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“It had bugs.” Roger said it like he just uncovered the Holy Grail, his breath resounding loudly through the wires.

  “What do you mean bugs? That’s no big deal.”

  “On the contrary, Sheriff; the bugs were no ordinary bug. They looked like tiny red polliwogs. You know … before they turn into frogs? They are, or I should correctly say were, complete organisms, that actually propelled themselves in the plasma.”

  “Roger, could you make this more to the point? What do you mean were?”

  “As I said, they propelled themselves. Yes, yes! Right out of my office. They are gone, all of them. They rose up from the sample under the microscope, attracting each other like a magnet, and then went flying out my open window. They appeared to swell as they converged, I don’t understand why. They were almost microscopic, how could they enlarge like that? When I reexamined the sample, the only thing left was a smeary residue.” Hudson did not know what to think. He felt calm yet his heart thumped wildly. What the heck did all this mean?

  “Sheriff; are you there?”

  “Yes, Roger. Thanks for your help.” Hudson prepared to hang up, ignoring the last of Roger’s words.

  “The creature, Sheriff; what about the creature? Did you—?” Silence descended as Hudson replaced the telephone, Roger completely forgotten. He sat at his worn desk trying to make sense of the recent events. Two missing bodies … Eli’s mysterious death by fire, sinister holes at both scenes and now the baffling, yet ominous, laboratory results. The time had come to inform Robert. He wondered if he could get away with a phone call instead of a command performance. Drumming his fingers restlessly on his desk, he made an easy decision.

  With the telephone in his hand, he dialed Robert’s number, hoping the party line was clear. He wanted to get this over with. Thankfully, Robert picked up. Updating him on the investigation didn’t take long. The news about the laboratory results produced an unexpected reaction.

  “Did I tell you to mess around with that hole? And what makes you think they are related? Big deal. I do not want to hear any more about Netty, her infernal pet and their tails or these damnable holes. Do you understand me?”

  “Robert, you need to calm down and listen to me.”

  “I don’t think I heard you correctly, Hudson. Are you trying to tell me how to behave?” The sheriff felt the ice in Robert’s voice seep its pernicious fingers right to his stomach. He needed to tread carefully.

  “Robert, I understand you just fine. Let me check one more thing. Remember Netty’s young drifter?”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about.” Losing his temper, Hudson let Robert have it.

  “I know exactly what you did to that innocent kid, Robert. You did not have to do it like that, just to get him out of the way. You had other options. You always take the easy way out. Do you think I don’t know everything that happens in the jail? Or exactly who is on your payroll?”

  “Well now Hudson, looks like you have a bee in your bonnet so why don’t you just spill what is on your mind.” Robert’s demeanor changed so quickly Hudson’s radar went on high alert.

  “We can settle the question of coincidence if we check the grave where you buried the kid.” Silence greeted the proposal. “Robert? Where is he buried?” Silence. “Robert.”

  “All right, Hudson. You can check the grave. But you better prepare for some irregularities.” Robert’s voice sounded off. Where were the confidently arrogant intonations of the old Robert? Something was up, for sure.

  “Why don’t you fill me in, Robert? The whole story, please.”

  “Yes, I did have him taken care of in the jail. When the boys came to collect the body, it had already been sent to the coroner’s office. He was just a no account drifter, no family. They assumed Potter’s Field would be fine for burial.”

  “Robert, why don’t you tell me about the body?”

  “Err, yes, the irregularities. It seems the drifter exhibited some of the same strange affectations we found on my unfortunate deceased wife.”

  “Affectations, that’s what you call them? Are we going to continue to dance around this or are we going to start calling a spade a spade? What’s it going to be, Robert?” For some reason, prying information out of Robert was like trying to convince a high school virgin to give it away to the school dork.

  “Alright; he had a tail. And something was wrong with his blood. It was all over the cell floor. It glowed. And it wasn’t red. We discovered something else during the prep for burial. It seems he was growing wings.”

  “What do you mean, wings? As in to fly? Those kind of wings?”

  “Yes.” The word came across the telephone wire as a fearful whisper.

