“Did you get to Mrs. Baker’s car?” James asked.
“I was just headed that way,” Guy answered, still reclined in the chair.
“Did you get the parts ordered?”
“Shoot,” Guy said with a snap of his fingers, “I knew I was forgettin’ somethin’.” Guy put his half-eaten donut down and picked up the phone and started dialing.
“Well, its past eleven now, too late to order,” James said in a sharp voice, then he walked through the back door of the office mumbling, “Guess I’d better get to work.”
Guy put the phone back on the receiver, got up, and followed James into the shop, “Somethin’ botherin’ you, James?”
“No, sir,” James said, still trudging away from Guy.
“James, could you humor an old man and talk to me for a minute?” Guy said in a voice that had a touch — just a touch — of sternness in it.
James stopped and turned around. His face was flushed and he looked down at the floor. Guy could read the shame in his face. Guy asked, “What’s eat’n you, son?”
“We’re just so behind,” James started, then shrugged.
“Is that all?”
“Yeah.” James muttered.
“You sure?”
James shrugged again. He sat leaning on the edge of a toolbox, drawing a little circle in the dusty concrete floor with the toe of his work boot. “I snapped at Angie this morning. I guess I’m a little upset at myself.”
“Well, it seems somethin’s been botherin’ you for a couple of weeks now. Is there anything you need to talk about?”
James thought briefly about telling Guy about the dreams, but he decided against it. “I haven’t been sleepin’ all that good, that’s all.”
“Well, you know if you need to talk to someone just come to me.”
James smiled weakly. “Thanks, Guy.”
Guy grinned and said. “Now get in that office and call up that lovely lady of yours and apologize before you end up sleepin’ on the couch for a week.”
James did just that.
It was a cloudless night. The moon was full and the stars were out, giving the beast’s already tremendous eyesight extra range. The beast sat on its haunches in the bushes on the far side of the pasture watching a large four-legged creature on the other side. It closed its eyes and sent its senses forward. Its detached senses crossed the long pasture until it caught sight of a large roan mare galloping for a barn near the front of the pasture.
A front was moving in, pushing cold air ahead of it. The cool October wind was blowing hard, making the old horse frisky. She had been running through the pasture for most of the afternoon, kicking her hind legs and tossing her head like a colt. This playfulness continued into the night until the wind shifted, bringing a strange smell to her nose. Sensing danger, the horse immediately ran for the barn.
The beast’s senses caught up with the fleeing horse and entered her mind through her right eye. It quickly found a familiar memory. Then the beast opened its eyes and started across the field and toward the barn. The beast approached cautiously. When it was about halfway to the barn it raised itself and continued walking the rest of the way on two legs.
Once in the barn, Chelsea stopped running and began nervously prancing around in a circle, pawing the ground and snorting loudly, taking several cautious glances in the direction of the pasture. The strange smell was gone, but not the fear.
It wasn’t long before what appeared to be Chelsea’s owner stepped into the barn from the direction of the pasture.
“Hey there, girl,” the beast said in a soft woman’s voice.
The horse snorted, then turned hesitantly toward the source of the familiar voice; it still sensed something just wasn’t right.
“It’s all right, Chelsea,” the beast said in the soft feminine voice, approaching the horse slowly with one hand held out.
The beast continued to approach slowly, and the horse relaxed and began walking to meet it. As soon as the beast had the horse in its reach it swung a clawed hand at her, but just as it did the big mare sensed danger and reared. The blow, which would have ripped into the horse’s neck tearing vital arteries had she not reared in the last moment, tore into the horse’s left shoulder, making four ugly gashes. Her hooves pawed the air and caught the beast in the chest, knocking it to the ground. Chelsea then turned and ran out the front of the barn. The beast got back on all fours and ran after her.
The front of the barn opened into a small, fenced-in corral, with a gate facing a brick house that was situated on a hill about a hundred yards away. In her panic, the horse crashed into the closed gate. Despite Chelsea’s size, the heavy iron gate held. She turned and tried to run past the beast and back into the barn. As she passed, the beast lunged, hitting her hard in the side. Long claws sank deep and were dragged down her side as she kept running. The horse trumpeted loudly in what could only be described as a scream of pain. The beast lost its grip and fell behind her, but was able to reach out and grab one of her hind legs as she tried to flee. It pulled hard on her leg, causing the horse to stumble.
Chelsea might have made it into the open pasture on the other side of the barn, where, despite her wounds, the beast would never have been able to catch her, had she not fallen and broken her front right leg. Still, she struggled to regain her footing, but it was too late. The beast attacked, using the claws on both its hands and feet to bring down its prey.
The beast was busy enjoying its hard-earned meal and didn’t see the light on the back porch of the house come on.
Sharon Perrett had lived by herself since her husband, Terry, had died almost ten years ago. Terry and Sharon had been high school sweethearts who married right out of school. He worked offshore and she was a champion barrel racer. Long ago the team of Sharon and her horse, Chelsea, won several rodeo barrel-riding competitions. Unlike many teenagers who marry right out of high school, Terry and Sharon enjoyed a great relationship. When he was in from work they were inseparable, and while he was away Sharon spent all of her time riding Chelsea and waiting for him to come home.
On February 22, 1993, a helicopter bringing Terry and several other offshore hands from a rig in the Gulf of Mexico crashed in a storm, killing everyone on board. When it became known that the helicopter had taken off from the rig despite repeated warnings of foul weather, the relatives of the victims became part of a major settlement with the oil company.
After Terry’s death, Sharon quit barrel racing. She said she just didn’t enjoy it anymore. She used her settlement to buy a large piece of land outside Newton and had a house built there. The rest of the money was put in the bank for her to live off the interest. Sharon was attractive, young, and now quite wealthy; she could’ve had just about any man in the county, but she chose a life that included only her and Chelsea, who, at sixteen years old, was now getting up in years.
Sharon woke to the sound of Chelsea running in the corral, but thought the horse was just enjoying the cool air. She tried to go back to sleep, but then she heard a loud crash followed by what sounded like Chelsea scream and take a fall.
Her hands groped along the nightstand, knocking the alarm clock to the floor. Finally, she found the light switch. She quickly put a robe on over her nightgown and started down the hall. From the kitchen widow thought she could see movement in the barn, but she wasn’t sure. She couldn’t hear Chelsea running anymore — was she hurt? Hurrying toward the backdoor, Sharon told herself she was overreacting, that everything was okay and she would be laughing at her own silliness in no time. Still, her hands were trembling by the time they reached for the switch that turned on the back porch light.