Jason stepped out of his car, and looked across the field of wheat that was being harvested. He could see the large tractor being driven across the field, taking in the stalks, and threshing them as necessary. It wasn't a large farm, but it was a productive and active farm. He could hear the barking of the dogs as two of them came up the drive to greet him. Competitors he thought, despite himself. This was one of the things he hated most about being a man-dog; how he reacted and treated real dogs. They could be companions, but never as master and pet, but more as equals, or at least members of the same pack. As they stood about him, barking at him to back off, he resisted the urge to bark back.
Nathan came running down the drive, and restrained the dogs. "Alex! Kestrel! Knock it off, this is just Jason!" then turning to face his friend he said, "Well, its good to see ya made it. Sorry about my dogs, they don't like strangers."
"I'm another dog though, so it's doubly worse." Jason replied, feeling a measure of victory over the two males.
Nathan nodded, "I forgot about that. Well, lets get your stuff inside. How long are you planning to stay?"
"I don't know, about a week I guess. Just have to get away from everything for a little while." Jason told him. He hadn't mentioned that somebody had tried to kill him, the news of it had probably spread already anyway, this was a small area after all, and rumours spread faster than a wild-fire in the brush.
"Doesn't everybody!" Nathan agreed heartily, and then led Jason into the house, keeping the two males outside. Jason felt a smudge of pride at that, here he was actually being let inside, while they weren't. Jason shook the thoughts from his mind. He hated slipping like that, it was very embarrassing, and explaining it would be quite difficult since most people didn't know about what he could do. Nathan couldn't change of course, none of the youth group could except for Jason and Greg, and of course Rev. Brandemas. It had been so long since then, the whole incident seemed like a distant memory. Things were so different now though. Allison having moved back to Kansas. Emily in her final year in college, up in Canada though. John, Nathan, and Jason were the only ones still in the area. John lived in an apartment though, and didn't have any place for Jason to stay. Thus it was down to Nathan.
The room that Nathan showed him to was obviously the guest room. It was sparsely furnished, a bed, dresser with mirror, side-table, writing desk, and a TV atop a bench. Nothing much else, but the drapes over the sole window were quite nice, a light blue, as was the bedsheets. Jason tossed his suitcases onto the floor, and lied down on the bed. It was soft, and inviting, and Jason nearly dozed off right there, with Nathan still standing in the doorway.
"Oops!" Jason said rising from the pillow. "Didn't mean to nearly drift off there. When am I going to be officially invited to stay?"
"Tonight over dinner. Were having steak and mashed potatoes." Nathan told him.
"Sounds good. I like steak. Don't care for mashed potatoes though." Jason remarked off-handedly.
"Well, we usually have everything set out so you can serve yourself. If you don't like it, you don't have to take it."
Jason nodded, then another thought occurred to him. "I hope you don't mind, but I asked for my mail to be forwarded here."
"Oh, well, that shouldn't be a problem." Nathan turned and walked away. "I'll see you for dinner, I have work out in the field to do."
"I'll keep myself busy then." Jason called after him. He then set out to unpack, sniffing the air as he did so. He knew that they had more than just those two dogs, but he never knew exactly how many. He could definitely tell that they had a female dog, and as he turned he saw it looking up at him, eyeing him warily. This was going to be a long week, he thought.
"Damn it!" Taylor Bruce swore as he threw the papers to the floor. Davis moved to restrain the man, but Taylor pushed him out of the way. He stomped on the asphalt in frustration, not believing what he was seeing. The body of another dog lay skinned, right in the middle of Main street, almost mockingly, as it was right in front of the police station. It was eviscerated like all the rest, skinned too. It's head had been crushed from both sides by some blunt object. Olympia couldn't tell what, nor could she tell the breed off hand.
"How does this guy keep getting in here!?" Taylor swore as he marched up and down the street, neither Bill nor Joe moving to restrain the large man's tirade. Randy however was not so kind.
