Quarrel with the Moon Page 6

  "Eeuuuwww! He gives me the creeps." She snuggled closer to him, pressing her small breasts against his chest and tightening her thighs around his hard column of flesh.

  Ted crooned, "Isn't it something how our bodies fit? I mean they just fit."

  The diversion worked. Amy began moving her pelvis back and forth against Ted's slim hips. "Yessss," she whispered. Hurriedly they soaped one another's bodies, dove beneath the surface to rinse off and then, back on the soft green bathmat of moss, grabbed their towels and dried each other off.

  They ran back to the tent. Amy crawled in first and unzipped the huge sleeping bag they shared. Ted entered the tent and placed the lamp on the floor so that its beam was against the canvas, filling the entire tent with a rosy glow. He lay down beside Amy and began kissing her about the face and fondling her small, but well formed breasts. They turned to face one another. Amy slipped her hand between their tingling bodies, wrapped her fingers around Ted's swollen penis and rubbed the tip of it against the opening of her vagina. She started to guide him inside her.

  A howl tore the night air. It traveled down the mountainside and rushed through the encampment like a messenger from Hell. The piercing cry silenced every nocturnal sound until nothing remained but an ominous hush which hovered about the tent like a questing beast. The howl was repeated, only this time it was joined by another, and then another, until there was a chorus of cries, each in a different key.

  "Oh, my God," gasped Amy. "What's that?"

  "It's wild dogs," Ted said soothingly. "Just wild dogs."

  "Where do they come from?"

  "City people drop off their unwanted pups up here, damn 'em. They think the locals got nothing better to do than care for their strays."

  "That's terrible! There are too many unwanted animals in the world as it is."

  "Tell you what. If we can find one of the pups, we'll adopt him and take him back to New York City with us."

  Amy began to relax. The howls stopped, and once again she reached for his still erect penis and guided him to her entrance. He entered her, and they were joined together as man and woman.

  ***

  The oncoming headlights were as sharp and bright as the eyes of a giant animal but Josh didn't seem to see them. Cresta grabbed the steering wheel and spun it away from the approaching car. "Jesus, Je-sus! Wake up, Josh! Josh!" Josh opened his eyes and shook his head. He took the steering wheel and steadied the camper as it bumped over the shoulder and into a field of tall grass.

  "What, what happened?"

  "You fell asleep, damnit! Look, Josh, you're too tired to go on. You didn't get much sleep last night and apparently the coffee didn't help. Now be sensible and let's find someplace to park this thing. You'll get some sleep and when you're rested we'll continue on."

  "I wanted to get there by morning, love," Josh growled.

  "I want to get there in one piece."

  Josh looked at Cresta. Her face was drained of color and her hands were shaking. He took them in his and steadied them. "You're right, Cresta. Let's see if I can get this thing back on the road and we'll find a place to park. Check the map, will you? Where are we?"

  "The exit up ahead is Frederick, Maryland."

  "That should do." Josh pulled the camper off Route 70 and parked behind a large sign advertising Seagram's Seven. He looked at Cresta. "Well? I expected you to say that's sure as hell appropriate."

  "I wasn't going to say anything, Josh." She looked out the window. "This is cozy. That's a super big maple tree."

  "That's an elm." Josh turned off the lights and climbed back into the camper. "I'm going to have a vodka," he said evenly. "The hair of the dog and all that."

  "You'll get no argument from me. After that ride I'm going to join you. I'll have a glass of wine."

  They had their drinks; then Cresta went in to take a shower. Josh poured himself another vodka and noticed that his hands were trembling. The incident had left him more shaken than he cared to admit. He downed the drink in one swallow and closed his eyes. Mentally he calculated how long it would take to get to Jericho Falls. If they started by eight in the morning, they should get there by one or two. Going back after so long a time made him feel depressed and elated at the same time. He wondered if his parents' former house still stood at the foot of the mountains, or whether it too had become a casualty of progress. It was probably a shopping mall, he mused.

