The Beast of Willowbend

© 1998 J. Q. Starmer
All rights reserved.

"There! See it?" whispered Sam. "A light's coming from the old Bradshaw place."

"Stop trying to scare me." Jesse stepped away from the rotten picket fence that surrounded the old gray house: the only haunted house in Willowbend.

"I don't see anything."

Sam moved passed the empty space where a gate once stood and into the overgrown yard. Jesse could see Sam's breath when he spoke. "Come on, let's get a closer look."

Jesse hesitated a few seconds more before following his friend. Reaching the top step, the two boys moved along the sagging porch to the front window. Sam switched on his flashlight, and a beam of light shot through the glass and across the dusty wooden floor of the vacant room. "I know I saw a light just a minute ago," he said.

From around the corner of the porch a floorboard creaked loudly. Both heads turned toward the noise. The flashlight continued to shine through the window. Another plank creaked, this time accompanied by a low growl.

Something stood a short distance away. The heavy darkness at the corner of the porch, where thick bushes grew tall and wild from neglect, kept it well hidden. Another board groaned under its weight.

Suddenly, a face loomed up from inside the window. An old man's face, pale and worn. Both boys screamed. Sam dropped his flashlight as he and Jesse dived over the porch railing to the ground. They reached home in record time.

Jesse jerked awake when a large rough hand covered his face. "Time to get up," his father said, gently rocking his son's head back and forth on the pillow. "Your mother will have breakfast on the table any minute." The smell of sausage and eggs, homemade biscuits, and fresh brewed coffee drifted through the open doorway.

Jesse winced as his bare feet touched the cold wooden floor of his bedroom.

The previous night had been a long and restless one. For once, Jesse hadn't objected to sharing a bed with his younger brother, Willie. Dressing quickly, he headed for the warmth of the kitchen.

At the table, Jesse moved his scrambled eggs around on his plate and picked apart the sausage patty lying in its own small puddle of grease. As soon as he could, he asked to be excused.

Leaving the house at a trot, Jesse headed for the Nelson River Bridge, where he'd meet up with Sam, as the two did every school day. Sam had arrived minutes before, and now stood on the walkway stomping his feet and rubbing his hands up and down the arms of the thin coat he wore. "I left my flashlight," were his first words.

Jesse knew the big flashlight with the long gray handle really belonged to Sam's father; a man whose temper was often expressed to his children in a most physical way. "We'll go look for it after school," promised Jesse.

Rawhut Lane was not a popular section of Willowbend. Its pavement was old and full of potholes. The houses were old too, many vacant, their yards junky and unkempt.

The third house on the left was the Old Bradshaw place. It had remained mostly empty for over twenty years, ever since Richard Bradshaw was discovered shot through the heart on the living room floor. Jesse and Sam could see its rusty tin roof from where they stood at the end of the road.

"I have an idea," said Jesse, pointing to the right side of the asphalt, where a long row of scraggly, neglected shrubbery grew. "If we stay behind those bushes, maybe we can check out the house without being seen. You know, just in case." Sam was quick to agree, and soon, the two were crouching out of sight across from the old residence.

At first, their precautions seemed unnecessary. The house appeared completely deserted. But just as Jesse and Sam were about to emerge from the their hiding place, the front door opened.

The face of the man who walked out onto the porch was the same as the one that had gaped at them through the window glass the night before. Tall and thin, he wore a faded blue work shirt, overalls, and on his head, a dull red baseball cap. The hair beneath the cap was gray. In one hand, he held a brown jacket. In the other, a black metal lunch box and a tobacco pipe.

"That man's no ghost," whispered Jesse. "He must live there," and added, "I wonder if we scared him as much as he scared us?"

"Yeah, well, what about my flashlight?"

"Looks like he's leaving."

The man set down his lunch box, pulled a pack of matches from one pocket of his overalls, and lit his pipe. He stood for a moment, puffing smoke and staring off into space. Then he picked up the lunch box and started down the steps. At the bottom, he turned back to the house.

"I'll be home after midnight," he told the tall, gangly youth who now stood in the doorway. The screen door squeaked loudly as the boy pushed it open and strolled outside. He stopped at the edge of the porch, ignoring the other's presence. "See you later," the man called, walking to the road and turning toward the village. The boy never spoke.

While Jesse and Sam continued to peer through the shrubbery, the odd-looking teenager slowly lifted his arms high above his shaggy head and stood on extended toes to stretch with perfect balance. Lowering himself back down, he suddenly lifted his face and sniffed the air. Slowly, his large green eyes turned to stare in their direction, cocking his head to one side as he honed in on their hiding place. With a small crouch, the boy leaped effortlessly from the porch, sailing through the air as smooth as a well-made paper airplane, and landing on the ground as graceful and elegant as a cat.

Sam grabbed Jesse's jacket sleeve and nervously whispered, "He knows we're here."

The boy smiled, displaying unusual fanglike teeth. He stepped toward the road.

