16 Jan The Beast of Port Smith

Part I

I stand alone, my breath forming frosty clouds as I gaze out into the desolate Alaskan winter through the windowpane. The world beyond is a study in monochrome, a frozen wasteland that stretches to the ends of my vision. It’s a sight both haunting and mesmerizing.

The snow blankets the landscape, a pristine canvas untouched by human presence. Each flake is a tiny work of art, delicately arranged to create an undulating sea of white. The trees, with their branches heavy with hoarfrost, stand like sentinels in this realm. They seem frozen in time, their dark forms etched against the pale backdrop of the snow.

The silence is profound, broken only by the occasional gust of wind that rattles the glass of my living room window. It’s as if the world outside has been muffled by the snow, absorbing sound and leaving behind a profound hush. The stillness is both eerie and beautiful.

Despite the bitter cold, there’s a strange sense of peace in this desolation. It’s a reminder of the raw power of nature, a place where the elements reign supreme, and human existence seems insignificant in comparison. As I continue to peer out into the Alaskan winter, I can’t help but feel a sense of awe and reverence for the wild beauty of this unforgiving land.

It all began on a frigid October morning in 1982.

“Sheriff, I think you need to come down to the fishing stream next to the Baker’s homestead. We got a body,” Deputy O’Connor’s voice squawked on the radio.

Winter was hitting early this year. I expected a call about a stranded motorist or a welfare check. I didn’t expect a body. Port Smith usually cleared out about this time. Most of the tourist and retirees went home before getting stuck here until Spring. That usually translated into five months of boredom. I took another look at the desolate wilderness outside before keying the radio receiver.

“Roger, O’Connor. I’m on my way.”

Slipping on my parka, I looked from the window to the coffee table. Half a bottle of Old Foresters sat gleaming in the lamp light. I pulled the Stetson from the wall hanger propping it on my head and walked over to the bottle uncapping it. If there was ever a reason to drink now was the best time. But more and more I was finding reasons. Hell, sometimes I didn’t even need those. I put the bottle to my lips and drank, breathing in the oaky, vanilla aroma. With the warm bourbon in my stomach, I picked up my keys and headed for the door.

Emily Turner, a young woman in her twenties, lay sprawled across the snow-covered ground near a frozen fishing stream, an eerie contrast to the pristine whiteness that surrounded her. Her once-vibrant red hair was now matted and crystalized with frozen blood. Vacant green eyes stared into the gray sky above.

Both her hands had been chewed off at the wrist, an indication she had tried shielding herself from an attack. What was especially peculiar about the scene was Emily’s lack of clothing. She was naked as the day she was born. Perhaps she had decided to take a polar plunge in the frozen stream before being attacked? It’s not uncommon for people to take cold dips, but usually, they follow it up with a warm escape, like a sauna or a warm running car. They most certainly don’t trek out this far to do it. Judging from the wounds, it could be a bear attack. Though most bears are hibernating around this time

Deputy Alaku, a native Inuit and expert tracker, walked the scene with an eagle eye for details. His wind-chapped brown face looked up at me with a perplexed look.

“No tracks, Sheriff. Can’t find anything except Tom’s size ten Thorogood’s.”

“You think she entered the stream from another point, floated under the ice, and somehow emerged here?” I said, pondering the idea out loud.

“Not a bad theory, Sheriff. Could explain why there’s no blood trail.”

Deputy O’Connor walked up, his nose and cheeks flushed from the cold.

“Tom Baker saw the body early this morning when he came out to feed the sled dogs. Says he usually walks back this way to take a gander at the stream. Thought it was a dead elk, but then he saw the red hair.”

“Did he see or hear anything out of the ordinary?” I asked.

Deputy O’Connor leaned back, looking at the body. “Said he heard some sort of singing and drums last night around eight, figured it was the wind carrying music or something from the town.”

“How far is town from here?” I asked.

The deputy lifted his chin before responding “Say…Ten miles, give or take.”

“Hmmm. That’s awful far for music to travel.”

“Could have been a vehicle. The teens like to play their music loud when driving about.”

I nodded before looking back to Alaku. “Get Tom’s statement and ask if he can spare some coffee.”

We spent most of the day taking photos of the scene and removing the body. Emily wasn’t a local, but she had been in Port Smith for two winters doing outreach work with the Inupist. By all accounts Emily had integrated well, which made the job of storing her body in the town’s equipment garage difficult. Although, the freezing temperatures would preserve her body better than any morgue.

Once back in town I attempted to contact mainland, but both the telephone and radio were down. This wasn’t uncommon during the winter months. Atmospheric changes and extreme temperatures could drastically reduce the effectiveness of our long-range radios. The telephones lines could go out with the first ice storm. In all honesty, I didn’t think much of it at the time. Aside from the occasional drunken bar brawl, Port Smith stayed quiet. Once comms were up, I’d call a medical examiner to be flown in from Anchorage. Until then, the best we could do was document the scene.

The rest of the day was quiet. I filed the remaining paperwork, booked evidence and had lunch at Stacey Diner. She, like many of the other businesses would be closed at the end of the week. It didn’t pay to stay open all winter long, so most folks would batten down the hatches and opened back up in May. Things around here were about to get quiet…dead quiet.

That afternoon, I headed home as the sun dipped below the horizon. Daylight was quickly becoming a scarcity as winter set in. The heater of the Bronco pumped warm air in the cab as I pushed the gruesome scene from my mind. It was best to leave such thoughts alone. To dwell was akin to inviting ghost into your bed. There was work and there was life. Separating the two was an art form. A knowledge that had cost me two marriages and a thirst for bourbon.

My stomach grumbled. A nice hot shower and a can of Campbells beef stew would hit the spot. I’d spend the night in a drunken haze, lulled to sleep by recorded reruns of “Happy Days”. It wasn’t much, but life needed the lubrication of a good drink. How else would someone put up with the bull shit of this world?

I pulled up to my driveway, the lights of the Bronco illuminating the snow-covered porch. In the past, I would have stopped to shovel a clear path. But the day had been long, and the promise of warmth beckoned me inside. Putting the car in park and disengaging the engine, I stepped out into the clear night.

I traversed the snowy path to my porch, when a faint rhythm echoed in the distance. I paused tilting my head toward the road. Deep vibrations rumbled in a series of quick droning beats. It sounded like… drums.

