Oakwood Island

by Cormier, Angella; Arseneault, Pierre C;

“There’s some more of those weird brown hairs over here, Burke,” Harold said as he squatted down close to what was left of Kathleen Watson’s body. Her blonde hair was matted with thick chunks of flesh and bone fragments, some of hers and some of her husbands, whose body was sprawled about just a few feet away.

  “Remember that sticky substance we found on the Stuart’s bodies? There seems to be some here too. It’s fresher, but just as sticky and foul-smelling.” Randolf collected a sample of the substance with a long swab stick. It coated the white cotton tip and formed a long sliver of thick, stringy saliva-like substance before the coroner placed it inside a long plastic container to send for analysis.

  “Remember how the tests from the Stuarts’ bodies had come back and like I suspected the hairs had canine properties? But there’s one thing about the evidence we never figured out. The saliva found at the Stuarts’ had plant enzymes within it, along with another unknown element.” Harold sealed the evidence bag in which he’d just placed the saliva swab and stood up.

  Burke chuckled and replied. “So the thing had a salad as an appetizer first?”

  With his back to Burke, Harold rolled his eyes at yet another one of Burke’s jokes, the ones that always seemed to be in such poor taste. Suddenly there came a loud cawing sound from the window ledge and both investigators jumped, startled from the sudden noise. The bird pecked its strong beak at the window a few times before flying off.

  Burke exhaled loudly and exclaimed with an exaggerated tone. “Damn bird nearly scared the shit out of me!”

  Both men laughed nervously as neither of them had expected to be startled by the small pest, nevertheless while standing knee deep in body parts and pools of blood. They continued working as the crow headed off, heeding its call to return home.

  * * *

  The early night resonated with a chill stirring of the leaves that had started falling on the streets of Oakwood Island. The street was brushed with a light flurry of them, a few being cast upward every so often when the cool wind would swirl through the trees and down onto the ground. The creature carried itself with a quietness that was remarkable, always staying in the shadows, careful to not be noticed by the humans that were in the vicinity. It knew by instinct that it shouldn’t wander into town like this. Feeding off smaller game and fish had been sufficient for his functioning and had allowed him to survive all this time on the island.

  However, since his very first taste of human flesh, the desire and want for that taste again had become overpowering. It was a hunger unlike any he had felt before. It had grown stronger and sharper after filling up on the people across the island. Instinctively it felt it shouldn’t be out in the open, in the streets, hiding in the shadows, looking for more prey. The hunger won the battle every time though, and it looked with earnest for its next victim.

  Prowling near some homes, it finally found her. She was wandering about aimlessly; her footsteps unsteady as she stumbled a few times. Her feet shuffled about, hitting the concrete sidewalk in an odd pattern. She appeared oblivious to the fact that there was a killer or wild animal on the loose on the island. The streets had been nearly emptied since news of the deadly attacks at the Watson’s made its way around Oakwood. The woman seemed unafraid to be walking the streets alone, her frail body dressed only in a light cotton dress, all in white. She might have even appeared lost to some, her demeanour strange, aloof. It was like she didn’t really have a destination, but rather a long, continual walk which would lead her nowhere but into her own forsaken soul.

  The beast stalked the woman with a deafening quietness. It crept up behind her, no sounds uttered neither from it nor from the ground underfoot. As it approached her, it felt satisfied with the stealth it carried through its hunt, its prey was his to have tonight. Just as it came up closer, the woman turned around and came face to face with the beast.

  In her eyes reflected the image of the brown furred beast, a large snout protruding from its head, mouth open, with long and sharp teeth exposed. As she opened her mouth to scream, the beast pounced onto her chest, its mouth tearing away at the flesh of her throat before her small body hit the ground. She coughed blood and gasped for a breath that never came as she lay in growing puddle of her own gore.

  Her broken mind wandered over the memories of the last few days, where she had truly been free and truly lived like never before. Memories of feeding her sister stale sandwiches while she binged on her favourite foods and watched countless hours of television. She remembered her sister Norah’s screams of terror as she fought off spiders, snakes and red eyed rats with large teeth while chained to her old bed in the basement.