"So, you're back." His words came out with an almost hissing sound.

Jesse nudged Sam with his elbow and both boys got to their feet.

"I...,we...," began Sam. The boy grinned slightly and made a noise that might have been a chuckle. Sam tried again. "My...flash...,"

"Oh, yes, the flashlight." The boy had taken another step and now stood in the road. "A nice gift, but the truth is, I see quite well in the dark."

"I...need my fl ... flashlight," Sam managed to say.

The boy was now less than five feet away. "You shouldn't have come back here. I don't like company."

The sound of a vehicle turning onto Rawhut Lane caused them all to look in that direction. Mr. Windell Thompson and his noisy pickup truck were headed their way. The boy quickly retreated back into the house, while Jesse and Sam frantically waved down the dusty green rig and its driver.

Catching a ride with Mr. Thompson turned out to be helpful in more ways than one. "Moved in a couple of weeks ago," Mr. Thompson told Jesse and Sam. "The man's name is Ned Edwin. The boy's his nephew. His name is...,"

Mr. Thompson scratched a moment or two at his unshaven face. "Gunther! The nephew's name is Gunther."

"Gunther." Jesse repeated the name softly to himself as his mind recalled his last glimpse of the strange-looking boy, watching from behind the screen door of the old house.

A short time later, Mr. Thompson brought his truck to a stop in front of Jesse's house. After thanking him for the lift, both boys watched the old pickup rattle down the road and out of sight, kicking up dust and gravel in its wake.

Sam chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. "That Gunther's some weird guy, isn't he? I bet he's what we heard on the porch last night, don't you?"

Jesse nodded. Sam sighed heavily. "He has my flashlight, Jess. I'm in for a licking if Pop finds out it's missing."

"Maybe we can talk to Mr. Edwin and get it back."

Sam's face lifted a little. "What will we tell him?"

"The truth. We didn't know anyone was living in the old Bradshaw house when we went snooping around."

Hearing the screen door open, Jesse glanced around and saw his mother standing on the front porch. Any further discussion on what to do about the flashlight would have to wait until tomorrow. Sam said good-bye and started for home. Jesse headed inside to help his mother, who was pregnant with her third child. Its arrival was expected within the next few weeks.

At supper, Jesse barely listened to his parents' conversation, until he heard his father say, "I bumped into Jack Freeman today. He told me something's been after his livestock the last couple of nights."

"A wild dog or maybe a mountain lion?" asked Jesse's mother.

Jesse's father shook his head with a grin. "Jack claims it ran on its hind legs and was as tall as a man."

"Oh, Buck, that's utter nonsense."

"Well, Jack swears it's true. And you know he's not a drinking man."

Both parents laughed. Jesse did not see the humor.

His father's words were still on his mind when, an hour later, holding an overstuffed trash can in each arm, Jesse pushed open the screen door and stepped out into the cool autumn night. Except for one small cloud, which had momentarily hidden the moon's fullness from view, the sky was crystal-clear. Jesse could easily make out the barrel drums, three large shapes sitting close together like.., three old fat woman, thought Jesse and laughed. Like the Bentley sisters at church.

As he completed his task and started back, the moon came out from its hiding place. Jesse glanced around and caught a movement at the edge of the woods. A dark form crouched beneath the low limbs of a tree. When it lifted its shaggy head, its eyes mirrored the light of the moon.

Dropping the trash cans, Jesse raced for the house, his feet pounding a rapid beat on the frostbitten ground. Reaching the yard, he bounded up the steps and onto the front porch. As his hand grabbed the handle of the screen door, Jesse hastily looked around for the beast. Only a few stray leaves rustling across the driveway disturbed the silent and empty yard.

Cautiously, Jesse walked to the porch railing and stared out into the night.

"Jesse?" Mr. Cooper opened the screen door and stepped out. "Is something wrong, son?"

"I..., uh, I thought something was chasing me."

Jesse's father surveyed the quiet yard. "I don't see anything."

"Me either. I guess it was just my imagination."

Mr. Cooper placed a hand gently on his son's shoulder. "Maybe you were thinking about Jack Freemen's story of an animal that runs on two legs, huh?"

Jesse gave his father a small laugh. "Maybe."

Mr. Cooper smiled. "Sounds to me like me like Mr. Freemen is the one with the imagination."

Jesse nodded. "Yeah, I guess."

"Let's go get those trash cans," said Mr. Cooper.

When Jesse and his father returned with the cans, they found Jesse's mother waiting by the steps. "Go put these in the mailbox for me, will you?" she asked, handing Jesse three stamped envelopes.

"Sure, Mom." The silver mailbox, located at the end of the driveway, was easily visible from the porch. Jesse quickly deposited the letters and was halfway back to the house when he remembered he hadn't lifted the red metal flag for the mailman to see the next morning. That done, Jesse had almost reached the porch steps when something spoke from the dark shadows at the side of the house.

