American Monsters E-Book

Wayne Kyle Spitzer

• Herausgeber: Wayne Kyle Spitzer
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

He’d stepped on the gas considerably—all that adrenaline from feuding with Tucker, I suppose—and no one noticed the buck standing in the middle of the road except me until— “Jesus, look out!” —until it struck the grill like an oncoming vehicle and tumbled up against the windshield, breaking it into a thousand spidery rings, and smearing it with blood as the truck careened wildly about the road and finally came to a rest in the ditch. It didn’t take long to access the damage, and the short of it was: we weren’t going anywhere—other than on foot. The old Ford had a crushed radiator, and, somehow, a flat tire. I’d never see Danny quite so upset, quite that livid, and I guess I never will again. As for Tucker, he seemed more bemused by the situation than anything, and volunteered to stay with the truck—but really just the kills—while the rest of us hoofed it into town—to fetch a tow truck, I suppose. It was Billy who first noticed the thing’s eyes, and called us all over. Sure enough, the buck was a dead ringer for the one I’d missed in the clearing, right down to the red diamond above its snout. It even had 13 tines. After checking the doe in the payload by holding open its eye, Danny said, “Some kind of disease, maybe?” “I ain’t never seen a disease that turns eyes white,” said Billy. “Yeah. Me neither,” said Danny. He exhaled sharply, looking down at the thing. “Okay, that settles it.” “What do you mean,” said Tucker. “What do you think I mean? I mean it can’t be eaten. We don’t even dare butcher it until someone from fish and game has a look. So guard your prize, asshole. But I wouldn’t get too attached if I was you.” “Is that so?” “Yeah. That’s so.” He turned to the rest of us as if to say, Ready? We were.  

Leseprobe

AMERICAN MONSTERS

by

Wayne Kyle Spitzer

Table of Contents

Title Page

American Monsters: Horror Stories

REIGNDEER

CLOUDS

EQUINOX

SADIE

Copyright © 2018 Wayne Kyle Spitzer. All Rights Reserved. Published by Hobb’s End Books, a division of ACME Sprockets & Visions. Cover design Copyright © 2018 Wayne Kyle Spitzer. Please direct all inquiries to: [email protected]

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this book is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

REIGNDEER

The fawn had barely opened its eyes and begun to breathe, Danny having carefully cut open the dead doe’s amniotic sac and severed the umbilical cord, when Tucker stepped forward and shot it clean through the eye—splattering the crisp linen snow with blood (more than a little of which sprinkled Danny) and causing everyone to jump, especially me.

To understand what happened next one would have had to been there for the entire trip—for all the jests gone too far and the constant, incessant bickering, for the bitching about where to go and even how to get there, for the bitter rivalry which had developed between the oldest and most experienced of us, Danny and Tucker.

All I know is Danny launched himself at him like there was no tomorrow right there in the middle of the glade, his arms sort of swinging like a windmill and his fists flying like you see in hockey fights, so that Tucker lost his balance almost instantly and tumbled back into the snow. I don’t know who would have won if we hadn’t broken it up—probably Tucker, who’d always been a mean bastard. If it hadn’t been for the appearance of the buck I’m not sure we could have, frankly.

“Hey now, hey, hey, hey!” shouted Billy, who was holding back Tucker as I held Danny. “Holy shit, look!”

“Knock it off, Billy,” cursed Danny, who’d begun trying to take off his coat. “No one fires a gun two feet from my fucking head and ...”

But he’d seen it too, just standing there at the edge of the glade: a fully-grown stag—easily a 10-pointer, maybe even a twelve—it was difficult to say considering the distance and the sun’s glare.

“Get off me,” said Tucker, wrestling with Billy. “I said get off me!” He shoved him hard and Billy fell ass-end into the snow—which should have been enough to startle the buck into flight, but didn’t.

“I say it’s the Beav’s,” said Danny, and everyone agreed but Tucker—of course. The Beaver was me, because I was the youngest and had a cowlick. I guess.

“I don’t know, Danny. The last time didn’t work out so—”

“Just do it,” he said, and handed me his Scout rifle. “Use this. Merry Christmas.”

I took the rifle and handed him my own.

It felt good in my hands, like my Uncle Fred’s guitar, which always seemed to give me something even though I couldn’t play it. It was something about the shape and heft of the thing—it inspired confidence, courage, focus. And its scope was wide and clear so that the buck’s face veritably leapt out at me as I sighted it.

“Easy now ... what do you see?” said Danny.

I moved up one of the buck’s antlers slowly and steadily, counting the tines. “One ... two ... three ... four ... five!”

“On one side?” Billy interjected excitedly.

