Blood Moon 3 Page 3

  Sure, on one side of the coin, I will go down fighting, die with my boots on. On the flipside, I am sacrificing a chance to survive long enough to figure this out. I managed to eat today. I figured out how to get water. I could maybe perhaps…

  I know better. I have to face it. Tomorrow. While I still have a shred of energy left. It has been over forty eight hours since sleep and I can feel my brain trying to shut down involuntarily again. I will try to close my eyes with my knife at the ready. I just hope I am prepared for the consequences of this.

  *~*~*

  Day 7

  It has been a week to the day that I set out to find the Snoodledoogen. I can now die knowing I was right. I can die with the knowledge many people set out to discover but never could.

  I drank my mud water and ate my grubs like a good boy. I slept two hours with my knife at the ready and could feel the hateful stare of the foul creature even in my dreams. He is out there waiting for our little showdown. I spent the morning preparing for it as well. I know I can’t physically beat him. No. No I cannot.

  I can however outsmart him. The joke shall be on him. I have mentally prepared myself for an agonizing death in a true gladiator arena, in front of my motion sensors. I plan on making it there in hopes that upon my death many people will see him.

  Yes bastard you can kill me, but more will come. Many more with guns. I quiver at the expression, but this time it is true. The Snoodledoogen has bit off more than it can chew.

  It is just past midday and the sun is just about perfect. The cameras are still functional and ready for our little showdown. Sadly, this will be the last entry in this journal and the end of my amazing adventure. If all my planning means diddly squat, it will be easily discovered on top of the monitors in my tent with the words “watch the footage” written in blood on the cover. At this point, a pinprick on my fingertip from my knife won’t matter. I will not live long enough in the woods for it to become infected.

  One last thing before I stop writing. FUCK YOU SNOODLEDOOGEN. FUCK YOU HARD WITH A SHARP WOODEN STICK. I HOPE THEY FIND YOU AND KILL YOU. There, I feel much better. Here I go. Goodbye.

  *~*~*

  “Alright men, spread out and find it. If you see it, don’t hesitate! I want to hear gunshots people!”

  Captain Jones could felt the icy grip of nightmarish terror grip him. He replayed the video in his mind over and over. Bloodshed. Missing body parts. A headless human corpse leaving a trail of gore as it was being dragged slowly out of the cameras view. That wasn’t even the worst. The journal that was found. That was the worst. Reading about the horrible way the man suffered before marching to his own slaughter will haunt him for years to come.

  The Snoodledoogen is here. He is here and he is wearing some poor souls head as his own. Captain Jones felt anger wash over him as he slowly slid two large bullets into the chamber of his shotgun.

  “Today, the Snoodledoogen shall die!”

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  *~*~*

  Upon the November Moon

  Somewhere in the woods of Missouri

  1910

  “Mad Man or Savage Beast?” The mayor nervously shoved off from one foot to the other as he looked upon the frightened faces of the townsfolk. He paused for a long moment and cleared his throat, raising his voice to overtake the loud muttering of the crowd. He continued to read from the crumpled newspaper, his fat fist clinging tightly to the edge to sooth his shattered nerves.

  “With the death toll reaching sixteen, this reporter wonders what the citizens of Alpine Bluff will do to prepare for the blood shed of the full moon.”

  The mayor slams the paper to the podium, resonating the room with a large wooden echo, stealing their attention. The townsfolk stare silently at the round man in the black and white brimmed hat.

  “Well? WELL? WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO?”

  His voice was steady but frightening, almost as if it was sugar flavored with hot sauce and vinegar.

  “Anybody? Anybody at all? Come on speak up!”

  Endless silence, nothing more came from the meeting hall. Mayor Cottonwood closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, letting it slowly seep past his crooked teeth and out of his fat lips.

  “I’ll tell you what we ain’t gonna do. We ain’t gonna believe that hogwash that big city reporter is trying to pour down our throats. Monsters? Werewolves? Come on folks! We didn’t get separated from our momma’s teat yesterday. We are grown ass men and women! Fact of the matter is, someone among us is hacking up our friends and family and blaming the full moon, trying to make a fool of us. Werewolves my hairy white ass!”