Budmp…Budmp…Budmp…Budmp.

Was this the noise Tom Baker had heard the night before Emily was killed? Before I could consider the thought anymore the sound was lost in the wind. I stood still, straining my ears but nothing followed. The sound had come so quick, I questioned if I had even heard it. With one final glance to the stary sky above, I went inside.

The next morning, I was awakened by a knock at the door. Pushing through the hangover I stumbled from my recliner to find Deputy Alaku waiting on my front porch. My head twisted in on itself as sunlight flooded my living room. A quick glance at my watch showed 6:20.

“What…what do you need Alaku?” I said, shielding my eyes.

“Sorry to wake you Sherriff. I didn’t want the news to get out on the radio, but we’ve got another body.”

“Another body? Shit, who is it?”

“Not sure yet, it’s messy. Also, looks like we got a cold front coming. We’ll be getting severe weather later tonight. Temps going to bottom out, might be a blizzard.”

“Any luck on reaching Anchorage?”

“Nope, long range radio and phones are still out.”

“Fuck! Give me 10 minutes to get ready. Did you bring coffee?” I said rubbing the stubble on my chin.

“No Sherriff. Came straight here once the body was found.”

“Eh, make that 15 minutes then. We’ll take your ride.”

Part II

Nicholas Hudson discovered the second victim, Ralph Jensen, when venturing out to a public cabin to hunt for Dall sheep. Poor man shit himself and spent the next fifteen minutes sitting in it as he drove back to police station. It took an hour and set of fresh boxers before he agreed to take Alaku up to the body. No amount of coaxing could get him to go back inside the cabin.

After seeing the body, I could understand why. Like Emily, Ralph had been left naked.  His body was eviscerated. His head torn off and placed on a wicker chair that faced the front door. The log walls of the cabin were frozen with his blood, and his eyes were missing. This was practiced brutality, something I’d never seen an animal do. Which left me with a more concerning thought. If this wasn’t an animal, then we had a killer on the loose. A thought that made this morning’s coffee regurgitate in the back of my throat.

Ralph was a widowed retiree that owned an art studio in Anchorage. He must have been using the cabin to warm himself while photographing the wilderness. A theory backed up by a satchel of camera equipment in the corner of the room and a frozen cup of coco on the stove. His Ford truck was parked at the bottom of the trail, making his hike a little more than a mile up to the cabin. From the looks of things, he must have been here at least a day. Long enough for the wood stove to go cold. Which would place the murder around the same time Emily was found.

The metallic smell of blood and feces prompted me to retreat outside in pursuit of fresh air. Between yesterday and this morning I was riding on coffee and a hangover. A recipe that caused me to lean against the front porch railing for balance. I needed to stay strong for now or at least keep the appearance up.

What the fuck was going on? This was Port Smith, not fucking New York. We didn’t get psycho killers. People knew each other here. They hunkered down to survive the harsh winters together. They didn’t go around tearing each other up like crazed butchers. And they most certainly didn’t take their neighbors eyes for souvenirs.

Deputy O’Conner stood next to Nicholas who sat on a stump collecting himself.

“Jesus, I just wanted do sum huntin. I ain’t expect all dis. Ya’ll promise not to tell anybody about me messin myself right?” Nicholas asked.

Deputy O’Connor bent down putting his hand on Nicholas shoulder. “Take it easy Nick. I just need to get a statement from you, and I’ll drive you back into town. You did good today. There’s no shame in it.”

The moment was interrupted as Deputy Alaku passed by the two.

“Found something you might want to see Sherriff.”

I descended the front steps of the cabin following Alaku through the tree line to an opening where the river flowed. Alaku crouched low next to the stream gesturing towards a series of frozen prints.

“Ralph came down here to get water sometime before night fall. Which makes me believe he spent most of yesterday afternoon in the cabin. The prints over there are where he filled his bucket.”

“So, that gives an estimated time of the death,” I replied.

Deputy Alaku stood and walked to outcrop of dead branches.

“At first, I thought he slipped when he dipped his bucket in the water. But the prints are too heavy and unbalanced for that. Plus, I found this.”

Deputy Alaku reached behind the pile of broken limbs retrieving a small, galvanized bucket.

“Something scared Ralph. Made him throw the bucket this way. Chased him all the way back to the cabin before butchering him.”

“Any tracks belonging to our culprit?” I asked, stuffing my hands for warmth into my pockets.

“All sorts of tracks up here Sherriff.  But nothing recent and nothing man made.”

“What about a bear?”

“Bears don’t arrange furniture and body parts.”

Alaku’s words cemented my suspicion we were dealing with a killer. I couldn’t tell if it was the plummeting temperature or the realization of that fact, that made me shiver.

“How does someone tear a man’s head off his shoulders?”

“Maybe an electric winch. Could have anchored him against a tree using ropes. Then attached the winch cable around his neck and, POP!” Alaku said mimicking a pulling motion with his hands.

“Goddamn!” I replied lowering my gaze in disgust.

We bagged Ralph’s body and taped off the scene to the cabin. I had Deputy O’Connor take a manpack radio and the snowcat to see if a signal could be reached atop the valley. I hated to lose a deputy, but O’Connor knew the Cat better than anyone else. The trip would take him a full day of travel, but if we we’re lucky he could bounce his signal off one of the repeaters.

Despite my efforts to keep a lid on the murder, news of the killings quickly reached the town. A mob of twenty or so citizens gathered outside the station. Alaku and I pushed past the small crowd, making our way to the patrol Bronco when we were stopped by Hubert McCluskie, the town mayor.

“Sheriff, we have a big problem, and these citizens have the right to know what’s going on!” Hubert said, already posturing with authority.

Sensing the panic, I lifted my hands in the air trying to calm the crowd. “Quiet! Quiet, dammit! Since yesterday, we have had two bodies. We suspect there may be foul play involved.”

“Sheriff, you’re out of your league here! We need the mainland authorities!”

I raised my hand once more, Hubert’s words adding to the mounting pressure behind my eyes. “I’ve attempted to contact the mainland, but we’re in a communications blackout. I’ve dispatched Deputy O’Connor with the snowcat and a portable radio. He should be back by tomorrow. Until then, I’m issuing a curfew for all residents.”