  What would he find on Chestnut Ridge? Would his Aunt Avvie still remember him? Was she even still alive? Josh closed his eyes and tried to remember her. She had made regular-as-clockwork appearances on holidays with gifts of homemade candies and jams. He recalled her as a sturdy, unadorned mountain woman who always regarded him with a certain strange sadness. As much as Josh had enjoyed her presents, he had always been relieved when she returned to the Ridge. Perhaps it had been that expression of sadness (or had it been pity?) which had made him uncomfortable. Everyone else had looked upon him with admiration or envy. Had the old woman seen a flaw in him that nobody else saw?

  He glanced down at his glass. It was empty and he didn't remember finishing it. He quickly poured another and downed it. The vodka lifted his flagging spirits. He attributed his mood to the near accident, but he knew that was not really the source of his anxiety.

  Josh stripped out of his clothes, opened the door to the small shower, and stepped inside. Cresta beamed with pleasure and moved back, allowing him room. "I thought you were tired."

  "Only most of me. Not all of me," replied Josh.

  Cresta looked down. "I see what you mean."

  ***

  From atop the mound, Harry lifted his head and listened to the dying howls as they reverberated around the mountains. Goddamn dogs. He wondered why he'd had no word from the institute. Perhaps he'd drive over to Jericho Falls in the morning and place a call. Surely they had received his package by now. Harry hoped that they would send Josh down to continue the investigation of this odd phenomenon. Harry liked Josh, liked his sense of humor and his easygoing manner. And he respected Josh's expertise. So what if Josh wasn't the world's most reliable drinker? Of course, he had always wondered why Josh spent so much of his spare time out drinking. He sure as hell wouldn't, not with a dish like that Cresta waiting at home.

  Harry looked over his left shoulder at the tent and sighed wistfully. It glowed from within, making it resemble a giant wedge of pink cheese. He tried not to think of what was going on inside that wedge. But the simple act of two young people making love triggered a memory he couldn't resist.

  Gracie Ferguson was the eternal party girl. If there was no party to be found she made her own. Harry and Gracie had dated on and off for more than fourteen years. It was a stormy affair full of good times, hangovers and hot loving whenever Harry was in town, between assignments from the institute. He had often asked Gracie to accompany him on his trips, but she had always turned him down: "No thanks, kiddo. I'm an indoor girl who dislikes sunburns, insect bites and fresh air." Had it not been for that difference and the long stretches of time Harry was gone, perhaps they might have married.

  Years of hard living had caught up with Gracie. The last time Harry had seen her she was beginning to show the strain of her lifestyle. Her skin was as pale as skimmed milk and her hair was dull, dry, and lusterless. She had begun to lose weight. She was no longer the voluptuous, well-rounded Southern belle who, after thirty years in New York, hung onto her accent as tenaciously as a drink. Still they had a good time together.

  The next time, when Harry returned from a long stay in Mexico, he found that Gracie had died during his long absence. Her liver had fallen apart like so many of her booze-soaked dreams. Sometimes when Harry was out in the field, he would suddenly think, "When this stint's over, I'm going to go back to New York, look up Gracie and marry her. But wait, I forgot, Gracie's dead." Funny how the mind worked to block out the pain of those things you couldn't face.

  Harry lifted the bottle and took several long, hard swallows. The drink caused mem
ories to buzz in his head. He closed his eyes and smiled. It was 1972, New York City. O'Lunney's Bar and Grill. Gracie had just played her favorite song on the jukebox and she was waving to him, urging him to come and dance with her. The stray tune tickled his memory. He moved his lips and tried to find the words to fit it. He found the words he was searching for and began singing to himself. "After ... you've ... gone ..." His eyes filled with tears which rolled down his dusty cheeks, leaving trails like transparent ribbons. "And ... left ... me ... cryin' ..." A stray breeze picked up Harry's words and carried them across the treetops, then cast them upon the waters of the river.

  6

  From their vantage point on the mountainside they watched. They lifted their heads to sniff the air. It was pungent with the smell of the humans. They milled about, shifting their weight, touching and drawing strength from one another. It would be needed later. They began to grow anxious and lightly snapped at the air.

