Storymania - Wolves In Silver Point by Jan Lappalainen

Wolves In Silver Point
Jan Lappalainen

Wolves at Silver Point Jan Lappalainen

Tyler was out of breath as he reached the fence. His shotgun was slung over
his shoulder – the smell of its discharge still rising from it. Flash, his faithful German Shepherd, was trailing behind him. It was the third time that damn racoon had managed to crawl its way under the fence, and get to the chicken house. This time Tyler had loosened both barrels after the bastard, and some of the hails must have hit home since he had followed a trail of blood all the way to the fence, and to the great pines beyond. He stopped to catch his breath, and Flash came up to him wagging his tail.
    “We got the bastard now!” Tyler said as he scratched Flash behind the ear.
Tyler McCarthy owned a few acre’s of land just north of the town of Silver Point, and had set himself up with pretty much all he needed. He made a regular living as a columnist for The Woodshop magazine – Tyler had made some innovations on harvesting equipment in the 80’s, and now wrote a nostalgic column on how old tools were all one needed. He had rigged a generator at his farm, and ran enough livestock to feed a small community, which made Tyler McCarthy and his farm pretty much self-sustainable.
He locked the gate behind him and swore under his breath at the racoon, promising two full barrels up its behind if it showed itself on his farm again.

Once in the house he placed his shotgun in the weapons rack, which also held a Remington Model 700 hunting rifle, and headed to the kitchen. He put a sliced-up mix of raw intestine and meat in a bowl for Flash. He refused to feed the dog any canned dog food, after old Hank had recounted a story about his deceased Doberman at The Huntsman (the only bar in Silver Point). Hank’s Doberman, Eddie, had died in early March a few years back. Hank had buried the dog in his backyard and thought no more of it. A year later he had surprised a pair of racoons digging in the ground in his backyard. He had scared them off and gone to check what they had been digging for. Apparently they had dug up the carcass of old Eddie, which should have been fully decomposed by now. According to Hank Eddie had looked exactly the same as the day he buried him, apart from some scratches caused by the racoons. Hank had a theory that the reason for the mummification of Eddie was all the preservatives that the petfood companies put into canned petfood. Tyler didn’t outright believe Hank’s theory, but he was naturally suspicious of large corporations and other “city types”, and decided to be on the safe side – besides, Flash would keep his animal instincts intact if he got some raw meat every now and then.
    Tyler put some bacon to fry and switched the radio on. The news-broadcast was just starting. He remembered that he had left the newspaper in the car as the familiar voice of Bob Burton said hello to the listeners. Tyler put the heat on the stove on less and went to get the newspaper. Bob’s voice was talking in the background. “– An unprecedented attack – “ was all Tyler caught before he was out of the house. Tyler cursed as he returned to the kitchen; heavy smoke was rising from the frying pan. He rushed it of the stove and saw that the bacon had burned to a black crisp. “ – What is believed to be a large black bear was last seen on the outskirts of Carson Hill – “ Bob stated on the radio. Tyler tossed the burnt bacon in the trash and washed the frying pan. Flash wagged his tail enthusiastically as Tyler opened the fridge.
    “You’ve had yours,” he said to Flash, “It’s my turn now.”
Flash let out a whine; he had heard the line many times before and knew it meant “No more food!” Tyler dug in the fridge for a while and realized he needed to drive into town to restock. Bob Burton was preparing the way for the sports announcements as Tyler switched off the radio. Flash followed him out into the lobby.
    “Keep up the fort buddy.” Tyler said as he pulled on his boots.

