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CHAPTER THREE

The loud barking of the stupid dog, down by the creek, interrupted his thoughts again. As usual, the dumb one was barking at his own shadow. He hated that dog. Hated it with a cold demon passion. The voices inside his head seemed to recede into the distance. Just when he was beginning to tune in the one so clear. Usually, it was just a clamor inside. Recently , one voice had become much more distinct and demanding. He knew he was lost until he could figure out what it was the voice wanted. All he could do is sit and wait.

Suddenly, the voice became very clear and insistent over the baying of the hound. “KILL IT”, the words blared through his mind like a preacher on the corner with a megaphone, “put the suit on and kill it”. “Not the bear suit again”, he thought back out loud, it was so stuffy inside and it hadn’t dried out completely from the last use.

Still, he walked to the closet and pulled the suit out from behind the rack of clothes where it was hidden. He was careful not to brush any of the other clothes with it. It would not do to spread the blood, coating the long sharp claws, onto his other clothes. He stuffed himself inside with well remembered moves, pulling the head down over his face and positioning it so he could see out through the eye holes.

It felt like a second skin as it clung to his sweaty body. Inside the suit, the voice became even more magnified. “Quickly now, taste the blood soon, feel its’ warmth running over your jaws and down your throat.”

“Who are you?”, he questioned the voice silently.

“You know who I am”, it replied.

He shuddered, because he knew. Yes, he knew.

Quietly, he slipped out the back door, down the steps, and out into the woods. He was at the creek almost before he knew it. The voice talked to him the whole time, “Kill it, kill it”, over and over again. It became his song, his mantra and he found himself humming its tune under his breath.

Wading down the creek, he found the bear suit was getting heavy. So heavy, that the claws were brushing their tips across the surface of the clear running water.

Climbing out of the creek, and up the bank, through the uncut weeds and tall grass, he paused, listening for the bark. Hearing it he fell on all fours and crawled across the meadow towards the unlit house where the dog lay.

It was all he could do to keep himself from laughing, but he knew if he did he would lose control and continue with the demented laughter that had overtaken him before. So, he smothered the laughter inside and kept crawling forward.

The dog lay guarding a prize between its paws, casually munching between barks. He was protecting his prize with care. Sniffing the air, he caught the scent of the bear, and his lips curled back in a vicious smile, showing all the white bloodstained teeth, nose pointed toward the creek and the clump of manzanita the bear suit was hiding in. But he would not leave his toy. He curled possessively around it as the bear suit crept closer.

“Kill it”, the sing song continued its horrendous chant.

He lept from the manzanita bush, falling onto the prone dog, claws ripping at the throat. His teeth met the resistance of the dogs’ backbone and hesitated, just a second, then crunching through and severing the spinal column. He continued to chew until the head fell away from the dogs’ body.

Swallowing the last bits, he turned to look at the prize the dog had been protecting. “I know you”, the voice said to the half consumed head lying at his feet. He reached for it, bit off the left ear and still chewing, kissed Jay full on the mouth

Moreover, the dog, was silent.

CHAPTER FOUR

Something was very wrong. Zeb could feel it as he walked out of his shack into the cold of the morning. The sun hadn’t had a chance to peek above the mountains in the distance and he could see his breath in the coolness.

He wasn’t quite wide awake yet and it took a few moments for it to register in his mind, the dog wasn’t barking.

He had lived long enough by himself that he had grown used to the mutt yelping. He thought of it as a lullaby to put him to sleep every night. At first it had bugged him but over time it became one of the many sounds in the silence. Funny how uncomfortable it made him feel when he didn’t hear it.

Zeb had a problem, he didn’t like people. Didn’t like the boisterous laughter or unceasing talk.

His friend, Jay lives on the other side of the ridge in his own little shack. Dave lived in the valley on the other side of Jay’s place. He got along fine with them but he was convinced that they were all a little crazy anyway. Like Dave who lived in the woods but still wore his linen suit. Juat strange enough to be Zeb’s better friends.

He hadn’t been visiting for a couple of weeks, so after relieving hinself in the bushes, he headed over to see what Dave was up too.

He walked the trail he had made, skirting around the neighbors, across the creek, through the field towards Dave’s back door. the bugs were buzzing like miniature chainsaws around his ears irritating him like the low hum of conversation in a busy restaurant. He climbed the steps and pounded out a ryhthm on the doorjam.

No answer. “hey dave”, he yelled, opening the door and peering into the darkened interior of the small cabin. He couldn’t believe the smell.

“Something died in here”, he shuddered to himself, pushing the door the rest of the way open. Then he saw Dave. Hanging from the rafter with a goat leash wrapped around his neck. His teeth had been sharpened to points and dried blood was caked around his lips, down the front of his chest and all over the suit that he wore.

