Predatory Animals Read online

  “I will obey.”

  Very good, the voice said. Now, take me to her. Take me to the woman in your mind.

  Clifton rose to his feet. His knees quaked and his head throbbed, but he hobbled off through the trees under his own power. A woman lived not far from here. She led an isolated and recluse existence. Several knew her name in Shadeland, but few knew just where she lived. She was a hermit, a phantom. She was perfect.

  * * *

  It was a simple but modern two-story log cabin. The outer walls were stained a deep cherry. The roof was a hunter-green steal that matched both the garage door and the front door. The windows were tall, spilling the light from within across the lawn. A tiny trickle of smoke drifted up from the hand-laid stone chimney. It was a modest home big enough for a small family, but June Freeman lived alone.

  June rolled her rototiller to the shed behind her house, placed it inside and locked the padlock. The air was starting to cool fast and her clothes were still damp from sweat. She walked back to the rectangle of raw earth that would soon be blossoming with fruits and vegetables. It was a bit early to be starting on the garden but she was thinking about trying lettuce this year, so she wanted to be ahead of the game. The deep scent of freshly turned dirt was pleasant, triggering wonderful memories of the summers she spent in her Nana’s garden.

  “I need to build a fence,” she said to herself.

  She noticed that she was talking to herself more and more these days. Sometimes she would speak to her Nana, or other relatives long deceased. But that was normal, wasn’t it?

  “If I’m going to keep the deer out this year, I’ll definitely need a fence.”

  Maybe she should get a pet. A dog or a cat. But just one. She didn’t want to end up like those animal hoarders she saw on TV. Maybe a computer would help. Lots of people find friends online these days. It had to be easier than meeting people face to face. She hated being so backward, but she just couldn’t help it. Whenever she met someone new she always developed a terrible case of diarrhea-of-the-mouth. She became self-conscious of that and would clam up entirely. And if it was a half-way attractive man, forget about it. She didn’t stand a chance.

  The more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea of getting a computer. There were a lot of dating sites out there. She was only thirty-six; still plenty of time to find a husband and have babies.

  “That’s what I’ll do. Tomorrow I’ll go into town and buy a computer. Gotta call the cable company, though. I’ll need internet access.”

  Something stirred in the distance off toward the tree-line. She looked up but twilight had come and it was too dark to make out what it had been. She stood still, watching for a long time, but nothing moved. Strange enough, though, she had the feeling that it was still there, watching her. And since it was cloaked in shadows while she was silhouetted by the light spilling from her windows, it had an unfair advantage.

  She turned her head. She listened and realized the night had fallen silent. The roosting birds had ceased their lullabies and even the crickets were mute. A wave of chills that had nothing to do with her damp clothes or the cool of the evening toured her back and scalp.

  A dark shape crept into the open and moved behind a large Rose of Sharon bush. She waited a moment to see if the shape would emerge, but it seemed to be waiting her out. Part of her wanted to walk farther out into the yard and investigate. But if it was just a deer it would spook and run off long before she reached the bush. She took a step forward then halted at another thought: What if it was a coyote? Or worse, just the scout for a whole pack?

  When she turned to head back to the house, she heard the unmistakable crunch of twigs snapping. She swung her head around just in time to see the shadowy figure dart behind the shed. June’s heart raced. Whatever it was, it wasn’t fleeing or even milling around the yard. It was approaching her, stalking her with a conscious degree of stealth.

  June walked backward the rest of the way to the house, only turning to open the French door and step inside. She closed the door, locked both the knob and the deadbolt then peered through the blinds. The thing came out of hiding and headed toward the house. It moved past the shed, past the garden, past the bench-swing. The shadow’s quick steps seemed to mirror her raging heartbeats and shallow breaths. The glass panes in the French door did little for her sense of protection, but she wouldn’t back away. She needed to expose the figure, to prove to herself it was just a wandering animal, or she could kiss goodbye any future restful nights.

