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The lithe, bedraggled cat carried her kitten into the brush and Jake followed, squatting down to fit himself into the tiny burrow she’d made. He sat cross-legged across from them as the mother ran her tongue over the shivering kitten. The little hollow was filled with sadness. They didn’t know he was there. He was invisible. He shifted in discomfort, until finally he couldn’t stand it and squeezed back out into the cool night air.
A splash came from his left and he turned to see his ex-wife, Liz, standing in a creek, fully dressed but soaking wet. She reached down and splashed some droplets his way, but when they reached him, they instantly evaporated.
She ran from him, rounded a corner and disappeared. Jake rushed to catch up and found only the mouth of a cave. A wave of frigid air washed over him as he stepped inside.
A campfire sat in the middle of the cave, but he couldn’t feel the warmth of the flames. Around the fire sat various animals, all of them eerily personified, sitting cross-legged as a human would. He moved to join their circle and they vanished, leaving only him and the dying fire. He sank to the ground, desperately trying to feel warm again.
Suddenly, Liz appeared beside him, still drenched in water though she now wore a one-piece bathing suit, her hair flat and stringy against her shoulders. He stood up as she put her arms out in front of her as if to hug him, but instead she pushed hard against his chest, sending him stumbling backwards into the fire.
The flames licked at his skin, sending sharp pain through his body. He swatted vainly at the flames and, screamed, but the screams only came out in piercing growls. His bones rattled, he gritted his teeth and then his head struck the ground with an agonizing thud—
***
Jake snapped awake, his chest heaving from the nightmare. He tried to hold on to the particulars, but as usual they’d slipped away into darkness. Memories and thoughts flooded his mind, and he felt an almost electric alertness that would surely keep him awake for hours.
This dance of dreams and wakefulness had become all too frequent in the last year. Usually, his nightly litany of regrets involved his divorce, but, lately, unknown images of vicious predators had been coming to him. Memories of Liz intermingled with ominous, threatening creatures; riffs on scary cryptids that had frightened him as a child but fascinated him as an adult.
Before the divorce, Jake and Liz had visited Scotland. Liz wanted to experience the history and the people, but Jake insisted that they squeeze in a visit to Loch Ness. For him, it represented a pilgrimage of sorts. When he thought about that day, he could still feel the sharp Scottish air whip against his face, while he prayed for some vestige of his childhood fantasies to pop up from the serene waters of the lake. Unsurprisingly, they saw nothing out of the ordinary.
A memory randomly popped into his mind of a woman who had commented on his abandoned blog. He couldn’t remember her name, but she’d left a comment on a post about chupacabras, chiding him for getting some of the facts wrong, and going out of her way to document his inaccuracies in excruciating detail.
At the time, he reacted only in annoyance. What kind of troll scours the internet to correct facts about non-existent creatures? He wondered now, though, if that same person could be helpful. Perhaps there existed previous reports of animals being mutilated in the way the lamb had been. This lady could maybe help him solve the mystery.
Without turning on any lights, he felt his way into the other room to his laptop, the bright light of the screen blinding him as it came on.
Jake popped open a web browser and went to his blog. He hadn’t updated it in years, and no one visited it any longer. Blogs had largely fallen out of fashion once long-form posts gave way to tweets of 140 characters or fewer. He clicked cryptids in the category list on the right, which navigated him to a list of articles that he’d posted under the heading Cryptid Corner.
He scanned the list until he found the article about chupacabras and clicked through to the comments section, which contained only one from someone named “Skylar Brooks.”
With a lead to go on, Jake searched for the name and got a number of hits. He scanned through the results and quickly got a picture: Skylar Brooks was a grizzled old man with a handlebar mustache. He owned a museum in Missouri, had written multiple books, and—most importantly of all—had a Wikipedia page documenting his career as a cryptozoologist.
Maybe the lamb had been killed by a wild animal. Or perhaps it had been a high school prank. However unlikely, Jake still entertained the idea that something else entirely lurked in the shadows of Rose Valley. Something unknown. And maybe Mr. Brooks could help him classify this thing.
He messaged Shandi:
Jake Rollins: Hey. Weird request. Could you send me the pictures you took of the lamb out here?
While waiting for a response, Jake passed the time by looking through Skylar Brooks’ biography. The man boasted various degrees in biology and zoology. His father had served as a cryptozoologist before Skylar and garnered some renown within the community for his nationwide investigations. Skylar had even consulted on a number of History Channel specials, though Jake always struggled to connect history and cryptids.
Shandi Mason: Something is wrong with you, Jake Rollins. Check your email.
The animated ellipsis came up again, followed by another message.
Shandi Mason: Please don’t hang these on your walls. I’d hate to think you were a psychopath. :P
Jake smiled, sent a thumbs-up emoji, and a then a proper response.
Jake Rollins: No promises. This place could use some decorating. Thanks for the quick response.
He downloaded the pictures and started a new email to Skylar Brooks. He typed up a brief description of the mutilations, asked for any information that Mr. Brooks could provide, and attached the photos.
Re-reading the email, he questioned whether he should send it. Then, with one hasty tap, the email was off.
With that out of the way, Jake leaned back in his chair. With any luck, Mr. Brooks would write back with some information. Even information that ruled out an unknown predator would be helpful. It would be another piece for the puzzle, and something he could forward on to Shandi.
Another ding from his chat app.
