After Midnight (6 page)

"We might hafta wait a while," Jimmy said, easing down with a grunt, "it varies, but it usually takes twenty minutes or so."

"So…you're being serious? I mean...this is
gonna happen?"

Jimmy sighed. "No, we're just
standin guard so the animals don't get him. Of course it is. Why the fuck you think we drove 50,000 miles into the middle of nowhere?"

I grasped for a reply.

"You think I'm shitting you, but just wait until this faggot comes back. You'll see then."

We were quiet for a while. "What am I going to see? What the hell's the point in all this anyway?"

"The point," Jimmy said, lighting a cigarette, "is that this dickface gets to get whacked more than once. Just blastin him ain't good enough."

I guess that made sense.
Sort of. "But…how do you kill what’s already dead?"

"Shut up with the questions, will you? You'll see."

For a long while we smoked in silence, gazing into the soul of the fire and lost in our own thoughts. More than half an hour must have passed before I heard the furtive rocky scraping at my left.

Even then I don't think I
really
believed that Joey was going to come back. I just couldn't make myself truly accept it. When I first heard it, I guess I thought Jimmy was trying to light his Zippo. I was looking up at the moon, so I didn't see him.

"Ah, there he is."

Inexplicably, my heart sank. I looked at Jimmy, who was grinning like lunatic. "What?"

He sang a parody of that oldie "My Boyfriend's Back."

I glanced over at the mound...

...just in time to see a few stones tumble down.

"The fuck?" I muttered, my throat suddenly tight and my heart starting to crash. If it were a movie, this would be the scene where loud music plays as the camera zooms in and out on my slack face real fast as all kinds of psychedelic shit swirls and flashes in the background.

Jimmy laughed.

Spider-like, a white hand stained with dirt burst from the depths of the cairn. I jumped to my feet with a breathless cry of terror.

Jimmy flicked his latest cigarette butt into the fire and got to his feet.

"Joey!" he cried, throwing open his arms as he strutted over to the cairn, from which stuck a wiggling forearm, "what’s goin on?"

At the graveside, he pulled back his left leg and lashed out at the hand. A soulless screech came from
the mound, and I fell back a few steps, panting and nauseous with horror.

Jimmy bent, picked up a rock, and leered over the grave for a moment. Then he took a step back, and when he shifted his weight, I saw that Joey was sitting up, gazing dazedly off to his left. His head swiveled
bonelessly, and he looked quizzically up at Jimmy.

"Welcome back," Jimmy said, and brought the rock down so hard on Joey’s head it split in half. The sickening crack of the dead man’s skull sent shockwaves of disgust through me, and I turned away and puked.

At last, I only dry wretched, my chest a mass of agony and my mouth acidic. I had fallen to my knees as the world grayed around me, and quickly got to my feet.

Jimmy was already sitting by the fire, the rock heap back in perfect order. I sank dazedly down across from him. Without a word, his produced a flask and handed it to me. I took a large sip. The alcohol was warm and tasted like cherries.

When I was done, I handed it back. Jimmy, face stony and bizarre in the flickering glow, shook his head. "You need it more than me."

I put it in my jacket pocket.

"I guess I shouldn’ta brought you here," he said solemnly.

"Look, I’m sorry, it’s just…"

"Nah," he said, "it’s fine. Some guys don’t even make it this far. They run away down the path and that’s that." He smiled. "When I first came up here back in ’62, I nearly shit myself. Literally. I had to go off"- he motioned past me-"and let loose."

He dreamily shook his head. "The trip up’s the worst part. We’ll go back down after the sun comes up. Sound good?"

I nodded. That sounded great.

Soon, the rock pile beside me began crumbling again. I reacted a little calmer than I had before. I jumped to my feet and backed off like a man does when he finds a black widow in a dark corner, but I didn’t puke.

When Joey was sitting up, Jimmy kicked him in the chest so hard I heard the former’s spine crack in half. Joey gurgled and gagged as Jimmy stood over him. "Havin fun, rat?" Jimmy asked, and then stomped Joey’s face in.