Taylor hit the asphalt hard, his jaw sore from where Randy had just socked him. "Knock it off." Randy told him, his voice betraying no love for the man. Taylor scowled at the more accomplished sentry, and then sulked, his demeanour next to boiling.
"This is the third death in exactly the same fashion. If we don't do something soon, we'll be talking about four or five murders." Davis pointed out.
"Why kill somebody in exactly the same way? What purpose does it serve?" Joe asked, his stomach churning from the sight.
"Not kill them in the same way." Taylor pointed out. "He leaves the bodies to rot in the same way. Everything is the same, like some sort of demonic message. That son of a..."
"However, this one looks like it wasn't killed here." Randy pointed out, as he stared at the asphalt.
"What do you mean?" Bill asked, moving over to see what he was looking at.
"See the blood stain here, it's moving towards the body, that means he moved the body here, and left it here for a purpose." Randy pointed out.
Joe looked back at the body again, and at the front door of the police station. "He's probably taunting us. He's telling us he can do whatever he wants, and we can't stop him."
"Damn it! We have to!" Taylor interjected. "It could be one of us next."
"All right, lets get this mess cleaned up, and we'll discuss this later. We don't need to cause a scene." Davis told them all, silencing Taylor Bruce and the others for the time being.
His name was Tyler Goode. His name was Tyler Goode. His name was Tyler Goode. The mantra was interrupted by the Sound of Harry Carello barking (was he ever human any more? Was he submitting to the influence of Barken?). He opened his eyes, looked in disgust at the uneaten dog food before him, and then scanned the hallway beyond the bars of his cell. He could just barely see somebody stopping in front of each door, and dropping something inside each cell. He could hear the grumbles of the two human cell mates he had, and he wondered just what was going on.
He saw that it was Sheriff Davis walking by again, and he saw the pad and felt tip marker dropped into his room. He wouldn't give them pencils, out of fear they might use them to kill themselves, or somebody else. He picked up the pad and marker, and then looked up at Davis. He looked down on him, his lips curled up in a snarl. "You have an hour to finish."
"Hey, what's this about? You weren't supposed to give us this stuff till tomorrow?" Tyler objected.
"Are you complaining?" Davis asked, his eyes narrowing.
"No." Tyler thought about getting some human food early, and he relished the thought.
"Then do it." Davis told him, turning on his heel and walking back out of the hallway. Tyler slumped down on the floor on the far side of the cell. He read the question written at the top:
The first was pretty easy, so that Barken could know it's enemy, and that was of course important. He wrote that down, and then set out to think of a second answer. He knew that he couldn't duplicate his answers, so he had to make them quite specific. He remembered one time when he had given completely ambiguous answers, and those answers often times overlapped one another; he had not been fed any human food for that, despite the fact that he had done what he'd been told to do. They wanted specific answers, so he would give them specific answers.
The other reasons took him longer to come up with. None of them were quite as obvious as the first one, and each required him to think from the Barken perspective. He didn't like doing it, he was afraid that overtime it would become his perspective too. At first it had been quite difficult, but as time had worn on it became increasingly easier. Doing it this time was even easier than the last, and he found that the Barken perspective was quite alluring, but he resisted the temptation to slip into it permanently. However, he wondered just what perspective he was in at other times. Could he truly call his home Cherry any more? No, he couldn't, and he found that this made him quite sad.
Before he realized it, the hour was up, and he had managed to come up with ten reasons. He heard Sheriff Davis wheeling a cart down the hallway. He took the pad and marker back from each of them as he passed, and reading it through, he gave plates of food to Brad Toke in the next cell over, and to him, Tyler Goode. Looking at the food though, he saw that the portions were much smaller than he regularly gave him.
"Hey, this isn't enough." Tyler objected.
"I'm stepping up the schedule. Every three days I'll give you something to write. So it is only fair that I give you half of what I gave you before." with that, Davis turned and left them with their food.
Tyler sat back down, glumly looking at the food before him. It was a small selection of pasta, and a piece of zucchini bread. He didn't know who made the stuff, but whoever did was an excellent cook. He wolfed the food the down, and then drank from the bowl of water that he had. Then he sat back, staring at the dog food which he was spurning for as long as possible, knowing that the food he had just eaten had not filled him.