  When she saw it veer off to the side of the house, June decided she could wait no longer. She reached over, her palms slick with sweat, and flipped the switch. Two large flood-lights mounted near the cabin’s roof switched on in a blaze, bathing the back yard in yellow light.

  Her knees unhinged. A small scream squeaked past her lips. Her pulse thundered in her ears.

  The light revealed not an animal but a man, hunched and snarling like a vampire caught out in the burning dawn. She had the briefest moment of familiarity, but the man darted around the corner of the house before she could place his face. Panic rooted her to the spot, and though she knew she needed to run she couldn’t get her legs to obey.

  A muffled crash reverberated through the house. June screamed and the sound of her own terror broke her paralysis. She ran for the phone hanging on the wall of her kitchen, snatched up the receiver, and dialed 911.

  There was nothing. No helpful voice, no ringing, not even a dial tone. The man had destroyed the phone box on the side of the house.

  June ran around the kitchen in short bursts. Where should she go? What should she do? She wanted to kick herself. On top of having no computer, she also was one of the last few in America not to have a cell phone.

  She grabbed a butcher’s knife from the wooden knife-block beside the sink. It felt strange and heavy as if she had never held one before. She turned in tight circles, the knife held before her. What a false sense of security her home had given her. Sure she had purchased the sturdiest of doors, the heaviest gauges of locks, but she forgot one simple lesson: when someone wants in your home bad enough, they will find a way. In building her dream home she had sacrificed safety for beauty. She peered out of her kitchen at the tall windows in the dining room. The house was filled with windows just like them, each one designed to open the space of the rooms and bring in natural light. And now each became an easy entry point for those with a mind to steal, kill, and destroy.

  Her car! The thought came to her so suddenly that she gasped out loud. She could just slip behind the wheel and drive away. But the keys were upstairs in her bedroom. She cursed under her breath.

  June left the kitchen, moving toward the stairs. As she passed the front door, the bell rang. A tight scream to rose out of her and she clapped her hand over her mouth to silence it. She had been so fixed on listening for the tinkle of breaking glass that the bell caused her brain to lock. She stood for a moment unable to do anything.

  “June Freeman,” the man called from the other side of the door. “I’m sorry I scared you. I need to talk to you.” When she didn’t answer, he said, “I know you’re there. I heard you scream. Please, it’s important.”

  The sound of her own name caused tears to well in her eyes. How did he know her name? Her knees gave way and she sat on the stairs, unable to quench her shivering. She didn’t know what to do or where to go. She wished she could change into a puddle of water and escape through the floor boards.

  Something about the man’s snarling face was familiar to her. June dug her fingernails into her palms and searched herself for a speck of courage.

  “Who are you?” Her voice was as weak and wispy as smoke, but maybe if she kept him talking she could keep him distracted while she grabbed her car keys. “Why did you break my phone?”

  “It’s Clifton Arnold. Do you remember me? We spoke a few times about the local legends here in Shadeland. You told me some stories that your grandfather passed down.”

  Now she re
membered him. His face flashed in her memory as if revealed by lightning. But back then, he had looked so kind and attentive, even handsome, nothing like the lunatic’s face she saw moments ago in her back yard.

  She searched for something to say, but fear had reclaimed her tongue. After a moment he spoke, but not to her.

  “I’m trying,” he said to someone else. “Give me a chance.” Then he said something that turned her blood to ice. “Please, don’t hurt me. I’ll get her.”

  She couldn’t hear the other person, but soon after Clifton fell against the door groaning in agony.

  Now was her chance, if she even had any at all. June ran up the stairs two at a time. She slipped once halfway up and cracked her shin hard enough to steal her breath. At the top of the stairs she turned and hobbled past the laundry room, past two guest bedrooms and into her own room. She breathed in rapid bursts that threatened to turn into hyperventilation. The upstairs lights were off and though she wanted to leave them that way, she couldn’t see well enough to find her car keys.

