Stan Springs sat at the black-and blue-tile-covered bar of Gil’s Tavern, nursing a Jack and Coke. The place seemed quiet for a Friday night, but what the hell did he know? Up until a few nights ago, he hadn’t been in the place in over seven years. He hadn’t even recognized the young kid with all the arm tattoos, tending bar. Billy Richman, Greg Richman’s boy. All grown up with nowhere to go. Guess tending bar beat out your father’s hope that you would play in the big leagues.
There were a few older fellas at the end of the bar, drinking Budweiser and talking about how right Bill O’Reilly always was, and how unfair it was of this treacherous country of ours to be disrespecting George W. over the war in Iraq. Stan even heard them refer to “all the democrats down in Portland” as “a bunch of queers”.
Small-town minds… Just like in his dreams, he would enjoy devouring as many of them as he could.
The dreams had intensified since his feedings a week ago. He couldn’t sit at home in peace. The dark visions had crawled back into his days as well. The black forest, the skeletal limbs clawing at him, and the anger.
Joe Fischer and that café whore pushed him back into this madness. Who the hell did they think they were? He’d been avoiding both of them since Joe’s big pop-in warning, but there was payback coming. He was going to make damn sure of that. Right now, the whiskey and the scumbags around him were fuel enough for his rage. And he welcomed it.
“Hey, Deputy, off tonight?” Billy Richman said.
Stan glanced over at Dwayne Clarke. One of Joe’s boys.
“Yep. Can I get a Happy Meal?”
“Coming right up.”
“What the hell’s a Happy Meal?” Stan grumbled.
The young deputy looked surprised.
“Ah…it’s a shot of whiskey and a tall boy.”
Stan left the response in the air between them. He smirked at the boy and went back to his drink in silence.
“You’re Sheriff Springs.”
Stan held his glass just before his lips. “Not anymore.” He finished the glass and slammed it down. “Another.”
Billy mixed him another and placed it down on a fresh napkin.
“What’s the line on last weekend?”
“The line?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, boy. What’d Joe tell you happened to those folks?”
“Looks like we got a wild animal on our hands.”
“Is that so? Just like in ’97?”
“Highly unlikely that the two are related, but, yeah, from what I know about the attacks that year, it looks a lot like it.”
“You sure you ain’t heard nothing else.”
“You know something we don’t?”
Stan pushed back from the counter, then stood.
Deputy Clarke was startled, but regained his composure.
Stan downed his drink, stopped behind the deputy and dropped a heavy paw on his shoulder. Clarke tensed beneath his palm. “Why don’t you ask your sheriff what happened to the last young deputy who went chasing wild animals for him.” He patted Clarke’s shoulder and started for the door.
Stan didn’t wait for a reply. He didn’t care what the kid had to say. If he stepped in his way, Dwayne Clarke would end up just like Brett Curry. Stan climbed into his pickup. He rarely used the vehicle. He preferred to walk, but he had plans for tonight.
Across town, Melanie Murdock tried hard not to fall asleep on her couch. The heat wave currently clinging to Gilson Creek sapped all of her energy. She was lying on her way-too-comfortable sofa with a box fan pointed directly at her. Regardless of the artificial breeze, this heat had her sweating like crazy. Even lounging in only a tank top and bikini bottoms was too much to bear.
She was alone again on a Friday night. The story of her life. She was trying to make it through an AMC showing of the horror classic Halloween. They always played horror movies on AMC on Friday nights, and since breaking up with Jack four months ago, she hadn’t missed one single movie that was part of their Fear Friday showcase.
She loved scary movies, always had. Jack had absolutely detested them. Telling her that the people who watched them were sick and got off on that crap. He was a westerns guy. It was Clint Eastwood and John Wayne, or bust. If she had to see another movie about a guy riding a horse into a town where nobody knew him, only to have him rescue its people from a mustache-wearing bad guy whom he had no business interfering with, it would be too fucking soon. She’d love to see John Wayne mosey up to Michael Myers and see how far that would get him. She was guessing he’d get grabbed by the throat, lifted off his feet and finished off with about five stabs to the chest. Now that she would watch.
She was startled when her phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Mel. It’s Joe. I didn’t wake you, did I?”