His name was Tyler Goode. His name was Tyler Goode. His name was Tyler Goode.
Stevie Engel was more cautious this time as he raced along the streets. He wasn't being chased by his friends this time, he was by himself, just happy to be moving about. His mother had made him lay down for a whole day, so that his wounds would have time to heal. He still had scars, and he was going to have scars for a good long time, at least a few weeks. His fur coat was marred by the scars running down his right side, and the imperfection was meticulously attended to by his mother, but there was nothing they could do but wait for it to heal itself. In time he was told his hair would grow back, and this had made him happy.
However, he was quite delighted to just be out running on all fours, to feel alive again. He was so full of energy, he just liked to move, to do run, jump, bark at others, and to nip playfully at the heels of adults and other humans. He was having a glorious time.
Until he ran headlong into that man's legs. He hadn't knocked him over, but he had given himself a sharp crack on the head. His running stopped abruptly, and the pain of the developing bruise made him whimper, and crawl back with his tail between his legs. The tall man leaned down, and picked him up, a pleasant smile on his face, offering words of sympathy, and reassurance. Stevie liked this man, he was very nice, and he was tickling his belly playfully.
Stevie barked at him, and the put him down again. Stevie ran a few feet down the road, and looked back, barking once again. Oh, he hoped desperately the man would chase him around, he so enjoyed that. The man smiled mischievously, he'd seen that smile and glint in his mother's eyes before, and he knew that the chase was on. He quickly turned back around, and darted off down the street. He could tell the man was chasing him from the large stomps coming from behind him. He was also a very fast man, faster than most people when they're humans at any rate.
Looking over his shoulder, he could see the man leaning forward, arms outstretched, ready to grab him up, with that mischievously grin on his face again. Stevie leaped for joy over the curb, and tore off down another street, and before he knew it, he had run out of street and was in the desert proper. He slowed down, looking behind him, seeing if he had time to get back into Barken before the man caught up with him. He had no time.
The man pounced him, and rolled him over onto his belly, and began to ferociously and playfully scritch him. He pretended to bite out his jugular with his mouth. Stevie wondered why the man just didn't change to dog form to do it, but so what, he was having fun, the man had chased him and wasn't going to hurt him, he was sure of it.
Finally, the man became winded, and simply held onto the boy, keeping him in his lap, stroking him affectionately. He felt the mans strong hands move over his body, feeling ever nook and cranny, as if investigating it for some hidden treasure, some hidden clasp that would unleash wonders beyond his imagination. He could fancy the mans hands around his neck reflexively tightening, as if to cut off his air supply, and to send him into realms beyond life, to Heaven most certainly. Despite this, he felt quite comfortable here in the man's lap, a sensation of properness about it, almost to the point of absurdity.
Then quite abruptly, the man looked down at him, his hands dropping to his sides, and commanded with a firm voice, "Change."
Stevie did just that, and was soon the bright blonde-hair, blue-eyed child of five. "Thanks for the chase, mister." Stevie said, as his mother told him he should. He would never forget the polite words his mother had instilled in him.
"Your welcome." the man stroked the boy's head affectionately, his eyes examining him, noting the nakedness of the boy, but they were well out of sight of any prying eyes. "What's your name?"
"Stevie Engel."
"Where are your parents?" the man asked.
"My mommie is working in Houston. My daddie doesn't live with us any more. My mommie says they got a divorce."
"I'm sorry." the man said, holding the boy tightly. "Where's your Daddy now?"
"My Mommie says he went back to Portland."
"Oregon?"
"No, Maine." Stevie said quite matter-of-factly, almost proud, as if this were some fact that he was glad to know.
"Ahh." the man nodded. "It's quite a long way. Do you see your Daddy much?"
"I've never met my Daddie." Stevie said firmly, as if he was not sorry for what he was saying. "My Mommie divorced him before I was born."