The entire night passed thus. It was a pattern: Sit by the fire, kill Joey, sit by the fire,
kill Joey. Jimmy really
was
having fun. He stabbed Joey, shot Joey in the heart, threw a rock at Joey’s head, injected Joey with some kind of poison, lobbed the top of Joey’s head off with the shovel, got a running start and kicked Joey’s head, garroted Joey with a rope.

Finally, he started getting tired.

"You wanna get him next?" he asked heavily, slumping down across the fire.

I shook my head. "No, you go ahead."

He chuckled. "We done everything we can do to him. Let’s just bu…." He trailed off, perking, his eyes widening. "That’s it!"

For a half an hour he sat giddily in silence, waiting for Joey to get back up. As soon as he did, Jimmy shot him and got the gas can. Splashing the contents on Joey’s inert form, he said, "Now let’s see if ashes come back."

They didn’t.

Editor’s
note: The following account was taken from the diary of 16-year-old Jacob Warner who, along with his father James and his uncle Henry, disappeared during a hunting trip in British Colombia in 1885. Upon investigation, police found the trio’s cabin in shambles and the floor covered with blood. The notebook was outside in the grass.

It was originally published in a local newspaper, and then again in “The Case for the ‘Sasquatch’” by Chester Compton in 1924. This version, slightly abridged, first appeared in the June 1959 issue of
Amazing!
magazine
.

July 5, 1885- We arrived at the cabin today around noon. The trek from town was strenuous but, as the sun was shining brightly and the temperature was
high, also exceedingly pleasant. When we stopped in a meadow near a stream for lunch, I proposed that we take our time and enjoy the day. Father and Uncle Henry, however, were impatient. "Come, hurry," Father said. "We have not much further to go." I was forced to eat my food like a savage, and then run to catch up with them.

In fifteen minutes, we crested a small, forested rise and came within sight of the cabin, which sits on a ridge overlooking the vast wilderness, a small, rustic one-stor
ey structure, primitive yet beautiful. Father is like a boy again, his eyes aglow and his face radiant. He and Uncle Henry haven't been here in years, and they've been delighting in the domestic trivialities like a pair of girls. I cannot help but smile watching them.

Presently, as they tidy, I
sit outside and basking in the wondrous afternoon. Father says that once he and Uncle Henry have gathered enough wood for a fire, we shall go hunting. I doubt we will have time to canoe downstream to fish before the sun sets.

Later

We are just returned, and with only a rabbit and a single deer to show for it. But that is fine. We had a rather nice time. We also found a set of curious tracks near the river. Father says they must have been made by an enormous grizzly, though they looked unsettlingly human.

July 6, 1885- After a breakfast of eggs, bacon and coffee, we set out down the river between tall, flanking pines. We set up a temporary camp on a rocky, out-jutting peninsula in a bend, and have been fishing ever since. Father caught three trout, I two, and Uncle Henry nothing. Poor old man. He doesn't seem to mind a bit, though.

Later

We paddled back at dusk through the gathering gloom and clinging mist, the stars like glinting needlepoints, and the mixture of blues, oranges and purples breathtaking. I can clearly see why Father and Uncle Henry are so in love with the place.

The wildlife, though, has proven troublesome
. Upon reaching the cabin, we are perturbed to see that some largish beast had knocked in the door and rummaged around inside, drawn, said father, by the game we killed yesterday. Luckily there are tools on hand and we fix the door. From now on we are to sleep with a strong bar across it, lest something enter in the night.

July 7, 1885- At roughly midnight, we were awakened by strange noises in the bush, like a wildebeest panting in heat. Father was the bravest among us, and took a rifle to investigate. He returned after five minutes and announced that he had found nothing.

This morning, however, I and Uncle Henry discovered more of those queer tracks along the western wall. These were, of course, fresher than the ones we had seen previously and therefore more discernible. They are each about 18 inches long and 5 inches across, featuring 5 toes, the littlest ones mashed together, and a large heel. They seem again to be those of an exceptionally large man. Father dismissed them once more as belonging to a bear, and I have faith in his assessment.

