Fog [Short Fiction]

by Kenneth Kaye:

Sheriff McKlusky sighed as he pulled into the small drive. Normally dead animals were not in his job description, but Derek had insisted and it was on his way. A warm, uncomfortable wind blew down the street and ruffled his collar as he stepped from the SUV.

“Thanks for coming Sheriff.” Derek looked ashen and McKlusky knew something was wrong. Jay was known for his drama, but Waterfront’s well-respected mechanic was certainly not.

“Jay’s upstairs lying down.” He tossed his head toward the back door. “Muffin’s in the back yard.”

“Derek you know the cougars come out of the mountains all the time.” McKlusky pushed his hat back. Derek stared him down. At over six feet plus tall, he was not a man easily intimidated.

“I know that. Look at the little guy first and then tell me what you think.” There was a small golden lump in the far corner of the yard.

“Shit.”

“Told you it was no cougar. Jay about lost his mind.” McKlusky knelt down. The tiny dog’s head was almost severed from its neck.

“You found him this morning?” Derek nodded.

“He was scratching and whining late last night. I let him out. We well um… we got drunk and forgot he was out. I did. It’s my fault.” His chocolate brown eyes flared in anger and he turned away.

“You couldn’t have known this was gonna happen.” McKlusky surveyed the corpse. “I have to call animal control for this Derek. I can’t move him. Unless you guys want to handle it.”

“We’ll do it.” McKlusky pulled his camera from his coat. “Is it a crime scene?”

“Animal cruelty for sure. I want to follow up on this.”

“If you catch the bastard let me at him first,” Derek growled. “Muffin was Jay’s baby.” The sheriff patted the large man’s shoulder. The dog’s glazed stare followed him all the way to the sheriff’s station.

“Brett come here.” McKlusky’s deputy had just passed his one year mark with the department and he was already an invaluable team member. “Sanders what’s wrong with this picture?”

“Good god. Other than the dog’s nearly decapitated you mean?” Brett studied the photo array. “This is the dumping ground. There’s no blood.”

“Good eye. Only this is supposedly the kill site. This is Jay’s dog and his backyard. I doubt someone kidnapped the pup, killed it and then brought it back.”

‘That doesn’t fit together then.”

“Theories?” Brett shifted through the pictures.

“I’m stumped sir. This has to be a dump site. What if the dog ran off?” The sheriff shrugged.

“Possible. I’m filing with animal control for cruelty. That sickening warm wind rushed through the open door. “Hey Randy.”

“Hey. You done with your shift?” Brett turned to his boss and McKlusky nodded. He returned to the grisly images as the door swung shut. There were no blood pools, no blood trail, no trace anyone or anything had been in the yard. Yet Muffin was obviously very dead. A cold knot formed in the pit of his stomach.

“Bailey watch the store for me.” Waterfront was a very small town and there were only two full-time officers. Stan Bailey was part-time and Wendy Kranzen was volunteer. McKlusky often wondered how they would manage if something major ever occurred. “The cell’s on.” He headed straight home. Pulling all the blinds, he pulled the book from the safe. It smelled of age. The pages crackled as he carefully searched for information.

“Thank goodness you’re here sir.” He was tense and his voice cracked.

“She’s in the office?” Brett nodded. McKlusky nodded to Wanda as he sat down. “Brenda talk to me. Deep breaths and talk to me. Bailey’s heading a search party right now, but we need to know what happened.” The young mother was nearly hysterical.

“Jami was playing in the yard.” She started sobbing. Wanda took her hand. “I looked out and she was right there. At the edge of the woods by the playhouse. Oh god then she was gone. Just gone. Her doll was lying there. She’s gone.”

“You didn’t see anyone around?”

“No. The fog was getting thick, but she always plays in the yard. It’s been so warm lately and she wanted to stay out. She always stays in the yard. Sheriff you have to find her,” she wailed.

