by Jeremy Bates
And while Maddy Greene had been telling anyone who would listen of her own close encounter of the first kind for years, and most residents of Lillooet had heard through the grapevine about Jenna and William Jannot’s exsanguinated chickens and Billy Nubian’s eviscerated goat, it was only now that people were sitting up and listening. Because Tom Eddlemon wasn’t a nutty spinster or oddball farmer. He owned and operated the busiest coffee shop in town, knew all of his customers by name, and had once dived into the Fraser River to save twelve-year-old Davy Theodossiou, who had capsized his canoe and nearly drowned.
Not to be outdone, Steve Krugman was the wealthiest man in Lillooet, thanks to his road freight transport business that operated a fleet of vehicles and employed two dozen locals. And Heather Long was a star witness as well, if only because she was considered by many—which included friends and family—to be too much of a bore to make up such a fantastical encounter.
Mr. Wang, who ran the mom-and-pop convenience store on Main Street, was the first to refer to the creature as “Mosquito Man,” a sensational moniker that quickly stuck with the populace. He hired local artist, Mary Catherine Jackson, to paint a picture of the creature hovering above the moonlit town, which he hung in the shop’s front window between posters advertising Coca-Cola and Lotto 649. A group of hunters led by Hank Crary put a bounty on the creature’s head, and they spent countless weekends scouring the woods for it. By the time real estate agent Claude Bumiller announced that he had shot the creature—taping a tuft of its fur (which looked suspiciously like fur from a beaver pelt) in Mr. Wang’s shop window—the town’s anxiety had hit a fevered pitch.
Nevertheless, as summer faded into fall with no more sightings of the creature, so too did the town’s enthusiasm toward it, and by winter the Mosquito Man had lost its cult status, fading back into a thing of legend, or becoming little more than a bogeyman that parents threatened their children with if they came home late for dinner or didn’t go to bed on time.
Whenever talk of the Chapmans or Petersons or Ryersons came up—usually over beers at one of the town’s pubs when those imbibing grew tired of bitching about their neighbors or coworkers—people were equally inclined to bring up the ghost of Dumb John Dagys as they were the Mosquito Man or Troy Chapman.
Troy had been the RCMP’s original person of interest back in ’81. Their thinking had been conventional. Troy got in a fight with his wife Sally and murdered her, either intentionally or unintentionally. He buried her body somewhere in the woods and went on the lam with his two boys. Rex at some point fled in fear, making his way back to town.
When the Petersons disappeared six years later, and there were no clear suspects, Troy Chapman once again became a person of interest. The RCMP speculated that Troy, and possibly his son Logan, had managed to survive the last eight years in the wilderness by living off the land, fishing, hunting, trapping. But that January and February had been the coldest on record in more than two decades, forcing Troy and Logan back to civilization. They took up residence in the Peterson’s cabin—and were surprised by the family’s unexpected early arrival on March 1 (most residents didn’t visit the lake before the May long weekend).
This same thinking applied again in 1998. The Ryersons were the first family to the lake that year, arriving on April 3, and their atypically early arrival surprised a squatting Troy and Logan, who murdered them and once again disposed of the bodies in the woods to muddy the waters of any subsequent investigation.
Being in law enforcement, Paul knew from firsthand experience that a rational explanation existed behind every crime, no matter how well that explanation might be hidden. Which was why despite having some questions—namely why Troy and Logan never left behind any evidence of their trespassing, despite allegedly residing in both the Anderson’s and Ryerson’s houses for some time—Paul had always been on the same page as the Mounties when it came to the missing families.
Stupid, he thought now as he lay half dead on the floor of Rex Chapman’s cabin. Because in striving for a rational explanation, he had blinded himself to the truth. Something had been preying on the animals and people of the area, something that didn’t give a rat’s ass of the difference between beast and human. His people had seen it for centuries. Maddy Greene had seen it much more recently. Billy Nubian had seen it too. And Tom Eddlemon and Steve Krugman and Heather Long.
And tonight Paul had seen it too.
The woman by the bookcase looked over at him. Her face broke into surprise at finding him alert. “Oh God, hi!” she said, hurrying to his side. “Are you okay? Water?”
He shook his head and tried to generate some saliva. “Rex…?” he said, his voice brittle and cracked.
“Rex is my boyfriend,” she said. “But he’s not here. He went to get the car. We parked way down the road and—”
“Need…t’leave.”
“Yes, we know that. But why? Who’s out there? Who attacked you?”
“Need…t’leave.” He licked his lips. “Now.”
***
Tabitha stared at the police officer, but he seemed to have used up what little strength he’d mustered. His eyes were once again closed, and he was either resting or comatose.
Leave, he’d told her.
Now, he’d told her.
Roger that, Officer, she thought. We’re out of here just as soon as my boyfriend gets back with the car, don’t you worry.
By the way, do you mind telling me what happened to you? Who cut you? And why? Because I’m pretty much in the dark right now, and it’s not a nice place to be.
In fact, it’s goddamn terrifying.