"Looking for me?" Gunther hissed. His voice sounded peculiar, as if talking had become difficult. Jesse could barely make out a silhouette. "People who spy on me must be punished."

Jesse took a step toward the house. Gunther moved nearer but for a moment remained in the shadows, angling his head so that the light from the porch hit his eyes, causing them to glow like a cat's. Then he stepped out into the moonlight.

The thing that was Gunther opened his mouth with a snarl, and Jesse immediately understood his difficulty in speaking. Long sharp teeth filled Gunther's mouth, crowded together by huge fangs. His face was covered with coarse dark hair. Where once a nose had been, now a hideous snout protruded.

"Come closer," demanded Gunther, once again slipping back into the shadows, moving slowly backwards until Jesse could no longer see him.

The screen door opened again. "Come on in, son," said Jesse's father. "It's almost bedtime."

Jesse knew it was pointless to describe what he'd seen. A boy who turns into a monster by the light of the moon? No adult was going to believe that. So he said nothing as he entered the house on wobbly legs and watched his father latch the screen door, then lock and bolt the heavy wooden one.

The next morning, Jesse arrived at the Nelson River bridge earlier than usual. He took the bridge's walkway out to its middle where he'd wait for Sam. To his left, he had a good view of the small town's cotton mill. Shifts were on the verge of changing, people already arriving to begin their workday, while others were preparing to go home after working through the night.

The walkway vibrated beneath his feet as someone stepped onto it and headed his way. Jesse wondered for the umpteenth time how long it would take to convince Sam of what he'd seen the night before. Turning toward the approaching figure, Jesse sucked in his breath as a shabbily clothed, barefooted Gunther smiled at him from a few yards away.

The older boy's outfit was the same one he'd worn the day before. Only now, the shirt and pants were quite wrinkled and appeared damp in places. He hides them someplace when he becomes that ... thing, thought Jesse. Something like that would have no need of clothes.

Gunther's hair was sprinkled with tiny twigs and bits of leaves. His bare feet were stained with mud and dirt. As Gunther moved in close, Jesse could smell stale sweat and a strong musk odor.

"Stay away from me," said Jesse. "I'll tell."

Gunther threw back his head and laughed his strange laugh. "I don't like being spied on," he said, the smile quickly fading from his face.

"But we weren't spying on you. All we wanted was..."

Quite suddenly, Gunther reached out with both hands and grabbed Jesse by the front of his jacket. Jesse found himself being lifted until the toes of his shoes barely touched the walkway. Jesse closed his eyes and imagined Gunther easily throwing him over the side of the bridge to the water below.

"Jesse?"

Sam's voice. Jesse opened his eyes. Over Gunther's left shoulder, he could see his friend standing at the end of the bridge. Gunther dropped Jesse back onto the walkway and turned in the other boy's direction.

"What's going on, here?" Another voice. This one from behind.

Gunther whirled back around and glared at the approaching man with a look that sent chills up Jesse's spine. Then he switched his stare to Jesse.

"You'll be seeing me again," he said with a promise and began backing away.

"Just a minute." Gunther's uncle grabbed him by his shirttail.

Quickly and with great force, Gunther pushed his uncle away. Mr. Edwin fell backward against the bridge railing as Gunther turned, bounded past Sam, and disappeared into the woods.

Waving away any assistance from Jesse, Mr. Edwin slowly got to his feet.

"I want to know what this is all about," he said harshly. Jesse motioned for Sam to join them, then began by telling the older man exactly who'd been peeking in his window two nights before. "So it was you!" exclaimed Mr. Edwin.

Now Sam spoke up. "Yes sir. We saw a light and thought it was the ghost of Old Man Bradshaw. We didn't know anyone was living there."

Mr. Edwin pulled his pipe and tobacco pouch from one of his pockets. "Go on."

"We got scared and I dropped my flashlight," continued Sam. "Yesterday, we sneaked back to get it and...."

"You came back?"

"Yes sir."

"And Gunther caught us," said Jesse.

Mr. Edwin shook his head and mumbled something unintelligible under his breath. Then for several moments, he stared at the spot where Gunther had disappeared into the woods. Turning back to the boys, he told them in a low voice, "Now listen to me. Stay away from Gunther. You mess with him, and you'll end up with a lot more than you bargained for."

"I know," replied Jesse. "I saw him last night. He came to my house. He told me people who spied on him must be punished." The sudden look of shock on Mr. Edwin's face stopped Jesse from saying anything more.

"But we weren't spying," said Sam. "All we wanted was my flashlight."

Mr. Edwin leaned back against the bridge railing, his unlit pipe forgotten in his hand, and stared at Jesse for a long time. Then his gaze switched once more to the patch of woods beyond the bridge. His voice remained low.

"Stay away from my house. Stay away from Rawhut Lane. If you see Gunther coming, you go the other way as fast as you can."

"But my flashlight," exclaimed Sam. "My dad's going to be real sore if I don't get my flashlight back. I gotta get it back."