“Wanda will look after you Brenda. I’m heading out there right now.” He motioned to Brett. “You’re with me. This is your first missing kid. They’re the worst. Used to get them in Los Angeles all the time. Here not so much.”

“Sir what are the odds?”

“In LA zero. Here pretty good. I’m guessing Jami wandered off and she’s lost. Those woods aren’t that big.” The area was crawling with activity when they pulled up. Bailey gave them an update. He had a map marked into grids and teams of volunteers were scouring the forest. “Stay here. Brett and I are going around the far side. If she went farther than we think, maybe she ended up in the old cemetery.” The lights of town winked out as they headed down the rutted gravel road. Choked with weeds, it was more of a path after decades of neglect. The forest seemed to swallow their tiny beams of light.

“Where’s the fog coming from?” Brett asked as they moved through the rows of tombstones.

“I dunno. Strange this time of year.” Tendrils of mist curled around their ankles.

“Sheriff,” Brett yelled. “Oh god. Good god.” He threw up behind a row of graves. McKlusky knew the kid had seen rough action in Iraq, but children were tough even for seasoned veterans. He took deep breaths as the flashlight caught the white of bone. Her head lay at a violent angle. Like Muffin two days earlier, her glazed eyes stared up at him. This time, McKlusky knew those eyes were accusing him for allowing this to happen. He radioed Bailey.

“What do you mean no blood?” Brett stalked the room. McKluskly slid the photographs across his desk.

“Like the dog. A dump site.”

“How do you drain a body that fast? It’s impossible.” Brett’s eyes flashed in frustration. McKlusky’s crotch twitched. The kid was definitely good looking. Thirty years ago he wouldn’t have hesitated. Age and the job had taken too much out of him. The city of Angels had proven to be anything but for a homicide detective. He rubbed his temples. A pounder was coming on.

“I don’t know Sanders.” It was the first time he had lied to his deputy. “What else did the coroner say?” Brett sifted through his notes. McKlusky insisted his deputies take notes the old-fashioned way. They wrote them down. He believed handwritten notes carried more weight in a courtroom. People watched crime and noir films all the time. It was psychology.

“Her throat was cut with a sharp, jagged instrument. Still working on how the perp managed to tear the head off without damaging the skull. Spinal cord showed signs of twisting. Significant blood loss, but none found at the scene. Dirt under nails. No sexual assault. Who in the hell does this to a child?” Brett sank into the hard plastic chair.

“A monster kid. That’s who. A true monster.”

McKuskly poured himself a double shot of bourbon. The fog was getting thick just like he knew it would. His thoughts drifted back through the years. He still missed Doug’s kisses after all these years. He remembered the night the love of his life died in his arms. Aneurysm he was told. Doug never suffered. The tears welled up. He brushed them away. This was no time for a sentimental pit party. There was someone murdering people in his town. The fog crawled under the garage door as it slid open. An hour later, McKlusky stood among the decrepit tombstones. The evil bastard was here somewhere.

“Where are you? I know you’re here.” He picked his way through the brambles and briars.

“Sheriff?” McKlusky spun and swung the machete.

“Damn. What the hell?” Brett Sanders scrambled backward.

“What are you doing here?” McKluskly snarled.

“Looking for you. You weren’t home and I hit the GPS on the truck.”

“Goddamn technology,” he mumbled. “What?”

“Coroner has more information. She found teeth marks on the body sir.” McKlusky sank to the ground. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for the bastard who did this.” Brett blinked in confusion. “I don’t have time to explain.” He took the younger man by the shoulders. “I’m asking you to trust me Brett. Really trust me.” Brett nodded mutely. “We’re looking for a grave. It’s fresh. Dug up with the earth turned over. That or an open crypt. Trust me ok?” Brett nodded again. “Take that side and I’ll head this way. If you find it, yell.” Brett disappeared into the dense fog as they split up. A few minutes later, McKlusky stumbled over a fallen tombstone. His foot plunged into the muddy, upturned dirt. “I found you,” he mumbled. The mist pressed in on him as he started to dig. The machete stood erect in the dirt beside him. The sunlight was fading fast under the oppressive wall of fog. He plunged the shovel into the earth. Then he heard the shuffling sound behind him. He was too late.

