A lunatic moon

A lunatic moon - Chapter 13 - The way back

The day for taking Kevin and Carrie back the tracks and through the woods to where Jean Duhamel lived had arrived. They'd planned for this day, Friday August 24th because they were running out of time. There was only ten days left before they had to go back to school. Everyone was feeling the pinch and wanted to squeeze in as much summer fun as they could. They packed a light lunch and some water to make a day of it. Danny made them swear absolute secrecy for the mission, so they told their parents that they were just going for a hike in the woods to build a tree fort. They had a few forts scattered around Glen Thomas therefore it wasn't that out of the ordinary for them and didn't attract any undue attention.

At first Bobby and James wanted to tag along until they found out Carrie was going. They had nothing against her, but she was a girl and their brother Danny seemed to like her. That was beyond them, so they went fishing instead. Just as well too. He didn't want to have to tell them no. It would just make them curious and try to follow.

Walking down the tracks, they eventually came to the spot where Mike's body had been. If you knew what to look for, you could still seem some blood stains on the railway ties. Danny pointed out the area to Kevin, who hadn't seen it yet and the three of them stopped, sitting on the rails to have a cigarette in honour of Mike. Kevin wasn't a smoker, but he took one of Danny's this time and puffed it without inhaling.

On Danny's advice they'd dressed in earth tones to help camoflauge themselves. Even Carrie had a brown baseball cap on, to hide her blonde hair that she threaded through the hole in the back of the cap. They all wore long pants in defense against mosquitoes and pricklers. Danny wasn't sure how much brush they were going to have to fight through, but he wasn't going to take them his secret way through the bone-clearing. That site was somehow sacred to him and he didn't want them to see the boar's skull, or even the bones of the three deer. As far as he was concerned, the place was magic and so were the bones.

All three were armed with a pocket knife. Carrie had Mike's knife with her of course. She carried it with her in her front pocket all the time now. Danny had his grey canvas, World Famous bag with all of it's survival gear inside, including a compass that he'd never used. The only things that weren't in the bag today were his Walkman, batteries and favourite cassettes. Kevin had brought his binoculars in a case with a shoulder strap and they all had stout walking sticks from their garage.

After their smoke, they continued on back the tracks in silence until they came to the intersecting tractor path leading into the meadow with the pond. They went through the gate which was always open and passed by the massive hydro towers humming endlessly in the late summer sun. When they reached the pond, they stopped again under some big shady maple trees and looked to Danny for direction. He had them squat in the bare patch under a tree and picked up a stick to draw with. He scratched out a crude map of the area from what he remembered. The forest ahead of them wasn't huge and so it was possible to skirt the edge of it without having to blaze a trail all the way through. Danny pointed out that if they rounded the far side of the pond, keeping more or less to the powerlines, they could follow them over a small hill to a dried out creek bed. From there they could follow the creek bed a little ways and then abandon it to turn back over the hill again, picking up the forest's edge leading right to the back end of Duhamel's property. It was a way that he'd never been before, but it kept both the pond, a hill and the forest between them and Duhamel. If Old and Ugly could sense someone approaching, like how Danny was able to, at least they had a certain amount of protection against that. There was also no direct line of sight, at least not until they reached his property. At that point they could use Kevin's binoculars if they wanted. At least then the mission would be complete.

When Danny had finished scratching his map into the dirt they stood up to leave the cool shade of the maple tree. He considered destroying the map he had sketched in the dirt, but didn't think it would matter. It wasn't as if they were being followed.

Squinting from the sun, they pulled their ballcaps down low and began walking around the edge of the pond. All three of them were grateful for having long pants on. This late in the summer the saw grass was as high as their knees and would have cut their bare legs to ribbons. Kevin laughed at a memory he had of Danny and him at this very pond just a few years earlier.

"Do you remember when we hiked back here to build a fort Danny?" He said grinning.

"The time we went swimming?" Danny laughed.

"What, did you guys go skinny dipping or something?" Carrie asked.

Danny and Kevin looked at each other and burst out laughing.

"Oh god no! Thank god we didn't huh?" Kevin said. Then he told Carrie the story of what happened.

"Danny and I came back to, you know, build a fort and by the time we got back it was super hot. So we sat under that tree we were just at and the pond looked so good. A little breeze was blowing and the water looked so refreshing. We had shorts on so we figured we'd just go for a quick dip in our shorts. We took off our shirts and shoes and emptied out our pockets and walked down to the pond. This was before we knew there was saw grass here so by the time we got to the edge, our ankles and shins were all cut up. We started walking into the pond and right away sank up to our knees in black mud. Oh it stank and was so gross, so we kept trying to get out deeper, but the water was super shallow. By the time we got to the middle, we were only up to our waist and half of that was because we were still up to our knees in mud. At best the pond is like, two feet deep in the middle. So we tried to swim and wash the mud off our legs but it was impossible, we just kept stirring up more mud. We were better off dry and under the shade of the tree. So, after like five minutes, we headed back for shore and had to climb through the mud again. Finally we got to the tree, but before we could put our shoes back on we had to wipe all this mud off our legs. We had to use twigs and scratchy handful of straw from the field to scrape it off. That's when we found the leeches. Dozens of them!"

"Oh no! No way, oh my god no. I hate bloodsuckers!" Carrie cried in horror.

"Oh yeah, it was bad. They were between our toes, everywhere..." Danny said smiling.

"They were everywhere." Kevin agreed. "As soon as you got rid of one, you'd find another. And yeah, they were between our toes too. I got 'em all off my legs first and by the time I got to my toes they were all full of blood. They were so slippery you had to grip 'em tightly to pull 'em off. Then they'd burst and now you have blood and mud and slippery leeches. It was fuckin' brutal." He shook his head remembering the feel of his own blood, still warm bursting out of the engorged leeches and mingling with the black mud of the pond.

"Blood and mud." He muttered.

"Huh?" Carrie asked, looking askance at Kevin.

"Nothing." He said quietly. He semed pensive, so she didn't push it.

"Never again." Danny said with a laugh.

"No." Kevin said shaking his head. "That is not a good pond for swimming in." Reluctantly he smiled. Whatever had been bothering him about that memory was forgotten.