Mr. Edwin slowly turned in Sam's direction as if seeing him for the first time. "You're Big Sam McPherson's boy, ain't ya?"

"Yes sir."

Mr. Edwin nodded thoughtfully as he scratched his stubble chin. Even he knew of the older Sam's explosive temper. "Okay, this is what I'll do. If I find the flashlight, I'll bring it by Cole's Place. Mr. Cole can keep it behind the counter 'til you pick it up. Stop by on your way home from school."

As Mr. Edwin stepped past the boys to leave, he turned back to Jesse.

"What's your name? Where do you live?"

"Jesse Cooper. I live at two-one-five Fernwood Road."

"Remember what I said, Jesse Cooper. Stay away from my nephew." Mr. Edwin glanced once more at the patch of woods where Gunther had disappeared. Then, with a nod of dismissal, he was on his way.

By the time school was out that afternoon, Sam was quite convinced of Gunther's deadly metamorphic ability. Jesse recalled his father's conversation the night before concerning Jack Freemen's claim to have seen some two-legged animal chasing his livestock. "That animal was Gunther," said Jesse with certainty.

Remembering the old adage—safety in numbers—the two friends tagged along behind an older group of kids who were leaving the school grounds, headed in the general direction of Cole's General Store. Twenty minutes later, Jesse and Sam pushed open the store's broad front door. The jingling of a bell announced their arrival.

To the right of the store, past the shelves of food and supplies, near a big wood stove, set a couple of small round tables and some straightback chairs, along with a rocker or two. Locals liked to gather there to talk or play cards or have a friendly game of checkers.

On this day, two men were seated at one of the tables and another was lounging in a rocking chair. The man in the rocker was Jack Freemen. "I tell ya, I ain't never seen anything like it," Jesse heard him say. "That thing was as tall as me and could run like the wind."

While Sam checked on his flashlight, Jesse edged closer to the men. Eli Frost, sitting at the table, shook his head and laughed. "Jack, stop this awful talk. You're going to have me too scared to walk out to my outhouse tonight."

Freemen slapped his hand down on the arm of the rocker. "Laugh all you want. I seen it with my own eyes! That devil left one of my best ewes to drown in her own blood!"

Eli Frost stopped laughing. "Yeah, but Jack..."

The other man, who Jesse recognized as Gary Horton, spoke up and said he'd heard of several other attacks. Feigning interest in the various boxes of breakfast cereals, Jesse moved closer. "You know Mr. Lawson, over on the Quarters?" said Gary Horton, "something's been after his pigs lately. Two of the little ones disappeared a few nights ago. Lawson says whatever took them must've climbed the fence."

Eli Frost smirked. "So? Most anybody can climb a fence."

"That's true," agreed Gary. "But a person would have left footprints in the mud."

Eli snorted out another laugh. "Let me guess. Lawson found two-legged animal prints along the fence."

A slow smile spread its way across Gary Horton's face as he nodded.

"That's right. Big ones, too."

"Hey, Jesse!" called Sam from the front counter. "It's here! The flashlight's here!"

At that, all three men looked over at Jesse, who promptly pretended to read, with great interest, the back of the cereal box he held in his hands.

"Son, you're holding that box upside down," said Eli Frost. The other two chuckled softly.

Feeling his face start to redden, Jesse replaced the upside-down box on the shelf and self-consciously headed back to where Sam stood, lovingly holding the flashlight that, once returned to its proper place, would save him from his father's strap. "Isn't she a beaut, Jess?"

As they were leaving the store, Jesse noticed a display for camera film and flashbulbs, and remembered he still had film in his own camera at home. He glanced again at the rolls of film as an idea began to form in his mind.

The two friends trotted down the hill and crossed the bridge to the mill. Some of the mill workers were on break, a few leaning against the brick wall of the building, while others perched atop wooden crates. The faint smell of cigarette smoke drifted across the road to Jesse and Sam.

Past the mill, they bared right, traveling up a steep hill before reaching level ground again. Houses on this particular road were scarce. Those that did exist were located far back in the woods, some with hardly a driveway to indicate the way to their front door.

As they headed homeward, Jesse told Sam of the conversation he'd overheard back at the store, and of his idea. "What if we could take a picture of

Gunther? A snapshot? When he's that...thing? People would believe us then. They'd believe Mr. Freemen too."

Sam opened his mouth to reply but issued a shriek instead as something jumped from a tall overhanging branch and landed directly behind him. Whirling around, he encountered Gunther's hateful gaze.

"What are you doing with my flashlight?" Gunther asked softly, reaching over and jerking it away from Sam's grasp.

Sam flinched and slowly held up his empty hand. A long gash appeared along his index finger. Some part of the flashlight had cut him when it was yanked away. Blood sprang up from the cut, forming droplets that quickly fell to the ground. Gunther stared transfixed at the bloody finger.

"Please...," said Sam, "please let me have it."