The crowd began to protest, but I was quick to seize the moment. “The town is closed until further notice! Go home people and don’t come out until noon tomorrow. By then, Deputy O’Connor should be back with word. Until that time, if I catch anyone on the streets, you’ll be considered a suspect.”

“You can’t do that Sherriff!” Hubert tried to interject.

“I got two bodies that say otherwise, Hubert. So, unless you want to spend the night in a cold jail cell. I suggest you start helping me disperse this crowd.”

George Flattery, a towering man with a weathered face, stepped between me and Hubert. He was accompanied by Joe “Ussak” Stillwater, a native Inuit.

“What can we do to help, Sheriff?”

I looked to Alaku and then back to George and Ussak. “I’m deputizing both of you. Raise your right hands.”

“This…This is insane!” Hubert scoffed.

“Wait! Wait! Count me in too, Sheriff,” a young man said pushing through the crowd.

“Names Mike Wallach, I just came here this past summer after graduating from Fairbanks.”

“The Sherriff needs men, not boys.” George barked.

“I’m a hard worker Sherriff. Done fishin and crabbing most of my life. I know my place, I’ll do what’s asked of me.”

“This is madness Sherriff! Just you wait till the real authorities hear about this. I’ll have your badge so fast.”

“Can it Hubert!” George said pushing Hubert aside.

“Do each of you swear to uphold the law as a deputy of this town? And do you each swear to act with integrity, loyalty, and unwavering resolve in your duties as a volunteer deputy?”

George Flattery nodded, removing the ushanka from his head. “I do, sheriff.”

Ussak nodded in affirmation, while Mike followed. “Me too…I mean. I do.”

“With the power vested in me as Sheriff, I hereby deputize each of you until your services are no longer required.”

“Glad to be aboard Sherriff. Now what do you need us to do?” George said putting his cap back on.

“You got a rifle?”

“Got a Winchester model seventy in my truck.”

“Go get it. But the rest of you I want unarmed for now. No sense in causing a panic. Start directing these folks back home.”

George nodded and looked to Mike and Ussak who began to disperse the crowd.

This seemed to take some of the steam out of Hubert. But I knew he had only retreated for the moment. Men like him were the calculating type. Always looking for the best opportunity to seize on a crisis. I’d deal with Hubert another time. For now, I had bigger fish to fry. Alaku and I would drive back to the hunting cabin where Ralph Jensen was found. I needed to take one more look at the scene to make sure I wasn’t missing something.

Part III

As the Ford Bronco rumbled along the snow-covered trail, the sun dipped below the valley casting a blue hue across the frozen snow drifts. Beside me, Alaku sat, his eyes scanning the surroundings with practiced vigilance. The silence inside was profound, broken only by the occasional howl of the wind as it beat against the glass of the Bronco. It was as if the world outside had been muffled by the snow, absorbing sound and leaving behind a profound hush, an eerie quiet that seemed to amplify the weight of our thoughts.

“These killings… They’re savage…Sadistic. I’ve never seen anything like it. Have you?”

Alaku nodded, his voice low and steady. “In Vietnam we had the Rat King.”

“Rat who?” I asked.

“Staff Seargent Green. The CIA sent him to help us find Charlie in the Mekong Delta. I was nine months into a tour of duty. Up until then, it was your standard search and destroy missions. The fuckers would hit us and melt away into the surrounding hamlets. Then, they sent the Rat King in.”

“What does this have to do with the murders?”

“Staff Seargent Green was a killer. In society, you’d lock him up and throw away the key. Hell, probably be better if you shot him. But in war…he fit right in. Used to keep a rat on his shoulder, like some fucked up pirate. But in truth the rats followed him everywhere. I mean big giant rats, some the size of dogs. Never seen anything like it. The guy was a walking disease.

But he had a way of tracking the enemy. In three weeks, we killed at least twenty Vietcong and avoided an ambush that would have decimated first platoon.

One day, the Rat King tracked a NVA recon element to a village. Our company had been there probably a hundred times before. Knew all the mama and papa-sans by name. I didn’t get there until later with second Platoon. By that time, it was all too late. The Rat King had butchered everybody in the village. I’d never seen anything like it. Men and women skinned alive. Children and babies boiled in rice pots. And the rats feasting on it all. You asked about brutality…After that, I lost faith in humanity for a long time. Didn’t start feeling right until I came back here.”

“Did they court martial the sick fuck?” I asked, unsettled by the story.

Alaku laughed. “No, they gave him a promotion and sent him in Cambodia.”

“Jesus Christ!”

Alaku story stuck to me like dirt to sweaty white socks. It was the horrifying face of the real world. A truth that many hid from or outright ignored. It was nature itself. A primordial need for conquest and brutality it’s fuel. My chest hurt, indigestion boiling up in my abdomen. I needed to make this right. Restore the façade. Go back to hiding. Go back to ignoring the reality.

“Is that why we’re making another trip to the cabin in the dark?” Alaku spoke up, breaking the silence between us.

“It’s something you said earlier today. About Ralph being in the cabin for most of the afternoon and being attacked at night fall. I heard music last night. The same music that Tom mentioned hearing the night Emily was murdered.”

“What are you getting at Sherriff?”

“I’m not sure, I think the killer might stay in the area after the killing. I can’t explain the noise yet, but somehow it all connected.”

Alaku’s gaze met mine, his eyes reflecting an unspoken perseverance. “We’ll get to the bottom of this, Sheriff. No matter what it takes. We won’t let fear paralyze us.”

His words were a reassurance, a glimmer of hope in the face of an unfathomable darkness. With a deep breath, I gripped the steering wheel tighter, a sense of renewed determination filling my veins as I navigated the Bronco through an outcrop of Sitka spruce.

When we arrived at the cabin, Alaku stepped out arming himself with a Remington 12-gauge shotgun. We approached the icy steps, flooding the cabin’s interior with our flashlights. Ralph Jensen’s crystallized blood sparkled in the light, as our breathes lingered in the frigid air. The cabin had been a morbid place during the day. But in the dark, it had transformed into a place of pure wickedness. A heavy feeling of terror paired with the frozen wilderness that surrounded us.

Our lights crisscrossed the exposed wooden beams of the cabin coming to stop on an effigy dangled precariously from a rafter. The ghoulish decoration was made of small animal bones, held together with sinew and Emily’s red hair.