“Six ... seven. One side.” I moved to the other antler and counted to six. “13 total. A 13-point buck.” I lowered my sites to its head and steadied my grip. That’s when I noticed the unusual mark on its head, like a red diamond, right between its eyes. Its foggy, white eyes.

I must have stared at them for a long time, because I remember Tucker saying, “Well, what are you waiting for?”

“I think its blind,” I said.

“So? All the more reason to put it down. So put it down. Or I will.”

“I thought newborn calves were a bit more your speed,” said Danny.

“Hey, fuck you. Who the hell brought its mother down? You?”

“Hold up, there’s another,” said Billy.

I took my eyes off the buck long enough to try to see what he was talking about. Sure enough, another buck had appeared just beyond the tree line, not ten feet from the first. There was a sudden movement and I squinted through the scope in time to see the first buck vanish in a blur—but squeezed the trigger anyway, on reflex, I suppose. The resulting crack! caused the winter birds to explode from the trees and the gathered reindeer to scatter—dozens of them, their movement having betrayed their true numbers. Then they were gone and the gunshot had finished echoing down the valley.

At last Tucker said, “That’s great, asshole. That was beautiful.”

“Step off him,” warned Danny, and handed me my gun back.

“You want to make me?”

“Shut up, Tucker,” said Billy. “Let’s just pack up and head home ... been a shit-trip, anyway.” He added, “At least we got the doe.”

“I got the doe,” Tucker corrected him. “And the calf.”

I can’t tell you what was said after that because I was still looking at the tree line and thinking about the buck’s foggy, white eyes. And remembering, for whatever reason, a quote from the Bible: Thou shall not boil a kid in its mother’s milk. And as I did so I remember the scattered deer slowly coming back ... coming back and just watching us as we loaded the doe and its calf—each of which bore a red diamond on its head, just like the buck—into the bed of Danny’s truck. As we loaded our cheeks with snuff and our iPods with rock and roll. As we popped open beers and guzzled them before crushing the cans in our cold, blue hands.

––––––––

“Jesus, look, there’s another one,” said Billy, craning his neck as we blew past the deer. I did likewise and saw it step out onto the road, still watching us.

“How many is that? Fifteen? Twenty?” I watched until the buck disappeared around a bend. “I’ve never seen deer act like that. It’s fucking weird. It’s like they’re all the Shape or something.”

“The what?” Tucker was looking at me through the rearview mirror like he always looked at me, which is to say like he wanted to kick my ass.

“The Shape. Michael Myers. You know, stab-stab?” I jerked my fist in the air.

“Sorry, fresh forgot my English/Geek dictionary.” He looked out his window at the pine trees rushing past. “We should be shooting them. It’s not like we can’t come back and get them later.”

“Not from my truck, dickhead,” snapped Danny. He glanced into his sideview mirror—nervously, it seemed.

“Hey, eat shit, man, you want to go again we can just pull over right—”

“Fuck you, dude.” Danny stabbed at the air between them with his finger. “Just fuck you. Not a goddamn word, you hear me?”

He’d stepped on the gas considerably—all that adrenalin from feuding with Tucker, I suppose—and no one noticed the buck standing in the middle of the road except me until—

“Jesus, look out!”

—until it struck the grill like an oncoming vehicle and tumbled up against the windshield, breaking it into a thousand spidery rings, and smearing it with blood as the truck careened wildly about the road and finally came to a rest in the ditch.

––––––––

It didn’t take long to access the damage, and the short of it was: we weren’t going anywhere—other than on foot. The old Ford had a crushed radiator, and, somehow, a flat tire.

I’d never see Danny quite so upset, quite that livid, and I guess I never will again. As for Tucker, he seemed more bemused by the situation than anything, and volunteered to stay with the truck—but really just the kills—while the rest of us hoofed it into town—to fetch a tow truck, I suppose.

It was Billy who first noticed the thing’s eyes, and called us all over. Sure enough, the buck was a dead ringer for the one I’d missed in the clearing, right down to the red diamond above its snout. It even had 13 tines.

After checking the doe in the payload by holding open its eye, Danny said, “Some kind of disease, maybe?”

“I ain’t never seen a disease that turns eyes white,” said Billy.

“Yeah. Me neither,” said Danny. He exhaled sharply, looking down at the thing. “Okay, that settles it.”

“What do you mean,” said Tucker.

“What do you think I mean? I mean it can’t be eaten. We don’t even dare butcher it until someone from fish and game has a look. So guard your prize, asshole. But I wouldn’t get too attached if I was you.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. That’s so.” He turned to the rest of us as if to say, Ready?

We were.

––––––––

We’d walked about two miles when Tucker jogged to catch up with us.

“Twenty dollars says I can get back here before you do,” he said, trying to catch his breath.