Scott and the Dead Girl

         The house moaned as the intensity of the wind grew in what seemed to be an unrelenting gale. Though the windows were tightly secured and the doors locked, a breeze ran through the house causing the curtains to dance to the rhythm of the storm. No lamps were lit and with the exception of an occasional lightning bolt, the house was cloaked in darkness. A large German Shepard was sleeping on a small couch in the living room, undisturbed by the storm; his snores only slightly softer than the torrential rain pounding upon the house. The only other resident of the house was a man, sitting in the kitchen, alone, in the dark.

         He could almost feel her touch as he sat at the table, staring at the half-eaten food on his plate. His hand rubbed his neck where the warm caress of her breath still lingered. It was the only warmth he could feel in the room. Her voice still hung in the air. There were no comprehensible words, more like an echo of an echo; but still, it lingered. He felt a cold chill that he was certain had nothing to do with the storm outside. Scott. It was the only thing that he understood from the string of whispers heard over his shoulder. Scott. She knew his name. He didn’t turn around. He didn’t bother. He knew that no one would be there.

         He recognized the voice that was whispering in his ear. He was certain that it belonged to her. It was like a fingerprint unique to her, and he knew that with the same certainty that he knew she could not possibly be speaking to him. He knew this because he had watched her die the night before.

********

          Scott Mathews was not a coward. He never thought of himself as such and was fairly certain that those few that he was close to never felt that way either. On this night however, he wasn’t feeling particularly righteous or brave. Scott was beginning to get a headache from the constant flash of the blue and red lights coming from the police cars and the ambulance that surrounded the small park. Almost the entire Brockville Police Department had arrived tonight; six of the seven deputies were investigating the area and taking questions. The seemingly endless litany of questions felt garbled in his head. He still wasn’t sure what was asked, and he isn’t certain how he responded either. Scott was fairly certain he was in shock. He felt a pain on his wrist from when he had tried to stop his fall and there was a dull ache in his legs from sprinting too fast, for too long. He thought that you didn’t feel pain when you were in shock, but he couldn’t think straight, and he was fairly certain that too was a symptom.

          “So let’s go through this again, up to the point where you ran.”

                 Scott was sure the officer didn’t say that in an accusatory tone, but he felt he was on trial nonetheless. He noticed that there were about four or five pages that were filled with writing in an otherwise pristine notepad. How many times has he gone over this story with the officer? He simply couldn’t remember.

          “I was running on the trail. I like to get here early so that I can have time for a decent shower before work”

        “And you stated that you’re a warehouse worker?”

        “Yeah, I manage stock for a landscaping company.” Scott couldn’t remember if the officer had asked him that in the previous “interviews”. When he looked at the officer’s note pad, he saw that it was being underlined, so he assumed he was at least being consistent in his rambling.

          “When I came to the park area, I heard crying. It wasn’t loud. As a matter of fact, I didn’t even know it was crying until I got closer. I thought it was a cat or something. It wasn’t until I saw the two men hunched over someone, that I realized it was actually a person—a girl—that was crying.” Scott paused, reliving the memory in his head. The same sick feeling he had felt as the realization of what was happening dawned on him two hours ago was coming back in full force.

          “Are you ok sir? You look like you’re going to be sick again.”

Again? Scott didn’t remember that either, though now that he thinks about it, his throat burned slightly, and he had been on enough binges to be familiar with that sensation.

          “No, I’m ok. Just kind of hard, ya know?”

        The officer nodded, and Scott took a few more seconds to compose himself. He wasn’t one to display his feelings, but he was an emotional train wreck right now and there was just no telling how he was going to act. After closing his eyes and finding the words, Scott continued.

          “There were two guys, white guys. I couldn’t tell you how tall they were, but one was kind of heavy. Not fat really, just bulky. He was balding on top. The other looked kind of slim, fit. He had a full head of hair. Both were clean shaven, and their hair was dark. I couldn’t tell if it was black or brown.” Scott paused and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to recall some image that would help. He sighed in frustration. “I just can’t remember.”

        The officer turned as another approached with two cups of coffee. He took both and handed one to Scott. “It’s ok. It’ll come back to you. Sometimes it just takes a little time.”