After we had lunch, we return to yesterday's spot and fish. I and Uncle Henry, neither of us having had a nibble, eventually went off into the forest for a walk. We found an old deer trail worn through the underbrush, and followed it quite a ways to a cliff giving out on a rolling panorama of rising trees and a distant mountain, the peak capped with snow even in the summer. Closer, we observed a plume of sooty black smoke puffing into the air, and were quite startled by the shrill blast of a locomotive whistle.

'Why, I had no idea they put in a railroad,' Uncle Henry laughed.

On our way back to the river, we several times heard the sound of something large moving in the woods to our far left. I was unnerved by thoughts of bears and big cats, but Uncle Henry was his usual jovial self, and saw fit to tell me of the wendigo, an Indian superstition regarding cannibal giants who haunted the north woods in the winter. That diverted my wary mind, I must confess!

Again, we return
at dusk. The cabin had not been molested, and we had a most comfortable evening around the fire.

July 8, 1885- Uncle Henry trekked down the mountain to the village of Rocky Top today to check the post office and to pick up some supplies. I very much wanted to go with him, but remained with Father to help with the wash.

Uncle Henry returned about supper, bearing a letter from mother. All is well in Burlington, though there was a tremendous thunderstorm there the night we left, and a fierce whirlwind damaged the Negro section of town.

Today was not as much of an adventure as the past few have been, but toward dusk we took a long walk in the woods around the cabin. Upon our return we found the door again smashed down and our effects strewn about. Father was beside himself, and Uncle Henry was worried, claiming it appeared the work of men. There are still wild redskins in the woods, he says, and they may be hostile. Father dismisses that notion, but vows to kill one should he see him.

July 10, 1885- We are again startled from sleep, this time by an awful pounding on the side of the cabin accompanied by an inhuman combination of grunts and yells. Not even Father could muster the courage to go outside. In the morning, several sets of tracks are present. Father has admitted that they look distressingly human (I shudder to think of the man who made them!), but will not even consider leaving.

Later

At around four this morning, we are roused by a large stone crashing through one of the windows. In the deep black, I caught a flash of glowing red eyes through the window. My heart gave a frightful leap and I very nearly swooned. Father saw too, for he fired.

I seriously doubt that our attacker is a man, and I suspect Father and Uncle Henry think likewise.

We are making preparations to leave at once.

July 11, 1885- Uncle Henry has gone missing. He went out to use the outhouse while we packed, and never came back. Father and I called his name and, in answer, received only a faint, echoing cry as of agony or unbearable fear. We are going to fetch the constable.

Later.
Dusk.

We are
unable to make good our escape, for half-way down the road to Rocky Top we were confronted by a giant, man-like ape which stepped into our path. It was a loathsome thing of about ten feet tall with matted brown fur, blazing red eyes, and mammoth, protruding fangs. Father fired on it with his shot-gun and I with my rifle, but our bullets had no effect upon it. It merely thrust out its pelvis and pounded its great chest with simian fury, letting out a thunderous roar. Screaming in mortal terror, Father and I fell all over each other to flee.

We've heard Uncle Henry again, crying out as those
monsters hurt him. I doubt we shall sleep.

July 12, 1885- Father is gravely wounded. We are surrounded by those demons last night, and as one they converge on us, trying with unfathomable power to smash their way in. We kill three of them and damage a fourth so badly it couldn't retreat and was abandoned. Its pitiful whimpering would be horrible if I didn't find such a savage relish in it.

Later

An hour and a half ago those things return and shower the roof with stones and God knows what, shrieking like wild monkeys in sexual frenzy. One of their projectiles sails through a smashed window, hits the floor, and rolls up to my foot like some ghoulish pet risen from the grave.

A human head.
Uncle Henry’s head…

I think
I suffer a breakdown looking into his cold, glazed eyes. I weep bitterly for nearly an hour, clutching my rifle like a child would a doll. When I am quite under control, I…toed Uncle Henry away and covered him with a cloth. I read a bit of verse over him, then I come back to father’s side. I am very worried about him. He has lost a lot of blood. I must-