Her heart fluttered. Nervous and excited, not to mention surprised, she tried hard not to let any of those emotions through with her response. “No, I was just watching—”
“Halloween on AMC?”
“Yes! How did you know?”
“I was watching it myself and I remembered you talking at the café about this Fear Friday thing on AMC a couple weeks ago. Truth be told, I’m just glad they’re not showing The Howling.”
“What, you don’t like werewolf movies? Don’t tell me you bought into any of that crazy wolfman shit that Old Mike used to spout off about?”
There was silence from the other end of the line.
“Sheriff?” Melanie said. “Are you still there?”
“Joe,” he finally said. “You can call me Joe. And, yeah, I’m still here. Truth is, or, rather, the reason I was calling was to, uh…”
She found his vulnerability appealing.
“Mel,” he continued, “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind having company. That is, if you might want someone to watch the movie with.”
“Yeah, I think I’d love that,” she said.
“Great. Should I come over? Or, do you want to swing over here?”
“Either way is fine with me,” she said. “Is Sonya home?”
“No, she’s over at her friend’s for the night. Tell you what, how about I swing over to your place? I can grab us something from Anthony’s on the way. If you’re hungry, that is?”
“If you just want to grab some beers, I finished off the couple I had in my fridge a little earlier. I’ve got some chips and dip here.”
“I’ll stop at Anthony’s, then head right over,” he said.
“You’d better hurry. Michael just rolled into Haddonfield in that sweet station wagon. You don’t want to miss any of the good stuff.”
“I’ll throw up the cherry top and be there before Laurie gets out of school,” he said.
“See you in fifteen, then?”
“Make it ten.”
Melanie hung up the phone. She couldn’t believe what just happened. What was about to happen.
Joe Fischer had just asked to come over. They had been flirting for years, but she never expected that he’d ever make a move. She’d always been attracted to him, and since she asked him to talk to Stan Springs, they had gotten a little closer, she thought. She felt like he was protecting her.
Lights appeared on the far wall, casting down from the ceiling. Someone was in her driveway.
He couldn’t have gotten here that quick.
Melanie hopped up. She was only wearing bikini bottoms. That might be a little too much. She didn’t want to make the guy uncomfortable.
She ran to her bedroom and threw on the short red running shorts she’d been wearing earlier. She considered putting on a T-shirt, but then thought better of it. She looked great in a tank top. She smiled to herself as she went to the front door.
She drew the curtain back. The smile fell from her face.
Stan Springs sat in his old Ford pickup. He had the interior light on and was wearing the crooked smile of the Cheshire Cat on his leathered face as he watched Melanie Murdock appear, then quickly disappear behind the light-blue curtain that graced her front door. He imagined her surprise, her shock, her fear.
His smile grew. So did his hard-on. How he’d love to go teach that bitch a lesson. He was nearly salivating at the mere thought. She didn’t want him in her shitty, little café; let’s see how she’d like him between those big tits she always flaunted.
Melanie cupped her hands over her mouth. Stan Springs was sitting in her driveway in a pickup truck; she didn’t even know he had a vehicle. He was just out there, staring at her house with his dome light on so that she could see who it was. If he was trying to intimidate her, it was fucking working.
Where are you, Joe?
He’ll be here any minute, she answered herself.
What if that crazy son of a bitch gets out of his truck? What then?
She crouched down behind her door. Then she was compelled to get back up and make sure Springs was still in his truck.
On the television, Michael Myers stood behind a row of tall bushes. He waited for the girls he would later torment. The irony was not lost on Melanie.
Just as she climbed to her feet, she heard the truck start. The engine roared over and over again. All the while, the dome light remained on as she watched his wicked smile.
Come on, Joe. Please. Get here fast.
Stan Springs observed Melanie Murdock through her window. She’d get hers, but not tonight. No, tonight wasn’t quite right. He put the truck in Reverse and pulled out of the driveway. He’d be back, sooner than later. Soon enough, the full moon would return. That should set the ambiance perfectly.
“Good night, bitch,” he muttered.
Stan drove away into the blackness of the night.
Melanie sighed, relieved, but completely petrified by what she had just witnessed. What did he want? What was he going to do?
She was shaking when Joe’s Range Rover pulled into the driveway almost five minutes later. Throwing open the front door, she ran to him.