        Scott took the coffee, but didn’t take a drink. He stared at the cup as if trying to remember what to do with it.

          “The girl was saying something in between sobs. I couldn’t make out what it was, but I think it was like I didn’t, or I can’t. I’m not sure. I wasn’t close enough to tell.” He gestured off to the right where the trail opened up into the park. He was never too good at judging distance, but it looked to be the length of about half a football field.

          “Did they say anything to her? Did you hear either of them speak?”

        Scott shook his head. “They were just holding her down, staring at her. The thin guy did lean in close to her, like he was whispering in her ear. But it was only for a second or two. Then he leaned back, and the other reached down. I couldn’t tell what he did, but she stopped crying. Stopped moving! Just like that, she stopped. I noticed other people in the park, a couple that was jogging, and a girl with a book, maybe a few others. They were all watching too. I think the man from the jogging couple was calling someone on his cell. But that’s all I can remember.”

        “Yes sir, he’s the one that called us.” The officer wrote down something else on the note pad and underlined it. “And that’s when you ran?”

        Once again, the officer asked it with the same, sympathetic coaxing he had used for all of his questions, but in Scott’s ears, it was an accusation.

          “Yes, that’s when I ran. I ran through the woods. I didn’t know where I was until I fell in a ditch near Hamill’s Road. I just hid in the ditch until I saw the police cars go by. Even then it took a little bit of time for me to get up the nerve to come back here. I don’t know. I just panicked. I have never thought of myself as a coward, but that was just blind panic that came over me. I’ve never felt that way before. It was terrifying.”

        The officer patted Scott’s arm and offered something consolatory. Scott didn’t really hear it. He assumed he was finished when the officer gave him a card and walked off, but Scott stood there holding the coffee and thinking about those men. The heavier one had a dark complexion. His face looked thin, but he was definitely heavy set. The thin man was pale, almost to the point of luminescent. Both were wearing black hooded sweat shirts and blue jeans. Scott knew that these weren’t minor details, but he wasn’t sure why he had kept them to himself for now. He looked at the card. Sergeant Stewart Walsh. He told himself that he would call Sergeant Walsh after he had some time to collect himself, but it felt like a lie the instant it entered his mind. He had a feeling that he shouldn’t say anything, that he had given enough detail.

           He doesn’t remember much from when he had sprinted through the woods, but judging from the scratches that were stinging his cheeks, Scott assumes that he ran through some thorn bushes. His stomach served as a poignant reminder of the fear that drove him on that run. He dumped the coffee on the ground and crumbled the cup in his hand. He walked over to one of the cars that Officer Walsh told him would give him a ride home, but it was empty. He stood near the back door and looked over the “crime scene”.

          The paramedics had already put the girl in a body bag that was zipped up and placed on a stretcher. They were talking over the body, one nodding at something the other had said and every once in a while reaching down to stroke the girls head through the bag, soothing her. Scott didn’t think the paramedic even realized he was doing it. It was just a reflex act of kindness to a girl that suffered a horrible tragedy.

          The police officers were scattered across the small park. Each was talking with a different group of, what Scott assumed to be, the other witnesses. Though he couldn’t hear her, the girl with the book was recounting her story in what appeared to be a rather nonchalant pose. She didn’t appear rattled in the least bit. In contrast, the man from the jogging couple was very animated in his retelling. The woman looked distraught and she would occasionally say something in between sobs, but the man was talking with very pronounced hand gestures, waving his arms around to drive each of his points home. Another older couple was sitting at a bench on the far side of the park. There was a police officer standing by them but he wasn’t paying them much attention as he fervently wrote on his note pad. They sat quietly, holding each other and looking at the victim on the stretcher.