  The keys weren’t on the dresser like she remembered and she nearly screamed in frustration. She pushed her bottles of perfume and lotion to the floor, searched through a pile of mismatched socks, over and around a stack of women’s health magazines, but the keys weren’t there. She checked her nightstand. Nothing. The bed. Nothing. Where the hell had she put those damn keys?

  A crystal symphony of breaking glass sounded below. Her beautiful windows proved to be no more a deterrent than an open door. He was in the house.

  Hopelessness fell over her. What was she going to do? What could she do? She gripped the knife tighter and waited for the clomping of ascending footsteps. If she didn’t get herself under control, Clifton would be able track her by her roaring pulse alone.

  She prepared herself for the worst. She would have to stab him. She didn’t want to. She was a pacifist by nature and couldn’t stand the thought of any creature in pain—even one that was bent on causing her harm. When he turned the corner then she would stab him.

  She listened for the thud of footsteps or even the creaking stairs giving away a sneak attack. But instead, she heard him moving about downstairs. He opened and closed doors in a methodical search. He was sweeping the house like an efficient soldier. Then the power in the house went out.

  June stumbled to the window and looked out. She thought about jumping and trying to escape through the woods, but it was a two story drop. Even if she managed to hit the ground without breaking her legs, she didn’t think she’d be in any shape to outrun Clifton.

  June’s eyes weren’t quite adjusted to the dark yet, but she knew the lay of the land well enough to make up for her lack of vision. She moved with soft but deliberate steps, fighting all of her nature not to run. Her hair was damp with sweat and her clothes clung uncomfortably to her skin. The house settled into a bog of unbearable silence. The thrum of her raging heart, the whistle of her rationed breaths, the creak of her joints, and the click in her dry throat as she tried to swallow—all of these were bellowing sirens, each threatening to betray her.

  As she crept through the bedroom, her foot caught on a pair of jeans sitting in a pile of dirty clothes and there came a jingling noise from within. June reached down, grabbed the jeans and searched, finding her keys in the left rear pocket. She squeezed them in her fist, choking off any chance that they might announce her position.

  June started down the hallway, but stopped when she heard the faintest creak of the stairs. More out of instinct than thought, she grabbed the knob of the linen closet door and pulled it open quickly so that the hinges wouldn’t creak. She stepped inside the closet and pulled the door just shy of closed.

  The closet was narrow and shallow, giving her enough room only when she put her arms down and sucked in her gut. She prayed that her pulse wasn’t as audible as it seemed in her head. The seconds lingered. She let her breath out slowly. She couldn’t keep her imagination from painting dreadful predictions of the future.

  She heard him top the stairs. He hesitated for a moment then whispered something. Who is he talking to? June wondered. Is there someone else in the house with him? God, she hoped not.

  A strange noise, like a dove cooing into a synthesizer, rang out. As the sound hit her ears, a spell of dizziness tried to overtake her. She pushed the vertigo aside and held her position until the noise stopped. She heard Clifton’s heavy breathing as he hesitated in front of the linen closet for a moment before pushing on into the master bedroom.

  June waited until she heard his feet clatter on the bathroom tile before she opened the closet door. She moved swiftly down the hall to the stairs, but from there she slowed her pace. The stairs were notorious for creaking and in the oppressing silence of the house the noise would ring out like a bell. June held tight to the handrail while pulling her feet in as close to the wall as possible. More than anything she wanted to break into a run. The cabin was small. It wouldn’t be long before his search brought him back downstairs.

  June moved through the living room, down the hall, into the kitchen. She made her way to the door exiting to the garage. She was almost home free. But once she started the car, he would be after her fast. June ran her fingers across the set of keys, choosing the one to the car’s ignition by touch. She eased open the door, mindful of every click and pop of the knob. The air within the garage was warmer and smelled a bit of burnt oil and tires. She locked the door behind her, hoping this would give her a few seconds grace when Clifton came after her.