Carrie nudged Danny with her elbow, looking at him, her eyes twinkling. He smiled and gave her a little nudge back. "So, damn good thing we weren't skinny dipping, hey Kevin?"

"Ohhhh..." He moaned, smiling ear to ear now. "Damaged goods!" He howled.

They all laughed.

By now they had cleared the pond. It was to the right and behind them. They strode through waist high wheat. Gradually the forest loomed at the edge of the field they walked through. At this point Danny knew he had to be on his guard. Neither Kevin nor Carrie were aware of the powers that he and Duhamel possessed, or of the inherent danger from Duhamel, but Danny knew Old and Ugly was able to sense people approaching on his werewolf radar. So he sent his mind out, testing the air. Immediately he felt someone watching. He tried to determine who, or what it was, but tripped in one of the furrows and fell to his knees in the soft soil, breaking his concentration before he learned anything.

Carrie helped him to his feet. Her hand was cool and dry and she smiled softly at him. "You okay big guy?"

Danny laughed at that, so did Kevin. "Big guy? I don't think I've been called that before."

"It's a term of endearment." She said and Danny's heart skipped a beat. He glanced at Kevin who was just smiling. Happy for his brother.

Danny got serious then. "Okay, you see way up there where the trees sort of curve away from the foot of that big hill? That's just about where the forest ends and the field where Duhamel's house is. He's an old guy, but he's pretty strong. So I don't know if he's gonna be out in his yard doing something, or in his house. When we get to the edge of his field we're gonna stop and hide and watch. We don't need to wait until we see him or anything. I'm just showing you where he lives 'cause you asked okay? If we see him then at least you'll know what he looks like. My description of him doesn't mean much, but if you saw him at Ludlow's store you'd probably know right away that it was him. Just because he's so old and creepy looking. He also smells really bad. Not like manure or chicken shit, or anything like the farmers do, he smells like a mix of really bad body odour and death. He gives off bad vibes like nobody I've ever met and that's why I think he's...uh, hmmm, psycho. A killer maybe. There's something seriously wrong with this guy. That's why I don't want you to ever come back here alone. You'd probably never be seen again."

"Oh my god." Carrie whispered. "I'm scared now."

"Well that's what I mean." Danny reiterated. "He's a scary guy, but we just gotta be careful and not get caught."

Kevin and Carrie looked at one another, sussing each other out, then they looked at Danny.

"You beat him up though Danny." Kevin said. "That's why you went away! So what do we have to worry about?"

Carrie was stunned. "You got in a fight with him? You didn't tell me that."

"Yeah I did. That was before we decided to do this though and I didn't want you to think he was approachable or anything." Danny frowned at Kevin, but then realized he couldn't be blamed, so he looked at the ground instead.

"And that's what you got in trouble for..." She said.

Kevin nodded, realizing he'd made a whoopsie, tactfully changed the subject. Looking ahead to where the tree line ended he asked, "Does he have a dog Danny?"

"No. It's just him"

"Hey Danny?" Carrie said fixing him with a look. "No more secrets okay?"

"Alright. I'm sorry, I was afraid. Afraid of what might happen if you came back here on your own. Sure I got in a fight with him, but you didn't see what he did to me Kevin. He fucked me up pretty good. He may be old, but he's also really strong."

"Strong huh? Smell ain't everything." Kevin joked, but none of them laughed at that old chestnut.

"Let's go." Danny said. "Don't step on any branches either. If we're careful, he's never gonna know we're here."

Danny wasn't so sure about that either, but there was nothing to be done about it now. He sent his mind out again. Checking the woods and the wheat fields around them. He detected a vague presence, but by now, he was more concerned with their approach to Duhamel's property. If someone had been watching them, they were either hiding really well, or had lost interest in them. The vibe seemed a long ways off. So they carried on through the wheat field, right up against the edge of the woods now. The shade of the woods kept the sun off them and the air had grown much cooler. They walked in the twilight of the trees and grew closer and closer to Duhamel's field.

---------------------------------

Duhamel sat in his kitchen smiling. His silvery teeth glinted in the gloom of his fetid kitchen. A lone ray of sunlight had infiltrated the soured darkness and lit upon his creased and leathery brow. His hooked nose shone with oil and his dark eyes glittered meanly. He knew the kids were coming. If they thought this was sneaking up on him they'd have to do better than that. He didn't intend to do anything about them right now. He knew they'd be back eventually. Either separately or all together. It didn't matter. He could kill them off one by one or take them all in one fell swoop. Fell was right, he thought. His thoughts were fell, his house was fell, the smell in his house was fell, his appearance was fell and they would fall too, every last one. Including the cops who had been to the neighbour's house across the field. Yes, he knew about them too. He knew everything! He thought, laughing bitterly. Apparently they had found old man Dyment, or what was left of him. Whether they suspected him of that or not, didn't matter. They were planning on watching him. Just like these kids were. They were closing in on all sides now. Not only was he a trained royal guard, he was a master hunter and anyone who understood hunting would know that it was dangerous to corner an angry animal. Especially an animal that was much bigger, stronger and with nothing to lose. They'd find out though. If this meant the end of him then so be it. Maybe the cycle was finally coming to it's inevitable end and that was fine with him. He was getting tired, it had been so long after all. As he let them draw closer, he recalled the last time he'd been surrounded by townsfolk. It was a long, long time ago...

Saint Hyacinthe - Quebec 1869

Charles Beauregard was 19 years old when he forced his way through knee deep snow in the middle of the night. He was heading for the small church at the edge of town. He was the last of the men to gather around the smoky woodstove in the church's tiny rectory behind the nave where the priest lived. The priest himself was busy pouring whisky and brandy to fortify the men who were armed with pistols, rifles, clubs, knives and pitchforks. They were more than prepared to confront a mass murderer, for they were of the belief that Duhamel was less man and more monster. Convinced he had special powers, they had to be ready for anything.