Flies were caked in the empty eye socketw, rippiing little bits of flesh off of the hanging carcass.

“what the hell happened to him”, Zeb asked out loud as if to ward off the evil he felt in the room. The moving, buzzing flies made it seem as if the corpse was giving him knowing winks, and the sharpened teeth were sp;read wide in a devilish grin.

Zeb almost ran out in a hurry just to get away from the crazy scene but his curiosity got the better of him, and he started to look around the room to see what else he might find. Like a suicide note or something. As he paced across the flooor he heard the sucking sound of his tennis shoes sticking to the floor with each step. He looked down and saw that he was tracking blood all over the room.

“No use being careful now, I guess”, he said continuing to speak out loud just to keep himself company, “what do we have here?”, the bearsuit was lying on the chair opposite his hanging friend. “Wonder why he did it?”. He picked up the bearsuit and watched the blood drip off of one long sharp claw.

“Wonder what this thing is for?” he asked the air as he slipped one arm after another into the suit. Stepping into the legs and pulling the head down so he could see out through the eye holes. “Ah, perfect fit”.

The hysterical laughter made his head ring and he sat down with a thud and started laughing uncontrollably. His bowels loosened and the foul aroma filled tahe suit. He wasn’t really afraid. He was used to his own voices.

Zeb got up and wandered out of the house, down into the valley..

“Mary Jane bring me my rifle I think there is a bear after the sheep”.

Mary Jane brought the rifle and handed it to him. Wally always kept the rifle loaded for just these occasions. He put the rifle to his shoulder and fired. The first shot was wide to the right, just a hair. The bear wandered on, almost drunkenly as if it hadn’t noticed that it was being shot at.

Zeb wandered through athe field, unaware of anything around him.

Wally’s second shot took the top of the bear’s head off and sent splinters of flesh flying in all directions. “Well that is one that won’t be bothering us again”.

CHAPTER FIVE

The old man sat at the fire, squinting at the needle and thread in his hands. His fingers moved slowly, drops of blood, purplish in the firelight, smearing as he pulled the needle roughly through the edges.

The firelight cast grotesque shadows of an old man with gnarled claws. Jabbing himself once again, he started as the man in the shiny black suit spoke.

“So, when is this one to be finished?”.

The twisted figure, turned a piercing gaze and replied, “Just a few more moments and you can have it to take”, then he turned back to his work.

“And our contract for the rest, still stands? The trigger for each one is still the same?”.

“Yes, you will get the rest as we agreed, the barking of a dog triggers each one as before”. the old man said brusquely as if hating being disturbed from his work.

“Good, I like to take care of business first thing”, the man with the shiny shoes said, setting himself down native american style, legs crossed, scuffing the brightness off the shiny and getting dust on the black suit.

The two sat there in silence. Their differences, reflected in the shadows were startlingly similar. The old man finished off his work by knotting the thread and biting through it with his sharp pointy teeth. The man in the suit saw that the old man’s teeth were bleeding red rainbows in the firelight.

“Good job. I’ll see you next week then”, and with that the man in the suit, rose, and gathered the garment into his arms.

The old man sat nearer the fire as the door closed. His eyes gleamed with the glint of polished steel and a cackle rose in his throat. Reaching over to the pile, he pulled the next one into his lap, picked up the thread and needle, and continued working far into the night.

The man in the suit drove back down the gravel road towards San Francisco. As he made his way closer to the city, he spotted a wide pull out and parked in the shadows. Walking back to the trunk, he opened it and took out two magnetic signs. Attaching them to the front doors of the dark blue sedan, he got in a continued towards the city. The lights from the tollbooth lit up the magnetic signs. They said “National Costume Rentals”.

Parking his car in front of a small dark shop, he took the costume inside, locking the door behind him. The eyes of the hyena costume seemed to follow him until he was inside.

Putting the package away in a roll out drawer under the counter, he reached for the black old fashioned cradle telephone. Quickly dialing the numbers he said to the receptionist that answered, “Doctor Johnson please, Mister Neely calling”.

“One moment please”, the girl answered in a slightly bored voice, then the line clicked through.

“Craig Johnson speaking”.

“Yes, Dr. Johnson, this is Mister Neely from National Costume Rentals, calling to let you know that your costume has just arrived today. Would you like me to deliver it to you or would you rather stop by for it?”.

“I’ll pick it up in the morning if that is all right”.

“Good, I’ll see you then. goodbye sir.”. Hanging up the phone Mr Neely checked again to see that the front door was locked for the inside, turned the shop lights low. Loosening the buttons of his clothes he then unzipped the proprietor costume and stepped out.