“I didn’t see this today,” I said, walking closer to it.

“That wasn’t here when we left, Sherriff.”

A sense of dread washed over me as I turned back to Alaku, meeting his gaze. “The bastard came back.”

Suddenly, my radio came to life with Mike’s voice on the other end.

“Sheriff, are you there?”

In the background, George’s voice came.

“Stop playing with that kid. Give me the radio. Sherriff, it’s George Flattery. You better come to town, I think we found Mayor McCluskie… or what’s left of’em.”

My face brimmed with anger. Hubert was a pain in the ass, but he didn’t deserve this, nor did Emily or Ralph. I unstrapped the radio on my belt, bringing it up to speak.

“George, this might sound weird. But did you or the others hear anything before you found Hubert?”

There was a long pause before the radio hissed.

“Ussak, said he heard drums.”

“Good! Listen, I want you and the others to secure the area. Don’t touch anything until we get back.”

“Roger, Sheriff!”

I looked back to Alaku as he stood in the shadows running his hand over a window seal in the back part of the cabin. He retrieved something and held it up to his flashlight.

“What is it?”

“Looks like a blend of human and dog hair,” Aluka replied shifting the hair towards me.

Indeed, the bundle of hair resemble that of a dog, only tangled with what appeared to be strands of brown pubic hair. Just like the effigy, this piece of evidence wasn’t here this morning. Meaning the killer must have returned to the site just as we had left. Then a more unsettling thought occurred to me. Had the killer never left the scene. Only remaining concealed within the forest as he or she watched us do our investigation?

“Bag that. We need to get back to town. The boys found Hubert’s body,” I said looking at the fibers Alaku held within his gloved hand.

“Sherriff, something doesn’t add up. We didn’t pass anyone on the way up here and the logging roads are impassable now. How did someone return to do this and still have time to make it back to town to murder Hubert?”

Digging my hands into my pocket for warmth I thought for a moment before responding. “Could be the person used a dog sled. Theres numerous trails all over this forest for sledding and snowmobiles. Might also, explain the hair.”

“That would make Tom Baker a likely suspect. He has sled dogs and was the one that reported Ms. Turner,” Alaku said as he retrieved an evidence bag from his coat pocket.

“Could be. But I never pegged Tom as a homicidal butcher. Let’s lock up and get out of here before we freeze. We can follow up on that lead once we get to town.”

Alaku, carefully inserted the hairs into the evidence bag as we exited the cabin. My hunch was right. But while I was playing catchup, the killer had been able to strike again. My hands started to shake as I opened the door. The steady diet of caffeine and bourbon was starting to catch up. But I couldn’t stop now. We we’re close to the solving the case. I just needed to dig a little deeper. Keep myself focused on what was important.

Alaku came from behind taking the keys from my shaking hands. “I’ll drive back. You need some rest.”

I wanted to protest but my body responded by pulling away from the driver’s door. I had to be smart about this. I needed a clear head and if letting Alaku drive back gave me a few moments of rest. Then I would do it. This was a marathon, not a sprint. I had no idea how much longer this would last. Hopefully Deputy O’Connor would be back tomorrow with good news. Until then, I had no other choice but to continue.

I sat down in the passenger seat as Alaku started the Broncos’ engine. I could already feel my hands starting to steady.

“There’s elk jerky in the glovebox and water in my canteen. You need to eat something.”

I shifted in my seat opening the glovebox and retrieving a Ziplock bag of elk jerky. The sweet aroma of seasoned meat wafted through the cab. My mouth watered as I took the first few bites. How had I neglected myself this much? I was supposed to be the Sherriff, the person that took care of the safety of Port Smith. Yet, I couldn’t even take care of myself.  A twinge of shame came with that reflection. It was something that made me want to crawl back into the bottle.

Alaku’s face met mine in the glow of the cab. Something was gnawing at him, an unsettling feeling that we both shared. Then, softy he spoke. “My Grandmother told me horrible stories when I was young boy. Stories about dogs that slept with witches. Tribes that ate the flesh of men. She said they always come with a storm, and they always announced themselves with music and gifts of flesh. An omen to most. But for some an offer to run with the pack. She called them the adlet.”

“Sounds like your grandmother was a few cans short of a six-pack.”

Alaku smiled and nodded. “She was crazy. But I can’t help but to think about her stories now.”

I took a long swig from the canteen as Alaku steered the Bronco back down the road. We were out of the forest, back on the hard packed road, just as the snow started. The weather would only get worse in the next few hours. We needed to move fast before the brunt of the storm hit.

Part IV

By the time we reached the outskirts of town the wind had picked up blowing the fresh snow across the empty streets. Mike Wallach ran to the driver side door as Alaku cracked the window enough for him to peer inside.

“George found him first,” Mike said, pulling down his scarf.

“Take me to the body,” I replied, unbuckling my seat belt.

Outside the wind nipped at my face as I followed Mike down the street past Al Jordan’s Pharmacy.  George and Ussak stood huddled at the end with flashlights in hand. On the ground a blue tarp anchored by cement blocks concealed Hubert mangled body. Dark puddles of frozen blood and viscera blotted the pristine whiteness of the snow.

“Sorry about the tarp Sherriff. Hubert was an asshole, but it just seemed the decent thing to do,” George said.

I pushed past him stooping down to pull back the tarp. Hubert’s face was smashed flat. The back of his skull shattered outwards like a broken plate. Large globs of what looked like strawberry jam laid frozen to the pavement. It all looked unreal. Like one of those cartoons where the coyote gets flatten by a huge rock. Only this was a person I had known for eight years.

“I saw a China man’s head like that at Ch’ongch’on River. Second Infantry dropped one o’ fives on the gooks. Didn’t need to hit’em, concussion made their brains leak out of their ears and noses,” George said pointing his light at the substance.

Hubert was still dressed in his tan parka and insulated pants. Causing me to stand to my feet and scan the area.

“When you found him, was the blood still warm?”

“Yeah, there was steam coming off the body. Had Ussak and the kid search the block, but they didn’t spot anything. We’ve been here ever since.”

Ussak came along side George, his face barely visible from the oversize fur hood he wore. “I heard drums before we found Hubert. Reminded me of the qiluat that the angakkuit used during their ceremonies.”

“What’s a Ang..kakuit?” Mike interrupted.