          The whole incident still seemed surreal to Scott. He was still feeling a bit confused. The girl with the book; she had brown hair in a ponytail. It reached down to about the middle of her shoulder blades. She was wearing a long sleeve tee, blue jeans, and white tennis shoes. She looked like she was either in high school or recently graduated. She couldn’t have been more than nineteen or twenty. She was petite and attractive. The male jogger was probably around Scott’s age, forty-two. The woman that was with him was much younger. She was probably old enough to be his daughter, but there wasn’t enough of a resemblance. Maybe she was just a running partner; maybe something more. The male jogger had short black hair and a five o’clock shadow. He was in good shape and well proportioned. He wore blue sweat pants and a white tee-shirt. The woman was blonde haired, also physically fit. She had a runner’s build. Long, toned legs, small breasts, and toned arms. She was wearing red shorts and a blue t-shirt with a picture of an eagle’s or hawk’s silhouette over a full moon. The older couple was probably in their sixties. Both were graying, and the woman was a little overweight. The man looked like he was either getting ill, or had recently recovered from being ill. The older woman was wearing a white sweater and brown pants. The man was wearing a brown leather jacket and blue jeans.

          Scott could recall all of these details, but try as he might, he could not recall the faces of either of the two men that were holding down the girl. One had a dark complexion, and the other, light. It was as if the memory slipped away whenever he tried to focus upon it. The harder he tried, the more elusive it became. One thing was for certain. Just before he ran, both men turned and looked at him. With all of the people in the park, including the jogger dialing frantically on his phone, they singled out Scott. Even more, the way they looked at him was unnerving. He could feel their eyes on him, damning him for his inaction. That is what sent him into a panic. That was why he ran. He ran from shame, and he felt their stares and they felt like condemnation.

********          

         The storm continued to batter the roof of the house and Scott could hear every creak and groan caused by the wind outside. The girl was no longer in the room. He wouldn’t have been able to see her regardless, but he was certain that she was gone. Why she had followed him from that park, he didn’t know. He didn’t even believe in ghosts, or spirits, and wasn’t convinced of an afterlife. That was until tonight. He had a lot to absorb and sort out. His hands were shaking from the incident in the park. Even though it had almost a week prior, tonight’s events brought it back to the forefront of his mind.

         He couldn’t remember much of anything that occurred in the park. It seemed that as the week progressed, the memories grew vaguer, until nothing was left but the death of the girl. Oddly, the memories of the other witnesses were still solidly in his mind but he couldn’t recall any of the events leading up to the girl’s death. There was another piece of this that he knew was missing but he couldn’t bring it to mind. Every time he tried, it was like trying to hold a greased eel. It just slipped through his fingers and was gone again.

         There was one thing of which Scott was certain. He wanted to be plenty drunk before the ghost girl came back for another visit. He got up and retrieved a large bottle of whiskey from the cabinet. There were some things that simply should not be experienced sober.

********

         The rain came down in sheets, saturating the red clay trail and drowning out all other sounds of the forest. The occasional bolt of lightning illuminated the canopy of trees, but the wet leaves just caused a glare, doing more harm than good for anyone trying to make their way. The cold rain hitting the clay that was warmed all day from the summer sun caused a mist to form on the forest floor, further hampering sight.

         A clawed hand grasped a root that was protruding from the clay trail. With the steepness of the meandering path, and the sleekness of the now saturated ground, most people would have difficulty navigating this trail during the day, let alone a storm shrouded night. The owner of the clawed hand crouched on all fours, paying no heed to the storm that raged around it. Head perfectly still, and body poised like a coiled spring, ready to leap in any direction should the need arise, it sat. The only movement it made was to flick its long forked tongue to taste the air.

         As if a beacon fire were lit deeper in the forest, its head snapped around to the right, and it was off. Running through the forest, alternating between running on two legs and all four with equal ease, it was like a black arrow shooting through the trees. The scaled body moved with grace, power, and murderous intent. It was closer now than ever before and it did not want to miss this opportunity.

         Leaping over a small stream and crawling up the adjacent embankment, the creature slowly crested the top of the mound, peering into the gloom. In good conditions its vision was adequate, at best. On this night, it was virtually useless. Once again tasting the air, the predator found the trail of its prey. This time, it proceeded more slowly. Deliberately crawling through a clearing in the trees, occasionally stopping and checking its bearing with a flick of the tongue, it knew it was close. It could almost imagine the rapid heartbeat of its victim. It could definitely taste the fear.