Gunther slowly raised his eyes to meet Sam's. "You won't be needing it," he replied. His voice now sounded thick, deeper and more throatier than seconds before. Gunther carelessly dropped the flashlight to the ground and, as Sam reached for it, raised his foot and brought it down hard. The sound of shattering glass and bending metal caused Sam to cry out. His cry became a scream when Gunther's hand closed around his wrist. Gunther calmly tightened his grip, while he continued to stare at Sam's cut finger. Sam screamed again.

Gunther abruptly released his grasp and stumbled backwards, clutching at his stomach and groaning loudly; the groaning quickly becoming a growl as coarse hair sprang up along Gunther's arms and talons began to sprout from the ends of his fingers. He tried to stand but the pain of transforming from human to monster was too much and Gunther grabbed his stomach once more as he bent over his knees.

"Come on," cried Jesse. Sam's face was as white as flour and he looked half crazy with fright. Blood continued to drip from the cut on his finger.

As they raced along the road, Jesse wondered how long they had before the transformation was complete and Gunther came charging after them. "We have to hide, " he shouted to Sam over the pounding of their feet.

"No trespassing!" Sam yelled wildly and abruptly veered off to the right.

"Wait, Sam! Don't go in there!"

"Cabin," shouted Sam, without looking back or slowing down.

Then Jesse remembered. He and Sam had run across the old cabin a couple of summers ago. Probably owned by some city folks. Sam had laughed at the overabundance of No Trespassing signs tacked up everywhere.

Following Sam, Jesse entered the darkening woods. To his left, Sam called, "Over here," and quickly disappeared through the trees. Jesse headed after his friend and soon found himself standing before the small lodge.

Sam ran up the steps, across the narrow porch, and tried the door. Locked. So were the windows. Nothing under the welcome mat or on the ledge over the door. Jesse checked the small woodpile while Sam frantically crawled under the porch. An unrecognizable sound a short distance away caused Jesse to spin in that direction. The darkness was growing. Night arrived early this time of year.

"Found it!," cried Sam, emerging with a rusty key in his hand. Moments later, he and Jesse were inside the cabin with the door locked securely behind them.

A quick inspection of the cabin's interior showed it to be sparse. A small cast-iron stove was the only source of heat. No sink or running water. A couple of shelves held some canned food, pots and pans, and a few mismatched dishes. A small wooden table with four chairs, an old couch, and a rocker were the only furniture. A ladder led up to the loft.

Something bounded up the steps and onto the porch. "Can he get in?" Sam asked, and was answered with the sound of breaking glass.

As the shutters of the window gave way, the boys ran to the ladder and quickly scrambled up. Then, with great effort, they managed to pull the ladder up and over, until it rested with them on the dusty floor of the loft. Below, they could hear Gunther as he climbed through the broken window and smashed shutters.

Jesse dared a peek but all he could see were shadows. A strong, musty odor drifted up from below. Jesse backed away from the loft's edge.

Sam pointed to the miniature window in the loft and then to a stack of sheets and some cots over in one corner. With his mouth close to Jesse's ear, he whispered, "We'll make a rope and lower ourselves to the ground."

Jesse nodded and the two quickly began knotting the sheets together. While they worked, they tried to ignore the small prowling noises coming from below. Jesse pulled one of the cots over near the window and tied one end of the cloth rope around it.

From the darkness beneath them they heard a low sinister laugh. "Oh, boys," said the beast, "mind if I join you? It's awfully lonesome down here." A loud scraping noise was heard. Jesse thought it might be the wooden table being moved nearer to the loft.

It took both their efforts to open the window wide enough to crawl through. Sam pushed the sheets over the edge and watched them tumble softly to the ground. "Go on," whispered Jesse. "I'm right behind you." Sam nodded and began to slide his body through the opening. Jesse used his knees to put weight on the cot to keep it steady. Moments later, Sam had reached his destination.

Now it was Jesse's turn. He had no one to hold down the cot, but he wasn't worried. It couldn't fit lengthwise through the window. As he started his descent, Jesse glanced beyond the window opening and gasped as he saw clawed hands reach up to grasp the wooden edge of the loft. Jesse quickly let go of the window sill and started lowering himself to the ground.

"Run!" he shouted to Sam the moment his feet touched the earth. "He's right behind me!"

Trees loomed up unexpectedly in Jesse's path as he tried to catch up to Sam, who had taken off like a shot. Several times Jesse stumbled and had to slow down to keep from falling.

From somewhere behind them an angry roar was heard as Gunther took up the chase. It's useless, thought Jesse, already feeling his legs start to ache and cramp. He and Sam were running blindly through the woods without any idea where they were headed. Gunther could easily chase them around in circles until they were too tired to run any further. And then? Jesse attempted to run faster in his effort to catch up with Sam.

"Come on!" cried Sam from up ahead. "We're almost there!"

Almost where? Jesse felt totally disoriented with his surroundings. Panic had erased any sense of direction. He was utterly lost.