The distance between Silver Point and Tyler’s farm was around 20 miles, and the area in between was unpopulated forest. Tyler usually made the drive in thirty minutes, but he drove slower today. Fall was just settling, and the large Maple trees on the side of the road had exploded into magnificent colours of yellow and red. Tyler was leaning out the window, enjoying the scenery and the crisp bite of the air. Forty-five minutes later he drove into Silver Point.
    The community of Silver Point had been established around a silver mine in the early fifties. The mine had shut down long ago, but the town had persisted. It had a small population of 1325 permanent residents, and usually got a few additions every now and then. The local population – which mostly consisted of farmers – got some diversity from the few biologists who had settled there to research the various species of animal that could be found in the Pinewood National Park – and from the occasional artist who sought a quiet refuge as a source of inspiration. Tyler parked his truck in front of the grocery store (the only one in town) run by Maggie Talbot. Tyler and Maggie had always gotten along well, and Tyler smiled as the plump red-head waved at him from behind the counter in her good-natured manner.
    “Hi there Maggie,” Tyler said. “How’s it all goin?”
    “Aw, the usual,” Maggie replied. “Mighty fine autumn were havin though. Did you see the Maples along Tobrook road?”
    “I sure did, took me forty-five minutes to drive here.”
Tyler gave Maggie his list of supplies, and she disappeared into the storage room in the back. A short moment later she reappeared with two large paper bags.
    “There you go Ty,” she said, and lifted the bags on the counter.
    “Thanks Maggie.”
    “Did you hear about those attacks over at Carson Hill?” Maggie asked him.
Tyler frowned, “Can’t say that I did,” he said. “What attacks?”
Maggie leaned over the desk and continued speaking in a low voice; Tyler found it ridiculous since no one else was in the store.
“Well,” she said. “You know Teddy Moore runs some cattle outside Carson
Hill?” Tyler nodded.
    “Just a few days ago,” she continued. “He woke up in the middle of the night to noises coming from outside his house.” Her eyes got round at this point. “He was on the radio talkin with Bob Burton, and said it sounded like nothing he’s ever heard before. Started with a howl and then turned to screaming that sounded like it came from the pits of hell. Said he could barely stand it.”
    Tyler nodded for her to continue.
    “Well,” she said. “Teddy got out of bed, grabbed his rifle and went to check what the hell was going on. Said he was sure it musta been wolves. When he got out he saw something inside his cattle Yard. A big black shape crouching over something. That’s when Teddy noticed that the gate had been torn open, bolts, locks and all!”
Maggie had to stop to catch her breath at this point.
    “Teddy fired one barrel in the air, to scare off the thing in the cattle yard.
Bob said it musta been a bear, but Teddy said that though it was standing on two legs it didn’t look like no bear. Course it was dark so he couldn’t have seen that well.”
    Tyler motioned for her to continue.
    “Well, the thing snarled and took off like lightning, jumped right over the fence! Now that don’t sound like no bear to me! When Teddy walked into the yard he saw the animals had been torn to pieces! And Teddy had that prized bull too. That one musta put up one helluva fight!”
     Maggie was staring at Tyler with large eyes, and he felt more than a little uncomfortable.
    “That’s one helluva story Maggie,” he said.
    “It was all on the radio,” she said. “Bob Burton was talking to Teddy himself.”
Tyler grabbed his bags of the counter, and headed for the door.
    “Well, I’ll see you later Maggie. Thanks!”