Claude had a pistol and a knife, Henri had a rifle, Jacques had a rifle and a club, Pierre had a pistol and a knife, Pat the Irishman had an ancient pistol on loan fom his grandfather, Andre had a large club with an ugly wad of lead mounted by sinew to the top of it and a dagger. Michel had a bow and leather quiver of hunting arrows and was an excellent shot with it, it was all he used for hunting. Jean-Claude had a large two prong pitchfork, Alain had a four prong pitchfork and a knife. They were waiting for Charles. The reason for his lateness was he'd been convincing his mother, that he indeed must join the men of Saint Hyacinthe as they went to confront Duhamel in his sordid little cabin, some three miles away through the woods and down beside the river. Finally she relented and with a tearful kiss and prayer sent him into the night.

He walked quickly to the church. He was late. They'd be waiting for him, but wouldn't leave without him. Still, he was anxious to get it over with and hated to keep people waiting. Especially for something as serious as this. Although it was a night of a full moon, the sky was overcast with storm clouds that had already dumped over a foot of snow that day alone. The winds were bitter and he was grateful for his big deer skin mitts, beaver fur hat and heavy wolf fur coat. They had all been his father Lucien's before he had died and been acquired from trading with local natives. All except the powerful hunting rifle clutched in his mitted left hand. That had come delivered brand new from Quebec city, wrapped in oily burlap and brown paper inside a long thin wooden crate. It had been his father's pride and joy and now it was Charles' pride and joy.

In his right hand was an oil lantern that struggled to stay lit in the harsh winds, it's flame guttered as he held it out in front of him, creating dancing shadows that kept time with his steps. He plowed through the snow, the freezing air stinging his exposed cheeks. Finally he could see the dark bulk of the church and the lights that burned within. It appeared out of the dark, a beacon of hope on a fearful night.

The front door of the church was open and he welcomed the immediate reprieve from the cold. He could smell woodsmoke, tobacco and whisky and the sweat of nine men hell bent on killing Jean Duhamel, who could only be characterized as an evil little monster. Since Duhamel had arrived in Saint Hyacinthe a year prior, eight people had gone missing. Their mutilated bodies found days and sometimes weeks later. Six of them had been young daughters of some of the men gathered here tonight. One of the victims had been a lonely old widower who lived by himself down by the river and bothered no one. One of them had been Charles' older brother Jacques, killed while hunting Grouse and so Madame Marie Beauregard was very fearful of losing her last remaining son. She had encountered Jean Duhamel by herself, one day down by the river while picking blueberries. Although the man had not molested her at all, she'd been horrified at his filthy and wild appearance. Her instincts told her that without any doubt he was a dangerous person. She assumed that he was some kind of a criminal. Perhaps an escaped murderer.

So she'd begged Charles not to go, and after many attempts at trying to convince him not to, eventually Charles dressed for the cold, took his rifle and kissed his mother goodbye. He was the group's leader, so they waited patiently, smoking and talking while the priest poured strong drink for them. When Charles finally arrived with his new rifle, they began getting ready to leave, they'd been waiting for him for some time now. Stomping the snow from his boots, he then sat for a minute, instructed them to choose partners, fill the oil lanterns and to double check that their weapons were ready for use. He harboured no delusions about how treacherous their mission was. In fact he was very fearful that Jean Duhamel may use magic on them and they had no defense against magic. Charles suspected that he was a Loup Garou. A wolf man. Insane.

Jean Duhamel had blood on his hands and although there was no proof, all the villagers knew it. There was no police force for Saint Hyacinthe in 1869. Criminal matters were normally handled in house. If need be, Though very rarely, they could send for authorities, however this was one time when they did not want police involvement. They could and would handle this themselves, tonight. One way or another. They readied their pistols and rifles while Charles took a couple drinks of brandy. Then the men, convoked for confrontation, stood together while the priest issued a prayer of protection and blessed them with the sign of the cross. They poured out into the night. The priest standing in the doorway watched them fade into the dark, with his robe billowing around him as he shivered, snow pelting his paled face.

The group had chosen this night for the reason that it was a full moon and hopefully would provide some light to see with. They had not anticipated the storm and their lanterns barely lit the way. Visibility was poor in the swirling snow, but they knew exactly where they were going. The first leg of the journey was just over two miles, gradually uphill and they marched in a straight line out in the open, until they got to the top of the rise and the lip of a valley. Here the woods began as a thick band of large, old trees ending just before the river's edge. They paused, eyes searching the woods around them for movement. They would try hard to be as quiet as possible and had extinguished their lanterns. Before continuing, they waited for their eyes to get accustomed to the dark. Then they spread out in pairs, carefully descending between the trees, walking downhill towards the river and Duhamel's cabin that sat in a little clearing. He'd cleared the lot himself, using the trees to build a small one room cabin. There was a narrow path that he used to occasionally go into the village, so he could buy whiskey and tobacco. None of the men used his path on their approach. There was still a ways to go yet though.

This time of year, the river was mostly frozen over and quiet. On this side of the hill they were in a small valley that sheltered them from much of the wind. It was practically silent here, except for the occasional crunch of boots in the snow. Otherwise, they were plowing through fresh powder that clung to their pantlegs and ducking low hanging branches. Their breath clouding around their heads like wraiths in the night.

Pat the Irishman and Andre moved quickly forward between trees, ignoring Charles' hand signals to wait and go slowly. Charles was loathe to call out to them in case he alerted Duhamel to their presence, so he let them go ahead. He was furious with them however. Obviously they had drunk a little too much at the church and were emboldened with liquor, or just defiant of his plan to surround the cabin. Either way they were walking into a trap.

Duhamel knew they were coming. He'd known since before they even began assembling at the church. The priest was a weak minded man and although Jean wasn't able to read his thoughts exactly, he could at least sense his intentions. He'd passed by the church earlier in the day and was able to pick up on the man's excitement, as he gathered food and drink for the meeting that night. It didn't take much to deduce what was going to happen. The suspicions, distrust and hatred had been building since the last two full moons. He'd been right too, because here they were. Coming for him with guns in hand.

Slipping silently through the night he worked to flank the two men that had drawn generously ahead of the rest. They were moving swiftly, but he was quicker. He was a werewolf, a creature of the night now. This was his moon. This was his night and this was his strength. He was a hunter as a man and a hunter as the beast. These were dead men walking. He could practically taste their blood. The thought of it excited him, making him erect for a few moments.