“It’s what the white man calls a Shaman,” Ussak replied dismissively.

I pulled the tarp back over Hubert body before facing the three. “When we found Emily and Ralph the killer had stripped them naked. I think he’s doing some type of ritual with the bodies. Ralph had his eyes removed.”

“Jesus!” Mike blurted out.

“I’d wager a bottle of Evan Williams the killer still here.”

“What do you want us to do Sherriff?” George said unshouldering his rifle.

“I want you three to take your truck and park it down by the church. Keep to the shadows and come up behind the pharmacy. Al keeps a spare key under the mat by the back door. Let yourselves in and use the front window to keep watch. Alaku and I will drive up to the water plant that overlooks the town. It’s a good overwatch position with the streetlights. Anyone comes near that body, you apprehend them.”

George nodded, before turning with the others towards his truck. The night was growing colder, and the full force of the storm would be on us soon. This plan had to work. I wasn’t sure how much more of this I could stomach. I could already feel the tremors in my hands coming back. God, I needed a drink. Just needed to hold it together for a little bit longer.

I climbed back into Bronco, taking my gloves off and warming my hands on the vent.

“Where to Sherriff?” Alaku asked.

“We’re setting up an ambush using Hubert body. Let’s drive to the water plant and keep an eye out there.”

“Roger that Sherriff,” Alaku said, shifting the Bronco out of park.

We turned on Main Street, driving past the equipment garage and uphill toward the water plant. All the while scanning the dark alleys and nooks of the town for signs of movement. A part of me wished it could be so simple. A running car or person hiding in the ditch. But this killer was elusive, and they knew what they were doing. There would be nothing easy about tonight. But there was a chance the killer was still hiding in town. If that was the case, they would have to move soon or freeze.

My thoughts were interrupted as Alaku brought the vehicle to a stop at the water plant. I unscrewed the cap of the canteen and took another sip, just as Alaku cut the engine. The plant was a metal building, just big enough to house several pumps that cycled water from the basin to the town. The inside was dark, lit only by the glow of incandescent lamps attached to exposed piping. Alaku and I crouched in the shadows the eerie silence broken only by the mechanical hum of a generator and swooshing sounds of water being pulled through the pumps.

An hour passed as the darkness seemed to thicken around us. Keeping watch from a small window, I could see the blue tarp that covered Hubert body flapping in the dim streetlights below.  This plan was starting to feel like a waste of time. My feet throbbed as the cold radiated through my boots. I was starting to shake uncontrollably. My hands went deeper into my parka, fingers already numb from the exposure. We would have to go back to the bronco soon. The pump station was just warm enough to keep the pipes from freezing.  If we stayed much longer, we would risk being trapped in the storm.

Then, just as I was about to unholster my radio, a faint sound pierced the silence—a chilling, guttural growl accompanied by the slow rhythmic beat of a drum. This time the sound was close, rattling the glass windowpane with every beat. Ussak was right in his description. The drum was that of something the Inuit used during their ceremonies. I only knew this because I’d seen it at public festivals held for tourist. This was different though, it was loud. Louder than I’d ever heard. Almost like the sound was being energized by some unseen force. The wind carried the music across the countryside. A warning that something evil was being conjured.

Alaku and I exchanged a glance, our eyes filled with bewilderment. Without speaking we both knew to act swiftly. We crept out of our hiding place, traversing the darkness like phantoms, guided by the eerie drum beat that grew louder with each step. We exited the pump station into the fury of the blizzard. Our path lit only by a service light that hung from the bay door of the facility. The source of the sinister sounds was a dilapidated sawmill at the edge of town. Faint candlelight seeped through the gaps of the weathered wood acting as a beacon.

The path was deep in freshly fallen snow. Each step plunging us waist deep into the cold frozen ground. I struggled to catch my breath as Alaku cut the path in front of me. My heart pounded, legs heavy from the exertion and yet I moved forward through the icy gaps. The snow was starting to soak through, stinging my exposed flesh. Wet clothing was deadly, but my options were few and the sawmill was only a few more yards away. Smoke bellowed from a rusted flue pipe on the side of the mill. Sweet God there was fire inside.

On the verge of exhaustion, we reached the mill with weapons drawn. I tried to muffle my breathing, hoping to not reveal our approach. Alaku pulled the sliding door open just enough for us to squeeze inside. The drum beat heavily, vibrating the walls of the mill, sending dust particles floating through the air. This was enough to allow us to remain hidden as we navigated the candle lit interior coming to two large wood stoves that sat in the center.

My fingers and toes throbbed as they thawed. A good indicator I would keep all my digits. But now I was starting to get lightheaded. The last of my energy sapped by the journey here. The .357 magnum felt almost unwieldy in my hand. I would have to count on Alaku’s shotgun for my lack of accuracy if it came down to a gun battle.

Ahead of us, a partially concealed a figure stood silhouette by the candlelight.  It’s focus seemed to be on a makeshift altar comprised of bones and antlers that ascended the entire wall. Ralph Jensen’s eyes glisten inside the skull of an elk. A handful of Emily’s red hair curled around the antlers.

In the flicker of candlelight, I could make out the beast’s form. It was tall, much taller than any human, with a hulking, muscular frame that bristled with matted fur. A dark brown mane wrapped around its neck and extended down its back into a bushy tail. Its face was surprisingly human but distorted with an elongated muzzle and a set of sharp canines. Two fiery orbs of yellowish green eyes, glinted with a feral intelligence and an insatiable hunger.

The beast struck the drum with its palm careful not to puncture it with its extended claws. Each wrap was amplified by something unseen. I couldn’t explain how it was done. Even a concealed microphone wouldn’t be incapable of such volume. The instrument of stretched skin bore a faded tattoo. A shocking realization that it was not made from any animal hide. At last, we had found the killer musician. But my mind wrestled with the logic of it all. I knew what I was looking at. But dear God, what was it?

The creature lowered the drum allowing it to dangle from is body on lanyard of colored beads. Its ears pricked up. Hot breath sprayed into the air as it snorted. The beast was catching our scent. We had to act fast while the element of surprise was still on our side.  Alaku and I burst forth, opening fire from our concealed corner of the room. The .357 kicked hard in my hand the shot going wide and missing by several inches. Alaku was more successful as pellets from the shotgun dug deep into the fur chest of the beast. For a moment, it seemed like we might have the upper hand as the beast reeled back against the alter. But then it darted through us, tossing us aside like ragdolls and crashing through the wall to make its escape.