Tyler shoved the grocery bags into the back of his car. The wind was picking up, and some dark clouds were forming above. He decided to grab a drink at The Huntsman, and check up on the fellas before heading back to the farm. The Bar was just a quick walk from Maggie’s shop, so Tyler left the car where it was.
The Huntsman was a pleasant log-cabin with dark interior. There was a constant smell of tobacco mixed with the smell of the crackling fire, which always seemed to be burning. An impressive range of whiskey’s – everything from good single malts to cheap blends were arrayed on the wall behind the bar, from where Roy Burridge ran the only bar in Silver Point. Roy, a bald strongly-built man in his forties, with a large beard that fit the innkeeper image like a glove, greeted Tyler with a friendly wave. The dampened sound of Kansas’s Dust in the Wind played on the jukebox – it was a rule in the Huntsman that music must never be played over the volume of normal conversation. Most of the regulars were there; old Hank sat at the bar, wearing his usual red flannel shirt with matching red cap, and Milt Oldham and Joe Welsh were sitting on both sides of him, listening to Hank tell a story.
    Tyler could guess what the subject was.
“– Said it was the biggest damn Grizzly – “ Hank was saying as the two men with him turned to greet Tyler. Tyler greeted them in return and walked to the bar.
“Let me guess,” Tyler said to Roy. “Hank’s telling them about the monster
that attacked Teddy Moore’s livestock?”
Roy laughed and nodded.
    “Wasn’t no monster!” Hank shouted from where he sat, “Was the biggest damn Grizzly ever been seen in these parts!”
    Tyler nodded in surrender and ordered a beer.
    “Maggie just gave me the whole story,” Tyler said as Roy returned with his beer. “And then some! I thought she wasn’t gonna let me leave the shop!”
    “You know Maggie when she get’s worked up.” Roy said.
    “So what exactly happened?” Tyler asked.
The door opened, and a tall man in a policeman’s uniform walked in. He took of his hat, which revealed a thin, wrinkled face with two keen eyes, and a head full of thick grey-black hair. He was soaked through and dripping water on the floor.
    “Sweet Jesus!” He said with a southern accent. “When it rains it pours!”
    “Why don’t you ask the Sheriff,” Roy said to Tyler.
Sheriff Alistair “Al” Leroux was the chief law-enforcement officer for the three towns of Silver Point, Carson Hill and Tobrook. He had six deputies working full-time in the towns, but he held his base in Carson Hill. He was a respected figure in the communities, and paid regular visits to all three of the towns. He shook his wet coat and nodded to Tyler and Roy as he came over to them.
    “Good day Al,” Roy said.
    “Damn if it wasn’t the prettiest day,” Al said. “Had to start pissing down like this.” He wiped a hand over his wet face and looked at Tyler.
    “Hello there Ty,” he said. “Been a while since I seen you in town.”
    “He comes and goes,” Roy said with a grin. “Pretty much like you Sheriff.”
    “Right.” Al said.
    “Can I get you something Al?” Roy asked.
    “No thanks. On duty as you can see.”
Tyler took a sip of his beer, then frowned at the Sheriff.
     “There’s a lot of talk of this business at Teddy’s farm. Maybe you can tell us what really happened Al?”
    Al gave an amused look in the direction of Old Hank.
    “A lot of talk eh?” he said. “Well, let me put your mind at ease. I been up there with them boys from the lab in Pinewood, and they took a good look at what happened at Teddy’s.” Al slowly pulled of his gloves. Everyone in the bar was quiet now. “Looks like we got a rabid Black Bear on our hands.” Al said. That seemed to ease the tension in the bar, and everyone – with the exception of old Hank – looked relieved.
    “Don’t take it too lightly,” Al continued. “A rabid Black can be real dangerous.” He placed his gloves on the bar. “We need to find it as soon as possible and kill it. It could attack people.”
    Al looked at Roy “Aw hell,” he said, “why don’t you pour me a beer Roy.” He looked at Tyler and winked, “One can’t hurt.”

Al was right, it really was pissing down. Tyler pulled his heavy coat over his head as he ran to his car. The sky was intensely dark – a menacing shroud, and Tyler figured that they would have a storm on their hands by night fall. He had drunk another two beers with Al, and he was driving home too fast and unsteadily. It was getting dark rapidly, and he could barely see the road by the time he turned onto the road leading to his farm. The headlights bounced off the bumpy road as the car lurched with the excessive speed.
    Then, out of nowhere, a figure appeared in the rising headlights. Tyler only saw for a fraction of a second, what looked like a wolf standing on the right side of the road. The shock of the apparition – and probably snapping out of the haze of the beers – made him reflexively jerk the wheel to the left. The truck swerved violently, and plunged nose first into the ditch on the side of the road. The ditch stopped the car abruptly, which probably saved Tyler’s life. Despite having a few too many he had remembered to put his seat-belt on. As the car crashed to a halt, he lunged forward, but the seat belt threw him back in the seat. His cap flew off, and he smashed his forehead into the steering wheel. He felt nothing but a dull thump in his forehead, while his chest exploded in pain as the seat belt dug in. It took him some time to get his bearings; he couldn’t focus his eyes and he felt something warm run down his face. He lifted his hand to his face and felt the wetness there. His head was clearing, and as he lifted his hand from his face he saw that it was covered in blood. His wound wasn’t deep, but of course Tyler didn’t know that, so he hurried to get out of the car with the intention of running to the house to patch himself up. The rain was pouring down in heavy waves as Tyler got out of the car. He looked around but there were no signs of the wolf, so he started towards his house.
    He arrived at his house wet, shivering and exhausted. Flash came to greet him, but Tyler pushed his way past the dog to the small mirror in the lobby. He examined his face and was relieved to see that the cut in his forehead had already stopped bleeding. He looked at Flash, who was looking at him with a curious expression.
    “Sorry buddy,” Tyler said. “Had a bit of an accident.”
He realized Flash was overdue for a meal, and went to the kitchen. That was when he realized he had left the grocery bags in the trunk of the car.
    “Goddammit!” he swore.
He found some old dog food cans that he had stored in case of emergency, and apologetically emptied one of them into Flash’s food-bowl. He was still going to have to go and get the bags, he realized, unless he intended to eat canned dog food himself. He walked over to the kitchen window, and looked outside. It was still raining heavily, and lightning occasionally lit up the sky. He decided to wait and see if the rain would ease up.
    Time passed, Tyler sat at the kitchen table drinking a strong cup of coffee. Coffee on an empty stomach was just no good. He was already getting the shakes from the caffeine. Flash seemed to look very content after having his meal, and Tyler looked jealously at Flash’s empty food-bowl. He got up with a groan and walked to the kitchen window. The rain seemed to have escalated and showed no signs of relenting. He swore inwardly – no point in waiting anymore. He pulled on a raincoat and high rubber boots.
    “Back in a Flash,” he said to Flash.

