers’ number.

  There was still no answer. She let it ring.

  Probably too busy, she thought. But they’ll pick up when it pisses them off enough.

  She kept pushing through the crowd of people. When she got to the front she was brought up short by the crime scene tape.

  She saw a man, a cop she presumed, bend and look under a yellow plastic sheet. He came up with a cell phone. It was ringing. When he answered it Jackie heard his voice in her ear.

  “NYPD. Detective Kaminski here. Who am I speaking to?”

  “Over here,” Jackie said into the phone and waved it over her head. “Behind the tape.”

  He saw her and headed over, slowly, warily. He didn’t quite put his hand on his gun, but Jackie didn’t think he was far off from doing it.

  What is going on here?

  She felt panic growing, but forced herself to take deep breaths…panicking people and nervous cops were a bad situation…even in her confused state she realized that.

  “Okay, Miss,” the cop said. “I’m coming over. Just keep calm.”

  She couldn’t take her eyes off the yellow sheet.

  Something lay under it, something the shape of a human body.

  The cop was so close that Jackie had to stand on tiptoes to keep an eye on the sheet, willing there to be some movement under it, some sign that it wasn’t actually a dead person. But it didn’t move.

  “What’s under there? My god…who is under there?”

  The detective looked her in the eye as he came up close.

  “You tell me, Miss…?”

  “Donnelly. Jackie Donnelly. I work here. Please, tell me…who is under the sheet?”

  “You tell me. You’re the one that called him.”

  By now he stood directly in front of her, blocking her view.

  “It’s Dave, isn’t it? Dave Jeffers,” she said quietly.

  “If that’s who owned the phone you rang, then, yes,” the detective said softly. “Did you know him?”

  Jackie ignored him.

  Dave? Dead? No, he can’t be.

  Then she remembered when she’d last seen the rest of the diggers.

  “Was it Johnson?” she said.

  “Who?” The cop seemed taken aback by the sudden change in tack.

  “That construction manager. The bastard’s been leaning on us ever since we started. It must have been him.”

  Then it struck her…there was only room under the
yellow sheet for one body. If that was Dave, then where were the others?

  “Is everybody else okay?”

  The detective shook his head.

  “I’m afraid not, Miss.”

  “They’re all dead?” Jackie whispered.

  He nodded.

  “We think so…but we’ll need someone to ID the bodies.”

  ID the bodies?

  Suddenly she felt nauseous. Her world shrank down to a long dark tunnel. At the far end she could just make out the buttons on the detective’s flannel shirt.

  At that same point, the fight that had been brewing in the crowd turned into a full blown fracas. Brick wall man was pounding binocular man into the ground while a little old lady aimed some kicks at both of them for good measure.

  “Shit. It never rains but it pours. Stay right here,” the detective said. “We’ll need to talk to you later.”

  Jackie barely heard him. When he moved aside she was looking from a far distance at something yellow, out of focus. Her brain wouldn’t let her make sense of what it was. All she knew was that she didn’t want to look at it any more.

  She turned and walked away.

  * * *

  Cole Barter saw his chance when the woman left the policeman’s side.

  Be cool, he told himself. You can do this. You NEED to do this.

  He’d overheard some of her conversation with the detective. She knew the victims. She’d be the perfect one to ask.

  Just don’t blow it.

  She looked dazed, almost shocked. She seemed unsure as to what she should do next. She walked slowly, mumbling to herself, so low that Cole couldn’t make out what she said.

  Cole was torn, the little angel on his right shoulder telling him that she should be left alone to grieve, the little devil on the left telling him to get on with it.

  She’s the answer…if you’ve got the balls to ask the questions.

  The little devil won.

  Cole walked over and took her by the arm.

  “Excuse me, Miss,” he said, trying his hardest to sound like a cop. “There’s just a few follow up questions.”

  “I told the other detective…”she said.

  “I understand that,” Cole said. “It won’t take but a moment.”

  Cole gripped her arm harder and pulled her along with him. To his amazement she followed him meekly. He led her away from the crowd, expecting at any moment to hear a clamor at his back. But none came.

  A woman wearing a yellow coat walked towards them. Jackie shied away, like a frightened horse, almost pulling out of Cole’s grip. She stood still, as people moved around them. Tears were gathered at the corners of her eyes. Any minute now she might let go. And if she did, Cole might have lost his best chance for a glimpse of the truth.

  “You look like you need a coffee,” he said. She nodded, but didn’t speak, which he took as a yes.

  “I know this great place,” he said. “It’s just outside the dock gates. I’ve been going there for years, ever since I was a kid…black coffee, and a cream cheese bagel…they know my order by heart and it’s waiting for me almost before I know myself that I want it. I…”

  He stopped. He realized that he’d gushed. Cops in this town didn’t do gushing. But he’d got away with it. She hadn’t taken any notice of him.

  The crowd was thinner here, just behind the throng that jockeyed for position at the cordon. Cole moved the woman along a bit faster. He needed to get clear before anyone took any notice that he was, for all intents and purposes, abducting this woman.

  He was almost clear when a television reporter approached them and shoved a microphone in his face.

  “Officer. Could you tell us…?”

  He pushed her away, a bit too brusquely.

  “No comment.”

  She came right back at him. He’d pushed her too hard…her color was up. She pushed the microphone at Jackie.