  As she lay under the weight of the beast, in the grip of its sharp claws, she recalled wandering off in search of more food. Ill-equipped to deal with her newfound freedom; a disoriented Amy had eventually wandered into the path of the beast that now made a meal of her flesh.

  Death came to collect her sick soul, damned from birth; it escaped her frailness and was finally free to fly away from the life that had kept her prisoner all these years. As Amy’s spirit was carried away by Death, the beast continued tearing mouthfuls of warm flesh from her body.

  * * *

  The following Saturday morning, the Old Mill Restaurant was abuzz with chatter by the patrons having breakfast. About a dozen customers were seated in the dining area, being served by Shelley on her first shift back to work since her discovery of the Watson’s bodies. Gertrude and Tommy were seated in the middle of the room, as were several other locals. Jack Whitefeather sat alone, empty breakfast plate pushed to the side while drinking his usual cup of herbal tea, seemingly pondering the world and everything in it. Jack had deep creases and lines on his face, always appearing deep in thought. This morning was no exception to this.

  “That must have been awful, Shelley! Did you see Eddy’s body?” Gertrude asked the waitress.

  Tommy locked eyes with Gertrude, trying to force a look of disapproval on his face. Gertrude noticed it, understood it, but kept on anyways, as she always had a very strong personality. Shelley topped up her client’s cups of coffee as she answered the question.

  “Not really, but I knew he was dead. There was so much blood everywhere. I keep dreaming about it. Again last night I dreamt of it. The strange part is that when I have that dream, I always fly away at the end of the dream and land in the large oak tree with a bunch of crows.”

  She took a step back from the table, and waited to be mocked by the young couple, her guard suddenly up; she questioned herself if maybe she should have kept quiet about her dream. Tommy noticed her sudden shiftiness and sensed that she had become nervous. He reassured her by looking up at her and saying in the sincerest voice he could.

  “It’s probably those meds the doc gave you to sleep. They’re so strong and probably too strong for you.”

  Gertrude smiled at Tommy as she understood his wanting to comfort Shelley. His compassion was a quality that she loved in her husband, and wished she could be more like him in that sense.

  Shelley nodded and quickly replied. “You’re probably right.” Smiling briefly, she turned to go take an order a few tables over.

  As Shelley turned to serve the older couple, the front door opened and Ryan walked in. Being raised courteous, he removed his hat as he entered the restaurant and said hello to a few other patrons who were enjoying their breakfast. He made his way to the counter, where he sat down on one of the stools. Shelley came around and passed a paper order to the cook through the service window. She returned to the counter and poured a cup of coffee for Officer Ryan.

  “Thanks, Shelley,” he said softly. “How are you doing?”

  Shelley tried to force a smile but it was obvious she was still bothered by the events earlier that week

  “I’m ok...not sleeping all that great, but I’m ok,” she replied.

  Ryan nodded just before he brought the hot beverage to his l
ips, the coffee bitter on his tongue.

  A few tables away, Jack got up and dropped money on the table to pay his bill. His dusty old hat slipped easily onto his head as he began making his way past the counter. When he reached Ryan, his pace slowed down a bit, and this made Ryan turn sideways on the stool to look at the old man. Jack made eye contact with Ryan and in a deep but yet gentle voice he spoke.

  “The body... it isn’t Norah.”

  Ryan momentarily searched the old man’s dark brown eyes. There he searched for a hint as to how he knew about the body they had only just discovered that morning. The police report wasn’t even completed and typed up, yet Jack somehow knew they had found a body and that they had identified it as Norah.

  Very few people on the island knew about Norah’s twin sister, as they had kept her hidden away, to protect them from the curse. She had been off sick from work for a few days now; or so Amy had said when she pretended to be Norah. The hospital had called to check up on Norah, but Amy had answered the phone. When the voice had sounded odd and not like her usual self, they assumed they were talking to Norah and that she really was sick. Since they didn’t know about the cursed twin (the body they found), although badly disfigured, was mistakenly identified as Norah.