  Mayor Cottonwood rolled his eyes and took another breath, trying to keep his composure and not let out a stream of unintelligent verbal nonsense from his throat.

  “NO! I will tell you what we WILL do. We WILL stop this right here and right now. In front of me is a list of the most likely suspects. Now folks, don’t go thinking I’m pointing fingers or arresting anyone, cause that ain’t the point of this here paper.”

  The mayor’s fat finger flick’s the edge of the parchment, reiterating the point for all that see.

  “No sir, No one is being blamed at all and I reckon this will be your choice. You fine folks on this list can say yay or nay. This is simply a list of people with the ability to carry out the brutal happenings of the last month or two, on account of their skills or lifestyle.”

  His eyes stay upon the parchment, not daring to look upon the faces of the accused. Accused. Mayor Cottonwood knew deep down that is what they were, but it is a new era, one in which he would never hang a man without at least some shred of proof.

  “Will you stand as I speak your name please?”

  He took one more deep breath and released. A slow gulp of water helped relieve the sandpaper that has become his throat.

  “Adam Johnson, Stephen McDonald, Jessi Credence, Bubba Blake, and finally Victoria Anderson.”

  He watched each damned soul stand for the crowd to see, their fear and hatred already burning deep into the souls of the accused. Angry muttering among the crowd threatened to turn violent. Mayor Cottonwood watched in horror as a single jagged rock bounced off of Adam’s forehead. A small trickle of blood dripped from the man’s head as his flesh was parted.

  “HOLD ON FOLKS, NOW JUST HOLD ON ONE COTTON-PICKIN MOMENT.”

  The Mayor waited for his townsfolk to simmer to a slow and silent boil before attempting to defuse the situation.

  “These here are innocent folks. They ain’t done a lick of harm. I chose them for a reason. Let’s see, we have here…a blacksmith with access to sharp weapons. The dearly deceased was ripped apart, not shot with a bullet.

  We have the land owner on which the bodies were found. We also have a woman who keeps wolves on her property as pets, we have a butcher, and we have the sheriff that first seen the sights of the dearly departed. Once again, these good folks have done nothing wrong, they are just victims of circumstance.

  Now here is what I propose, these folks are kind enough to prove their innocence by allowing us to lock them in their cabins from the outside all night long. Tonight is the full moon and I reckon we run a risk of losing a few more friends. HOWEVER, if all these folks are locked up all night and someone still dies, we know they ain’t the murderin’ kind.

  Now for the rest of us…Grab your rifles and search the woods by moonlight. If it ain’t human and it moves…shoot it! We’re gonna nab this sonfabitch before he can strike.”

  A loud cheer came from the crowd as they emptied out of the town hall and into the cold crisp November night, looking for bloodshed.

  *~*~*

  The shadowy figure wears a devious grimace that is illuminated only by the slight kiss of a single candle flame. He sits on his wooden stool in the dusty corner of his cabin, sharping the faux wolf claws. A nasty grinding sound fills the silent void, followed by a tiny spark that can be seen clearly in the reflection of the living room window.

  He rubs the file slo
wly across the metal tips once more before setting it beside him. The soft blade of his forefinger slides to and fro against all ten claws, testing it. Testing its ability to hack and slash through human flesh with ease. A single drop of blood rolls down his index, a sharp inhalation of pain escapes him.

  “Perfect. Utterly perfect!” he whispers to himself excitedly.

  He grabs a tuft of fur penetrating from the makeshift wolf mask. Careful not to cut himself on the rotting skull of the deceased wolf, he slowly pulls the mask over his head and adjusts it for comfort in front of the vanity mirror by candlelight.

  The shadowy figure slowly stands, stretching his muscles. His torn leather boots leave a hollow echo upon the wooden floor. Ominous creeks and moans can be heard by all who are still upon the earth on this cold November night.

  He wedges the tip of his metal claw just beneath the crevice of his cedar chest. He reaches blindly into it, waving his arm back and forth; feeling for any sign of left over’s from last month’s assault.