Pat clung closely to Andre. They were side by side, shoulders almost touching, although Charles had told all the men to be exactly ten feet apart. No closer and no further. But Pat was terrified. He had heard the stories about the bodies found without heads, or other body parts missing, large chunks taken from them. What kind of man would do that? What kind of man was this Duhamel that they were sneaking up on? The old pistol shook in his gloved hand, not from the cold, but from fear. He kept looking around frantically, jumping at shadows and whispering desperately to Andre. He was telling Andre that he wished he was back home in front of the fire with a large glass of whiskey in his hand, instead of this heavy pistol. Andre was cold and irritable and the last thing he wanted to hear was Pat whining about how terrified he was. He was frightened too for Christ's sake.

"Shut up!' He hissed, and shoved Pat. "Get away from me you fool! Ten feet apart. Remember?"

Pat stumbled, falling to one knee in the snow. Cursing he struggled to get up. When he was back on his feet again, Andre had already moved on without him. Within seconds he was gone, cloaked by trees and darkness. Scared, Pat whispered loudly for him. "Where are you?"

A deep growl was the reply from just behind his head.

Pat shrieked and whirled around. Standing there towering over him was a black shape. It almost looked like a bear but it was the wrong shape. It was all wrong, too tall, too lean. He could make out red eyes and silvery fangs somewhere over his head. Without hesitation he pulled the trigger of the pistol in his hand and the old gun blew up, mangling his fingers and sending shrapnel into his stomach. The flash from the explosion temporarily blinded him and he was deafened too. His ears rang, that was all he could hear was ringing, but the shape was gone, receding into the darkness. He fell to his knees as blood squirted from the stumps of his fingers. The whiskey had thinned his blood, so it pulsed freely, steaming red in the virgin snow.

Although he couldn't hear himself screaming, everyone else in the dark forest could. Andre being the closest, hurried back to where Pat was kneeling in the bloody snow. He had no idea how to help him and just wished he would stop screaming. Any kind of sneak approach had been ruined now. Pat's screams could probably be heard for miles. Before Andre was even able to react, the black shape had returned. He felt a sudden pressure and dull heat, between his right shoulder and the side of his neck. Before he knew it, he was down beside screaming Pat and awash in his own blood. A huge chunk of his neck and collarbone were missing. While he died from blood loss, he heard the crunching as the creature chewed, eating the part it had taken from his body. The heavy club slipped from his grasp. Then he pitched forward into the snow, faintly relieved that it was over for him now. If it was possible, Pat was screaming even louder, having witnessed what had become of his partner Andre.

Jean the werewolf reached forward and with a twist, a crack and a loud tearing sound, tore the head from Pat the Irishman and hung it on a broken branch. From the branch, Pat stared bemused at his headless body kneeling there, fountaining blood, melting the snow with the heat of life draining away. He was blessedly silent now.

The rest of the group had initially rushed towards Pat's screams until they ended so abruptly, and Charles urged them back. In a hushed and quavering voice he told them to remain in pairs as before, but to tighten their line up a little bit. He also told them to light all their lanterns, for the surprise attack was over. There was no sense in them being blind as well, they needed to be able to see their attacker before it was too late.

"As long as we are within sight of each other, those with guns shoot anything that moves. Even if it is a shadow, shoot at it. I'm serious now, do not hesitate to shoot. Something that looks like a shadow could be him." Charles whispered, hoarse with terror.

They were still expecting to see Duhamel. They couldn't imagine what he had done to Pat and Andre, but they assumed he was just a man and not a werewolf. A terrible hulking monster with glaring red eyes and pewter fangs sharp as shattered glass. They were expecting a human. A brutal killer possibly, but a mortal hominid nonetheless. They weren't prepared for what they were about to encounter.

Nobody wanted to move forward. If Duhamel was outside of his cabin, it was pointless to surround it, but they didn't want to turn their back on him either, so they forged ahead. Maybe down by the river they would be able to see better and at least have a chance to force him into the open.

Jean-Claude and Michel were in sight of each other. Jean-Claude held his pitchfork pointing forward with his right hand, a lantern in his left. Michel nodded for him to hold the lantern higher. He had readied an arrow, pulling it back, holding it steady as a rock. They walked downhill, going slowly. From somewhere off to their right rose a loud howl. It climbed, getting louder and louder, ending in a nerve shattering wail. Jean-Claude whimpered, but Michel shook his head. "Hush!" He said quietly. He forced himself to take another step and another, not thinking about the consequences. Living in each second of time, his eyes pried into the night. Jean-Claude followed, holding the lantern as high as he could with a trembling hand. Suddenly they saw movement and Michel loosed his arrow. They heard it hiss through the air and strike something, his aim was true. There was a grunt and the shadow was gone. Michel smiled knowingly. He had hit him. He'd hit Duhamel with an arrow. He didn't know where he hit him and obviously it was not a fatal shot because he hadn't dropped, but he would be badly injured now and considerably less dangerous. He notched another arrow, his adrenaline surging. The two men moved forward.

Duhamel looked down. The arrow had hit him low in the chest and although it hurt, it hadn't done any real damage. After a brief struggle, he pulled it out and dropped it in the snow. His thick dark blood coagulated within seconds, but he still felt the pain. The hunting tip of the arrow had been bladed and it had penetrated. Now he was really angry. He circled back and took them swiftly. Before Michel had a chance to shoot his second arrow, the Duhamel creature was on top of him. Instead the arrow went up and under his chin and out through the top of his skull. He felt no pain whatsoever and death was instant. That didn't matter to the creature, which plunged it's claw into Michel's body before it fell. Just below the sternum, with the sound of wet, tearing cloth it tore his heart out through the hole and crammed it pulsing and hot into it's mouth.

The rest of the men had their first opportunity to see that what was hunting them was not Jean Duhamel, but some wild animal instead. Like Pat the Irishman they thought it to be a bear and opened fire with their guns. Unfortunately Jean-Claude was still standing behind Michel as his body dropped and he took most of the rounds. Two rifle shots and a slug from a pistol hit him in the back. Jacques, Pierre, Claude and Henri had all fired at the same time in panic. Pierre's pistol shot had missed and pinged off one of the tines of Jean-Claude's pitchfork. Remarkably he was still alive and turned around to face them.