For a few seconds I laid sprawled out on the saw dust covered floor. My vision going in and out, the impact leaving me dizzy. I lifted my head, looking at the broken wall in which wind and snow poured in. Alaku’s eyes met mine as bright arterial blood jetted from his neck. He opened his mouth as if to say something but only a gurgling sound emitted. Without thinking, I rushed to his side, desperately attempting to staunch the bleeding with my gloved hand. The wound was deep, severing the carotid artery. Giant red foaming bubbles formed with each labored breath.

I held Alaku in my arms as his face went pale. His eyes darted around the room and then back to me before fading. Everything went quiet, except the sound of the howling wind from outside. A sense of loss washed over me as I looked down at my friend’s lifeless body. This wasn’t supposed to happen. We were smart about our approach. We had the drop. Anger swelled up inside me like scalding water.

With gritted teeth I picked myself up and went to where the beast had escaped. Deep indentation specked with blood went down the slope towards town. It was wounded and trying to find some place warm. It was falling into my trap and this time I would kill the fucking thing. Grabbing my radio, I called Mike and the others. “Mike, this is the Sheriff! I want you and the others to go quietly to the station. Keep your lights off and don’t investigate anything. I’m on my way there now.”

The static on the radio hissed for a second, and Mike’s voice came back. “Roger, Sheriff. We’ll see you and Alaku soon.”

I paused at the mention of Alaku, before keying the radio. “Alaku’s not coming… he’s gone.”

Part V

As I stepped through the heavy wooden door of the station, a rush of warm air engulfed me, instantly bringing relief from the frigid air outside. The scent of old wood and musty carpeting permeated the air, mingling with the faint aroma of coffee that lingered from the last pot brewed.

George, Ussak, and Mike sat attentively in the main lobby. The station was quiet, save for the soft hum of a flickering fluorescent light overhead. A dull, low murmur of the storm outside occasionally punctuated the silence, a reminder of the impending blizzard.

Ussak stood first his brown eyes seeing the blood on my parka. “Are you ok Sherriff?”

“We’re not dealing with a human. It’s something else… some sort of beast,” I said bluntly, rubbing my hands together.

“What do you mean?” Mike said, taking off his trapper hat.

“It had pieces of Emily and Ralph up there in the sawmill. It was doing some sort of ritual.”

Ussak went ridged. “My people call it the adlet, it’s an abomination.”

“What are you going on about?” George protested.

“I know how it sounds. Believe me, I’d think I’m crazy if it the roles were reversed.” I gestured down to the blood-soaked uniform and then back to George. “Alaku got it with the Remington. It’s wounded and hiding in the town now. It can’t survive out there with the storm. That means we have a chance to kill it.”

George stared blankly back at me and then looked to Ussak.

“What about Alaku?” Mike asked.

“The thing got him in the throat, he’s dead.”

“Are you sure? I mean did you…”

“Listen Kid, he bled out before I could do anything. There’s nothing to be done but to get even

Ussak, do you have any idea how to stop this…this adlet?” I asked.

Ussak took a moment, his brow furrowing. “In some legends our hunters used fire and spear.”

I reached into my pocket, pulling out my key ring, and began to fumble through the various keys until I found the silver one marked “Armory.” Looking back to the trio, I motioned for them to follow me.

“Back four years ago, Russian’s ships were spotted 50 miles off Port Hope. Got the Army so scared of a Soviet invasion they shipped a crate of these from Fort Wainwright.”

I unlocked a gray gun cabinet, pulling out four oiled M16A1 rifles and setting them down on the armorer’s bench. I then reached down and opened a large ammo can and began dispersing aluminum twenty-round magazines to the group.

“Holy shit!” Mike said, grabbing one of the rifles in his hand.

“Careful, you don’t blow our balls off with that!” George said, pushing the muzzle of Mike’s rifle safely away.

“You know how to shoot one of these?” I asked the group.

George slapped the magazine into the rifle and pulled the handle back chambering a round.

Mike nodded. “My Dad was a green beret. We used to go to the range with him on Saturdays.”

“It’s nothing I can’t figure out,” Ussak said.

“One more thing,” I said, pulling out a green crate with twelve cardboard cylinders.

George grabbed one of the containers and started to unwrap it. “For fuck sakes, Willie Pete? I haven’t used this since Korea.”

“Willie who?” Mike said.

“White Phosphorous,” George replied, looking annoyed.

I cleared my throat, looking at each of the men standing before me. “Listen, this stuff burns hotter than the sun and can raze the whole town. No Rambo shit! We take the Bronco and some road flares and work our way down the streets. Hopefully, we can flush it out. Once clear of the town, we use the grenades on it.”

The tension in the room grew palpable as each man accepted the gravity of our mission. There was no turning back now. Armed with rifles and white phosphorus grenades, we were our town’s last line of defense against this monstrous adversary.

As the men loaded the rest of the magazines, I went into the locker room to retrieve a spare unform and cold weather jacket. I ran hot water from the sink staring at my reflection in the fogged mirror. My face a patchwork of cracked dried blood and filth. More telling than that was the bruised circles around my eyes and the gauntness in my cheeks. Bile wretched up in the back of my throat as I puked. I braced myself against the porcelain, a series of dry heaves rippling through me. I stared back at the mirror before saying to myself, “I’m going to kill this fucking thing.”

Pilling into the Bronco, the engine roared to life with a growl of power that seemed dwarfed by the task at hand. The streets of Port Smith were quiet, the storefronts standing like empty monuments against the inky night. Snow was now coming down so fast the wipers struggled keep up. If not for the streetlamps marking the way I would have crashed at least twice.

We followed the town’s grid, methodically making our way past each intersection. I brought the Bronco to a halt as George, Mike, and Ussak exited and began to walk alongside it. At every corner, one of the men would throw a flare, casting a flickering red glow against the storefronts.

The tension was unbearable as we turned down 6^th Avenue, headlights washing over Hildebrand’s Taxidermy store. Through the front window a stuffed brown bear stood with arms outstretched. Instinctively, I hit the brakes causing the vehicle to come to screeching halt.