Should’ve brought a damn flashlight! He was stumbling almost blindly up the road. The rain had turned the road into muddy slush, and he kept loosing his footing. The only thing that illuminated the road were the occasional veins of lightning that thundered light into the night sky. Lightning struck again, and Tyler glimpsed the silhouette of his car a bit further up the road.
    He was almost at the car, when his footing failed again and he went down on one knee in the mud. He swore and wiped his muddy hands on his raincoat. He happened to glance to his right as he got up. There was a dense hay field on the right side of the road that stretched all the way to the edge to the Pine forest that loomed behind it. The hay was so dense that it resembled the strands on a shoe-brush. As Tyler peered into it he thought he saw an opening in the hay, where some of it was parted against the wind. He saw something else too; two pale orbs shone with a dull light from within the darkness of the opening, like two moonlit eyes looking at him. Tyler flinched at a sudden crack of thunder above, and when he returned his eyed to the field the opening had disappeared and the hay was evenly flowing with the wind. He stayed where he was for a moment, looking over the field to see if there was anything there. Satisfied that his mind was playing tricks on him, he continued up to the car.
    It stood at an awkward angle in the ditch, and Tyler struggled to fit the key into the keyhole on the trunk. Another burst of lightning lit up the sky, this one sounded like it was very close.
    “Jesus, what a night!” Tyler said out loud.
The key slipped in, and the trunk flew open with a metallic clink. As Tyler reached his hand into the trunk there was a sudden thud – like the sound of impact – from the front of the car. The sound was barely audible over the rain, but loud enough for Tyler to hear. He peered over the roof to see if anything was there, then, the side of the car exploded into sound. It sounded like sharp nails clawing at the side of the car, and the noise moved towards Tyler with great speed. The noise died out for what felt to Tyler as nothing more than a fraction of a second, and then he was violently pulled to the ground from underneath.
    Tyler lay on the muddy ground breathing hard.
What the hell just happened? He looked over his legs – which were under the car – to see what had just grabbed him, but there was nothing there. He cursed and crawled up to the road. He got up, but yelled out in pain as his right leg buckled under him and he fell to the ground. He hadn’t felt anything before, but now his right calf throbbed with pain. He looked at it and saw, to his horror, that the leg of his trousers was torn to shreds around his calf, and covered in blood.
    Instinct took over; Tyler took of his raincoat and tore of the sleeve of his shirt. He tied it tightly around his leg, and grunted as a fresh wave of pain shot up his leg. He tested that the makeshift bandage was tight and firm before getting up. He found, to his relief, that he could stand on it. As he lifted his eyes two pale orbs met his gaze from behind the car. He had been so busy tying up his wound that he had forgotten that something, or someone, had caused it. He felt his gut go weak, and a tremor ran through his body.
    What the hell was that?
He couldn’t distinguish anything beyond the pale lights; he saw no figure or silhouette behind them that would explain their source. They were unblinking, frozen, and their hungry glow was directed at him. He took a few faltering steps backwards – he could walk on the leg, but he doubted that he would be able to run. He turned around very slowly, his gaze still firmly on the pale eyes behind the car – Jesus, that was what they were wasn’t it, eyes! He had turned around completely now, and started walking slowly towards his house. Having his back turned towards the eyes was more than he could bear though, and he had to turn his head to look behind him. He had advanced about twenty feet down the road – and the eyes were further away – but they had moved in front of the car now. He picked up his pace, and felt his leg protest. He saw the gate to his farm approach and felt a stir of hope. Hope died as he looked behind. The pale eyes were less than fifteen feet from him, and he could feel the presence behind them. He broke into a limping run.
    Almost at the gate now.
He looked behind and saw that the eyes were moving faster too. They had almost caught up to him. He was an arms-length from the gate as his leg gave way. He fell to the ground like a sack of dough. As he looked up the “Keep out” sign at the gate stared him straight in the face. He grabbed the gate and pulled himself up to a sitting position. He turned slowly to lean against the fence and stared right at those two pale eyes. They were only a dozen feet away now, and moving closer, then, they sprang at him. Tyler closed his eyes. There was a crack of thunder and a savage snarl passed by his face, but nothing touched him. Tyler opened his eyes. Nothing was there.
    Maybe the thunder had scared the thing away?
He opened the gate with shaking hands and rushed towards the house. He could feel those eyes on him again. He reached the door and turned to look around the yard – the thing hadn’t followed him beyond the gates. But as he was about to go in he saw them – two pale orbs looking at him from the darkness behind the fence. He closed the door quickly and locked it. He peered out through the narrow glass on the door – but the eyes were gone. He was panting heavily now. He went to the weapons rack, unlocked it, and lifted the Remington from it. He kept cartridges in a locked cupboard and he needed those too. When he had collected them he sat down to load the rifle – his hands were shaking so badly that he couldn’t do it.
Panic had seized him and he needed to so something about it. Calm down! Breathe! “You’re in the house now,” he told himself. He managed to steady himself enough to load the Remington.
    A cartridge slipped from his hand onto the floor.
When he bent over to pick it up he noticed his damaged leg. Blood was dripping of the shirt-sleeve bandage, and had already formed a substantial pool on the ground.
    “Shit,” he said out loud.
He got up and staggered to the bathroom. He must have lost a lot of blood – he was feeling light-headed. He threw open cupboard above the sink and grabbed the first-aid kit. Where the hell was Flash? The dog always greeted him when he came home. He sat down on the toilet and started rummaging through the first-aid kit. He found some bandages and put them on his lap. The shirt-sleeve bandage was soaked in blood as he removed it. He dropped it on the floor with a wet splash, and then lifted the torn trouser legging. The wound was ugly. Flaps of skin reached out on both sides of the dark red flesh in the deep gash. The wound wasn’t bleeding heavily any more, but Tyler didn’t need a doctor to tell him that it would get infected unless it was tended to properly – and soon at that. He picked up a bottle of antiseptic liquid from the kit and unscrewed the cap.
“Here goes nothin,” he said as he tipped the mouth of the bottle towards
his wound.
Tyler screamed as the antiseptic touched his raw flesh. The pain was unbearable, and only the screaming kept him from passing out. Tears streamed down his face as the pain started dissipating. He grabbed one of the bandages and wrapped it tightly around the wound.