"Help." he said before slumping against a tree and sliding down to a sitting position.

The bear creature was gone again, but they had no way of knowing if, or when it would come back. With three men dead and another dying, the six remaining men rushed to where Jean-Claude sat in the snow. He was gasping for air and blood ran freely from his mouth. Henri was weeping openly and kneeling by Jean-Claude.

"I'm so sorry!" Henri said, clutching Jean-Claude's hand.

"Don't mind me men. I'm going to be with my little Suzette in heaven. All's well. It doesn't hurt a bit, I'm just a little cold."

"Because you're sitting in the snow." Pierre said. They all had a bit of a laugh at that. Including Jean-Claude. He laughed spraying blood onto his chin and died with a smile on his face. Charles was the only one not looking at Jean-Claude's body.

"Back away from him men." Charles said sternly. As their leader, they did as they were told and backed away as a group. Six men, heavily armed. Grim and vengeful.

Duhamel-beast knew he had his hands full with the remaining six. They probably wouldn't separate again and it wasn't going to be easy taking all six of them out. None of the bullets intended for him had hit him, but he didn't expect to get as lucky the next time. He knew a lead bullet wouldn't kill him, but he didn't relish the idea of having a heavy slug, painfully riding around in his body until it was expelled. Healing wasn't a problem, but it would take longer with a bullet lodged in him. If he took one in the eye, it would temporarily blind him too and the pain would be even worse. So he'd have to be careful to escape harm. He ran lightly and quickly back to his cabin and hid on the far side to allow him time to think. He imagined by now they'd be following his tracks...his tracks! That's it! He'd lay down a lot of tracks and get them confused. With all their attention focused on tracking him it would make it that much easier to pick them off one or two at a time.

Of the remaining six men, only Alain was unarmed without a gun. He stood behind the other five men with his four pronged pitchfork, as defense from the rear. Charles was in the middle of the front line, with two men on either side of him. Before they moved into the night, they briefly discussed what they'd seen. Charles was the only one not convinced it was a bear. When asked what he thought it was he said one word. "Wolf." The rest of the men laughed. No one had ever seen a wolf that big before. They'd all seen some very large wolve's in the Quebec wilderness, but never one that stood and attacked men on it's hind legs.

Charles was unable to convince them that it was anything but a bear, so he didn't try. He had a haunting suspicion from the beginning, that what had just attacked and killed three strong outdoorsman was something in legend, passed down from his grandparents. What they called a 'Loup Garou'. If this were a Loup Garou it certainly was fearsome, but according to both Alain and Pierre, shouldn't be hard to destroy. Many farmers spoke of the Loup Garou and how to kill it, only Charles' grandfather had scoffed and warned Charles as a youngster against believing those farm tales. He told Charles that if any of them tried to put one down with a pitchfork, the cursed thing would leap back up again and take their throat out. Many arguments were had at the inn over his telling of wolf-man lore. His grandfather insisted that it would take a silver bullet and only a silver bullet straight through the heart to kill the Loup Garou and end the curse.

So while his mother had been begging for Charles not to go out that night and confront Jean Duhamel, Charles had been busy in the fireplace melting down his grandfather's silver crucifix from his rosary and casting it as a bullet for the rifle. Then crimping it onto the head of a shell positively stuffed with enough grain to blow a man's head off. That was why he'd been late to the church. If it had just been his mother crying for him not to go, he would have simply walked out on her. No, he had work that needed done and that work was making a silver bullet for Jean Duhamel's heart. The five men weren't able to walk abreast of each other because of the trees, but they didn't allow for any free space either. Alain stayed as close to them as possible with his pitchfork held tightly in both hands. By now the whiskey was wearing off and they were all starting to feel the cold. Suddenly Charles raised his hand.

"Stop!" He whispered. "We have two sets of tracks here one of them goes towards the cabin and one goes away from it."

Pierre held a lantern over the tracks. "Come now, Charles. Those are bear tracks if I ever saw some. So what are we hunting now, a bear or Jean Duhamel?"

"Enough, we are hunting both." Charles said curtly, not knowing how else to put it. "Which way man? Which way?"

Henri pointed at the one set leading away. "I'll bet those tracks lead back to poor Michel and Jean-Claude, these ones going to his cabin are the fresh ones."

Charles nodded. "I agree. We go forward towards the cabin. See? It's lit inside and he's probably in there." He hoped.

"Unless the bear got him too." Said Henri quietly.

"Stay close Alain." Henri whispered. "Alain!" Then looking behind them. "Alain?" But Alain was gone. An ugly splash of blood lay in his boot prints, where he'd been just seconds before.

The men froze, looking every which way, their gun muzzles waving back and forth like black pupils of an eye seeking a target to shoot at. None was there. Only the sighing wind through the pines. No sign of Alain anywhere and the snow was too trampled by their boots to see fresh tracks.

"Impossible!" Claude hissed. "I didn't hear a damn thing!"

Charles shuddered. "Duhamel took him. He is a Loup Garou, I'm telling you! Either that or a demon..."

Suddenly, as a group, they all had the same idea and looked up into the trees. He must be up there. Yet he wasn't in any of the lower branches that they could see. Besides, it would be difficult to hide any noise, climbing around in the rough bark of the pines. Instinctively, they went back to back with one another, like a five pointed star, four of them facing out to each of the directions, only Claude kept separate as he was on point. They moved slowly towards the cabin. It was a painstaking process. None of them liked being out here with this creature, or demon, that was able to kill them with ease and seemed to be impervious to their weapons.The cabin at least had the allure of safety, protection from the elements, as well as an end, one way or another to this awful night.

It appeared that the creature had attacked only the men without firearms, Charles thought grimly. Could it possibly be that intelligent? They needed to get to the cabin!

As if reading his mind, Claude whispered, "A little quicker now men. We're almost there."