  A short time later their dark forms moved with stealth down the mountainside, stopping at the edge of the clearing, across from the campsite. The human scent was stronger now, and they savored the sweet warmth of it. Saliva rose in their mouths and dripped from their tongues. They watched the tent and the shifting silhouettes. In the distance, outlined against the furtive moon, another human dozed, his legs drawn up under his chin.

  Their leader, his ears pricked forward, detached himself from the confusion of the shadows. There was no sound except the river and the wind. Suddenly the tent went dark and the leader gave the awaited signal. He lowered himself to the ground and the others followed. They began moving forward. Slowly at first, and then with more urgency.

  Ted had fallen asleep first. Amy cradled his head against her breast and listened to the night. Only after a moment she realized there wasn't anything to listen to. No serenading crickets, no rustling leaves, no tiny animals scurrying around the tent.

  Amy was suddenly frightened. She tried to conquer her wild excess of imagination, but she could not. The ominous silence covered her like a cold sweat. "Ted," she whispered sharply.

  "Mmmm," he answered in his sleep.

  Amy stretched out her arm and turned up the dim camping light. Shadows skittered about the interior of the tent like dark and illusive imps. As the light grew stronger, the shadows scampered away. The bright glare made Ted groan. Shielding his face with the back of his hand, he turned over.

  "This is silly," Amy told herself and turned off the lamp. "I'll just try to think of something pleasant." She closed her eyes and, despite the pounding of her heart, forced herself to lie back on the sleeping bag and pretend sleep. Perhaps if she did that it would eventually come to her.

  A sound as soft and insinuating as a malicious rumor disturbed her manufactured dreams. Amy sucked in her breath, lifted her head and listened. Nothing. It was just her fertile, as Ted called it, imagination. Still, she held her breath. There was another sound, then another, and another. Breathing? Footfalls? She shook Ted violently. "Ted, for God's sake, wake up!"

  Dark forms suddenly filled the, tent. Amy screamed, not only with the horror of surprise, but with disbelief in what she was seeing. Strange humped shapes, their outlines undefined, amorphous like an underdeveloped print. An odor as pungent as decay permeated the interior of the tent. Amy struggled to get out of the sleeping bag, but the zipper jammed. Ted, unsure whether or not what was happening was real or the remnants of a nightmare, began flailing around.

  They were caught, caught like two butterflies in a cocoon.

  Amy lifted herself to her elbows. She felt something brush against her bare shoulder. It was furry and stank of the alluvial earth. She twisted her head and shrieked with mortal dread. The tent was swarming with things!

  Ted balled his hands into fists and raised them. "Amy," he rasped. "The zipper! Work on the zipper!"

  Mouths snarling, they sidled closer to the terrified couple. The zipper sprang free and Ted and Amy started to crawl out of the sleeping bag. But they were too late. The leader sprang at Ted, plunging his teeth into the young man's wrist and snapping it like a twig. The pain was crushing; Ted fell to his side, struggling to free his arm. To the left another dark shadow sprang. Amy shrieked as great jaws yawned in front of her face. Sharp fangs tore away her nose and part of her cheek. Another dark mouth closed on the top of her head and ripped off her scalp.

  Ted had managed to wiggle out of the sleeping bag as far as his knees, but then they were all over him. He heard his ribs cracking apart. Then his stomach was opened up, and his entrails were pulled from their resting place. Ted was dying when another attacked his throat, crushing his larynx, taking his life.

  Amy was still alive, but barely. She was wrapped in paralyzing agony. Her small breasts had been torn from her and carried away. The younger ones licked her body with long, wet lavings of their tongues. Amy's consciousness faded, and with it her life.

  The tent became filled with the sound of bones being crushed and flesh rent as the predators devoured their prey.

  ***

  Harry Evers was dead to the world.

  The empty bottle lay next to his foot. His snores were loud and uneven and punctuated the night air like a faulty motor. A chilling gust of wind attacked him from the left. Harry rolled over, and his foot nudged the bottle. It went skitting down over the crest of the burial mound and fell onto a pile of rocks below.

