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Chapter 14: If at First You don't Succeed...

                As they rode home, Harold asked his dad, "So will you help me?"

                "That's a pretty interesting thing we happened to find, huh?

                "Dad don't change the subject. You said we'd talk about it in the car. On the ride home. Here we are. Will you help me or not?"

                His dad sighed, and his shoulders slumped, "Harold."

                "Dad."

                "Look..." He couldn't find the words, so he slapped 

the steering wheel. "It's a bad idea. You tried it once, and look what happened to Joe. I do not want- I will not let you put yourself in the same danger."

                Harold felt anger. But he also felt sympathy. "Dad I know. But I'm not asking you to let me get hurt. I'm asking you to make sure I don't. You said we'd talk about it."

                His dad let out a laugh with no mirth, "Well you said it: here we are. We're talking. Speak."

                Harold collected his thoughts and then: "I want to see that thing die. It's a menace. I want revenge. But I also want to protect ourselves- we aren't safe with that bastard prowling our neighborhood."

                His only nodded.

                "Well what do you think?"

                "I agree. It needs to go. I want it killed. I don't feel any of us are safe- not right now. Not after what happened. But I do not think you and I are more qualified to manage this problem than the authorities."

                "How many police are they gonna put in our neighborhood tonight? And if they don't find it how many the next night? How many nights until they stop sending patrols? How long will they commit animal control to the hunt, if they can't find the beast?"

                "Good questions, but only if you assume they aren't going to find it the first night, or the second."

                Harold shook his head. "Dad, I don't think they'll find it ever. Look, whatever it was obviously smart enough to avoid our trap- and I still think it was taunting us with the piss. And it was smart enough to ambush Joe while he was alone, strong enough to... It's not a coyote."

                His dad kept his eyes on the road. "Maybe you're right. But animal control is thinking way ahead of us. They'll be ready. They'll be using more appropriate bait. I'm sure the investigators who looked at the scene know exactly what they are looking for."

                "I don't think so dad. I..." Harold tried to voice his suspicions, but his face flushed and he felt deeply embarrassed.

                After a moment his dad coaxed him, "What is it Harry?"

                "Dad I don't think it's an animal. Not anymore. I think it's a ghost or demon like the museum guy said."

                "No. He didn't say it was a ghost or demon- he doesn't even know there was an attack. All he knew about was the skull and he didn't say he suspected anything... supernatural. Nobody did. They only looked at two artifacts. That were buried in our yard. They have nothing to do with the animal that attacked Joe."

                "Dad, it also killed Rufus. And it defiled his fucking grave after we buried him. All of this started the very night we found the skull and removed the spear."

                "Yes. But that has to be a coincidence."

                "Does it?"

                His dad did not answer, so Harold filled the void, "It doesn't. I know it sounds insane. But think about it, we dug up the skull of a predator. Jammed in the skull we found a metal spear, etched with words of exorcism and the defeat of a ghost-demon-wolf, with some unknown alphabet etched on its other side. That night a predator kills Rufus. Up till now, I'd buy the coincidence idea. But then the next night it digs up Rufus' grave? Why?"

                "It was still hungry. Coyote's and prey animals return to their kills. That's a fact."

                "Dad there was nothing to return to, it was a collar and some back bone."

                "Well?"

                "Ok, how far will you take this? The thing mauled a strong 17 year old kid... to death."

                His dad clenched his lips, and weighed this all silently.

                "And there's something else dad. I had a really weird dream the night Rufus was killed. I forgot about it until now, but in the dream the skull was talking and chewing on my hand."

                "You had a weird dream. An animal...." But he gave up half way through, and sighed. "I know it looks like more than it is Harold."

                "Dad what if it is more than it looks like?"

                "Then what the fuck could we do about it?!"

                "I don't know. But I think it has something to do with that spear. Maybe it's as simple as putting it back in the skull. Maybe we need to bait the bastard again, and use the spear to kill it. But shouldn't we try something- wouldn't anything be better than nothing?"

                His dad weighed all this silently, then, "Not if it puts you in danger."

                "Dad, I have to try something. And I shouldn't do it alone."

                "Do what? Bait a wolf or bear or something and attack it with a spear? You shouldn't do it at all, regardless of whether you're alone."

                "Dad, we'll bait it together. But I'm not going to attack it with a spear."

                His dad laughed. "Oh you expect me to do it? I love you Harold, and I'd fight a bear for you if it was attacking. But I wouldn't provoke one just because you want me to."

                "Dad, why would we fight it at all. If you get your shotgun out of the gun safe, we can just bait it and then stand on the deck, waiting for a shot. If it's really just an animal like you say, that'll be the end of it. If it's something more then... I don't know, but we've got the spear. Besides, I'm positive hiding indoors and pretending there's no problem wont make the problem go away."

                They pulled into the driveway and his dad grunted. "Okay Harold. We'll sit up tonight. Not because we are going to be fighting ghosts or demons. But because we need to put this superstition to rest- Joe was not the victim of some demonic scheme. It was vicious and it was tragic, and it sucks, but it was done by a flesh and blood creature."

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                While they still had light, they set up the bait, this time out in the open. Harold's dad placed the chairs on the deck, and set a cooler with beer and water between them.

                Harold went to fetch wood and lighter fluid, but when he came back, his dad told him- "Just leave them on the deck. No fire tonight. It'll spook the bastard."