  Hudson held the telephone to his ear, not doubting what he heard, just astonished. It was not the information that he expected. His stomach began to grumble again. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead.

  “I need to look at the grave. You know it must be done. Get me the location so I can figure out what is going on.”

  “What do you mean, what is going on? There is nothing going on.”

  “Robert, don’t give me that. Are you blind? You think Eli’s death was an accident? Well, it wasn’t. He was not alone in that shed. Now, get me the location so we can deal with this.”

  “All right, I will get back to you. But do not even think about sharing this information with anyone without my permission or I will have your ass.” The old Robert—clearly back in control.

  Chapter 11

  Sheriff Hudson cautiously eased the police car to the curb in front of the two-story colonial that sat next to his target house. He looked carefully at the target, seeing no one in the neat green yard that led to the cheery white ranch style home with vibrant flowering window boxes.

  Emerging quietly from the patrol car, he held one hand behind his back, the contents hidden. Crouching, he quickly sidled up to the door of the house, finding it unlatched. Peering into the small window in the door, he decided the coast was clear. He slid his big body inside the house, softly closing the door with a loud click. He held his breath, praying the sound did not carry to the other rooms. He heard the clink of dishes from the kitchen. He would launch his attack from there.

  He saw her at the kitchen sink, her back to him. He knew she would squirm like a hungry pussycat if he could get her underneath him. He licked his lips as the nape of her neck inflamed him.

  Slowly, so silently, he crept closer, his hidden hand coming forward as he wrapped his other arm around her waist, forcing her to face him as his lips descended onto hers; demanding a kiss from the most beautiful woman in his world.

  “Ummm … what a surprise. Are these for me?”

  “None other, my love.” He held out the bouquet of bright multi-colored roses; always her favorite. He looked at Marne’s aging face, her smile still wide and bright; every line familiar and safe, and loved. When she looked at him, really looked, and smiled that smile … his heart flipped just the way it did when he fell in love with her so long ago.

  “I have the bags all packed. I thought we would eat a quick dinner before we go. It’s a long drive.” Marne moved from between his arms to hunt for a vase for her flowers. Finishing with the flowers, she whirled to face him.

  “I love my roses. You sure are the guy that knows my soft spot. But hon, would you mind?” Her face radiated a mixture of sweet apology and maternal love. He knew what was coming.

  “Can we bring the flowers with us? For Em? She will love the colors.” Hudson looked at his wife, tears coming to his eyes.

  “Of course, my love, you’re right. She will love them.” And with that, she stepped back into his loving arms.

  ###

  As Hudson drove into Em’s town with Marne and the roses at his side, it was early morning, the overcast sky not yet willing to yield to the demands of the rising sun. They had driven up the night before, staying at a comfortable nearby inn so they could get an early start, wanting to spend as much time with Em as possible before the
y had to turn around and go home.

  Turning in the road to the modest brick group home, they were surprised by fire trucks and police cars with their flashing lights. Parking the car, they hurried into the reception area, encountering Mrs. Post, the housemother.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Hudson … I did not expect you so soon.”

  “Good morning, Mrs. Post. Why are the authorities here?” Sheriff Hudson’s tone reflected a passing interest, sure the incident was minor.

  “Well … er, perhaps you might join me in my office. I will ring for the nurse. She will have Emily join us there.” Hudson and his wife exchanged startled glances.

  “Wait a minute. What is going on? Did something happen to Em?” Marne gripped Hudson’s arm tightly, the roses threatening to slip from her hand.

  “Please, Mrs. Hudson. Relax. Emily just had a nightmare. Come. We can talk in my office.” Visibly relieved, the Hudsons allowed themselves to be ushered into the housemother’s cramped office. Settling Marne into an upholstered armchair Hudson stood behind his wife. Mrs. Post sat at her desk with her hands clasped, her tone, sympathetic.

  “Last night Emily woke up screaming. She seemed to be in the grip of hysteria. Calming her down took hours. She refused to sleep in her bed, forcing me to take her to my room where I made space for her in my bed. I hope that you do not find that presumptuous.”

  “No, no … of course not. Did she say anything about the nightmare?” Marne’s concerned voice mixed with confusion.

