CHAPTER 5
Mandy had her boot to the floorboards as she raced south on Main Street; the engine roared and the emergency lights cast weird and near-psychedelic colors on the houses and stores she went past. A grim, determined expression was etched onto her face as she stared through the windshield.
The only time she slowed down - and that was just for a fraction of a second - came when she forced the large vehicle through the right-hand turn onto the dirt road that led to the transformer substation.
Halfway down the uneven trail, her entire windshield turned pitch-black like someone had thrown a bucket of tar all over it. A split-second panic blasted through her which made her let out a howl and spin the steering wheel left to escape whatever it was that had seized the vehicle.
The black, impenetrable shadow vanished without a trace from one second to the next - the loud whoosh that accompanied the action drowned out even the sound of the roaring engine. As Mandy's field of view became clear once more, she howled again and slammed both boots onto the brake pedal to stop the Durango before it would drop nose-first into the drainage ditch that ran parallel to the road.
Despite the anti-locking brakes working overtime, the large, heavy vehicle could not stop in the amount of space available and ended up hanging over the precipice of the three-foot deep ditch. "Son of a bitch!" she roared and slammed the gear shift into reverse.
She planted her boot on the throttle and sensed at least some traction under the rear wheels. With a hop, a skip, a rattle and a bump, the Durango grabbed hold of the dirt road and shot backward from the precarious position. The steering wheel was soon spun around to point straight ahead once more; a moment later, the vehicle raced along the last stretch of the road to get to the bright-orange GMC van that had been caught by the headlights.
After coming to a dust-flying, stone-rattling stop, Mandy grabbed the powerful flashlight off the dashboard, jumped out of the Durango and drew her service firearm. The risk the assailant had stayed behind to stage an ambush was so great that she had no intention of rushing in - especially not as the only street lamp in the entire forecourt of the substation was on the blink. Her gut instinct told her the deep, dark shadows created by the blinking light would prove irresistible for whatever opponent it was she was facing.
Holding the pistol and the flashlight in the regulatory two-handed grip, she made a full turn to find either the attacker or the service technician who had called for help. Nothing jumped out at her, so she moved ahead with slow, deliberate steps. The blinking light unnerved her as it created bright lights one second and pitch-black shadows the next. At times, it seemed to have fixed itself only to break out in a furious flickering akin to a strobe light.
The attacker was nowhere to be seen, but the technician had made it over to the NorPower van. As the cone of the flashlight caught him peeking around the van's rear corner, he offered Mandy a wave. "Watch out! That a-hole might still be here!" he cried in a panicky voice.
"This is the Sheriff's Department! Do you require medical attention?" Mandy roared without moving closer in case it was all a clever ruse.
"N- no! B- but I did get thrown around before…"
"All right. Get inside the van and lock your doors. Help is coming."
"Jeez… what the hell kinda town is this, anyway?" the man croaked as he hobbled around the van, climbed behind the steering wheel and locked the door.
A black shadow that raced past Mandy's feet proved to be Blackie who came to a four-paw screeching halt on the dirt road. With her ears down flat and her fearsome teeth bared, she spun around several times while letting out a string of thunderous barks that informed the evil presence that it might as well give up or face being used as a gnawing-board.
The German Shepherd came to a sudden stop when she caught a glimpse of something moving in the shadows beyond the NorPower van. Another few barks had little effect on the nebulous foe, so Blackie went into action once more and sprinted toward it.
By now, Mandy had completed an initial sweep of the area without finding anything. She ran over to the van and showed the frightened service technician the star on her jacket - he rolled down the driver's side window but stayed put behind locked doors. "Sir, I'm Sheriff Jalinski. What happened here?"
In his mid-forties, the buzz-cut technician wore the typical orange boilersuit used by most of the NorPower employees. The right side of his chin and the bridge of his nose were bruised, but that seemed to be the extent of his injuries.