George took a combat stance with his rifle, pointing it towards the stuffed bear and then lowering the weapon. Ussak walked next to George, lit flair in hand. The two seemed to share a brief conversation turning away from the window and looking back towards me. George pulled down his scarf mouthing the words. “I almost shit myself!”

I started to wave at him, when a large hairy shadow came from behind the bear. I hit the horn with all my might prompting the two men to look back at the store to see the sharp teeth of the beast peering behind the window. Gun fire erupted from behind me as Mike opened up with his rifle. The burst was well placed shattering through the glass and ripping the beast ear off.

George and Ussak joined in, unloaded their rifles into the building. A torrent of lead tore through wood and brick, kicking up debris and exploding the stuff bear into a shower of cotton and fur. The wooden “Taxidermy” sign swung down held in place by a single chain. The beast retreated, red mist spraying against the wall as several rounds impacted its right arm and chest. Another shot tore through its muzzle causing it to stagger and fall to the floor. Seeing the beast go down the men halted their fire.

“Did we get it!?” shouted Mike from behind the Bronco.

Over the wind outside I could barely hear George shout back a response.

Mike knocked on my window causing me to jump in my seat.

“I hope Mr. Hildebrand has good insurance,” Mike said, before disappearing behind the Bronco.

Ussak investigated the window as George cautiously walked behind him. I unfastened my seat belt, ready to join the party when a round heavy object soared across my hood. The object hit George square in the back with an enough force to knock him to the ground. Bewildered, I looked into the rear-view mirror to see a much larger beast standing next to Mike’s headless body. A geyser of blood pulsated from the torn flesh of his neck soaking his bright green vest. George screamed in terror as Mike’s head came to rest next to him. Panic seized me as I came to the realization there were two killers.

Ussak, sensing something was wrong turned from the window raising his rifle. The beams of the Bronco lights blinded him to the second creature presence. He began to move towards George when the wounded beast sailed through the store window landing on the street curb below. The creature snarled through broken teeth as it brought its claws down onto Ussak’s back.

In an instant, the second, larger beast lifted the back of the Bronco, tipping the vehicle to its side. I fell into the passenger seat, the cab filling with an assortment of napkins and empty coffee cups that flutter through the air like a confetti parade. My knee smashed into the cassette player, the voice of Hank Williams singing, “Why can’t I free your doubtful mind and melt your cold, cold heart.”

The music continued over the sound of busted glass and grinding metal. The engine sputtered, noxious fumes stinging my eyes. The wounded beast was now on top of Ussak stabbing its claws deeper into his back removing handfuls of yellowish white fat and red swollen muscle. The creature leaned back and began to snort through its mangled muzzle. It was laughing. The fucking thing was laughing as it tore through Ussak. The snorting getting louder, blending with Hank Williams singing, reaching a pitch until bullets ripped through the creature’s chest knocking it back.

The report of George’s M16 reverberated through the empty street. He was on his feet now spraying the beast with well-aimed shots.

“You motherfucker!” George yelled.

George dropped the empty rifle, reaching into his jacket pocket and retrieving the grenade. He pulled the pin, releasing the safety lever and tossing it onto the beast. A powerful popping sound emitted, then a bright blinding flash as white sparks exploded high into the sky. The wounded adlet was engulfed in fire, it thrashed in the snow trying to smother the flames, but the white phosphorus continued to burn.

The second adlet was now rushing forth from behind the overturned Bronco. The cries of its partner seemed to quicken its response. It reached with its long arms attempting to pull the burning husk free, but the scorching flames made it recoil away. George had picked up his rifle and was trying to reload it when the attention of beast shifted back towards him.

Pain radiated through my back as I twisted free of the seat and kicked the front windshield. The cracked glass broke free, and I was able to shim my way onto the ice-covered pavement. I reached back inside the cab, hooking my fingers on the sling of the rifle and trying to pull it out. The rifle didn’t budge. I cursed out loud, putting my head back into the window. The rifle was caught between the head rest and seat belt. I shoved it forward, trying to jar it loose with no success. Behind me heavy footsteps followed by a low growl. I rolled away from the wreckage, coming to face the spot where I had last seen the beast.

“George, get out of there!” I yelled as the creature advanced.

The beast was fast, its brownish fur blending into the night. George had inserted the fresh mag into his rifle and was about to charge the bolt when it grabbed him by one hand, lifting him off the ground. Tendrils of hot drool spattered George’s face as the beast brought him closer to its open maw.  It extended one clawed finger plunging it deep into his belly and then cut upwards. He screamed in agony, his bowels spewing forth in a hot steaming pile of gore.

George’s mouth filled with blood. His eyes dashed wildly back and forth before finding me. With a flip of his hand, he threw his M16. The rifle hit the road bouncing once and coming to a sliding stop in front of me. I grabbed it, just as the beast sunk its teeth into his neck with a resounding crunch

My chest throbbed and my heart pounded. I went to stand, my left knee buckling under my weight. I reached out stabilizing myself against the Bronco’s roof and then bounded to the alleyway. Cold air hit my face as the snow blew directly into my eyes. I tried to get ahold of my breathing, my left arm going numb, legs heavy. But I kept putting one foot in front of the other. I was having a heart attack.

I entered the alley way, bracing myself against the walls. My chest felt as if was about to explode. I had three blocks to go and I was already struggling. I needed to get my heart rate down, needed to buy some time. A set of backdoor steps beckoned me. It was dark there and I could sit until the pain subsided. I turned scanning the alleyway behind me, before falling to the third step.

In my gloved hands, I gripped the rifle, feeling the frozen metal through the layers of my winter gear. Cold penetrated every layer of clothing, seeping into my bones, but the adrenaline coursing through my veins kept me alert. I flipped the safety selector to “auto,” and the rifle responded with a metallic click. I brought the weapon to my shoulder, aiming down the iron sights into the darkness. Just sit and breath. If I played this right, I might be able to get to the station.

Down the alleyway, the Adlet’s shadow betrayed its stealthy approach. This was too soon! I hadn’t expected it to be this close already. There was only one way in and one way out. If I tried to run now, the beast would catch me before I made it to the next street. I pulled my sweater up over my nose, trying to conceal my breath. There was a good chance it might not see me and turn back.

