Fever[moon] // {Beasley & Sinful}
Not a single leaf stirred in the early dawn rising over the town’s acres of land. The crystalline lake was calm and still reflected the night sky, which was beginning to fade now that the sun was overriding the moon and stars. They glittered feebly, as if straining to keep their brightness, to not disappear with the indigo-and-onyx façade they were surrounded with. Strobes of pink and orange and purple stretched across the sky and pierced the surface of the lake, changing the slate water to a more complex puzzle of colors. Suddenly, a fallen leaf parried in the breeze that was picking up, and floated down from its former perch on the birch tree’s branch and steadily idled down to the lake. As soon as the crisp, orangey-red foliage came to rest on the water, it caused a ripple to break, and then the morning became alive.
Birds presented their usual morning song and took flight, their wings shuddering in the air gleefully. Squirrels darted along branches and raced around trunks, chittering and squabbling to one another. A fox raced out of its den, already on the hunt for a few berries or stray scraps of meat. Tall crab grass, slightly browned, rustled and parted, revealing a slithering snake that forked its tongue as it prowled through the dewy blades of growth. Near the lake, a cautious deer bent its neck to drink, her fawn nestling against her flank.
Everything seemed normal. Nothing looked out of place, and the wildlife of Lakeview, Washington was going as usual as any other day in mid-fall. Until a strong gust of an autumn morning wind battered the lake’s surface and reached the nostrils of the deer. The doe snapped its head up, its ears going flat against its delicate skull, nostrils flaring at the stench that now seemed to coat everything. The serene, picturesque morning of the lake was shattered as crows began flocking a corpse, cawing madly and pecking at the lifeless body. At first one may have identified it at a reasonable amount of distance as a large animal, such as a deer or maybe a good-sized dog. But on closer inspection, it was not an animal. It was a human.
Shredded clothes still lingered, though everything else had been reduced to a bloody carnage. Pink skin was torn like leather; bones, both white and/or bloodied, others still showing signs of sinew and muscle, poked out toward the sky from the carcass or were scattered about. Severed fingers lay not far from the human’s arm, half of it torn out of the socket. The other arm was nowhere in sight. The legs were spread apart and bent, showing as much brutality as the rest of what remained of the body. The face of the human was grotesque, splattered with gore, the skin split raggedly, blank eyes still somehow showing fear. The broken jaw gaped uselessly, drying blood trailing out from the corner of ruby lips. Blood soaked the ground. Whether the human had been male or female was unknown, yet a few paces away from the body was a hand, possibly from the missing arm, and showed it hadn’t been alone. A ripped leash, covered in muck and blood, lay in the palm and was twined around the dead fingers. Some feet away, where a few more birds were crowding, was nothing but a few ghastly strips of what had been.
The scene was beyond horrifying. It was beyond brutal. And it was only the beginning.
---
Despite the ghastly scene by the lake, unknown to anyone for the next few hours, it was a day that Lakeview was proud of. Though it was fall the weather was pleasant, and anyone waking up to a window of sunshine would agree. Stepping out of the shower and running a towel over his hair, Dylan Jamieson was one of the few that could take it or leave it. Swiftly moving from the bathroom to his bedroom, just across the hall, Dylan shut the door behind him and flung his towel off his body and reached for his clothes. Dressed in dark jeans that fit him just tight enough and throwing on a light gray t-shirt, some kind of gothic graphic printed on the front, Dylan snatched his Hollister sweatshirt and backpack and left the room.
In the kitchen downstairs he could smell the bacon and eggs his foster mom was cooking for breakfast, and his stomach growled loudly on cue. Sliding along the stair railing he nimbly jumped down on the ground, set his pack and hoodie by the door, and sauntered into the kitchen. Looking up from the stove Rainey Jamieson smiled at her son and shook her head as he picked a strip of bacon off the plate she was setting the cooked meat on. “Have a good night’s sleep?” she asked.
“As always,” replied Dylan, smiling in cue with his words. This was how all mornings went in the kitchen, his mom beginning with “Have a good night’s sleep?” and him dutifully replying, “As always.” Just like this morning. It was ordinary. It was right. Nibbling on the bacon he leaned back in his chair and stared out toward the yard, where he could see one of the dog’s—his father’s Blue Heeler Jack—sniffing the sparse grass that grew there. A couple of chickens picked their way around the yard, only speeding up in alarm when the youngest dog, a black Labrador named Bailey, got too close and would sometimes receive a well-earned peck to the nose. He had scars to prove it.
With a small shake of his head Dylan finished up the last bite of bacon and started on the scrambled eggs his mother just served him, his eyes anxiously darting over to the clock. If he finished in enough time, he wouldn’t be late for school. “Dad out in the shop or something?” he asked between bites.
“No. He had to go into work early this morning. Got a call from the head deputy saying he received a report of a sighting of a wolf near the lake in the middle of the night.” Mrs. Jamieson hesitated before flipping the bacon. “According to Deputy Farrell, the reporter said he heard some kind of scuffle, and when he went out to check on it he noticed a couple of his sheep were missing. The rest were running around screaming their heads off.”
Dylan paused, stopped chewing, and raised his eyebrows. “Who was the reporter? And how did he know it was a wolf? Did he go after it or something?” His smile was amused.
Finished with the bacon, Rainey shut off the stove and turned around, pulled out a chair and sat down across from him. She shook her head. “The caller was Jim Cruvelsky, from down the road. Apparently he got his flashlight and gun and followed the trail of some torn-out wool from his sheep, and when he got past the woods and near the lake, he saw it.” His mother shrugged. “Or so he claimed. We all know how Jim can be.”
After taking another bite Dylan said, “You don’t seem too concerned, especially since it wasn’t that far from us.” To be frank, Dylan wasn’t all that concerned either, but he was surprised his mom wasn’t having more of a reaction than this.
Again, Rainey shrugged. “We don’t get wolves here, Dyl. It could have just been a stray dog. Or maybe Jim made it up and is just causing trouble. We’ll know more of the details when your father gets home tonight." She paused, frowned, and eyed the clock. "You better hurry up and finish, or you’re going to be really late for school.”
Glancing at the clock for confirmation, Dylan swore and scarfed down the last few bites of egg. “See ya!” he yelled over his shoulder and ran for the door, his sneakers scraping against the linoleum floor. Shouldering his pack and balling his sweatshirt in his hand, Dylan jogged out of the door and headed to his truck. If he was late for school, therefore missing valuable minutes for the AP U.S Gov. test he had for first period today, he was going to be screwed.