Tabitha checked her gold wristwatch. It was 12.53 a.m. Rex had been gone now for more than twenty minutes. He would be back shortly.
Taking a jar candle from the coffee table, she got to her feet and went to the next room. She climbed the steep staircase. The solid planks of timber that formed the steps didn’t creak. The interior of the cabin was entirely quiet. Outside was a different matter. Rain continued its unabated assault on the roof, while thunder alternated between mild rumblings and cataclysmic detonations.
When she reached the top of the staircase, her eyes went immediately to Bobby’s bed. For a split second she couldn’t make out what she was seeing projecting from the mattress in the thick shadows before she realized it must be some kind of fort.
Were the kids inside it? Because Ellie’s bed was empty—
In that same instant she noticed a small circle of light at the far end of the attic. Bobby and Ellie stood before the window, looking out.
Tabitha’s stomach flipped. “Who’s there?” she blurted, dashing across the attic.
Both Bobby and Ellie snapped about, looking both surprised and guilty.
“Who’s out there?” Tabitha repeated, crouching before them. She set the candle on the floor and cupped Ellie’s face in her hands. “Who did you see, sweetie? Who’s out there?”
“No one!”
“No one? Then what are you doing? Why are you looking out the window? Did you hear something?” She looked up at the window. Without waiting for her daughter to answer, she sprang to her feet and pressed her nose to the glass. Little was visible save the black night and the slanting rain. “I can’t see anything,” she said.
“We were just playing a game,” Ellie said.
“A game?” Tabitha said, turning from the window, all her muscles seeming to unknot simultaneously. “What game?”
“Dares,” Ellie said. “Bobby dared me to look out the window. He said if I said the monster’s name three times, I would see it.”
“Oh, baby, why would you want to see—” She cut herself off. With a last glance at the window—now she could see her glass-caught reflection, as ethereal as that of a ghost’s—she picked up the candle and said, “It’s time to go. Rex went to get the Mazda. He will be back here any minute. We have to be ready.”
“We’re going home?” Ellie asked hopefully.
“You bet.”
“What about the monster?” Bobby asked.
“There’s no such thing as monsters, Bobby, remember?”
“But we almost runned it over.”
“That wasn’t a monster. It was just an ordinary person. And don’t worry about him. Everything’s going to be okay.”
Tabitha led the two children back downstairs. In the front room, she helped them put on their shoes and tie their laces. The sight of their tiny shoes and their equally tiny feet caused tears to warm her eyes. Please don’t let anything happen to them. They’re just children.
“Okay, all done,” she said to Bobby, lowering his foot from her lap to the floor.
He was looking at the supine police officer. “Can he come with us?” he asked.
Even in the midst of this surreal situation, Tabitha found it strange for Bobby to be talking to her without reservation, for his questions to be directed at her and not Rex.
Strange but nice.
And it was an apt question he’d asked. Were they going to take the police officer? It seemed unconscionable not to. If they left him here he would surely die from his injury, or the murderer would finish him off. Yet what if the murderer began shooting at the car as soon as Rex pulled up? There wouldn’t be time to help him even if they wanted to. The safety of the kids came first and foremost above all else.
“We’ll do our best,” she told Bobby.
“Where’s he going to fit?” Ellie asked.
“On the back seat,” she said. “You two can squeeze up in the front with me.”
“But we won’t have seatbelts. And we might crash again.”
“We won’t crash again.”
Lightning flashed outside, visible between the edges of the window frames and the drawn blinds. Thunder followed, a deep-bellied reverberation that climaxed in a deafening whack-boom.
“God must be really angry,” Ellie said reverently.
“At us?” Bobby asked.
“At you,” she said.
“But I’ve been good.”
“He might hit you with lightning.”
“Stop that, Ellie,” Tabitha said.
“I want my daddy,” Bobby said.
“Soon, Bobby,” Tabitha said. “Soon. Just stay brave a little longer.”
Which was easier said than done. One minute stretched to two. The indeterminable wait became nearly unbearable.
Rex shouldn’t be taking this long. Something must have happened to him. The killer—
No.
Tabitha paced. She checked her wristwatch again. She stroked Ellie’s hair. She squeezed Bobby’s shoulder. She paced some more.
She paused.
Was that a car? Could she hear an engine approaching? Or was it just the storm?
She listened.
All she could hear was the machine-gun patter of rain on the roof.
Screw it.
She went to the door, flicked the deadbolt.
“Where are you going, Mommy? Ellie asked, frightened.
“Just having a quick look outside.”
She opened the door and stuck her head out. Rain thrashed her face and the wind whipped her hair in front of her eyes. She couldn’t see anything in the dark. Certainly no headlights.
Before she pulled her head back inside, however, she made a startling discovery.
The woman’s body was gone.
***
Tabitha slammed the door, her heart pounding. Then she bolted the deadlock. He had been right outside! The murderer! He had taken the body!
“What’s wrong, Mommy?” Ellie asked.
Tabitha realized she was trembling, and her face must have been alabaster white in the candlelight. “It’s just really cold out there, sweetie,” she said inanely.
