She grabbed a flashlight and the.22 rifle that she kept propped up in the corner by the back door.
“Chelsea?” she called from the back porch, pointing the flashlight toward the pen. There were two security lights on either side of the barn, but there were still large shadows she couldn’t see into. Sharon tried to use the flashlight, but its weak beam wasn’t powerful enough to reach the barn.
“Chelsea?” Sharon called out even more loudly. Again she thought she saw movement in the barn, so she stepped outside and started toward the gate.
The night was cold and damp. Sharon carried her flashlight in one hand, while the other held the small rifle close to her body in order to keep the robe tight around her. As she walked toward the barn, she thought she saw another flicker of movement.
The beast realized something was coming as soon as Sharon called out. It moved quickly behind the barn and waited. Although it hadn’t caught a glimpse, the beast caught a whiff in the air. The scent was familiar; this creature smelled like whatever had left the strange flat tracks in the clear cut. As its new prey approached the barn, the beast once again detached its senses. Passing through the barn wall, it spotted a pale creature walking on two legs and started in that direction. As it drew nearer, the scent became stronger. The beast was almost to one of the creature’s vulnerable eyes when its newfound prey saw the grisly sight in the barn. The sudden loud shriek of terror startled the beast into opening its eyes, ending the out-of-body movement of its senses.
Sharon had walked into the barn and found Chelsea. Entrails and gore splattered the sandy floor and ropy streaks of blood marred a nearby wall. Sharon’s beloved old mare had been ripped apart. Sharon dropped her gun and flashlight and staggered forward, dropping to her knees near the horse’s head. Kneeling beside the old mare, Sharon put her head in her hands and started wailing.
Outside the barn, the beast once again detached its senses. It passed through the barn wall and approached Sharon, who was now lying across the horse’s bloody neck. Suddenly, Sharon stood, screamed again, and ran toward the house. The sight easily caught her at the gate. A useful memory was found. The beast opened his eyes.
The beast stepped out from behind the barn, but Sharon was already over halfway to the house. There was no way it would be able to catch her.
Lightning briefly lit up the sky to the north quickly followed by a long roll of thunder in the distance. The cold front had arrived in force, but was already beginning to ease off. The rain had been coming down in buckets earlier, but now it was only drizzling.
In the barn Sheriff Bill Oates, Game Wardens Emilio Rodriguez and Bob Ellis, and Deputy Chad Hudspeth stood over the mutilated horse. Greg O’Brien wasn’t far away, leaning on the side of the barn, yawning frequently. Greg had just switched his schedule with Deputy Price and had yet to get accustomed to the 10:00 p.m. to 6:00 a.m. shift.
In the house, a team of paramedics was still trying to convince a hysterical Sharon Perrett that she was in shock and needed to go to the hospital. The night dispatcher, Clara McClellan, was also there. She and Sharon were distantly related, so Bill had brought Clara with him to the scene hoping she could help calm the poor woman.
Bill looked at the tracks beside the horse. “It’s the same animal that got after Edgar Harvey’s cows Monday night.”
Emilio stooped down and traced a finger over one of the tracks in the sand. “These tracks aren’t as easy to make out as the ones in Harvey’s pasture, but, yeah, I think they’re the same.” Emilio turned to Bob Ellis and asked, “Are you sure the rain washed away the prints outside?”
Bob Ellis, who was soaking wet and shaking replied, “Yep.”
Bill walked over to the far side of the barn. “It’s on two legs over here again, and it seems to walk over to there.” Bill walked almost half way through the barn and stopped. “But, it seems the horse reared and knocked it down once it got there.”
“Look at the blood,” Chad said pointing to the stall beside Bill. Bill pointed the flashlight on the gate to the stall and there was blood splattered across it.
“Damn, blood way over there, too? It’s like a butcher’s shop in here,” Greg commented.
“It seems she didn’t rear until whatever was approachin’ got right up to her,” Bill said.
Emilio walked over to where Bill was standing, looking at all the gore and hoof and claw prints as he went. “It looks like she went down swinging,” he said to nobody in particular.
When Emilio got over to his side of the barn, the old sheriff said, “I think we’re looking for a man.”
“What?” Emilio asked with a confused look on his face.
“So I was right?” Greg chimed in, now looking at least somewhat awake.
“Well, Edgar’s cows and Sharon’s horse were tame; hell, Sharon’s horse was practically a house pet.” Bill said, speaking directly to Emilio and ignoring Greg’s input. “They’d run at first sight or smell of a strange animal, but a man could walk up to them without any problem.”
From the other side of the barn Bob said, “That’s not exactly true. Two years ago when Sharon was in the hospital for a week with pneumonia, I fed Chelsea for her. That horse never let me get near her. Chelsea was a one-person horse; Sharon was the only person who could just walk right up to her.”
Frustrated, Bill’s cheeks turned a shade redder. He turned to the game warden and snapped, “Well, Bob, we can probably rule out Sharon hacking her own horse to death.”
Bob started to reply, but warning glances from Chad and Emilio caused him to remain silent. Bill’s temper was already starting to flare, no sense in adding fuel to the fire.
“I’m open for suggestions,” Bill said, still red-faced. He looked at each of their faces, waiting for a reply, but got none. Everyone stood silent. Even Greg’s ever-wagging tongue remained still. Bill hadn’t said ‘by God’ but it was certainly there in his voice.
Finally Emilio spoke up. “I think you’re right. I mean it would be a lot easier for a human, even if it’s not Sharon, to get close to Chelsea than it would be for an animal.”
There was another pause as Bill got up and walked to the back entrance to the barn, followed by Emilio. Water was trickling off the roof from the rain, making little conical impressions in the damp sand at the entrance to the pasture.
Bill kneeled down and studied the first tracks. Then he looked up at Emilio. “Any word from A&M on the cows?” Bill asked, although he knew the answer; they had only been sent off yesterday afternoon.
“Not yet,” Emilio replied.
“We’ll need to call’em on this one, too,” Bill said, studying the footprint again.
“I left a message on Doctor Bolinger’s answering machine before I left the house.”
This caused a slight smile to creep onto Bill’s weathered face. At least someone’s on the ball, he thought. He looked back up at Emilio and asked, “What do you think’s goin’ on here?”
“I don’t know, Sheriff. Maybe it’s like those cattle mutilations you hear about from time to time in New Mexico and Arizona.”
“They don’t leave tracks in New Mexico and Arizona, and they’re much more methodical. Whatever did all this was anything but methodical,” Bill said, pointing at the gore scattered throughout the barn.
“True. I was just…” Emilio paused, searching for a word.
“Reachin’?” Bill injected.
Emilio smiled. “Yeah, reaching.”
Bill stood up and put a hand on Emilio’s shoulder. “Me too, son. Me too.”
They walked back to the others. “I want pictures of the barn, the prints, the blood, the horse, everything,” Bill said. “If you use less than five rolls of film, you didn’t use enough.”