A minute later, when he and Sam emerged from the woods, Jesse couldn't believe his eyes. The opening beyond the thick trees was a back yard. Jesse spied his little brother's tricycle near the clothesline where his mother had hung the wash that morning. His father's favorite Sunday shirt waved at him from its place next to a pair of boxer shorts. Jesse was home.

The boys sped for the house. Light from the kitchen window spilled out over the freshly raked yard and driveway like the welcoming beams of the lighthouse. By the time Jesse reached the clothesline, Sam had already darted up the back steps, only to find the back door locked.

As they reached the corner of the house, Jesse glanced back at the woods and saw a tall dark shape leave the shadows of the trees and race toward them with the fury of a thing gone mad. Leaping onto the front porch, Sam ran and yanked open the screen door. Grabbing the front doorknob and giving it a vicious twist, he and Jesse pushed their way inside. Seconds later, the heavy door was locked and bolted behind them.

"Dad?" Jesse called out as he and Sam headed for the kitchen. "Dad, you've got to help us. There's this...." The kitchen was empty. "Dad? Mom? Willie?" Silence.

For a brief horrifying moment, Jesse wondered if Gunther was somehow responsible for the disappearance of his family. Then he saw the scrap of notebook paper on the table. Picking it up, he recognized his father's handwriting. It read:

Jesse, I'm taking your mother to the hospital. It's time for the baby to come. I'll be back as soon as I can.

Dad

Time: 3:10

Jesse handed the note to Sam and nervously walked over to the sink and pulled down the windowshade. Both boys jumped as the grandfather clock in the hall struck the half hour. Only five-thirty. It would be hours before Jesse's father returned.

Outside, the locked screened door to the small back porch rattled softly. Jesse motioned for Sam to follow him into the hallway. A black telephone set on a small round table. Jesse picked up the receiver, only to discover no dial tone. "What now?" Sam asked, reading Jesse's expression of dismay.

Jesse didn't know. His mind was a terrified blur. All he could think of was his previous idea: take a picture of the monster to prove it was real. A plan that seemed perfectly useless now. Jesse headed for his bedroom.

"Where are you going?" Sam blurted out in the quietness of the house.

"Shh! To get my camera."

"Why?"

Jesse didn't answer. He continued down the hall with Sam following close at his heels.

The darkness of the bedroom spilled out into the hallway. Sam stopped just outside its entrance, while Jesse moved inside and along the right wall until he found the closet. Opening the door, he was met with the fragrant smell of clean clothing dried by an autumn sun. A vision of his mother's face danced before his eyes. Oh, if only he could be at the hospital with his father and Willie.

Reaching up to the shelf above the clothes hung neatly on their hangers, Jesse retrieved the cardboard box containing the camera and its accessories.

From outside, near the bedroom window, came the sound of a thump.

"What was that?" asked Sam.

"I'm not sure. Sounded like something being closed." Even as he said it, Jesse recognized what they'd heard. Still holding the camera box, he raced into the kitchen. Much to his relief, the narrow door leading down to the

basement was securely bolted. "He's gotten in through the cellar doors outside," Jesse told Sam. "Dad must've left them unlocked. Gunther's in the basement."

Sam quickly looked down at the floor as he took a step back. Jesse placed the camera box on the kitchen table. "I don't think he can get to us from there," he whispered and pointed to the basement door. "That's solid."

"Where does your dad keep the lock to the cellar doors?"

"It'll be outside, hooked to one of one of the handles.

"Where's the key?"

"It stays in the padlock until Dad locks the doors at night. Then he hangs it over there." Jesse indicated with a glance to a row of tiny hooks located high on the wall near the back door. The cellar key was missing.

"I've got an idea," whispered Sam, stepping closer to Jesse. "One of us will stay inside, walking around and stuff, making enough noise for two people, while the other one sneaks outside and locks the cellar doors. Then we'll have him trapped!"

Jesse stepped over to the table, opened the cardboard box and brought out the gray square camera. He checked the film. Five exposures remained. Five pictures left to be taken. But only three flashbulbs. Jesse slipped the camera strap around his neck. He popped a flashbulb in place on the camera and put the other two flashbulbs in his jacket pocket. "I'm ready," he said to Sam, knowing full well he would never be ready for what he had to do.

"Sure you don't want me to go?" asked Sam

"No. I've locked that padlock a thousand times. I should go."

Sam tried but was unable to hide the enormous relief he felt. He was so relieved that he didn't think to ask or even wonder why Jesse would be taking the camera with him.

Jesse didn't know himself, other than the camera around his neck offered him a small sense of security—a false one, no doubt.

One of the basement stairs creaked, making both boys jump. "I'd better get going," Jesse whispered.

Sam placed a hand on Jesse's shoulder. "Be careful, Jess."

Jesse nodded silently and tiptoed away, down the hall to the front door. Carefully, he turned back the lock, unbolted the deadbolt, and slowly eased the door open, slipping past the screen door and onto the porch.