I sat still with rifle at the ready, as the adlet stepped out into the alleyway. It sniffed the air, looking at the ground. It hadn’t seen me yet, but it was getting closer. I wanted nothing more than to crawl inside myself and disappear. The creature was only ten feet away before it raised its head up and looked directly at me.

With a squeeze of the trigger, the M16 roared to life, unleashing its rapid burst of firepower. The deafening crack of each shot resonated through the desolate alley. The muzzle flash illuminating the area for a split second, revealing swirling snowflakes dancing in the night.

The recoil kicked up, but I held firm, as hot brass kicked into the icy air. I swept the rifle from side to side, sending a stream of lead tearing into the adlet. I couldn’t make out where I had hit it, but I knew it was wounded. As the last round was expelled, the bolt locked to the rear. As if rehearsed I dropped the weapon, disappearing into the shadows, leaving behind only the echo of gunfire in the frigid night.

Part VI

I crouched low, my leg numb as I struggled through the frozen streets. Gust of chilled wind hammered the town in a torrent of unrelenting snow and ice. I knew the adlet was still out there, wounded and angry. A force of murderous intent that couldn’t be reasoned with. The soft glow of the station’s exterior lights was a feeble beacon of hope, its promise of refuge growing stronger with each step.

The door was ajar, and a sense of foreboding clung to it like a shroud. Had the creature beat me here? I had no choice; I was freezing, and my heart wouldn’t stand much more.  I eased the door open, the rusty hinges protesting with a low creak. The waiting room revealed a ghostly stillness, a place that not more than hour ago held George, Mike and Ussak. Despite the open door the station was warm, and I could already feel the tips of my fingers swelling. I secure the entrance, latching the deadbolt, then lowering the blinds of the two front windows.

My senses remained on high alert, the adlet could emerge at any moment. I knew I had little time to gather myself. With great effort, I reached the nearest wall radiator, removing my gloves and warming myself. The tips of my pinky and ring finger on my right hand were grey. I was pretty sure I’d be losing them in the future. I didn’t even want to think about my toes.

Time seemed to stretch into a torturous eternity as I stood allowing the heat to warm my body. For a moment I drifted unconscious still pressed against the radiator and wall. I was exhausted, every fiber of my being wanted to lay down and just sleep. It hurt to move, hurt to breath. I was at the finish line. It was safe here and I could ride out the storm until morning.

Suddenly, the low rap of a drum seemed to originate from within the station itself.

Budmp…Budmp…Budmp…Budmp.

The beat quickens as if matching my heartbeat.

Budmp, budmp, budmp, budmp, budmp.

My gaze darted around the dim corners, trying to pierce the shadows that concealed the menace. I had led the adlet back to the station, and it was now hunting me in the very place I thought would provide refuge.

Budmp, budmp, budmp, budmp, budmp.

Then as the drumbeat was reaching its peak, it suddenly went silent. I pressed against the wall, a trickle of cold sweat running down my back. This was all a trap; I’d been too cold and exhausted not to recognize it. For Christ’s sake, it even left the door open for me.

From down the hall, the adlet emerged with a sinister grace, its massive form towering menacingly in the dim light. Its fur caked with dry blood, its claws scrapping the walls with a sickening sound, leaving trails of splinters and wallpaper. It cast the flesh drum aside and moved into full view of fluorescent lights.

I barely had time to react before the creature pounced, its speed defying its frame. With a brutal swipe of its paw, it sent me soaring across the room, landing on set of chairs, my back cracking. Excruciating pain coursed through me. I couldn’t stand, so I crawled.

Behind me heavy deliberate steps followed. It was toying with me, taking its time. A firm claw grabbed my right leg flipping me onto my back. It squeezed tight, dragging me back into the hallway. My duty belt brushed up against my stomach reminding me I still had my service weapon. I reached down unclipping the holster withdrawing the revolver. The adlet stopped in mid stride looking at the pistol.

Without aiming I pulled the trigger in rapid session, emptying the gun. The first rounds hit center mass, having little effect. But the last round caught the creature in its eye causing it to let go. I scrambled away, retreating down the hall, back towards the armory. Luckly, I hadn’t locked the door, finding the light on and the crate of White Phosphorus Grenades still on the gun table. I grabbed one, using my teeth to tear the cardboard packaging off.

Down the hallway the adlet galloped, reaching me just as I slipped the safety pin off the grenade. It slammed me against the wall smashing a hole through the paneling, sending splinters of wood and insulations drifting in the room. Then it hurled me back out of the armory headfirst into a wall radiator. I felt the sharp metal dig into my brow as warm blood stung my eyes.

I laid on the carpeted floor dazed from the blow. I was quickly running out of options. My next move would be a gamble. But I couldn’t let the beast walk out of here alive. Slowly, I slipped the handcuffs from my belt as the creature stood over me. Summoning the last dregs of my resolve, I hooked the cuff around the adlet’s ankle. The creature looked confused, but then I jerked with all my might connecting the other end to the radiator pipe.

The beast bit down into my ribs with its powerful jaws, lifting me off the floor. A sickening crack followed as sharp teeth broke through my ribs. My body spasmed uncontrollably and warm sticky urine flowed down my pants leg. I could feel my heart giving out as pain overloaded my brain.

With a final act of desperation, I released the grenades safety lever, dropping it to the floor. The beast swung me free from its mouth, jerking its leg and ripping the radiator free from the wall. It went to run away from the bomb, but it remained tethered to the piping.

The grenade exploded, engulfing the beast in white searing phosphorus. It shrieked trying to free itself, the hallway disintegrating into a fiery maelstrom. Heat sored through the waiting room igniting paper and wood instantly. The station became a giant tinder box as flames lashed about and bellowing clouds of black toxic smoke rose to the ceiling.

I crawl toward an office window, pulling myself up with the last vestiges of strength I had. I pressed against the glass busting it free with my weight and falling to the snowy ground below. The world outside spun as I lay amidst the wreckage. My body trembled, the metallic taste of blood choking me.

Floating embers from the fire twirled about. The storm had broken, replaced with a clear starry sky above. I could feel warmth starting to settle into my bones, pain waxing away. I was dying.

In the distance the sounds of a snowcat, grew louder by the moment. I faltered, my consciousness giving in. My eyes grew heavy with each labored breath. I could hear the soft rhythmic beats of a drum call to me. Beckoning me to join it.

Budmp…Budmp…Budmp…Budmp.