His leg was on fire, but he felt better – he tested the bandage to see that it was solid, and then got up. The tight bandage supported his wounded leg, and he felt more confident in putting weight on it now. He picked up the Remington, from the corner where he’d put it and walked out of the bathroom.
    “Flash!” he yelled as he came into the lobby, “Here Boy!”
No sign of Flash. Tyler was getting worried now – Flash always responded to his call. Then he noticed a feint sound. He could hear a banging sound above the rain hammering against the window. It was coming from the direction of the kitchen.
    “Flash!” he shouted again – nothing.
Tyler proceeded towards the kitchen – bang, bang – it was getting louder now. His grip on the Remington was firm, he felt sure that he would need it. A chill ran down his spine at the thought.
He walked into the kitchen – from where he stood in the doorway he had a direct view of the back door. The wind had pushed it open, and it kept flapping loosely on its hinges, banging against the wall – bang, bang. His eyes happened to move to the ground. Flash’s tail stuck out from underneath the kitchen table. Tyler got on one knee – his leg stung from the effort – and he peered under the table. Flash lay there, stiff as a corpse, staring straight ahead with terror in his eyes.
    “What’s the matter boy?” Tyler asked, trying to sound reassuring.
Flash kept staring straight ahead, then, his eyes seemed to widen and he shrank back with a wimper. Tyler turned his gaze to where Flash was looking, and there they were. The pale eyes stared right at him from behind the open back door.
Everything was still for a heartbeat – a heartbeat that felt like eternity. Then Tyler swerved the muzzle of the Remington to point at the eyes and fired from the hip.
    Tyler had hunted ever since a small child – his father had trained him rigorously as a child in the use of a rifle, and he knew that shooting without aiming was just about as good as putting on a blindfold and throwing the rifle at the target. Yet, in his fear, he shot the rifle from the hip like John Wayne. The sound of the discharging rifle was deafening. Flash sprung out of the kitchen. Tyler was stunned, his ears were ringing and he had to shake his head to clear his eyes. There was nothing at the back door. He reloaded the rifle and got up slowly. He walked slowly towards the back door.
    He was really scared.
If it wasn’t for the ringing in his ears he was sure he would be able to hear his own heart beating. He slipped his finger on the trigger as he opened the backdoor with his left hand. Nothing was there – except a large hole in the side of the house where his shot had hit home, probably nowhere near his target. A fresh crack of lightning illuminated the front of the house, but there was nothing there.
He looked down and noticed something. Prints in the mud – They led away from the door, and around the house. Shit, shit, shit, shit. Tyler flinched as the delayed sound followed up on the lightning. He was really scared. He could get Flash. He wasn’t sure if the dog would be of any real help, but he would feel better following those prints with some company. He walked through the kitchen, glancing back every now and then. He reached the lobby, and there was Flash, with his back turned.
    “Flash! Here bo – “ except it wasn’t Flash.
What he had thought to be the German Shepherd rose up slowly – the hue of the thing was much too dark to be Flash, he should have seen that straight away. It rose on two legs, and turned its hungry, pale eyes at Tyler. It stood taller than him, and Tyler was no small man. Its head was similar in shape as a German Shepherd’s, so his mistake was understandable – the rabid, snarling mouth with yellow canines and consuming eyes however, held no resemblance to Flash’s good natured face. The arms of the thing reached all the way below its hunched knees, and ended in black claws. The Body was covered in dark grey fur, and large patches of it were missing here and there, giving it a diseased look.
    Everything seemed to stand still.
All Tyler was aware of was the hypnotizing light in the creature’s eyes, and its heavy, rasping breath. An eternity passed between them. Then, a crack of lightning filled the house, and two things happened: The wolf-creature leapt at Tyler – covering the distance in one wild leap – and Tyler swung his Remington towards the creature. The smell of rotting meat washed over him an instant before the creature hit him. Tyler’s scream became a wet gurgle as the maw – full of sharp teeth – tore his throat out. The last thing he heard was the sound of thunder.