  “Emily actually does not admit to a nightmare, Mrs. Hudson. We just assumed her story arose as a result of a nightmare.” Hudson raised his hand as if to cut off Mrs. Post.

  “Please tell us exactly what my daughter said.” His unexpectedly hoarse voice drew startled glances from Marne and Mrs. Post.

  “Of course, sir.” Mrs. Post continued in hurt tones. “Emily’s story centered around the claim that a monster wanted to get in her window. She insisted she was not asleep. She said the monster stared at her and took a few swipes at the window before her screams woke us. When we entered the room, we did notice some gunky slop on the window, probably from a large bird smashing itself on the window pane. The fact that she is on the second floor convinced us she just had a nightmare.”

  “Why are the police and the fire department here?”

  “That is another matter entirely. This morning I happened to inspect the back yard, just looking for anything unusual in view of Emily’s nightmare. Oddly enough, underneath her window, I found a hole in the ground. It was not there the day before. The smell of sulfur seemed to rise from the hole. I dropped a pencil in and could not hear it land. So, I called the police. They called the fire department because of the safety issue.” Mrs. Post abruptly rose to her feet. She stared at Hudson, mouth agape. “Sir, are you okay?” Hudson’s legs went out from him, forcing him to grab on to the back of Marne’s chair.

  “Get my daughter in here, now.” Turning to Marne who sat with a shocked look on her face, he demanded. “Go pack her clothes; she’s coming home with us.”

  “Honey, what’s wrong? You are scaring us.” He put a tired hand on her shoulder. Attempting to force a lighter tone, he let his words silence their questions.

  “Marne, we will discuss this later. Please pack Em’s clothes quickly. We will send for anything else. I want to be out of here in the next twenty minutes.”

  “Mr. Hudson, this is quite irregular.”

  “I’m sure it is, Mrs. Post. I’m sure it is.”

  ###

  All the way back home to Newtown, Marne’s questioning pensive eyes weighed him down. She knew they could not speak of the matter in front of Em and would bide her time until they got home. So he better have a good explanation for her. At the moment, he didn’t. God knows, he cannot tell her the truth. So, he withdrew into himself the whole six-hour drive as Marne sang nursery rhymes to their thirty-one year old daughter as she played in the back seat with her favorite doll.

  ###

  “But why do you have to go now? Can’t it wait until Monday? And you still have not explained this mad decision to bring Em home with us.” Marne looked like she was holding tightly to the very last lock on her temper, her patience beyond exhausted.

  Hudson closed the door to his closet, his sheriff’s jacket in his hands. He sat on the bed next to his wife, putting his arm around her.

  “Baby, do you trust me?”

  “Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I trust you, Hud? Please tell me what is going on. And what does it have to do with Em?”

  “Honey, I think it might be time to bring Em home and introduce her to the rest of the family. I want you to call the kids and invite them over to Sunday dinner. We need to do this now.” He looked into her eyes, flickers of trust, love, confusion, and was that a hint of fear? It broke his heart to do this to her, but he knew no other way out. He just needed to check one more thing before he made up his mind. He rose to his feet, pulling Marne up with him.

  “I love you more than my own life. Did you know that, Marne?”

  “Yes, Hud. I knew that from the day I married you.”

  “Is Em still sleeping?”

  “Yes, Hud.”

  “Promise me you will not let her out of your sight.” She nodded her head, the questions still in her lovely eyes. He took a finger and traced the curve of her lips, caressing the side of her face as he bent down for a final kiss. Lifting his jacket from the bed he turned and left the room.

  ###

  Sheriff Hudson stood in the cool graveyard, pulling the collar of his jacket tighter to ward off the bite of the northern wind that claimed the graveyard as its own. He clutched a piece of paper in his hands; directions to Netty’s lover’s grave. The poor kid, so needless. He made his way down the rows of unmarked graves, wondering where the boy’s family lived and if they had given up on his return home. Funny, he didn’t even know the young man’s name.

  He followed the directions that led him to a dip in the topography of the graveyard, creating a shallow crater that sheltered him from sight. Not that he had any company in the graveyard, except for the unclaimed forlorn bones of the indigent, nestled in their ignoble final roost.