  He pulled himself to his feet and looked over the edge of the mound. The glinting shards of the glass on the rock pile told him what had happened. He grunted, then strained his eyes toward the tent. The light was out. He could imagine Ted and Amy snuggled together in the arms of sweet Morpheus. That's one thing he had liked so much about Gracie. It wasn't just the sex, it was the cuddling. When they had slept together they slept close, almost as one. He hoisted an imaginary glass in the air. "Here's to you, kiddo, wherever you are."

  The moon was swallowed by a bank of clouds. The wind shifted and brought with it a scent so wretched that Harry gagged. It was an odor he recognized instantly. He had been in Korea. It was the overpowering stench of death. Despite the alcohol, he was suddenly alert. He turned in a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree angle, his eyes wide and staring at the blanket of darkness which surrounded him. He picked up his lamp and a pickaxe and carefully made his way across the boards which served as walkways over the dome of the mound, heading for the rickety wooden ladder which Ted had made from tree branches.

  As he descended, Harry cursed the ladder's hurried construction. Halfway down it began to shudder and Harry jumped. He landed on his heels and fell on his buttocks with a grunt. The lantern flew out of his hand, its wavering beam highlighting a set of strange prints at the base of the mound. There were four toe prints and the form of a large, soft pad. But they were too large to belong to a dog, or even to a wolf. The hairs stood on the back of his neck.

  Harry scrambled to his feet, grabbed the light and looked for more prints. He found them. They were fresh. No doubt about it. And they were circling the mound. He felt a clammy, wet fear crawl across his skin. His head was buzzing and he was having trouble keeping his eyes in focus, and he was completely unaware that he was whimpering.

  Gripping the pickaxe, Harry began following the prints around the mound. Each step was like an eternity, and the only sound he heard was his own ragged breathing. He was halfway around when he thought he heard a movement in the nearby underbrush. He flashed the light against a clump of rhododendron. The leaves were shivering. Was it the wind, or something else? Harry stood there transfixed, trying to see between the graceful waxen leaves. Suddenly he swung around. He hadn't been thinking. What if the ... animal ... had circled all the way around the mound and was behind him? He took several steps backward, flashing the light wildly from left to right. He saw nothing but his own footprints. And the others.

  He continued following the path dictated by the prints. Within minutes he had completely circled the mound. The prints continued on from where they had started. Was he stalking i
t, or was it stalking him?

  Harry grabbed the makeshift ladder and steadied it, then quickly climbed back up onto the mound. At least there he could see if something were coming after him. Some parts of the mound had been weakened by the digging. On the edge of the mound, flanking the forest, there was a deep wedge cut into the structure where he and Ted had been working to gain access to the third vault. Harry gingerly made his way across the board back to the center and stood there staring at the ladder, knees trembling, sweat trickling down his arms.

  The moon reappeared and lent a sinister light to the semi-darkness. The tips of the ladder were trembling. The way they did beneath someone's or something's weight. He turned his face to the indigo sky and squeezed his eyes shut. "Oh, God, please, please."

  The figure sprang into full view. Harry gulped and nearly swallowed his tongue. It threw back its head and howled, then hurtled forward across the boards. Others, clawing away the dirt at the sides of the mound, found footage. Harry saw them materialize over the edge of the dome. He was surrounded.

  Growling and snarling, they advanced. Harry was only aware of teeth and slathering open mouths. One crept closer than the rest and bit deep into Harry's thigh. He screamed, yanked himself free and rushed across the mound toward an open space. The dirt gave way beneath his feet, and Harry felt himself falling into the wedge-shaped hole. The dirt poured in around him, filling his eyes and nostrils and choking his throat. He almost smiled when he realized that they weren't going to get him after all. He was going to be buried alive. The fine earth, burned dry by the hot August sun, rained over him in powdery brown rivulets. Harry looked up and saw that the beasts were pawing the earth, helping to cover him up. Just before the dirt filled his nostrils, Harry muttered, "I've got news for you, Gracie. Dying is no big deal, kiddo."

  When the hole had been filled in, the males urinated on the earth, marking their ground. At some later date, when the human had begun to decay and they were hungry, they would return.