    “Jesus, what a fucking mess.” Al Leroux said dryly to his deputy.
He pulled the cover over Tyler’s mangled face.
    “Where’s that goddamn coroner!” he snapped.
    “He’s on his way Sheriff.” The deputy answered.
Al sighed and stood up. He walked over to the other form that lay still in a pool of blood. Outside Flash was barking at the coroner’s car that had pulled up at the gate.

Word of what happened at Tyler’s place quickly got out in Silver Point, and a bigger gathering of people than the Huntsman had ever seen was crowded around the Sheriff where he sat at the bar.
    “Ain’t no lone wolf gonna attack a man!” Old Hank said loud enough to be heard by everyone.
Al Leroux looked at Hank with bored eyes.
“Where you there Hank?” he said, “Cause I was, and I’m telling you what happened.”
    “And I’m tellin you no lone wolf gonna attack a man!” Hank repeated.
    “He’s got a point Sheriff.” Roy said from behind the bar.
Al took a long sip of his pint.
    “The doc went over the carcass of the wolf.” He said. “It had been caught in a legholder trap. One of its paws was all torn up and raw.” Al took another sip of his pint. “Doc says the pain must have driven it mad enough to attack Ty.”
There was a murmur around him, some of it sounded approving some not.
    “So this the same thing as attacked the livestock at Teddy’s?” Roy asked.
Al got up and put on his hat. “Seem so Roy,” he said. “Now if ya’ll excuse me I gotta get going. I gotta drive by Maggie’s. She promised to take care of Flash now that Ty is –“ he thought better of it and didn’t finish the sentence.
    The Sheriff leaving meant that the show was over, and people started leaving the bar. The only ones left were the regulars who drifted towards they’re usual seats. “I’m tellin you ain’t no lone wolf gonna –“ old Hank was telling Joe Welsh to his back.

Sheriff Al Leroux pulled up his coat against the wind as he approached his car. Flash’s eager face could be seen from behind the rear window. Al noticed it was a full moon as he opened the car door. He shivered as an unaccounted feeling of dread passed over him – like the moon was trying to tell him of something bad that he, as the protector of these people, should be aware of. He shrugged off the feeling and got into the car. It was getting late and it was a long drive to Maggie’s.