The Body They Found

The Body They Found


In all the commotion that dank and foreboding evening no one could recall who actually discovered the body.  Many claimed to have stumbled upon it while entering or leaving Hannigan's, the town's only beer joint.  It would seem there was great pride and recognition to be gained by all the attention from discovering a stranger's remains.  This provided more excitement and entertainment than Weston City had seen in a while.


Jake Wilson was the first to run through the door, yelling like a lunatic, only to be drowned out by Sweet Home Alabama blaring from the juke box, combined with the din over a $1 bet at the pool table.  Cousin Willie blasted in from the kitchen screaming bloody murder, and was promptly shoved back out the door only to re-appear a few minutes later.  About the time Old Lady Dagget slammed the half-full fifth of Wild Turkey into the Miller Lite sign everyone was just about focused on Willie and Jake's rantings.  They froze with every mouth agape and now focused on the crashing glass.  A few words registered with the drunk and near-drunk patrons: body, dead, blood, and it was sufficient to stir them to action.


Scrambling, scraping, and shoving their way out the front and kitchen doors, they came scurrying around the corner only to brake themselves sharply before the 2 groups crashed mightily.  Mumbling 'I tried to tell you," Cousin Willie was hopping like a moth on a lightbulb.  Jake and Old Lady Dagget yelling, "I found him, I found him," virtually in unison adding to the melee.


Mr. Hannigan was the first to organize the chaos with his booming voice.  "Anyone know who it is?"


Everyone leaned in closer.


"Did anybody see what happened to him?"


Again, no response.  They advanced cautiously encircling the body.


There at their feet was a stranger, dressed in jeans, a plaid flannel shirt, work boots, and a yellow Auto Zone ball cap.  No one knew him. And know one wanted to bend over and touch the body to assure he was indeed dead.  The stain of blood in the dirt, though small, was dispiriting; however the unclosed eyelids revealed fear which proved to be a greater paralyzer.

When the sheriff arrived, the air was heavy with humidity and the closeness of the crowd caused a hotness that added to the uneasiness;  anxiety on steroids, he thought.  Pushing his way through the throng, he folded himself down, removed his hat and scratched his head. "Well he's not from around here."


Sheriff Wagner had his hand on the carotid artery, "He's  dead alright."  Looking closer he noticed a little blood next to his fingers and pulled back the man's collar to reveal 2 small puncture wounds.


"Vampires!"  someone cried.  Others echoed this in whispered fear as the crowd backed away.  Some stumbled.


Realizing the townspeople would panic at the notion of vampires in their midst, even though he knew they were rational people, he had to maintain authority. They knew vampires didn't exist. This was real life.  He had to dispel such notions.


Turning the body over to check for other possible wounds the sheriff saw blood pooled under the stranger.  Much blood.  But he was not prepared for what was revealed to all.


The crowd gasped. Women shrieked. Grown men expelled beer, food, and whatever else their guts contained.


Flesh, blood, muscle, bone, red flannel shirt; it was hard to tell what was what. But it was sickening, all torn and shredded.  And much that should have been attached to the remains of this traveler were gone. Chunks of flesh were indeed missing.


"Werewolf" someone muttered. With more vigor the tumult began to build to a crescendo naming beasts that inhabit the night:  "vampire!" and "werewolf!" and even "troll!".  This eventually eased yielding to discussions on methods to resolve this deplorable situation. The sheriff continued to examine the corpse for anything else relevant to yielding answers.


Finally satisfied that there was nothing else to discover, Sheriff Wagner turned his head to the mob gathered around, and then paused with his mouth agape.  His hand had landed on the skull of this unfortunate being and his fingers were lying on some sort of short sharp bumps, something protruding, yet unseen, in the hair.

Again bending down for a closer look, causing the mob to still somewhat, he slowly parted hair.  As if in a panic he searched the skull's opposite side,  He fell back, skittering on his hands and feet, mumbling "father, father".  Uncomprehending, Old, Lady Dagget asked, "whose father?"


"Father O'Brien, get Father O'brien," responded Wagner.  "This is some kind of demon.  Horns!  He has the devil's horns!"


No one stayed with the body, though the sheriff camped himself on the steps of the bar, keeping constant observation over the corpse.


The priest was first to arrive, a black bag in tow.  As he began to remove items, holy water, crucifix, and such, others returned to the scene, along with a few who had yet to see the corpse.  One of these, John Bower, owner of the auto repair shop, showed up with his mechanic's sledgehammer and a 2 foot stake of wood.  He was blubbering obscenities and then yelling, "Priest, back away.  There is only one way to make sure this vampire does not return to life.  A stake through the heart will stop this evil."


As the sheriff stepped between them Jake Wilson returned with his brother, Gregor, "the woodsman", as he was known.  Jake cleared a path both physically, shoving bodies aside, and verbally, booming out, "the woodsman, make way for the woodsman."


When abreast of the priest and "the vampire slayer" Gregor displayed the .44 magnum in his massive paw. The priest felt the weight of the situation and the need to control these interlopers.  "Back up, all of you!"  In vain he attempted to reason with them, "this is a beast not from this world and can not be dispatched by worldly means."


"Begging your pardon, pastor, this is what is needed to rid the town of this curse."  Gregor uncurled his fingers to reveal a solitary bullet.  He nodded to the corpse, pointing at the torn flesh and claw marks.  "The lycan attacked him and will turn this corpse into a werewolf if we don't act quickly. This silver bullet was a gift from the gypsy hag, Volena, and will damn well destroy this beast before he rises again in the moonlight."


All manner of yelling and verbal assaults coming from the crowd distracted the sheriff, allowing the three to quickly proceed with their intentions unimpeded.


What followed would have been comical, as a scene from a movie, if not for the seriousness of the situation.  Holy water sprinkled the body, as a stake was driven into the chest, as the gun aimed for the head created a deafening blast. The corpse involuntarily jerked a knee into the priest's crotch causing him to wobble and drop the crucifix which landed on the cheek of the figure before them.  Hissing and sizzling caused the three saviors to fall away as they realized the sun was now rising and rays fell squarely on the mutilated body.


Within seconds the corpse collapsed into dust.




Epilogue


There were no heroes here.  No one ever determined what caused the death of "the mutilated man" as he had come to be called.  More importantly the cause of his incineration was never settled, though this was a point of contention for years; a cause for debates, arguments, and even bar fights.  It is well established that many nights there is no one walking the streets, and few sleep easy.  Everyone lives with their own demons.


Though none will state aloud what is unspoken on all of their lips: If there are no answers they are not safe. Whatever it was that caused this monstrous act, will likely visit their quiet little town once again.





12/30/2013