They moved as a group, back to back, constantly scanning the trees around them. Claude was the only man with a lantern now and he held it high in his left hand his pistol in his right. As they stepped out of the woods into the beginning of the clearing, the ground also leveled out. As soon as they were on level ground it attacked. Jacques saw it coming first and although to him it was only a large shadow, he had now doubt at all what it was. But it moved so quickly! He opened fire with his Winchester repeater. Henri swung his gun around and squeezed off a shot with his bolt action rifle that went high and wide. When he tried to jack the bolt, part of his mitt got caught in the slide. The two men were doomed.

Jacques only had time to fire twice, when the creature hit him so hard it carried them both into Henri, who was struggling to jack a shell into the chamber. They fell on top of each other. The other three men hardly had time to react when the creature was gone again, as quickly as it had struck. Claude, Pierre and Charles pivoted this way and that desperately looking for the monster. Then Claude ran forward to the two fallen men.

"Guys!' He cried. "Are you alright? Who's hurt?"

"Jacques. Help Jacques. He's hurt." Henri said quietly.

Something about his voice was off Claude thought, but Jacques wasn't speaking at all, he was only gurgling. Charles and Pierre kept gaurd while Claude knelt in the bloody snow with the lantern. He was horrified at what he saw.

Jacques' throat had been torn away and hung in a bloody lump. Great torrents of blood flowed over the front of his coat. There was nothing to be done for him, that was obvious. Right now they needed as many men as possible, so he held the lantern up to Henri.

"How about you Henri? Are you injured? Can you stand?"

"I think I can stand, but my right arm is numb. I can't feel it... It hit us pretty hard..."

Claude set the lantern on the ground for a minute and grasped Henri's outstretched left hand, pulling him to his feet. That was when they could see his arm was entirely useless and that he would probably die out here in the woods as well. The arm had been torn free of it's socket and blood ran in a steaming river from his sleeve onto the ground. The white knob of his shoulder was visible, even in the dark. It swung loosley from ligaments and torn muscles. Henri was in shock and mercifully unable to feel pain.

"Ah Christ..." Claude said. "Here, sit back down again." And helped Henri to a sitting position.

Henri cradled his arm as best he could, but even in the light of the lantern, Claude could see his eyes were already glazing over.

A small wet sigh coming from Jacques torn throat meant that he was now dead and Henri would be soon to follow with that bleeding arm. Right now the most important thing was getting to the cabin. The last three men didn't stand a chance against this bloodthirsty demon, for Claude was convinced that was what they were dealing with. Duhamel was a demon, Loup Garou or whatever. The beast was ruthless and would see them all dead if they remained in the open.

Claude handed his pistol to Henri and picked up Jacques' Winchester repeater.

"Take this Henri and shoot at anything that moves."

Henri just grunted. The hand holding the pistol lay in his lap. They would have to leave him here.

He gently removed the glove from the hand of his damaged arm and freed it from the bolt of the rifle. Then he handed the rifle to Pierre, who immediately jacked a shell into it's chamber and took up a defensive stance again. He took another look into Henri's face. It was so pale from loss of blood it was white as the snow, his eyes were drooping and his mouth hung open. He left the lantern beside him anyway. Then standing up, without taking his eyes from the forest, he suggested to Charles and Pierre they should try to make a break for the cabin. They also agreed.

"Alright," Charles said. "if the door is locked, break it down. We ready? On three we run... One, two, go!"

They made a dash to the cabin, Charles making sure that he was last. He had his silver bullet chambered in his rifle now and figured that if they were attacked from behind while running, he might be able to shoot the Loup Garou with it. Furthermore, if it were waiting for them inside the cabin, he would be the last one through the door and hopefully that would give him enough time to aim and kill the creature. If it were waiting for them in there and he were first to cross the threshold, it might attack him before he even had the chance to shoot. Unfortunately, the door to the cabin was on the side facing the river, so they were unable to see the Duhamel-beast there waiting for them.

Claude ran smack into it. He pulled the trigger at the very same time and the bullet passed through the creatures open mouth and out the side of it's wide snout. Then as he was screaming it turned and disappeared around the opposite corner dragging Claude with it as it went. Pierre managed one shot from the Winchester that took a cunk out of a log in the corner of the cabin. Charles came around the corner just in time to see Pierre chasing after them, presumably to rescue Claude.

"No! Don't do it!" Charles yelled after him.

Claude's screams were growing fainter. There were two loud rifle reports in quick succesion and Claude's screaming ended abruptly.

Charles stood there at the door of the little log cabin, panting. He was waiting to see if Pierre would return. When he didn't appear right away, he tried the door. It was unlocked, he ducked inside and locked it. The first thing that struck him was the smell, it reeked of death in the close confines of the one room cabin. The second thing Charles noticed, was how cold it was. There was no fire burning in the little woodstove, nor was there any firewood inside.

Most log cabins of the time smelled of woodsmoke and pine pitch and also whatever happened to be cooking at the time. Duel's cabin smelled strongly of decomposition and nothing else. If there had been a fire in the woodstove to provide heat, it hadn't been lit in quite sometime. Looking around, Charles was also taken with how sparsely it had been furnished. There was one table and one chair, a narrow cot made from rough hewn branches and a single shelf above it with a few personal items on it. There were no items of civility or comfort, like rugs, decorations or small keepsakes. The surface of the table and the floor were filthy with litter, rags and a few bones. Some kind of meat hung from a piece of rope from the rafters, it was this that was giving off the foul odour.

He stepped away from the door but remained close enough so that he could unlock it in a hurry when Pierre came back. He worried that it was taking him too long and knew Pierre wouldn't be foolish enough to try to track the creature by himself. Charles thought he had only rushed around the corner to fire some shots after it and would have been back by now, but he wasn't and there were no more noises outside either. Charles wasn't going to open the door and go looking for him either, the only thing he could do is wait and pray that Pierre returned safely and soon. He stood watching his breath cloud in the foetid and freezing air of the cabin, listening, waiting for Pierre. After several minutes he gave up on waiting. Pierre must be dead by now as well. Just because he hadn't heard him scream, didn't mean a thing. Alain had been taken without any noise at all and he had been part of their group when it happened.

Charles moved from the door into the center of the cabin and removed his gloves so he could rub some life into them. He'd been outside for over three hours now and he was feeling the cold. It would have helped if they had kept moving, but their approach to the cabin had involved a lot of stopping and starting ever since entering the woods, as well as standing in knee deep snow.

