Hunter Beware
Chapter 1
I'm CJ Sugar Sweet and that was Deep Down with "Break Me." You're listenin' to WolfHour, All - Request for all of you maniacs outtere who're wound toooo tight to sleep. It's twenty past two and we've got more music comin' your way - Ginger, ladies and gentlemen. Who am I kiddin'? Most ladies are too smart to stay up this f'n late, so it's you and me, bros. Let's talk about Ginger. Now that's a leet piece of tail... Belay that. Blue Alert! A mirhatsi has crossed the Barrier. I repeat, a mirhatsi has crossed the Barrier. The following counties are on Blue Alert: Jackson, Brewer, Conley, Dillard...
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As they pulled into the driveway before their house, Paula was gripped by sudden knowledge that something was wrong. The premonition was so strong that she shivered. The skin on the back of her arms pimpled, and she peered into the darkness of a warm spring night through her car window. Her gaze traveled past the grey gravel driveway and the freshly cut lawn to the row of dogwood trees. The danger lay there, she was sure of it, hiding among the crooked branches dripping inky night shadows onto the grass.
Malcolm shut off the engine, killing the lights. Gloom clutched at the car.
"Here we are," he said.
He opened his door and stepped out, leaving her alone. Paula hesitated, her hand on the door handle. This is absurd, she told herself. Who would be hiding here? Oklahoma had no large predators, except for the red wolf reintroduced to the area a few years back. Wolves didn't climb trees. They didn't attack people either, especially not people the size of her husband. They had nothing to fear, except the mirhatsi. And those bastards didn't hide. They waited in the open.
Paula swung the door open and stepped out, her feet in flat-soled Easy Spirit shoes sliding slightly on the driveway gravel. She took a deep breath, faced the trees, and listened, expecting a lithe shadow with claws and teeth to leap at her any minute.
Nothing.
"Honey?" Malcolm's hand touched her shoulder. "Are you okay?"
"Yes. Just jumpy."
He nodded and went to open the front door. They had bought the house recently and at a great price it was a fixer-upper and the location was rather remote. The nearest town, a small, ugly, functional place, full of cheap restaurants and autopart shops, was nearly forty-five minutes away. She loved the ranch-style house and she loved the land on which it sat, hugging the top of a low hill, the planted wood rolling from their lawn down the slope to teeter on the edge of a muddy but picturesque lake. But it did mean that they were isolated. Their nearest neighbor was a young woman, a bank employee, a nice but a bit helpless girl, and if real trouble began, Paula wouldn't be sure who she would have to save first, her family or poor Lera.
Wind came, rustling through the branches. Her heart skipped a beat, and then the porch light came on, offering refuge from the darkness, and she shook her head and went to open the rear door. Gently she untangled their daughter from the belts of a child restraint seat. Leigh murmured something in her sleep. Paula held her against her shoulder and walked to the house.
At least the boys were away at her mother's for the evening. She had been looking forward to a quiet night. If only her unease would go away...
Inside she put Leigh on her bed, briefly wondering why she bothered. Nothing short of a locked door would stop Leigh from a mad dash across the sleeping house to their room and their bed; and they didn't lock themselves away from their children. Unless the moment demanded.
Gently, she pulled Leigh's shoes from her small feet, and put the "My Little Pony" blanket over her. Leigh turned in her sleep, kicked the blanket, and became still.
Sleep, baby. Big day tomorrow.
Tonight of all nights she was grateful for the steel bars guarding their windows. God, what an age. With a sigh, Paula went back to the car to get the groceries, meeting Malcolm halfway, hands full of plastic bags.
"What's left?"
"Some chicken."
She stepped into the night and walked the few steps to the gaping trunk. It was empty.
"Malcolm?" she called. "Did you say there was chicken left?"
He didn't answer; probably didn't hear her. Paula stared at the empty trunk. She could picture the chicken, cut and packed into neat white trays and stuffed into plastic bags with the United logo on them. She had put them in the trunk herself.
Paula frowned. This is silly. She must've put the chicken into the cab. She had done it so many times that the memory was playing tricks on her.
A deep guttural snarl rippled through the night. It came from behind her.
The urge to turn was overwhelming, but somehow, by some animal instinct she knew that to turn around was to die.
The snarl broke into a growl that raised the tiny hair on her neck. It's a dog, she told herself. A large feral dog.
Don't run. Whatever you do, don't run. If you'll run, it will chase and kill you.
Slowly, step by step, Paula began skirting the car. The growl followed. Hot, moist vapor touched her neck and she smelled a foul odor of carrion. Oh God. She edged around the trunk. She could jerk open the car door and dive inside, but then Malcolm would come looking for her and the thing would kill him. Paula kept walking, one tiny baby step at the time, to where the open rectangle of the house door promised shelter.