The man nodded, and then set his jaw firm, as if thinking. He then put the boy down on the sand, and stood up. "You should probably get home now, it's going to be getting late pretty soon. Your mommy probably won't like you staying out here with a stranger."
"What's your name?" the boy asked, he could see he was getting ready to shift into his dog form even as he spoke.
"Nicholas."
"Now you're not a stranger." Stevie smiled, and then he literally fell into his dog form, and ran back along the desert floor towards Barken. Nicholas didn't bother to dust himself off, walking purposefully back into town.
Pastor Aberdeen of the First Cherry Baptist Church walked cautiously through the large double doors of a building that he hadn't known existed until yesterday. Carefully looking about, he had the impression of rotting wood, and looking about he could tell the place was not lighted much. He felt a bit of trepidation coming at night, but that was the only time the person on the other end of the line would let him come. He was also warned to come alone, and that was what made him shiver with fright at the prospect of coming.
Yet he came anyway. He knew that the power of God was more powerful than anything else on Earth, despite their continuous failures to completely eradicate Barken. That event last year had been punishment for not trusting completely in God. They had relied too much on the machinations of mankind and their futile understanding of the world, and so had been punished for it. That was the only explanation that made sense to him, and he had reminded all that attended the church to never loose hope, to continue to persevere, things would be getting better, and they would rise again.
As he closed the door behind him, he moved to turn on the flashlight he'd brought with him. The room looked to be an antechamber, there was a gas-light lamp in the centre of the room, hanging from a ceiling. He could see oil braziers affixed to the walls at the far end of the foyer, and the doubly-barred doors that stood between them gave him the impression of a mausoleum.
Before he could turn on his flashlight however, a gravelly voice came from the darkness to one side, "Don't turn that on, you will regret it."
"Who's there?" Aberdeen whirled about, looking for the source of the sound.
"Paul, I am here." the voice came back, and Aberdeen turned to find the source of the sound. The room was structured so that the voice reverberated from all the walls, and he found it most disconcerting.
"What's your name?" Paul asked, scanning the darkness, hoping to catch some flutter of movement.
"You will know in time, now it would be counter productive." the voice called back. Paul thought he saw some faint glimmer down one corner. It was shaped back in to the wall, almost like a cul-de-sac in the structure, possibly even the remnants of a confession booth, but whatever was back there was staying quite still, and well out of the light.
"Why did you call me?" Paul asked, stepping closer to the darkness.
"I'm warning you. Don't make any attacks on Barken for the next month."
"Why? We're just finished training a few new hunters. I was hoping we could get back in the business of whittling them away one at a time." Paul replied, peering ever closer. He could tell the figure was scuttling away form him, and it seemed to be low to the ground, how odd.
"That's the last thing we want!" the voice nearly barked at him. He found that quite disturbing, and he could feel a knot forming in his stomach.
"What are you doing that is so important that the work of the Lord must wait?"
"The work of the Lord? You do not know what you're talking about. We are going to end this once and for all, and not with your or anybody else's help. You must trust us on this one, for we will accomplish the Lord's work." the voice came back, the tone of warning clear in its voice.
"What are you trying to do?" Paul Aberdeen ventured closer, now cornering the figure.
"Get back from be! Stand back! You do not want to invoke my wrath!" the voice commanded, and Paul out of fright obeyed. "You will know all in time, but I called you to warn you. If you proceed with your activities, we will hand you over to them, and you will fall as did those five."
Paul continued to stumble back away from the voice resonating from the darkness. He could feel the terror clutch round his soul, and as he turned, he heard the doors to the entrance creak open. He saw before him in the doorway, lit up by the moonlight shining in, the silhouette of one of those demons from Barken, standing on two legs, yet a dog. He felt his heart quicken in fright, and he stammered, his mouth hanging in horror, was he to die? As he watched, the figure reached out for him, and the hand was at the same time a dog's paw as well as a human hand. He felt it grip him round the shoulder, and then he fell to the ground, looking as if dead from fright.
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