Charles didn't know about adrenaline, but the surge he'd felt when Pat the Irishman had been screaming and everything up until their last dash to the cabin was wearing off, causing him to feel tired and cold. It was quickly becoming unbearable. He looked about for anything he could light the woodstove with, but could see nothing. He retrieved the single chair and stomping on it broke it into pieces that would fit the woodstove. He peeled some bark from the frame of the cot to help start the fire, then realized he didn't have any matches. He searched the shelf above the cot for matches but couldn't find any. After looking through anything that might hold matches he had to give up and put his heavy mitts back on.

He hadn't heard anything since losing Pierre, but the wind whining through the cracks of the cabin. It must have been an hour at least and he wondered why Duhamel hadn't tried to kill him yet. He'd gone through all that trouble melting down his grandfather's silver crucifix and molding a bullet with it, so he could shoot and kill the Loup Garou. Now he wondered if he would even get the chance. He didn't think he wanted to go face to face with the creature. It was so damned strong and quick. Even if he was able to shoot it through the heart did that even garuantee that it would drop right away? And if it didn't drop, would it keep coming? The speed in which it was able to dispatch all of the others, if he allowed it to be with him in such close quarters, by the time he pulled the trigger Duhamel would be on top of him. He might be able to kill him, but it would surely mean his death as well. Even so, that would be a noble death, however heart breaking for his mother.

While he wondered if Duhamel was going to return, he heard a noise from outside the back wall of the cabin. It wasn't close and Charles imagined that the noise was coming from somewhere near the edge of the clearing, where Duhamel's path led through the woods back towards Sainte Hyacinthe. He listened closely and heard a low menacing growl. This was it he thought. Duhamel is coming for me. He removed is mitts and stood in the middle of the cabin facing the door, with the rifle pressed firmly against his shoulder. Sighting down the barrel, he compensated for the height of the creature, aiming for just below the top of the door frame and waited. Within seconds it would be bursting through the door and into the path of Charles' silver bullet. He waited and waited some more. Seconds passed, then minutes. His arm started to cramp up and he lost the feeling in his fingers. Carefully he tried to wiggle his fingers, they were slow and stiff. He put his finger back on the trigger and shifted his feet. The wait was grueling. He listened. Now he could hear other growls and realized it was coming from a pack of wolves an not Duhamel after all. They must have found the bodies and were squabbling over the spoils. With a grim chuckle he relaxed and let the rifle drop to his side. where was Duhamel? He must have left. Wolves were relatively timid and would not have risked coming into the clearing unless they thought it was safe. Still, he wasn't sure if he wanted to leave the safety of the cabin yet. Ruefully he wished he had brought matches to start a fire with. It would be terrible luck if he were to survive the attacks, only to freeze to death in a cabin outfitted with a woodstove. He wondered how long until dawn. He sat on the floor facing the door and pulled his fur coat tighter around himself, then pulled his mitts back on and waited.

At some point he must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew there was a terrible banging on the door. He opened his eyes and tried to stand but couldn't, his body was too stiff. The banging continued, now it seemed they were trying to break the door down. He fumbled for the rifle that had slipped from his hands while he'd been sleeping, but even his fingers refused to operate and it kept falling from his hands. With a terrible crash the door splintered and fell inward. Cringing, Charles shrank bank, closed his eyes and prepared for a grisly and painful death. Instead there was fresh air and sunlight. He opened his eyes and saw that it was morning. Standing just inside the door was a man with a rifle pointed at him.

"Wait! Wait! Don't shoot!" Charles yelled. "It's me Charles!"

"Thank our lord!" The priest cried, pushing past the armed man, whom Charles now recognized as one of his neighbours from Saint Hyacinthe. "Charles, you're alive! Oh thank you lord!"

The next thing he knew he was being embraced by the priest. After a brief explanation, the priest pulled a flask of hot coffee, fortified with brandy and held it to Charles' mouth. He drank greedily and with a little help managed to stand.

"I want to get out of here please." Charles said weakly.

"I'm sure you do." Said Priest Weib leading him outside into the fresh air and sunshine. It smells terrible in there.

"To tell the truth, I got used to it. I couldn't even smell it anymore."

Priest Weib stayed by his side helping him, while a man armed with a rifle led the way and Charles' neighbor protected the rear.

"There's bodies of men here in the woods that will have to be brought back." Charles informed them.

"Yes we know." His neighbour said. We found six of them so far. They've all been ravaged by wolves.

Charles nodded silently, wondering to himself just how much had been done by Duhamel and how much was because of the wolves. He decided that they might never know.

Meanwhile Duhamel was already far away and nearing the town of La Prairie. He had already transformed back into his human self. He had warm clothing and boots that he'd taken from a farmhouse he'd come across before sunrise. He would have been alright in the cold without them, since the cold didn't bother him, but he needed clothes for his human disguise. His disguise as a lost hunter, making his way to Montreal. Once in Montreal, he would be able to disappear in the crowds and appropriate a new place to live. Eventually, he planned to leave Quebec entirely and travel by train to Ontario where he would set up a more permanent place to live.

The reason that he'd left Charles behind, untouched in the cabin was that he was aware of the silver bullet in the rifle meant for his heart. All animals have instincts. Instincts that tell them where to hunt, how to survive harsh weather, how to find mates, migrational instincts, maternal instincts and also when predators, or danger is near. Duhamel as the beast was no different. He'd become aware of danger as soon as the men had come within earshot. It was only after he had attacked the first two who had rushed ahead, the weakest ones of the group, that he had learned there was a silver bullet. It had come to him as a foul taste in the mouth and a pain in his chest, almost like the precursor of a heart attack.

Anything silver was poisonous to him and he could detect it from a distance. The fact that it had been shaped into a bullet meant to end his life, had also come as a feeling of fear. These three sensations together spelled out a very clear danger and it didn't take much for him to learn who was carrying the fatal round. So his attacks on the ten men had been well orchestrated, but not without danger. Even a shallow wound from a silver bullet could cause him to become ill for days. This was why a shot to the heart was so lethal to him. For some reason he could survive a lead slug through the heart, or even a silver bullet to the brain, but either one would cause excruciating pain and a slow recovery. A silver bullet to his brain would almost kill him, but one through the heart, even if it were nicked, would cause instant death and transformation into his human form.