  He pulls a section of forearm from the chest and is delighted to see a hand still attached by an intricate array of tiny bones and greasy muscles. His sharp claw digs deep into the semi- rotten flesh. He laughs maniacally at his own twisted joke before sinking his teeth deep into the last of his food supply. Blood and bits of skin slowly trickle from his mouth in a trail of saliva. He laughs once more as he rakes his teeth against the naked bone of the ring finger.

  “I LOVE finger food” he snorts obnoxiously.

  Tossing the bones back into the cedar chest, he wipes his mouth with his torn shirt. He stands with pride, for tonight is the full moon and tonight he hunts.

  *~*~*

  The pungent sulfur smell of gunpowder filled the night as many hunters fired wildly into the unknown. Creature’s large and small fell victim to blind panic. The shadowy figure crept slowly over the pool of thick blood that poured from the raccoon’s still carcass.

  The moonlight illuminated his way through the woods, his senses seemed heightened. He could hear the chattering of hushed whispers being passed from one hunter to the next. A snap. A twig splintered under the heavy footsteps of a solitary man armed with panic and a single shot from his muzzle loader.

  The shadowy figure gently and quietly lowers himself to the ground, the crunching of the leaves barely audible to anyone further than claws reach from man beast. He waits patiently. Less than fifty feet now, his victim nears the trap set by the shadowy figure. He hunkers behind the large willow, the reflective dead eyes of his mask radiating the moons shine, otherwise completely concealed from view.

  He shifts his weight to his legs, ready to lunge at the man. Ten feet. Five. He leaps claws first at the man, taking him completely by surprise. His attack was swift, yet his aim was miscalculated. He sunk only two of five claws into the butter of flesh of the man’s jugular. A warm spray of blood matter the fur of his mask and a wet gargling sound escaped the mouth of the victim.

  Death did not come quickly. The shadowy figure swung his other paw, making contact with the cold steel barrel of the man’s rifle. A loud boom echoed in his ears, followed by a constant ringing that emanated from deep within his ear canal.

  The victim fell, his rifle imprinted in the sticky blood beside his gashed body. The shadowy figure could hear the chaos coming for him, could hear the stampeding of a dozen footsteps. He could hear the sound of vengeance.

  He ran. The shadowy figure ducked branches and leaped the twisted detruding tree roots that littered the dark forest. He could hear the crackling sound and see the mangled debris fly into the air as bullets whizzed by him, scarring the bark of the landscape.

  His chest felt heavy. His head felt like it was swimming in a pool of gravy and his throat felt like he swallowed razor laced tumbleweeds. More Chaos. More bullets. He felt a warmth upon the meat of his thigh followed by sharp excruciating pain. He was hit. He was hit and he was going down fast.

  He struggled to run with a limp and knew it was only a matter of time before they caught up with him, before fate caught up with him, before the depths of hell called him home.

  The shadowy figure found his salvation in the distance. Moonlight reflected from Victoria Anderson’s pond, the watering hole for her cattle. Further into the woods and to the left was her cabin. Best of all, poor Victoria was locked in for the night. The shadowy figure had blindly limped into a heap of good luck, a hiding spot and easy prey.

  The crowd of men parted as they spread thin to search the acres of land. He could hear them coming, feel their relentless pursuing eyes upon him. He could see the edge of the cabin in the distance.

  In the window was a large figure pacing back and forth, much larger than himself. He felt a cold shiver crawl up his spine.

  A boyfriend? Did Miss Victoria have a boyfriend over?

  The thought of making it this far just to be outnumbered frustrated him.

  “NO! It was not supposed to be this way! She is supposed to be alone!”

  The sound of gunfire in the distance brought him back to the present. His leg felt numb and his breathing highly irregular. He could hear his own heartbeat drumming in his ears.

  He swallows hard and places the metal claws upon the uneven wood barrier that held Victoria prisoner. A loud howl from a lone wolf in the distance reignited the flame of panic in the shadowy figure. Another howl. Yet another.

  He flings the board aside and kicks the door hard, ready to pounce. He did not find Victoria. What waited for him inside was death. Death and pain and suffering him so justly deserved.