Creeping down the porch steps, Jesse turned right and headed round the corner of the house. The cellar doors, two large wooden flaps, were shut tight. Hooked to the handle of the right door was the padlock, gleaming silver in the moonlight.

On trembling knees, Jesse knelt down and reached for the lock. As he did so, the door nearest him burst open, flying back on its hinges so quickly, he barely had time to avoid being pinned underneath.

Jesse watched, in horrified fascination, as the monster emerged. First, the shaggy head: pointed ears protruding through matted hair, glowing eyes staring harshly from beneath heavy brows, the long hideous snout that dropped open to reveal razor sharp fangs and teeth. As Gunther continued up the cellar steps, Jesse saw he still wore his clothes. Where his shirt and pants had been loose and baggy before, now they strained against the beast inside them.

"It's a fine night for a killing." Gunther's voice resounded from deep inside his massive chest as he stepped out onto the grass. His bare feet had become giant sinister paws sprouting huge talons.

Jesse managed to stand. Gunther stepped toward him. Jesse knew it was useless to try and get away. The chase was up.

Gunther moved in closer. His clawlike hands reached for his victim. Jesse looked up into the grisly face and wondered how painful death would be. He gripped his camera tightly and held it out in front of him. The burst of bright light caused Gunther to roar in alarm, flinging his arms up before his face.

With only a moment's hesitation, Jesse sprinted for the front of the house. Racing up the steps and onto the porch, he threw open the screen door and was frantically turning the doorknob when he heard a voice behind him say, "What's the matter, boy?"

Whirling around, Jesse saw a man standing near the oak tree by the driveway. Stepping out from the shadows, he started walking toward the porch steps. In his right hand, he carried a rifle, barrel down. "Is your pa home?" Gunther's uncle asked. Jesse could only shake his head. He heard Sam open the door behind him.

"So, you boys are all alone." Mr. Edwin raised his gun slightly and glanced around at the darkness. Jesse shook his head again. Mr. Edwin didn't appear surprised. With one more look around the yard, he climbed the steps to the porch. Using his rifle he motioned in the direction of the front door. "Let's go inside."

Once the door was locked behind them, Jesse led the way to the kitchen. Mr. Edwin paused in the doorway and took in the warm glow of the clean and tidy room. A faint smile softened his harsh features. Leaning his rifle against the wall, he pulled out a chair from the table and sat down, motioning for Jesse and Sam to join him. "I know you boys have a lot of questions. But before I do any explaining about my nephew, I'd like to know everything that's happened since I saw you this morning."

Jesse began with the after-school visit to Cole's place and the conversation he'd overheard between Jack Freemen and the other men. He finished with his most recent escape from Gunther.

"Creatures of the dark don't much care for bright lights," remarked Mr. Edwin, after hearing how the glare of the flashbulb had blinded Gunther.

"He said it was a fine night for a killing," said Jesse.

"A fine night for a killing," repeated Mr. Edwin softly and turned slightly in the direction of his rifle, which was next to the doorway.

"He's not really your nephew, is he?" Sam asked.

A small sad smile passed over Mr. Edwin's face. "Yes, son. Yes, he is."

"But he's not human!"

"He used to be." Mr. Edwin picked up the salt shaker from the table and slowly turned it in his hand. "Gunther's mother was my little sister. She ran off with a group of gypsies who passed through the village one summer. One of the boys had bewitched her into believing he loved her."

Mr. Edwin pulled a red bandanna from one of his overalls pockets and loudly blew his nose into it. "The next time I saw my sister was a year later. She sent me a letter saying she wanted to come home. I mailed her back the train fare.

"At the station, I hardly recognized Anna. She was so pale, nothing but skin and bones. She was very sick. In her arms she carried a tiny baby. The prettiest baby boy I've ever seen."

Mr. Edwin sighed and set down the salt shaker. "Anna died one month after she came home. She made me promise I would look after Gunther and keep him from returning to the gypsies."

"Those gypsies," said Jesse, "they were..., like Gunther?"

Mr. Edwin nodded without looking up. "He didn't began to change until after his ninth birthday. That's when he made his first kill. I won't tell you what Gunther did to that poor squirrel, but it turned my stomach when I found it. After that, he stopped seeing his friends and started playing hooky from school.

"When Gunther turned ten, his features began to change. Once, he'd looked so much like his mother. By the time he was twelve, he barely looked human at all. He stopped bathing. His clothes were always dirty. And all the time, his thirst to kill grew stronger and stronger."

Jesse shivered uncontrollably as a chill ran up his spine.

"Gunther was thirteen when we moved away. I was hoping in another town things might be different. Maybe we could start over." Mr. Edwin sighed again. "I was foolish to have thought so.

"After we moved, Gunther refused to go to school at all. He started sleeping in the daytime and staying out all night. His room smelled like some old varmint's den. It was disgusting. And the animals. So many butchered animals."

