Ken Burchfield v. The Wolfman (Pt. 1 of 3)
Something ain't right up Hickory Knob
He held the silver marble up to his eye, eclipsing the light of the moon. It was full tonight, full and round as the solid sphere in his hand, its light competing with the Comet in the skies over Yonder.
Officer Ken Burchfield had the little two-door F-100 that served as his police vehicle parked behind the dilapidated billboard (Welcome to Scenic Haynesville! Stay at the lovely Windsor Hotel!).
Headlights appeared on the road out of town. A truck and it was turning onto the Overmountain Road. Dammit, they were going up Hickory Knob. It’s widely held and wisely followed to never go up Hickory Knob, especially after dark.
Ken turned off his lights and followed them. He drove by the light of the full moon, which helped but he knew these roads better than the freckles on his own rear end.
The road tucked, and turned its way up the mountain, deep moonlight blue all around save for the yellow beams of the truck up ahead.
They pulled into the turnoff, yes, that turnoff down from the old cabin, and parked the truck.
Ken stopped a couple dozen feet short, crept out of the car, and silently closed the door.
Mike got out of the truck and zipped his vest closer to him. His eyes scanning, scanning. He’d never been this far up Hickory Knob. Maybe once on a dare when he was a teenager to impress a girl. He shuddered
“Ain’t scared are ye?” Lem said. The old lunatic’s camoflauge jacket was hanging off the place where his ass should have been. Lem spit tobacco juice, most not making it out of his ashy beard.
“I’m just cold,” Mike said. “And anyways, you heard the stories.”
“Just stories,” Lem spat. Then he pulled a pistol out of his waistband and loaded one in the chamber.
“Just stories,” Mike said.
The woods around them grew dark, they both looked up, a cloud had passed across the moon.
“Where did you meet this … source?” Mike asked.
“Down at the Yuenger,” Lem said.
“Oh, good. I was worried it wasn’t a reputable source.”
“This guy knew his stuff. I seen the little ole cabin he was talking about. And you won’t be so skeptical when we cash out. Now shut up and follow me.”
Lem didn’t holster the pistol.
Ken saw two men exit the truck. One of them looked like Lem Parker, he didn’t recognize the other. Made sense that Lem had pulled some poor fool into one of his schemes.
He watched the two of them leave the paved lot following the old trail, the one up to the cabin.
They’d have a rough time, most of the trail was overgrown with poison ivy.
Ken dropped two shells into his shotgun, latched the gun quietly, and skulked up a hidden, parallel trail. He thumbed the marble in his pocket and took a breath.
The men were easy to follow, one wasn’t in the woods much and the other wouldn’t shut the hell up.
“Yep, I know this trail. Been here a time or two. Ain’t no wampus cats this close to town,” Lem was using his pistol to push through the brush.
SNAP. Mike stepped on a dead branch on the ground. He yelped before he could stop himself, his scream half cut by his hand wrenching over his mouth.
Both men froze as Mike’s yelp echoed down the hills.
The dark mountain night made no reply save for the crickets and the katydids. The branches, like bones, rattled their leaves in the wind, flickering the light of the moon as it shone down to the forest floor.
“Should I have left you in the truck?” said Lem.
“I’m sorry. I’m just … ok. Can we find the mushrooms and get out of here?”
“If youns don’t wake up half the damn forest first.”
“How much further?”
“I think I see the cabin up ahead.”
The path curved around a rib on the trail, and they saw a dark cabin situated in the a hollow between two rock walls. There were no lights on nor did it look like any had in years. Part of the roof had caved. To the right of the cabin, was a small clearing glowing in the blue moonlight.
Lem gave a start and jogged, holding his pants up with his hand.
“Yes sir!” he said as he came to a patch of mushrooms growing from the roots of a massive Shumard’s oak. “Big as a full moon, flat head. These is Grade-A trippers right cheer.”
Mike caught up. “Damn, Lem! Your guy wasn’t kidding! There’s at least a dozen bags full!”
Lem took out a pocket knife and cut stalks as Mike held open a plastic grocery bag. They quickly filled 3 bags.
“Imma tell you somethin,” Lem said. “First thing I’m doin’ is buying a whole round for everyone at the Yuenger. That’ll shut ‘em up.”