  Ryan stared at Jack for a few moments, shocked at the knowledge that he held before so many others. He cleared his throat and spoke in a hushed voice. “What? How did you even know we found a body?”

  Jack began walking again, his footsteps in rhythm with the delayed tone of voice he offered as a reply to Ryan’s questioning. “I know. That’s all. The body was like others...partially eaten?”

  This sounded more like a statement than a question to Ryan, and he began wondering just how much Jack knew in this matter and how he was coming across this information. The whole town knew Jack had a special intuition that bordered on the creepy side. Ryan thought about some stories of the old native man which he always assumed were urban legends and stereotyping. Ryan turned on the stool as Jack made his way to the door of the dining room. He put his hand on the door knob when Ryan called out to him and asked.

  “Well what do you mean it’s not Norah? I know her and that was definitely her.”

  The diner was quiet now, the customers listening to the conversation as best they could. Shelley looked eagerly at the two men and spoke.

  “Did you know people are saying it’s a werewolf? Little Timmy Augustine says he saw something in the back of the Watson house in the woods that morning. He said it was big and hairy and he didn’t stick around to see what it was.”

  Somewhere from the back of the diner a man’s voice piped in. “But it wasn’t a full moon that night...so it couldn’t be a werewolf. Besides, werewolves aren’t real, remember?”

  A few other men that were sitting with him chuckled loudly and resumed eating their breakfast. A few tables over, an older lady spoke up.

  “Well whatever it is, it isn’t human! The bodies were eaten too, not just torn up.” She pushed her plate away. Even though there was still about half of her breakfast left on it, it was obvious she had lost her appetite.

  Jack looked at the lady and then the man sitting with his friends and spoke.

  “No werewolf around these parts. It tasted man flesh and now it wants more. It gets braver with each kill. Be careful of the beast, it roams around even when we don’t see it,” said Jack. With this bit of advice given from a man whom often somehow knew things when others didn’t, the room grew quiet as they watched Jack leave the restaurant.

  While refilling Ryan’s coffee cup, Shelley asked “What did he mean, it’s not Norah?”

  Ryan turned to face Shelley again; his eyes darted down to his lap before he replied, “Beats me.”

  Shelley sensed something was wrong and she could tell Ryan wasn’t being truthful with her. The two had dated for a few months a few years back, and she had always been able to tell when he was avoiding her. She wiped up some crumbs on the counter and a coffee stain that had never come out in the four years she worked there. She’d always rubbed it, trying to wash it away every time her hand happened upon it. She couldn’t help but probe Ryan further, her questions proving too much for her to keep inside.

  “Is Norah dead? Ryan, what happened? Was it like the others?” Shelley stood with her eyes fixated on him, waiting for an answer. Ryan raised his hat and put it on as he got up to leave.

  Before he turned he simply replied. “Sorry, but I can’t talk about it. Jack is right though. Whatever it is, we have to be careful. It’s still out there.”

  Shelley watched Ryan walk out of the restaurant, his broad shoulders casting a long shadow in the morning sun as he opened the front door.

  “What is going on?” she muttered the question just before she made her way across the dining area to clear a table.

  * * *

  Behind the restaurant, Jack was sitting in his old 1950 Ford truck, the red paint faded, it matched the owner perfectly, his own lustre taking a beating these past few months. He appeared to be sleeping as he sat in the driver seat, eyes closed and his long grey hair falling down the sides of his head. Upon closer inspection, it would become apparent he wasn’t sleeping, but rather in a sort of deep meditation. He uttered a low and faint chanting, native sounds and breathing abundant throughout his rhythmic calling. He appeared as though in a deep trance, his mind closed off to the external world surrounding him. Suddenly, a large black bird flew into the passenger side of the truck, landing on the seat next to Jack. Cawing, it awoke Jack from his trance-like meditation. As his eyes readjusted to the brightness of the morning light, he looked down at the crow and exclaimed joyfully.