  He heard the menacing growl long before he noticed the madness shining from the creature’s eyes. Thick globs of drool slowly careened from the beast’s gnarled lips. Before the Shadowy figure could react, he felt his feet leave the sanctuary of solid ground. Sharp daggers plunged into his soft midsection, followed by a river of blood. His eyesight started to dim and his body seemed paralyzed.

  Claws. This was one of the few thoughts he could muster. Claws, not daggers. A wolf, not Victoria. He struggled to make sense of it all. Like inserting the very last piece to an upside down jigsaw puzzle, he finally understood.

  Victoria did not raise wolves. Victoria IS a wolf.

  He felt a hard crunch upon his neck and heard a sickly wet suckling sound. Through his smoke screen vision he looked upon the face of awful beast, his very last sight.

  *~*~*

  “It seems to be a tragic day for Alpine Bluff folks!”

  The sheriff spoke with conviction as he addressed the town hall.

  “It seems we found our killer just after dawn this morning. Sadly, it was one of our own. Mayor Cottonwood was found dead in Victoria Anderson’s cabin. His body was chewed up by her wolves and Miss Victoria is missing. I am not sure if she was his last victim, or if she escaped into the woods and got lost.

  Folks, it is time to put an end to horrific events that has plagued us. We will continue to search for Victoria and we will mourn the loss of dear friends for some time to come. I say to you though, haven’t we suffered enough? Breathe easy now, it is over. I will see y’all at the celebration this evening.”

  A loud cheer rose from the crowd as the sheriff disappeared from sight and wandered deep into the Missouri woods searching for a single lost soul.

  *~*~*

  2010

  The two men rummaged through the cabin, throwing away ancient rubbish from a simpler time in history. They filled the black bag to the top and tied it off before setting it on the porch. Dust filled the air and the musky smell of a damp rug churned their stomachs.

  “The ad said it was a fixer-upper. This place looks like it could use a match and gasoline.”

  Albert propped his rifle against the corner of the cabin and sat on the broken wooden chair.

  “Relax Jeffrey. After all, you only paid a thousand dollars for the place! What did you expect?”

  “I guess I expected a hunting cabin like that ad said. I’m not even sure there is wildlife in these de
solate woods.”

  In the distance a vicious howl fills the evening sky. A howl that made their hair stand up and their hearts skip rope with their throats.

  “T-There’s the wildlife you wanted” Albert quivered.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  *~*~*

  Oh Rats!

  “Sorry Sir, there’s nothing here. We’ve fumigated, but all our traps are still empty.”

  The exterminator once again packed up his gear and left without so much as a single dead rodent in his possession. Stuart shook his head in disbelief. How could it be? This had been the third time in two weeks that he had called out the same guy to get rid of his problem.

  He knew they were there. He heard them night after night. Gnawing and chewing and scurrying about. The noises kept him out of sleep. Not even a sleeping pill could keep the sounds from echoing deep within his head. Mice, rats. They were everywhere.

  It was not like he lived in filth. Yes, sometimes his tiny apartment was a little untidy, but never dirty. He did the dishes daily, there was never a lot, seeing as he was a single guy, who mostly ate take-a ways. Sometimes there was a cup or two lying around in the living room, and the odd beer bottle here and there. Still, nothing trashy enough to encourage the amount of rodents he kept hearing.

  What baffled him was that he never once heard them during the day, and there was not a single trace of them. No chewed up pieces of old food, all his cereal boxes were still in perfect condition, and not a single dropping could be found anywhere. That he made damn sure of, he had looked all over for proof of the infestation. Nothing.

  He was tired of paying the exterminator and having the guy look at him like he was stark raving mad. The guy had even implied that it had been his imagination. How dare him!

  *~*~*

  “I hear them, all the time. It’s as if they’re mocking me. I can’t sleep, I can’t focus.”

  Seeing the large man tremble as he sobbed in frustration pulled at Jeans heartstrings. She knew there was a deeper, more psychological explanation for the sounds her patient was hearing night after night. Something deeply seeded that was eating away at him from inside. It was her job to find out what, and to help him come to terms with it, face it, and for once and all, deal with it.