The Deadly Seeker

Jay Caldwell lifted the coffee cup to his mouth, but the liquid never reached his lips. An eerie wailing cry broke the spell.

What the hell?

He almost dropped the mug as his head jerked up. Not an animal? Then what? The strange sound rode in on the wind.

The young woodcutter had finished eating and settled back in an ancient armchair to read last years newspaper. The old log cabin he called home nestled in a lonely tree-lined alcove on the Bitterroot’s western slope. Outside, timbers creaked, the sheet metal roof rattled, and wind rustled the quaking aspens.

Jay’s eyes drifted back and his mind tried to focus on the old newspaper, a July 2000 edition, found on the pantry shelf. He savored every article, even the obituaries.

Suddenly, the sound rippled through the cabin again. Jay leaped to his feet, crashing the old chair to the floor. “Oh Jesus,” he cried, “what was that?” The remains of the twisted cigarette sprinkled down his shirt and denim pants. The long low wailful cry lasted longer as fingers of fear crawled up Jay’s back. Not like a bobcat or mountain lion, he thought. Maybe a wolf? But no one has seen a wolf in these parts for years. Maybe Mike Jenner would know.

As the haunting sound closed in, Jay hurried out the door to check the dark bay mare.

The horse was gone.

A snort? That must be her back under the aspens.

The hobbles, tangling in the brush, prevented the horse from fleeing and the lantern light reflected terror in her eyes. Long rivulets of sweat dripped from her neck and ran down her shoulders.  

What frightened her? he wondered. His mind raced as his eyes strained to see into the thick night air.

"Easy, girl." The young man soothed the small bay mare. She trembled and felt cold to his touch. He led her back to the cabin, fastened a lead rope around her neck, and tied it to the hitching rail next to the door.

Jay stepped back into the warmth and protection of the log cabin. Nervously, he took the .30-30 Winchester off the wall rack, checked the cartridges, levered a round into the barrel, eased the hammer off, and leaned the rifle near the door.

The cry, louder than ever, filled the air. The skin prickled down the back of the woodcutter’s neck as a large black shadow crossed the window at the end of the cabin.

“My God,” Jay gagged as a cold hard lump lodged in his throat.

Animal-like footfalls, sloshing through mud and water, rounded the end of the cabin trailing the mournful cry.

But it hadn’t rained in weeks ... ?

The mare's sudden scream as she ripped the hitching rail from the posts brought Jay racing toward the door. He grabbed the .30-30 as he dashed out, but the rifle never reached his shoulder. His mouth gaped open and his frightened eyes stared at a tall, dripping wet creature with large pale yellow eyes glowing like deep misty pools.

Jay stumbled back into the cabin. He tried to run, but his arms and legs deadened and his body refused to move.