So it had worked out perfectly then, that Charles was the last man standing and he had also locked himself in Duhamel's cabin. Even if he had managed to kill Charles, the death of these ten men would have undoubtedly attracted more hunters and eventually also included the authorities. It was inevitable then that he had to leave and it couldn't have gone better. With a smirk on his face, he picked up the main thoroughfare in La Prairie and headed towards a small shop with smoke coming from it's chimney. The story of the slaughter in back in Sainte Hyacinthe would take at least a couple of days to reach here and by then he'd be long gone.

Friday August 24th, 1984. Glen Thomas

The three teens came to the edge of the woods and the corner of Duhamel's land. Hunkering down in the tall weeds they watched his house. There was no movement, but his shitty Datsun was parked beside the house so he must be home. Kevin took his binoculars out of their case and had a look see of the dilapidated house.

"He's got quite the garbage pile going on back there huh?" He observed.

"Is that what that is?" Carrie asked giggling. "Wow what a pig. Does he know that you can put it out once a week and a garbage truck will come pick it up?"

Kevin passed her the binoculars and she had a little look, before handing them along to Danny. Danny looked at the house briefly, then scanned the edges of the property. He was starting to feel nervous now. His instincts told him that Duhamel already knew they were here and he could feel a crawling sensation that someone was still behind them too. It wasn't Duhamel, but he couldn't figure out who it was either. As he was scanning the field beyond the house, he spotted a glint of sunlight flash off of something reflective a long ways off. He tried to locate it with the binoculars but couldn't. Whatever it was that glinted in the sun was gone. It could have been anything though. It could have been someone's car, or it could even just be some trash blowing in the wind. He never would have imagined that it was the police the next property over, setting up their own surveillance on Jean Duhamel and that he was just as aware of them as he was the three kids at the corner of his property. Danny never would have imagined that the creepy presence he'd felt following them this far was Gord Bennett either, watching their every move, with a growing sense of curiosity.

With Carrie and Kevin's curiosity satisfied, they turned back and had lunch under the tree by the pond. Here they hypothesized about Duhamel and his capability to commit murder. Considering the proximity to the railway and Mike's death and then how close Duhamel also lived to the Giffords, Carrie and Kevin were starting to believe that in all likelihood the old man was a serial killer. The question remained though as to how many he might have killed already. The only reason the cops hadn't linked the two with each other, was because Mike's official manner of death was listed as accidental. They didn't know that after Bell and Sam's visit with Doctor Goldblatt, the unofficial manner of death had changed and was rapidly being considered a homicide.

"So what now?" Carrie asked. ""Just wait until this guy kills again and hope the cops catch on to him? Or...What? What can WE do about it?"

Danny looked at Kevin and then back at Carrie. "I don't think Kevin and I can do much about it. I've already gotten in trouble for beating him up, so they aren't going to listen to me. We're not family either. you might have more luck at convincing them to investigate Mike's death more, because you're immediate family. I have the cop's card. The one that took me to show them where Mike was? I'll give you his phone number. Maybe you could call him and tell him that you were friends with Julie Gifford."

"Well that's not far from the truth. I sorta was friends with her."

"Perfect. Make something up. Like, maybe...Julie told you before she died, that she thought Duhamel was stalking her...or spying on her. I don't know. Maybe you could tell the cops, that Julie told you in secret, Duhamel threatened her."

Carrie shrugged. "So how come I didn't tell them sooner? Like right after she was murdered?"

Danny scratched his head for second. "You could say that you were too afraid to, or that you just remembered now."

Kevin was nodding vigorously. "Yeah, yeah! That's a good idea. Even if it's total bullshit, they'll probably believe you. Why wouldn't they? It might be enough to get him arrested and put in jail."

"Hmmm..." She lit a cigarette and smiled at Danny, her eyes twinkling. "I think it's a good idea. I just might do that."

"That way they might at least bring him in and interrogate him and if they do that they'll get a good close look at this guy...it's hard to miss. Old and Ugly is all wrong." Danny added.

Kevin snorted. "Old and Ugly? Is that what you call him?" He asked laughing.

"It's one of the names I have for him. If you met him you'd know what I mean. First of all he stinks something awful. Almost like that's what he wants. I mean, nobody can smell that bad and not know it. So why wouldn't he do something about it? He's ugly as sin and old as the fuckin' hills, but he has the strength of a twenty year old body builder. Like I said, he's all wrong. He looks decrepit and feeble, but that's part of his disguise. He's every part a serial killer." Then he looked over at Carrie. "Keep that knife on you at all times, huh?"

"Yep. Ever since you gave it to me. I'm not afraid to use it either. I'll stick it right in his throat for killing my brother..."

Danny nodded. "Whatever you do, don't look in his eyes, or your finished."

"Why's that?" She asked.

"Something about his eyes. They hypnotize you or something. One second you think he's smiling at you, all buddy buddy like. Next thing you know he's got his hands around your throat. Remember, I've met him twice now and the second time we fought. I almost had him too."

His voice grew soft remembering...

"I had him on the ground and I was pounding his head into the dirt...I was gonna kill him. Something in me snapped and I was gonna kill him right then and there."

"Why didn't you?!" Carrie cried.

"The cops got to me first. The one lady cop hit me with her baton, that didn't stop me and then the other cop busted his flashlight over my head. They pulled me off him I think, I can't really remember. Next thing I knew, I was at the police station, handcuffed to a table."

"Oh my god. I'm sorry Danny." She put her hand on his arm. When he smiled at her, it was a sad little smile.

"No it's fine. He'll get it in the end. One way or another."

The way Danny said it, they had no reason not to believe him.

Kevin got to his feet, brushing grass and dirt from his butt. "You guys ready? Wanna go now?"

"Yeah sure," Danny said, "let's go." He held his hand out to Carrie and pulled her to her feet.

Kevin led the way and as they walked out of the field, Carrie and Danny holding hands, Gord, hiding behind a fallen tree from a long ways off, watched them go.