Mr. Edwin scratched absently at the stubble on his chin. "You see, I still loved Gunther. He was Anna's son. I wanted to help him if I could. But the night I followed him and watched him become that ... thing, that ... beast, I knew there was nothing I could do." The old man blew his nose once again.

"Up until now, Gunther's been very careful not to be seen. People who catch glimpses of him usually convince themselves they've seen a large dog or a big mountain cat. Since we move to another town every few months, it's been easy for him to keep his secret safe."

"But he let Jesse and me see him," said Sam. "Why would he do that?"

From the hallway, a floor board creaked loudly. The sound was like an electric shock jolting through Jesse's body as he jerked around. Mr. Edwin reached for his rifle. No one said a word.

Slowly, a tall dark shape approached the entrance to the kitchen. "Should have checked your window locks," the creature managed to say over its huge fangs as its eyes came to rest on Jesse. Then it turned its deadly gaze to Mr. Edwin, who faced his nephew with amazing calmness as he lifted the safety catch on his rifle. The monster smiled.

Suddenly, with unnatural swiftness, Gunther reached out and grabbed Sam, yanking the boy over in front of him. Mr. Edwin took a step forward. Gunther growled angrily and placed a clawlike hand at Sam's face, its long sharp fingernails less than an inch from his eyes. Sam screamed and tried to pull away, but the monster held him like a vise as it began to retreat back into the shadows of the hallway.

"You can't do this," pleaded Mr. Edwin. "You can't hurt the boy."

"He's mine now," Gunther replied in his garbled voice, taking another step away from them.

Jesse quickly grabbed up his camera and popped a flashbulb from his pocket into place. With several long strides, he stepped past Mr. Edwin and out into the hall. Gunther and Sam were only a few feet away. Jesse held up the camera and pressed the snap button.

Gunther roared at the explosion of light and let go of Sam. Now it was Mr. Edwin who yanked Sam's arm, pulling him back to the kitchen doorway.

Gunther roared again and lunged at Jesse, but was stopped by the barrel of Mr. Edwin's gun. "That's far enough."

Gunther backed up a step and chuckled. "You're not going to shoot me. I'm your flesh and blood."

"Not any more," Mr. Edwin replied softly.

The creature laughed. "So pull the trigger." Mr. Edwin didn't move. He stood with his rifle aimed at what had once been his nephew. "I thought so," said Gunther, slowly turning and walking to the front door.

"Stop!" cried Mr. Edwin. "Don't take another step." Gunther only laughed again as he unlocked the heavy door and swung it open effortlessly. Mr. Edwin eased down the hall as the monster pushed past the screen door and onto the porch.

"You can't stop me. I own their fate," said the beast as it stepped off the last porch step and turned to face the old man who now stood above it. Gunther spread his arms wide and as he tilted his shaggy head to the night sky, he issued a bone-chilling howl into the peaceful yard.

"No, you're wrong," spoke Mr. Edwin quietly. "I own your fate," and squeezed the trigger.

A week had passed since the killing. Minutes after Mr. Edwin fired his gun, Jesse's father had turned his truck into the driveway and found the man sobbing over a young boy who was clearly dying of a gunshot wound to chest. Jesse and Sam had stood quietly on the porch.

When Mr. Cooper had knelt down and asked what happened, it was the youth who answered. "My uncle's not to blame," he said softly. The hissing sound in his voice was gone. "He did it to save them."

"We must get help!" exclaimed Mr. Cooper.

"No," the dying boy replied. "My uncle has given me all the help I need." Then Gunther reached up and grabbed Mr. Cooper's coat collar, pulling the man down closer to his face. "You must understand, I wanted to kill them. And I would have, if my uncle hadn't stopped me." As Jesse's father watched the red stain spread across Gunther's chest, the boy whispered, "It was the only way, the only way to kill the beast."

Mr. Cooper, of course, had not understood. It was as if the bullet from Mr. Edwin's gun had destroyed every trace of the monster. The boy lying on the ground was handsome, in spite of the ragged clothes and matted hair. Mr. Edwin had sobbed uncontrollably when his nephew drew his last breath.

Now the day of the inquest had arrived. Jesse and Sam knew what they were going to say. The truth, yes, but not the whole truth. What would be the point? No one would believe two boys and an old man that the now-dead Gunther had planned to kill Jesse and Sam because he had been part monster and relished the desire for human flesh. The boys could only hope their story, minus that essential part, would be strong enough to convince a judge that Mr. Edwin had truly done what he did to save their lives.

Jesse could hear his new baby sister, Molly, cooing in the next room as he opened his closet to collect his jacket. Once the garment was on and buttoned, Jesse slipped his hands into the pockets and pulled out the last flashbulb.

Gazing up into his closet at the camera box, Jesse heard his father's voice from the hallway. Time to leave. Jesse slowly rotated the flashbulb in his hand, his eyes still on the camera box as he felt his adrenaline start to rise.

Pocketing the flashbulb and reaching up to the closet shelf, Jesse called out, "Dad! ....Dad, I've got something important to tell you."

Back to top of page