         On the far side of the clearing a man darted into the thicker foliage. Had it been able to see more clearly, the Hunter would have clearly marked its prey by the white t-shirt and blue sweat pants that the man wore. It clearly stood out, even in a storm like this. But the Hunter couldn’t rely on its vision; it was naturally weak. It had to rely on its other senses. The scaled beast closed its eyes. The sense of taste that has led it this far was faltering, losing the scent in the rain. A thin veil covered its lidless eyes as they rolled toward the back of its head. Though its prey was once again gaining a lead, the reptilian creature waited.

         As if having an epiphany, the Hunter’s eyes rolled forward, focused and intent, looking in the direction its prey had run. While it was entranced, the Hunter’s prey had covered significant ground and was deep in the woods once again. But the Hunter knew exactly where it was now. Though there were hills and forest blocking its view, it could point to the exact location. Its acerbus had told it what it needed to know. Its inner darkness was being its guide.

         The Hunter no longer sprinted through the forest. It knew its prey’s location, and there was no escape. It wasn’t over-confident; it was just a simple fact. Once the Hunter sought guidance from its acerbus, it never failed to get its mark. It knew where it was going and there was nothing in this forest it had to fear. The prey on the other hand would tire. He was exhausted, scared, and running as blind as the Hunter was moments before. It was a simple matter of time.

         The ground was a quagmire now. Each step caused a splash on descent, and the clay greedily held its foot in place as if not wanting to let go. With determination, the Hunter moved steadily forward. It knew without seeing, without tasting the air that its quarry was no longer moving. It closed the distance between them at a slow stalk, circling its prey and savoring the anticipation of the kill.

         The object of its hunt was in a small depression. He was grabbing his leg, trying to remove it from the crevice in which it was held fast. He was whimpering and frantically looking around. The prey knew that the Hunter was near but he was not able to pinpoint its exact location.

         Now, under the guidance of its acerbus, the Hunter could hear its victim’s heartbeat. It was beating rapidly, almost like it would thunder out his chest. If it didn’t hurry, the Hunter feared that the prey would die from sheer fright, robbing it of its long awaited kill. The Hunter slowly tightened the circle as it paced closer.

         “You are ssstrong, and yet you run, whimper and cry like a child. You dessserve death.”

         Its words came out in a hiss, barely audible over the storm. It could tell that its prey’s heart was beating faster now. Fear was overwhelming it.

         As if its distain set it in motion, the Hunter sprang to the figure on the ground, pinning his shoulders with its clawed hands. The Hunter’s tongue flicked out, sliding up the prey’s cheek.

         “Where iss the boy?”

         The creature beneath the Hunter stared silently. He appeared confused and frightened, but there was also a hint of defiance. Anger built from frustration had begun to replace the human’s panic and his face was locked in a silent snarl. His face showed none of the fear that his heart was certainly reacting to. He managed his fear well.

         The pitiful creature beneath it pushed forward with more strength then the Hunter would have anticipated, sending it back a few paces. The Hunter staggered, but still maintained its balance. The prey crouched as if to counter-attack but the Hunter struck first. As it lashed out, a bolt of lightning ripped through the black canvas of night, almost as quickly as the Hunter ripped through the prey’s throat. Its other hand reached up and grabbed the prey’s chin so that it could look into his eyes.

         “Know thiss, human. Your defiance isss in vain. I will catch the boy. I will feassst on his heart.”

         The light in the prey’s eyes slowly faded and the Hunter let him fall to the ground. Had it not been in the thrall of its acerbus, this event would have troubled it. Somebody knew of its hunt, and was intervening. Nudging the body with its bare clawed foot, the Hunter looked around in speculation. It wanted to feed. The acerbus always drained it, but it had a new problem. It appeared there were more players in this game than it had anticipated. Dropping back down into a crouch, the Hunter bound into the forest, back the way it came. Death on a mission! It knew that fear could not work into its heart when it was being guided by the darkness, the acerbus; but after seeing the tell-tale signs of the lux in its prey’s eyes, it could feel something akin to dread seeping into the dark recesses of what would be considered on any other living being, a soul.