  She shut the door, sealing the garage in endless dark. She opened the car door, igniting the soft yellow dome-light and spilling demonic shadows across the walls. June eased into the seat. It needed to be one fluid movement: insert the key, turn it fast, slam the car door, reach up and hit the button for the garage door opener. Her hands shook in nervous anticipation. She could barely breathe.

  She counted to three in her head then made her move.

  The key entered the ignitions like a pair of well-practiced lovers and brought forth an orgasmic roar of the engine. June slammed the car door with an echoing boom that no doubt could be heard through the whole house. She thumbed the button on the garage door remote hanging from her visor, but nothing happened.

  She clicked the button again but the garage door remained down. “Come on. Come on.” She clicked the button with fervent panic, but it would not obey.

  “Oh no.”

  In her haste, June had overlooked one small but very important detail. She clicked on the headlights, opened the door and jumped out. She ran to the circuit breaker mounted on the wall. Clifton had killed the power to the house. The garage door opener couldn’t work without electricity.

  It was worse than a nightmare. Her movements were slow and heavy. She wrenched open the gray metal door and with both hands began flipping all of the breakers to the ON position. She turned to the button fastened to the wall. It glowed a sickly snot-green, which was a good sign. She slammed the button with the palm of her hand and the motor above her head leapt to life. The heavy garage door crawled up its duel tracks agonizingly slow.

  June started for her car, but managed only a few steps. Clifton stood at the back of the car, painted red by the taillights.

  “You don’t understand,” he said.

  He looked calm and serene just as he had the day he sat on her back porch sipping tea and discussing the ghost stories of Shadeland. He was handsome in a bookish kind of way. She had once hoped that his interest in her stories would lead to something more. But that fantasy was short lived. She had gotten the impression that Clifton Arnold never had any romantic feelings, at least for women. She would have settled for a close friend, though.

  Clifton walked to the driver’s side door, reached in and shut the car off. “I’m not going to hurt you. There is something you need to see. The stories . . . about The Pine Belt . . . they’re true.”

  He walked as far as the front of the car before stumbling over, as if dizzy. He bore his teeth a
nd gripped the sides of his head, pushing out a small growl of pain. His knees buckled and he fell over the hood. A small seizure overtook him; his body drummed on top of the car. His back appeared to buckle and change shape. The air above him churned like heat rising from the summer-scorched blacktop. He planted his hands on the hood, arched his back to an uncomfortable degree and gave a slobbering groan. The shimmering aura fell to the floor and Clifton collapsed as if cut loose from an invisible line.

  The shimmering mass of air approached her and as it drew closer, the thing that had been hiding on Clifton’s back revealed itself.

  June didn’t have time to consider what she saw. She didn’t have the luxury of contemplating how an insect could get so big, let alone render itself invisible. All she knew was she needed to run, to escape.

  She started around the passenger’s side of the car, but it was on her back before she could get out of the garage. Its bulk weighed her down; the strange cooing chattered in her ear. She started to scream, but something sharp stabbed her in the base of her skull, silencing her.

  A voice, wicked and powerful, spoke within her head. It told her of what was to come and she couldn’t help but smile.

  Back from the Dead

  When Casper awoke, there was the briefest of moments when nothing made sense. He was in a bed that was not his own. Soft subtle noises surrounded him: machines beeping and buzzing as though a miniature robot convention were in town. Resplendent lights shone down from a high white ceiling. An offensively colored curtain surrounded him on three sides.

  His mind tried to consume this information and developed a bad case of indigestion. He closed his eyes to fight off a swoon that he felt rushing in from nowhere. He knew he should recognize where he was, but the picture seemed pixelated. He needed to retrace his steps.

  Cold water. Drenching him all the way to his bones. He remembered screams far behind him, and something important in his hand. His leg ached and he thought of the spray of shrapnel that had wounded him yet killed four of his friends.