Night Witch: Part IX

A short story

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X

Photo by Greg Rosenke on Unsplash

Day 8 - Outside the Forest

It was always hard going to calls like this one. Despite the accusations he had faced throughout his career, Terry Herman loved animals. But animal control encapsulated a lot of duties. Sometimes, you were a part of a rescue. You hauled out cats and dogs by the dozen from some hoarder’s house, transported them to a shelter, got them the help they needed. And then there were the strays. Violent dogs that were reactive. Or worse, ones that were hunting. He knew this would be a KIS, or Kill On Sight. Especially after what had happened. He hadn’t seen the man, but the sheriff had.

“Arm and leg were ripped clean off of his body.”

There weren’t big predators around. No lions. No bears. At least not in the last hundred years. Maybe not ever. Coyotes would wander in every once in a while and pick off animals. Cats and dogs mostly. Homeowners took care of that themselves. Some bought guns. Others used poison. Either way, he didn’t have to get involved.

“Terry, you might want to take a look at this.”

Sly was motioning him over, staring at the flowered welcome mat spread out at the top of the porch steps just in front of the door. He made his way over and looked down to see what the man was fixated on. Flies. Piles of them motionless in front of the door. He knelt down and picked one up between his fingers, the crisp dead of it weightless in his hands. He turned it this way and that, examining the slick green of its body, the bulging red of its eyes. 

He dropped it again and stood to his feet.

“Well, it’s obvious she isn’t here. Need to call the sheriff and see what we should do next.”

“He get the autopsy results back?”

Terry took a few steps and gazed at the line of forest. It didn’t seem like a good sign that the woman that lived here was gone the morning after a man had been ripped to shreds in her living room. He didn’t answer Sly. Just went to his truck and called dispatch on the walkie. A few minutes later and the sheriff’s voice came through. Understated. The picture of calm.

“And the front door was left open?”

“Yes sir. Her car’s still here. Something just doesn’t seem right.”

“Wish I could say you’re the first person to tell me that today.”

“How do you mean?”

He sighed. Terry pictured him alone in his office. Piles of paperwork lining the perimeter of his desk. His eyes closed as he tipped back in his chair.

“Coroner called me about an hour ago. He hasn’t finished the autopsy, but he thought something seemed strange.”

Terry waited for the sheriff to keep going. It took a few minutes for the man to arrange his words. 

“He found bite marks on Dan’s body.”

Terry let his breath out. He realized for the first time that he had been holding it since he found June’s door open, her house empty. 

“Doesn’t seem that unusual sheriff. I mean, given what my supervisor said.”

“That’s what I thought too. But it wasn’t just that. The teeth marks they found weren’t caused by an animal.”

Terry’s brow furrowed. His mind was searching through the index files in his brain, trying to figure out the twist ending. The punch line. But none of what he came up with made sense. The sheriff filled in the blanks.

“He doesn’t know for sure, but they look like they belong to a human.”

“What? But that doesn’t make sense.”

“Believe me. I know that. But that’s what he said. And now you call and June Huntsman is missing—”

Terry watched from his van as the wind moved across the grass. There was nothing but breeze for miles and miles. No animals. Not a soul. At least not from what he could see. His eyes fell again on the trees. He wondered what could be in that mysterious deep. He pictured the cool of the forest shade. The smell of rotting leaves. He wanted to go in. 

“Sheriff? I think you better come out here.”

“Yup. I guess I better.”

He would come alright. But by the time he arrived it would be too late. Because June Huntsman was running.