Hanging the suit on the rack with the other costumes, the real Mr Neely wandered towards the back of the store and his living quarters. He didn’t notice the wide eyes watching him from outside the front window. Nor did he notice a few minutes later, those same blue eyes watching as he smiled to himself in the mirror on the wall, admiring the sharpness of his pointed teeth.

Lighting a small kerosene lamp, he turned on the television and he settled down for the evening. The nightly news was reporting about a rancher shooting a bear that was after his sheep. Only the bear turned out to be some old hermit wandering around in a costume. A healthy young woman was interviewing the tearful couple.

Mr. Neely got up and pulled the curtain between his room and the shop. The last thing the watching eyes observed was the shadow of a knarled humpbacked bony old man with long claws, flickering on the wall.

The same shadow flickered on a different wall. as the needle and thread continued its dance, around and through.

CHAPTER SIX

Rob leaned with his head against the cold brick of the building. He recognized the green splattering on his worn tennis shoes as the lunch of salad and refried beans they served him at the mission.

After leaving his home in the mountains of northern California, almost a year ago, he had encountered one mishap after another. Now he found himself living on the streets and in the alleys of the city. He was also drunk again, a habit he had been getting much more experience at. Not one he would pursue in his hometown of Hayfork. No, the hometown folks expected much more out of the star high school quarterback.

As he felt the coolness of the brick against his forehead, and the beginning of impressions from the pebbles in the brick, and waiting for the earth to return to its proper axis and rotation, he caught the dark sedan pulling to the curb , in front of the little costume shop across the street.

Stumbling his way across the street, Rob made it halfway towards the car when a tall dark suited man got out. He removed a large bulky package from the trunk and entered the shop, locking the door behind him.

Lurching up the curb and onto the sidewalk, he pressed his face against the cool glass. Peering in the interior of the small dim shop, the piercing eyes of the hyena in the window, sent icy fingers up his spinal cord. The eyes seemed to look right through his skin. Ignoring the beast, he watched as the man made a telephone call. Then he watched as a deformed old man stepped out of an unzipped costume. Shaking his head to clear his eyes, he continued to watch as the man went into the small apartment, at the back of the store, and turned on the t.v.

Rob gasped in surprise. That was his neighbor, Wally, on the news with a coroner van in his pasture, loading what looked like a bloody bear onto the gurney, and into the back of the van.

Rob pressed his ear to the plate glass window but the sound was turned way down on the t.v. so he couldn’t hear what the newscaster was saying. He turned back just in time to see Wally walking off with the sheriff. The man then pulled the curtain across the doorway of the back room, throwing the shop into complete darkness. Except for the glowing eyes of the hyena.

Unwilling to face the eyes of the hyena, Rob turned towards the street and slid down the front of the building. He was thinking of all the fishing and hunting trips he had taken with Wally, days spent wandering through the woods without a care.

Rob knew he shouldn’t sit here on the street like this, but he found that he couldn’t move. So he closed his eyes, just for a moment, he told himself.

A few moments after his eyes closed, two shadows detached from the side of the dumpster and slithered across the dead street toward him. Upon reaching the prone figure, they proceeded to remove his shoes and all of his clothes. Leaving him lying naked in the darkened doorway, the shadows fled up the street and around the corner.

Rob woke feeling the cold of morning against his bare skin. With eyes still closed against the beating of the sun against his hung over face, he reviewed the dreams he had. He hadn’t slept well. All through his dreams he had been chased by a small crotchety old man with glistening sharp pointed teeth, and of tall men with top hats that magically turned into small demons. When he did get around to opening his eyes, it was no great surprise to find himself nude. Evidently whoever had stolen his clothes had also pushed him far enough back into the doorway that the police patrols had missed seeing him.

He grabbed at a floating page of newspaper blowing by, and used it to cover himself as he leaned back into the corner. As he roused to his surroundings he was encouraged that it seemed to be just after dawn and there wasn’t much traffic on the street. He could hear the garbage collectors truck making its grinding munching noises, about a block away.

As Rob started to stand up, the glowing eyes of the hyena in the shop window sat him back down again.

Holding his head in both hands, it all came back to him, “No, it was all part of the dream, it had to be, the little man climbing out of the costume. Wally and the bear, just a dream”, he muttered to himself, but as he gathered himself up to make the dash to the alley across the street, his eyes caught the headlines of the paper spread across his lap.

Man in Bear Suit Killed by Neighbor

“So it is true”, he said out loud, just as the Porche drove up and stopped in front of the shop. A youngish, blonde man jumped out and headed straight for the doorway Rob occupied.

“Oh shit, of all the people, just my luck”, Rob said to himself, immediately recognizing the bulky blonde frame of Dr. Craig Johnson of Hayfork.