Mike was smiling inside and out. “I’m going to buy Melody a ring,” he half-whispered.
Lem stopped and leaned back on his shoes so he could see Mike’s face.
“Melody?”
“Melody.”
“Well, you wouldn’t be the first,” Lem chuckled as he got back to cutting stalks.
“What’s that mean?” Mike asked.
“It means nothin’. It means I’m gonna buy me the biggest daggum cut a’ beef this side of the Valley. One of those grass fed heifers from Brushy,” Lem was salivating.
There was a low growl from the woods but their minds were on their fantasies. Leaves crunched underneath dinner plate-sized claws but they only talked louder.
Ken heard the noise from down the slope but he couldn’t make it out. The two dumbasses were jabbering about something. He raised the gun, tightening his grip on the stock.
“Mr. and Mrs. Mike Shares has got a nice sound to it,” said Mike as he tied another bag and set it underneath the tree.
The rustling got closer. They were being stalked.
“We might be able to afford a little honeymoon down to Shelton’s Station,” a red light appeared on Mike’s back. It was getting brighter. The dead leaves crunched as something thrashed towards the clearing.
“Ain’t the first,” Lem was chuckling under his breath.
“Dammit, Lem. I heard that. Shut up!” Mike shouted.
Lem whipped around to tell him to quiet down, but he froze.
“What’s that red-” Before Lem could say “light,” a massive claw raked down Mike’s back, smashing him to the ground as he screamed. A head reared up and took a bite out of him.
Lem shrieked, pulled the pistol and unloaded a clip, two shots going into the ground and 5 into the beast’s chest.
The bullets fell harmlessly into the long grass. The beast reared its head towards the light of the moon, its eyes growing bright, then it bristled and glared at Lem.
Ken saw it step into the light. It was 8-feet tall on it’s hind feet but it wasn’t a bear. It had the head of a wolf and the eyes, the glowing red eyes, fiery like the pits of hell.
Lem shot that thing 5 times.
Mike was motionless on the ground, Lem transfixed by the beast, shaking where he stood.
Ken took a deep breath, thumbed the marble in his pocket then sprang out of the undergrowth. He unloaded a shell into the air, then leveled the barrel at the monster.
Lem collapsed, and the monster turned. It’s face was snarled, long black teeth punctured through its gums, and even from 15-feet, Ken could smell the putrid death on its hide.
And it’s red eyes were glowing, boring into Ken. White hot panic shot up Ken’s body. It felt like something split his sternum in half and assaulted every nerve ending in his quivering body. He couldn’t move.
The beast roared, and beat its hands into the earth. And the eyes, the eyes. Red, deep, blood fire red.
Ken willed his fingers, with every ounce of his brain he begged them to move. He had trace feeling in the tips of index finger and thumb.
The beast was approaching.
He squirmed his hand into his pocket and felt the cold metal of the marble. A breath ruptured out of his mouth.
In an instant, the memory flashed across his mind: Daddy was pulling the blanket over his 5-year-old self, turning out the light, Ken was faking being asleep. He wanted to call out “Wait!” but he stayed under the covers. Dad closed the door.
The emotion drained from Ken’s body, he felt his muscles come free as he released another breath, raised the gun and pulled the trigger. The shotgun roared and bucked catching the monster in the chest and knocking it to the ground.
The beast rolled to its feet, roared, and backed away, sniffing the air. It belted one last screech and then disappeared into the mountain.
Ken collapsed to the ground, sweat pouring down his head and his back. His legs were weak.
What in the blue blazes was that thing? He knew there were dangerous creatures up Hickory Knob, but he’d grown up 30 feet away in that cabin and never seen anything like that.
He checked the bodies.
Lem was dead. His heart gave out on him. The other guy had died way more painfully. He was a mess of blood, whoever he used to be.
Ken drug the bodies to the cabin with the last ounce of strength he had in his body. He couldn’t get them down the trail by himself, especially with that beast around.
Lonny might let him borrow a wheelbarrow, given the circumstances. And Shorty’s was open 24 hours.
He just prayed Melody wasn’t working tonight.
Great sense of place in this, Sam!