“You will not win,” he shouted as the revenant shambled toward him. “We know now.” He raised the machete. The corpse flung itself on him. It had the strength of ten men and jagged, dagger-sharp fingernails. McKlusky barely had time to scream as it crushed the life from him. He heard ribs snapping. Suddenly the pressure eased as the shovel made contact with the thing’s head.

“Cut its head off,” he wheezed as blood bubbled from his nose. “Brett do it.” McKlusky saw the calm demeanor of a hardened Iraqi vet slip over his deputy. As the monster thing crawled to its feet, Brett swung the machete that had fallen in the attack. It sliced through the corpse’s neck and the head rolled away. Within seconds, the body began to disintegrate. The air was thick with dust as the thing just vanished into the muddy grass. McKlusky coughed up blood.

“Sir I’ll get an ambulance. Don’t move.”

“No, wait.” McKlusky grabbed his arm. “I’m not gonna make it. It’s okay. I’m ready. Been ready for a long time. Doug’s waiting for me.” He smiled and coughed up more blood. “Here.” He pulled the old book from his jacket. “Take this. It’s yours now. Protect the town. The cycle’s beginning.”

“Cycle?”

“Death. The book. You must…” He coughed up thick, foamy blood. Brett watched McKlusky’s life slipping away. “Find.” More bloody foam. “Find the one.”

“One what?” Brett’s heart clenched in his chest. None of this made any sense. The rambling of a dying man? “Sir what one?” McKlusky coughed up another river of blood. Brett knew he was gone. “Don’t die on me now,” he shouted as he started CPR. Each chest compression brought up more dark sticky liquid. It was futile and he knew it. He sank back onto the muddy grass. His fingers traced the strange designs etched into the old book. The wind ruffled the pages open. Brett’s head spun as he stared down at the unimaginable horrors drawn next to the bizarre symbols and archaic Latin. Digging into the dirt to steady himself, Brett felt himself sliding down an invisible tunnel. The stench of blood, soil, and rotted flesh assaulted him. The feeble flashlight became a pinpoint of light as he collapsed on the ground.

“Hey baby it’s me.” As Brett’s vision cleared, he saw his boyfriend Randy staring down at him. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“McKlusky,” Brett mumbled.

“He’s dead sweetie.”

“I know. What happened?”

“Neither of you checked in. GPS tracking found you guys. He had an aneurysm in the graveyard. What were you doing there?”

“Looking for the killer. McKlusky had a hunch. An aneurysm?” Randy nodded.

“He broke some ribs when he collapsed on a tombstone too. You must’ve fallen in the fog and hit your head. Oh, the state police caught the killer a few hours ago. They found Muffin’s collar and one of Jami’s sneakers in his stuff. Confessed to her murder too. Some really scary vagrant guy living in the woods on the edge of town.”

“That’s impossible. It wasn’t…” Brett stopped. What was it? Did he really kill a corpse out there? With his history, stories like that could get him locked up. Randy ran his hand through his hair.

“Sleep. You’ve had such a traumatic night. I’ll be back in the morning.” He gave Brett a kiss and vanished into the hall. The sedatives dulled his thoughts as he drifted into sleep. The shadow hovered just outside, watching him. Hating him. As it rode the tides of the departing fog, those citizens of Waterfront sensitive to such things swore they felt a crushing menace that night in their nightmares.

What or who is the One? Can Brett do anything to stop this menace before it’s too late? What is this mysterious book he’s been trusted with and what secrets does it hold?

Find out in The Terror Within, the next installment in The Waterfront Series. You can also read the erotic version of Out of the Fog and get the next in the series at Amazon.com

Author Kenneth Kaye is a West Coast native transplanted to New Jersey. He’s adjusted after all these years! A reader and a writer, he loves gay erotica, horror, and other eclectic things.

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