  Hudson counted carefully, following the directions to the correct grave. But he need not have bothered. He only need search for the grave that looked like a bomb exploded from the inside. Like the one in front of him. Compressing his lips until they turned white, he leaned over the edge of Netty’s young lover’s grave, finding it empty; just as he expected. Bad time to be right; very bad time …

  Hudson knew he did not have to bother to look for the expected holes at the bottom of the grave. His nose clearly detected the faint trace of sulfur he knew emanated from them. Just like the holes beneath the window of his daughter’s bedroom. Mrs. Post fortunately interrupted the monster before it abducted Emily. Or killed her for the same reason it killed Eli. Revenge. Now the monster appeared to be extending its quest to his family. Why? There must be an unfathomable connection between the monster and Netty’s unorthodox family. If the monster just wanted to kill him, opportunities presented themselves every day. Why go after Em?

  Hudson suddenly fell to his knees, a germ of a thought, previously relegated to the recesses of his consciousness, arose mightily to claim its rightful place as the only true answer to his impossible question. It was not just revenge. It was vengeance. It wanted him to suffer before it killed him. The monster could think and reason. It has a plan. It wants him to feel pain and loss; just as they caused it to feel the pain and loss of Netty, her lover and the unusual creature brutally and callously murdered by Eli. Was that it? Oh, my God! Hudson rocked back and forth on his heels as realization of the danger he put his family in hit home. The monster wanted him to suffer as it killed his family.

  A tear escaped a brimming eye as he arose, a resolute solution filling him with regret and sadness. He wiped his face with the back of his hand and started the trek back to his patrol car. One quick stop at his office and he cou
ld put an end to the threat to his family.

  ###

  Sheriff Hudson hurriedly finished the letter to Marne, slipped it into an envelope and held it to his heart. He took a last look around his office, then stepped out to Hilda’s desk.

  “Hilda, I need you to do me a favor. This needs to stay between us, do you understand?” Hilda looked blankly at the sheriff.

  “Of course, Hud, what do you need me to do?”

  “I want you to take this letter and give it to my wife.”

  “Your wife? Don’t you want to give it to Marne yourself?” Sheriff Hudson placed a shaky hand on Hilda’s shoulder.

  “Hilda, I am asking you for a favor that must stay between us. You must promise me. No one else can know.” Hilda frowned, looking searchingly into Hudson’s face. She apparently read something in his expression that said he meant business.

  “Sure, Hud, I will be happy to do this for you.” She took the envelope, placing it in her purse under her desk as Hudson watched. Turning back to his office, he slowly headed for his desk, closing the door behind him. He sat down in his worn desk chair, took a deep trembling breath, focused on the photo of his Marne, took out his service revolver, held it to his temple and pulled the trigger.

  Chapter 12

  Life moved on for all involved in the strange covert murders on Lily Pond Road. Robert’s men found their lives initially took a huge turn in prosperity, as he paid handsomely for the silence of his henchmen.

  The loss of Eli unexpectedly grieved Robert. The fact that Robert was his employer failed to diminish the rousing camaraderie and confidence they shared, executing Roberts’s despicable and illegal deeds for well over two decades.

  He refused to return to Lily Pond Road after his men reported the fire and Eli’s death. A simple telephone call to Sheriff Hudson directed the matter to his capable hands. Unfortunately, the disturbing results of Hudson’s report terrified him. Putting Netty behind him no longer appeared the effortless proposition he first anticipated.

  The sheriff’s death shocked the entire tri-county area. The day after Robert relayed directions to the drifter’s grave, Sheriff Hudson returned to his office and blew his brains out with a single shot from his service revolver. He left an adored wife, three adult children and two grandbabies. Robert heard unsubstantiated rumors that he left his wife a suicide letter with some sort of purported explanation that allowed her to carry on with her head held high, unlike the wife of a man that took the coward’s way out. He would have put a lot of money on the bet that Hudson did not have a cowardly bone in his body. So … why the suicide? And unaccountably, his entire family, including his adult children and their families, left town for parts unknown after the funeral. Why the rush? What were they running from?