  “There you are, my friend.” He reached into the pocket of his old brown jacket for the packet of crackers he had taken with him as he had left the restaurant. “We need to find it before it kills again. We need to find it soon.” Jack spoke to the bird, and the bird seemed to listen. Each time Jack spoke, the black bird stopped pecking at the cracker bits and peered at him with black eyes. He kept on feeding on the dry crumbs. Once he was done, Jack spoke again. “Go....Fly...Help me find it.”

  At these words, the bird flew off and Jack started his old Ford truck and drove away. As the crow vanished from his sight, past the buildings and over the trees, Jack whispered softly.

  “Be my eyes, old friend. Be my eyes.”

  * * *

  Stepping into the police station, Ryan felt his feet become heavier as he walked over to the small corner office. Ryan had not been sleeping well over the past few weeks, thoughts of worry and despair overcoming him as he struggled to cope with the unsolved cases that were multiplying on the island. He felt a great amount of pressure to catch the killer, or killers. He had not ruled out that this may well be the work of a group of people, a cult perhaps, who had chosen certain members of their quiet community on the island. The remoteness of the community would certainly act in favour of any such cult, if that had been the case.

  Officer Ryan simply was no longer sure what to think or who to suspect anymore. Plus, there was that thing he saw back in January. Was it real, he wondered? It looked like a beast but the more time passed, the more he doubted what he’d seen. Which was the reason why this meeting with both the detective and the coroner held so much importance; in both the case and to Ryan as well. Stepping inside, he extended his hand to both detective Burke and the coroner Harold Randolf. He grasped detective Burke’s hand firmly and they locked eyes for a moment, subconsciously extending not only a hand, but also their mutual trust and confidence in each other as men of law.

  Ryan spoke first. “Thanks for meeting me, Detective. It’s been a long few days for all of us, but I think this meeting is necessary if we want to start finding answers.”

  Detective Burke nodded in agreement and pushed his large plastic framed glasses back up, exchanging glances with Ryan and Harold. The coroner had his back to the tw
o other men, looking through files that were spread out on his desk. From the files he removed several crime scene pictures as well as autopsy photos and handed them over to Ryan before asking a question.

  “I hope you don’t mind meeting with us in my office?”

  Ryan replied. “No, I don’t mind. Saves me from having to look at those mangled bodies up close again.” Ryan sat down in one of the chairs near the coroner’s desk and Burke did the same.

  “Well this isn’t an episode of CSI where we talk over the bodies, kid.” Burke piped in, his sense of humour kicking in. Just when he finished saying this Harold handed him photos. He looked at the images with apparent morbid curiosity but also a touch of revulsion at the vileness of these crimes.

  “So Ryan, what do you want to know?” asked Harold as he tried to ignore Burke altogether. The Detective’s infamous sense of humour had been taking its toll on Harold and he wished he would be able to remain professional throughout the rest of the investigation, but he knew this was a lot to ask of him. He placed his feet up on the corner of his small desk while his fingers interlaced behind his head as he carefully balanced his weight into position.

  “Well,” Ryan said, “I just want to know what’s going on. The locals are getting too scared to go outside and people are talking about werewolves. Some are even pointing fingers, taking guesses as to who it might be.” Ryan glanced over at Burke who was now seated in the chair on his right.

  Burke raised an eyebrow at the police officer’s last comment and spoke. “You can’t be serious? I know they’re scared and with good reason to be, but werewolves?”

  Ryan nodded. “I don’t know what to think myself, Burke. I have no idea what to tell them either. We got confirmation with the DNA analysis on the hair sample we sent out. They came back with strange canine characteristics. I’m at a loss as to what it is we are dealing with here.”

  Harold tilted back a bit more in his chair, his eyes closed now. When he sat back upright he looked at Ryan with a serious look on his face. “Just tell them you can’t discuss it in detail as it’s an ongoing investigation.”