Shandi Mason: Why are you up so late?
Jake Rollins: I could ask the same of you.
Shandi Mason: Working. Papers don’t write themselves, ya know.
Jake Rollins: Fair enough. What ya workin’ on?
Shandi Mason: Story about Relics. Some of their cheetahs were kidnapped. Catnapped? Cheetahnapped, I guess. lol
Jake Rollins: Really? That’s crazy. We were just talking about those cheetahs. Do they know who did it?
Shandi Mason: No. The park seems to want to say they were stolen for money, but it doesn’t really add up. One of the cheetah cubs was torn to shreds like that sheep out there. I’ll send you the pics for your blood & gore psychopath collection. :P
Jake laughed softly. Amazing. Well, amazing as something involving grisly mutilations could be. The kill count tallied up to a goat, a sheep, and now a cheetah cub. Jake took the fact that the rampage continued as a promising sign. More evidence meant a greater chance to actually get to the bottom of whatever roamed through Rose Valley.
Jake Rollins: Maybe it was coyotes :P
Shandi Mason: haha maybe so.
Jake Rollins: What does His Majesty Sheriff Cam Donner think about it?
Shandi Mason: Dunno. Haven’t talked to him about it. Dub was on the scene.
Jake Rollins: Ah. Lucky you. That boy will do anything for you.
Shandi Mason: Yeah. Unfortunately, it comes at the cost of him ogling me like a piece of meat.
Jake Rollins: Can you blame him? Marie is such a dog. :P
Shandi Mason: lol. Right? I hear men don’t go for that exotic, sexy foreigner vibe. Not when they can have a short, be-freckled redhead.
Shandi’s appearance didn’t warrant self-criticism. Her height seemed about right to Jake—not too short—and he liked the dusting of freckles over her face. Any man would agree that Shandi Mason possessed an abundance of eye-pleasing qualities. With their long-rooted friendship, though, thinking of her that way almost felt like betrayal.
Jake Rollins: Some guys like freckles and red hair.
Shandi Mason: Let me know when you find him.
Jake Rollins: Yes, ma’am. I’ll put my feelers out and check with all my guy friends.
Shandi Mason: Oh. So... Steve, then? I’m fairly certain he’s not interested.
Jake Rollins: lol. Yeah... I suppose you’re right.
The conversation hit a dead end, but Jake wanted it to continue. Since his return to Rose Valley, he had become a hermit, but Shandi had gone out of her way to talk to him, to make him feel welcome again. People who abandoned Rose Valley straight out of high school did not always receive a warm reception. Shandi represented a neutral zone. Safe harbor. Talking with her provided peace and sanity in a town that largely rejected him.
Jake Rollins: How do you do it?
Shandi Mason: Do what?
Jake Rollins: Work all the time like you do.
She didn’t respond right away. Jake waited, worried that she had gotten distracted with other things. To kill the time, he absent-mindedly clicked back over to his email to check for new messages, disappointed to find none.
Another ding. He clicked back to the chat app. A picture was loading. As it came in, he saw Shandi, holding a glass of red wine towards the camera. She pointed at it with her other hand, her mouth turned up in a goofy grin. Her red mane was tied back in the usually messy ponytail, adorable wisps of hair framing her face. The old t-shirt she wore looked comfortable and relaxing, sending a chill up Jake’s spine as he suddenly remembered that he wore no shirt.
Shandi Mason: That’s my secret.
Jake Rollins: I thought wine made people sleepy.
Shandi Mason: Nah. It turns me into a Pulitzer prize winning journalist. :P
Jake Rollins: In your head, I guess.
Shandi Mason: Ouch! You’ll see someday. The only thing holding me back is that nobody actually reads the Rose Valley Reporter.
Jake Rollins: That’s not true. There are at least 10 solid readers.
Shandi Mason: lol. I stand corrected.
Jake Rollins: I always read your stuff.
Shandi Mason: You don’t even subscribe to the paper.
Jake Rollins. Well, yeah. But Steve does.
Shandi Mason: How sweet. You steal someone’s trash for me. What a devoted fan! :P
Jake Rollins: Aww. Be nice. We’re only thinking of the environment by sharing.
Shandi Mason: I’m just teasing you. I’m excited about all of this. I just gotta get Dan to stop censoring it.
Jake Rollins: Meh. It’s not really his fault. Cam’s got his nuts in a vice.
Shandi Mason: LOL. Cam has this whole town’s nuts in a vice.
Another break in conversation. Jake yawned. Finally, his mind seemed to be winding down.
Shandi Mason: Anyway. I think this wine may actually be making me sleepy. Who knew?
Jake Rollins: Um. Me? I knew.
Shandi Mason: Oh, shut up, smartass. :P
Jake Rollins: =X
Shandi Mason: :) Get some sleep. You need it.
Jake Rollins: Okay. Good luck on the article
Shandi Mason: Thanks, Jake. G’night xoxoxo
Jake Rollins: night, Shandi
He fumbled through the dark and threw himself back into the bed. He felt sleepy and safe now, his mind wandering around aimlessly as he drifted off. He thought of Shandi’s green eyes, twinkling as she pointed at her wine. And then of Liz; the divorce. And then of the mutilations. And back to Shandi, who morphed into Liz...
Cheetahs...
Goats...
Sheep...
Cryptids...
The accident...
Sleep.