                "When was the last time you went shooting dad, let alone hunting?"

                "Don't worry about that Harold. It's like riding a bike. Probably."

                "How come you never took me hunting?"

                "I stopped hunting when I grew up. No time. And I never enjoyed it to begin with. Didn't like the act of killing random animals. Felt... rude. But..." He looked at the shotgun, and started loading in slugs, "This animal isn't random, so I won't mind it so much."

                His dad shrugged, and cracked open a beer for each of them.

                Harold looked at the beer, and grinned. "Really?"

                His dad winked and laughed. "Oops, never mind, you give that right back!"

                They drank.

                "Yuck." Harold grimaced.

                "You don't like it?"

                "Not at all."

                His dad laughed even harder, "That's because I gave you the shitty beer. Why waste the good stuff on someone who's got no tastes."

                Harold grinned, and passed the beer back to his dad.

                The sun was growing redder, and sinking over the horizon. Crickets were testing the air with their song, and Harold felt closer to right than he had all day.

                He checked his phone, hoping for a text or call from Emily- but there was nothing. So he set it aside, and took the skull out of his backpack. He set it on the table in front of them. He took the spear head as well, and leaned it against his chair. "I missed art class today. While we wait I'm going to try and get caught up on the in-class assignment. Gotta draw this out."

                His dad sipped his beer.

                "Harold, I'm sorry."

                Harold frowned.

                "I'm sorry about this. It's bullshit- all of it. Nothing that happened is ok, or fair, and part of me hopes that bitch shows up tonight, so we can give it justice."

                Harold could only manage a nod.

                His dad smacked his shoulder, and nodded too.

                Harold bit back his tears and focused on his drawing, tracing the contours of the skull to a sheet of paper carefully, using the last light of the evening as best he could.

               

The skull

                Then the sun last light of the sun failed, and the porch light kicked on.

                "What about the light dad? Won't it scare the thing away?"

                "You're probably right, but without the light I'll no longer be a deadeye." He drew a bead on an imaginary target, and mimed a shot, "Pow!"

                But he flicked off the light anyway, and their eyes quickly adjusted to the paler watch of the moon.

                "If it's a tossup between shooting nothing in the light, or shooting poorly in the dark, the choice clear. Besides, if I don't think I can make the shut, you can hit the light and I'll blast the motherfucker."

                But the night wore on, and the hours whiled away.

                They did not speak, for fear of breaking the hush and alerting their prey.

                Harold's energy was focused, he could not relax. His dad however set down his fourth can of beer, and propped his feet up. "I'm gonna have to pee soon. Hopefully that fucker doesn't come while I'm gone... But, let me show you how to aim, just in case."

                He explained- not once, not twice, not even three times. On the fourth iteration, with extreme emphasis on safety, Harold cut him off, "Dad, jesus I know it's dangerous. I'm not going to point it at anything but the ground, unless the thing strolls up. And I'm gonna leave the safety on unless the it needs to be off, and my finger won't touch the trigger, unless it has to."

                "Good. And, you'll probably miss. So don't fire unless the thing is close enough, and you are certain to hit. I guess I should have taken you shooting, just once so you'd know how to do it right." He stood up, and pulled Harold up with him, to see how he held the weapon. He adjusted his form, and stance, and said that was fine for the two minutes it'd take for him to pee.

                Then his dad went indoors, and Harold watched, his tension like coiled snake ready to spring.

                He dared the motherfucker to show up. But the motherfucker did not show.

                His dad came back, and took the shotgun.

                They settled back into their chairs, "It's a good thing that animal didn't show while I was gone." His dad said. "I'd get in trouble for firing a gun here, but I'd get in more trouble for letting you do it. Still, given the circumstances I think the neighbors would probably be happy if we, you know."

                The moon gave them enough light to see, but there was nothing worth looking at. Not a sign of movement.

                Harold imagined the four of them the night before, gathered around the fire. He imagined the glow of the fire, the circle of warmth and safety. Then he wondered if the beast had been watching them, and knew it surely must have. He imagined it, lurking in the shadows outside the rim of fire-light, eyes peering through the bushes. He imagined it's glare, full of hate and hunger as it waited for an opportunity to draw their blood.

                And his heart was filled with a cold fury.

                It was early morning when he realized his dad was snoring.

                Harold picked the shotgun up off the table, and aimed.

                He hated the fact that demon existed. He hated the fact that Joe was gone. He hated the fact that part of him was relieved that it hadn't been Emily.

                He again pictured the monster spying them from the darkness. Harold could see it, weighing it's option. Could see it licking its lips and its teeth, in anticipation, as it looked at each of them in cruelty: Joe, Kait, Harold himself, and Emily.

                And he swore he'd hunt the fucker to the ends of the earth before he ever let it harm Emily. He stayed wide awake and kept a constant vigil throughout the night.

                But the ends of the earth must have been far away just then, for nothing stirred to draw his aim, and when the sun cracked darkness of the Eastern horizon, Harold was disappointed.

                He roused his dad, who woke with a start.

                "Shit. Sorry I fell asleep."

                "It's ok dad. Nothing showed anyway."

                "Dammit. Well, maybe we'll hear some good news from the pros..."

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Chapter 15: Hear some Evil, See some Evil...