“Did you see my dad?” Bobby asked.
“He’s not back yet.”
Her heart continued to triphammer as her mind reeled, trying to make sense of the events that seemed increasingly to be spinning out of control.
Why did the killer take Daisy’s body? Was he taunting them like when he stuffed the truck keys in Tony’s gut? Then again, he had been dragging the police officer into the forest before they almost hit him on the road. So he wanted the bodies of his victims. Why? To dispose of them so nobody would find them? Or was he a cannibal? Some freak straight out of The Hills Have Eyes?
What the hell was going on?
“He’s awake!” Ellie said.
Tabitha blinked, and the room snapped back into focus. She looked at her daughter, and saw that she and Bobby were both staring at the police officer.
He was conscious again!
Tabitha knelt next to him. “Are you…?” She was going to ask, Are you okay? But that was a moot question when your guts were visible. “Do you want some water? Ellie, sweetie, can you go grab the water bottle? It should be on the kitchen table.”
Ellie hurried off without a word.
Tabitha looked back at the police officer. His face was pasty, hollowed, his forehead and upper lip damp with perspiration. His breath came in shallow, susurrate rasps. He licked his lips and spoke a word. It was garbled, unintelligible.
“Do you have a radio?” she asked him. “We found your gun outside, but there was no radio.”
He shook his head slightly.
She didn’t understand why he wouldn’t need a radio. Perhaps he was the only cop in town after all. “Does anyone know you’re out here?” she asked.
He nodded, and her heart lifted.
“Are they coming now?”
He shook his head. “Wife…”
“Only your wife knows?”
He nodded.
“She’ll get worried when you don’t come back, won’t she? It’s late. Shouldn’t she be already worried?”
He nodded again.
“So do you think someone is coming now?”
“May’b.”
“Do you have a phone?”
“Dropped…”
“Rex didn’t find it.”
The police officer—Paul Harris—cleared his throat. “Rex? Where’s Rex?”
“I told you, he went to get his car—”
Ellie came running back into the room. “Here’s the water, Mommy,” she said.
Tabitha took the bottle, unscrewed the cap. She poured a little bit into the police officer’s open mouth. Some spilled out and over his lips. He swallowed and opened his mouth again. She poured more in. This time less dribbled out.
He licked his lips. “Thank you.”
“More?”
He shook his head and his eyes slid shut.
Tabitha decided to let him rest when he mumbled something she couldn’t discern.
“What?” she said, leaning closer.
“Mos…quito.”
“Mosquito?” she said, baffled.
“Mosquito… Man.”
“Mosquita Man!” Ellie squealed. “Is that the monster’s name?”
“Ellie, shush,” Tabitha said.
“But that’s what the museum woman said! Remember? She said a big mosquita was killing everybody a long time ago! Maybe it’s the same monster!”
“That was just a story.”
“But the monster had a big nose just like a mosquita!”
“Bar’bra,” the cop said, his eyelids fluttering open.
Tabitha nodded. “We stopped by the tourist center on the way here. A tall woman with glasses—yes, Barbara—told us…this story. But what do you mean? Are you talking about an exterminator? Is that who attacked you?”
Paul Harris’ eyelids were fluttering, as if he were having trouble keeping them open.
“Do you know who it was?” she pressed.
He nodded.
“Who?” she demanded. “Who was it?”
“Mosquito…Man.”
“But does he have a name?”
“Story…” He turned his head so he was looking at Ellie. His lips quivered with the effort to speak. “It’s true…”
“It’s true!” Ellie par
roted. “The story’s true, Mommy!”
Tabitha was shaking her head, but before she said anything, the police officer mumbled incoherently.
“Mommy!” Ellie went on. “Mommy!”
“He’s not making sense,” she said numbly. “I don’t know what he’s saying.”
Only Tabitha did know what he was saying, or trying to say.
And she hated the deep down part of herself that wondered whether it might be true.
CHAPTER 16
Rex stared at the shape in the middle of the road. It was low and small, certainly nowhere near the size of a man. It hadn’t been there during the walk in. Had the killer placed a rock in the middle of the road to prevent Rex from driving the Mazda back to the cabin? That didn’t make sense. It would mean the killer was ahead of him on the road. And if that were so, why not just attack him before he reached the car?
A trap then? While Rex was busy moving the object, would the killer sneak out from the trees and stab him in the back?
This scenario seemed a little more plausible, and suddenly Rex felt watched. He wiped rain from his eyes and looked to the margins of the road. He could see little in the dark. Should he turn on the Maglite? He had traveled much too far for anybody lurking back at the cabin to see the light. They would have to be closer, say within a hundred feet, and if that were the case, then they were likely following Rex, and knew of his location anyway.
Rex flicked on the flashlight and shone the beam at the shape in the road—and found himself staring at some sort of alien life form. Its black face was small in comparison to its body, and its piggish eyes appeared to be scowling evilly at him.
“Oh Jesus,” he said, even as he realized the creature was not something from the stars but a common North American porcupine.