  “Miss? Are you a witness?”

  “Leave her alone,” Cole said. He pushed the reporter away again.

  “The public has a right to know…”she began.

  Cole laughed at the irony of it.

  “No comment,” he said. “We’ll be letting the media know through the proper channels. I’m sure the Lieutenant will be more than pleased to have a press briefing later at the precinct.”

  He started to enjoy himself.

  “Don’t worry, Miss,” he said, loud enough that all around would hear. “I’ll protect you from these parasites.”

  He led her along the dock away from the reporter. As he got around the corner past the timber yard and out of sight of the crime scene his confidence grew.

  I wonder what her story is? If I do this right, it could be just what I need.

  She still hadn’t said a word, but maybe coffee would loosen her tongue.

  As they walked he muttered to himself.

  Don’t screw up. Don’t screw up.

  It had become his mantra over the past lean years, the tenets of which he didn’t always follow.

  But this time will be different.

  He gave Old Tom a nod as he passed the gates, hoping the old man wouldn’t speak. He should have known better.

  “Cole. Still hunting after the great unknown?” the old man said.

  “Keeper of the Faith and Defender of the Truth, that’s me.”

  “Well, if you bring me a quart of something strong and Scottish, I’ll see if I can lead you a bit farther on the path to enlightenment,” Old Tom said, and cackled.

  “Not today, Tom. I’m on a trail of something. It could be big this time.”

  Tom cackled again.

  “I wish I had a dollar for every time I’ve seen a youngster convinced he’s onto a big score.”

  He noticed Doug’s companion for the first time.

  “Got yourself a woman at last, I see? And a purty one at that. Hello again, darling.”

  Cole kept walking.

  “I don’t have time to talk, Tom. I’m just taking her for a coffee. She’s had a bit of a shock.”

  The old man did the disgusting thing with his teeth again.

  “Coffee is it?” He made an obscene gesture with a rolled up fist and his forefinger. “Well, give her a black one from me.”

  Cole turned away before he had to see the false teeth thing again, but he couldn’t escape the old man’s cackling laughter. It reminded him of failure.

  He turned to look at the woman. She was still out of it, not paying any attention to her surroundings.

  Cole Barter, you really are a Grade A Shit, the angel on his right shoulder said. It was getting louder, but he’d manage to ignore it for a while longer.

  By the time he got the woman to the diner she seemed to be coming out of it.

  Maybe there’s time.

  He ordered two coffees and led her to a booth. He sat down opposite her and took out his notepad and pen, hoping they would pass muster as something a policeman might carry.

  “Now, Miss,” he said in his best official voice. “If I could just have your name please?”

  He hadn’t planned any of this. He’d been sitting at home, catching up on the overnight news, when the reports started coming in. And once he’d seen where it had all gone down, he knew he just had to see for himself. And when he’d seen the woman leave the cordon in a daze he’d taken the chance.

  Now nerves were starting to get to him…her lack of response was giving him plenty of time to get twitchy.

  “Miss?” he said, maybe a bit too urgently. “Your name please?”

  “Donnelly,” she said. “Jackie Donnelly.” She spoke as if she wasn’t interested in much of anything, but there was a haunted look in her eyes that showed there was plenty going on under the surface.

  What does this woman know?

  “And how do you know the deceased?” he said.

  She jerked her head at the word.

  Shit. I’ve blown it, Cole thought, but her eyes took on the dazed look again.

  “I wor
k with them. They’re my friends.”

  Them, he thought, excitement rising. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a multiple.

  “You know all of them well?” he said.

  And suddenly Cole didn’t have to say any more. It all came out of her in a rush.

  “It should have been me. It was my turn for the night shift, but Rachel wanted to switch…something about a new man and a hot date later in the week. Dick North gave it the okay. I spent the night sleeping in a cold bath while my friends died. It should have been me. It could have been me. Who would want to kill a bunch of archaeologists? What sense is there in that?”

  The coffees turned up. She paused to take a sip. Cole waited until the waitress moved on before continuing.

  “Dick North? Is he your boss?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “Head of the Archaeology Department. He’s been taking the most grief from Johnson.”

  “Johnson?”

  “I told the Detective at the scene…”

  Suddenly she stopped talking. Cole hadn’t been paying close enough attention. Her eyes had cleared and she no longer had the dazed look. She looked puzzled.

  “And aren’t you supposed to be taking notes?” she said.

  He looked down, realizing he hadn’t written a word…his pencil still sat on the table beside the notebook. He made a grab for it, misjudged the distance, and sent the pencil skittering across the table and down onto the floor where it rolled towards the counter. Cole got out of his seat and chased it, catching it at the base of one of the stools.

  When Cole got back to the booth he blushed as red as a hot baby. Jackie Donnelly had a thin smile on her face.

  “You’re not a cop,” she said.

  It wasn’t a question, which was just as well, as Cole didn’t really have an answer. He sat down and stared back at her, unsure what tack to take next.

  “So what are you? A reporter?” she asked.

  “No…Well, yes…Sort of.”

  She hadn’t left yet. He took that as a good sign and ploughed on.

  “I’m researching an article on the history of the docks…well, that dock in particular, Hunter’s Dock. You see, there’s been weird shit going down over there for decades…centuries even…and I thought…”