Seven feet.
Six.
She saw Malcolm walking through the house, heading to her, oblivious to the danger at her back. Lord, no, she prayed silently. If she screamed, he would rush to her and then the beast would rip into both of them.
A mere four feet separated her from the entrance. Malcolm was halfway through the living room. Paula took a deep breath and ran.
She dashed into the house, slammed the door behind her, and braced it with her back. A crushing force smashed into the door with a dull thud. The wood shuddered. Without asking, Malcolm threw himself against it. Paula slid the deadbolt shut with trembling fingers. It hit the door again boom! and they heard a low nasty voice murmuring something in a strange language as if a dozen people spoke the same phrase at once. It laughed, a cackling giggle that arrested Paula's breath in her throat. She clung to the wood.
Quiet scratching came from beyond the door, sharp claws on reinforced wood. It scraped at the top, to the side, at the bottom, murmuring gibberish and broke off. Silence reigned.
Moments stretched, thick and viscous like honey. Paula held on to the door, afraid to step away, afraid to check on Leigh, afraid to speak.
Malcolm took one careful step into the living room and crossed the floor to the window. She never knew he could move so quietly. He motioned her to him, but she didn't dare leave the door unguarded and instead leaned over to see the window. Through the glass and steel bars, she saw the driveway and the car
It sat on top of the car. Humanoid in shape and lean to the point of emaciation, it perched on top of their Vilada, gripping the roof with oversized feet. Black sickle claws curled from its abnormally long toes and they tapped the surface of the sleek plasti-steel, touching but not scratching the glossy paint. Spotted black and blue fur grew in patches along its spine, sheathing its pelvis in a tangled mass. Its forelegs with clawed fingers clutched a pale object.
Its face was horrible. Enormous square jaws, too large for the skull, protruded forward, making the wide flat nose seem ridiculously small. Sharp cheekbones, thick ridged eyebrows, low misshapen forehead. But the eyes, the eyes were worst of all. Small and sunken deep into the skull, they burned with malicious intelligence. They looked human.
The thing shifted. Its jaws gaped, displaying triangular teeth and a long tongue. It brought the object in its hands to its mouth, and Paula realized what it was chicken, still in its tray. The thing bit into the package, tearing the plastic wrapper, and stuffed a chicken breast into its maw, leaving long strands of flesh between its teeth.
It turned, looked straight at Paula, and laughed. That awful cackle chilled her to the bone and Paula thrust herself away from the window and back against the door. Malcolm had moved to the cabinet in the corner and was punching in the code on the small digital lock.
"What is that?" Paula whispered.
"I don't know."
He opened the door and took out a shotgun. She watched him load it, and a realization dawned on her.
"What are you doing?"
"I'll kill it."
"No!" she whispered, suddenly reaching new heights of terror. "Three packs of chicken aren't worth it!"
He gave her an odd look and slid the second cartridge into the chamber.
"Wait!" She was desperate now. "Wait, maybe it's gone."
Slowly she leaned forward, glancing out of the window, and found the bright human eyes mere inches from the glass, staring at her with hungry glee. Paula froze. The thing pressed its deformed face against the bars, so close that she could see the build up of plaque on its yellow teeth. The long agile tongue licked the glass.
"Paula, move!" Malcolm barked.
She knew she had to move, she was in his line of fire, but her feet were rooted to the floor by the intelligence in those awful eyes. She could do nothing but stare, mesmerized. The creature grinned.
Something hit it from the side, knocking it out of her field of vision. A shape flashed by - a shock of pale blond hair - and vanished... And then Malcolm jerked her away from the window.
"Where is it?"
"Something hit it!"
"Lock the door behind me!" Malcolm unlocked the door.
"No!" she begged, but he slammed the door in her face. Through the window she saw him step forward, shotgun staring out in the yard. He paused, turned, examined the door.
"It's gone," he said.
She came to stand by his side and saw four long pale scratches scarring the brick of the outside wall. Malcolm stepped to the wall and put his hand on the scratches. His fingers didn't spread that wide, but if they had, his first three fingers and his thumb would've matched the marks.
"Something dragged it away," he said. "Did you see what it was?"
"No." She hesitated.
"What is it, Paula?"
"For a moment I thought... I thought it looked like Lera."
"Lera?" he said. "Lera from down the hill? The banker Lera?"
Paula stared at him helplessly. "The hair... It just looked like her."
Malcolm looked into the night and then at her, and drew her close. "Let's get inside."
They locked the metal bars and the door behind them and ran to the children's bedroom to check on Leigh.