"I'll tell you what happened! Some a-hole jumped me is what happened! I was minding my own business… I had just finished going through my checklist over at the substation… I had called my wife and told her I'd be home soon, but I needed to report a faulty lamp post first… and then wham-bam! Out of frickin' nowhere, this a-hole came at me like a Goddamned freight train! Knocked me clean onto my ass… he threw me around like a frickin' football! Broke my Goddamned glasses and everything! Crap! Now I have to deal with those a-hole insurance people!"
Heavy wheezing proved to be Beatrice Reilly who jogged along the final stretch of the dirt trail to get to the scene of the crime. Her face bore an uncanny resemblance to an over-ripe tomato, and she needed to bend over and put her hands on her knees despite her excellent physical condition.
The service technician scratched his temple as he took in the sight of the wheezing deputy. "Damn… do you guys only have the one truck between you? Man, this town's something else…"
Mandy let out a dark grunt at the man's baffled statement - Goldsboro was indeed 'something else.' "Deputy Reilly, take over here. I'll perform a thorough sweep of the substation. But stay alert! Something came at me when I got here. It might still be present," Mandy said while she pointed the flashlight downward so it wouldn't dazzle anyone.
"Yes, Ma'am," Beatrice said and stood up straight so she would honor the uniform and represent MacLean County in the best possible way.
Blackie could be heard barking somewhere out in the distance. The frequency and tone of the barks proved she might be onto something, so Mandy took off toward the transformer substation. The blinking light continued to unnerve her as it went through its unpredictable pattern, so she came to frequent stops to sweep her field of view with her pistol held high.
The facility itself had already seen plenty of action in the past: during the time when Goldsboro had been plagued by the eerie temporal spheres that caused people to disappear into a parallel dimension, the substation had been instrumental in getting the layers to converge so regular, single-dimensional reality could be restored.
The service technician had not had time to lock the gate in the outer fence before the attack had occurred, so Mandy slipped through the opening with the flashlight and the pistol pointed straight ahead. The second gate was closed, and the skull-and-crossed-bones symbol on the inner fence proved it was an electrical one.
Coming to a halt, she let the cone of light slide up the fence. A dark grunt escaped her when the upper edge became visible twelve feet or so off the ground - that would have been enough by far under normal circumstances, but the shadow they were chasing seemed to have the ability to fly or at least take large leaps. There was no way through there for regular humans, so she left the two rows of fences behind and returned to the open section under the blinking lamp post.
She moved to the right instead and followed the brick wall to the corner of the building. The sun had gone below the horizon so the darkness was all-consuming; even the blinking street lamp behind her offered no help as its light didn't travel that far. She remained at the corner for a moment and moved the flashlight in a sweeping arch around her - the ground consisted of loose gravel with a few tufts of weed peeking through in places.
Her nose crinkled as a penetrating stench of cat urine reached her nostrils, but the unfortunate smell seemed to be her only adversary there. Taking a deep breath, she moved around the corner gun-ahead and jumped into a firing stance to be prepared for the worst. The stance was wasted as she found herself alone.
Blackie continued to bark somewhere at the far end of the substation. Mandy cocked her head to try to locate the exact whereabouts of the dog and the object it was chasing, but she was unable to. A sudden crash suggested something had been knocked over in the wild chase.
The far side of the substation was unprotected due to the fact there was no entrance or even windows there - if anything or anyone wanted to break in to wreak havoc, they would have to go through the brick wall. A row of ventilation ports as well as two electric fans had been built into the wall just below the upper rain gutter to provide cooling for the machinery and electric circuitry inside, but they were far too narrow for even rats to slip through.
Mandy moved ahead with slow, cautious steps. She continued to hold the pistol and the flashlight in a double-handed grip so she could open fire at once if the cone of light illuminated a potential threat. Ten steps on from the corner, the proverbial warning bell started ringing in her ear. She came to a stop while a cold trickle ran down her spine.
Her teeth were bared in a worried grimace as she made a slow, sweeping turn that sent the cone of light across the wide-open space beyond the substation. The desert itself didn't make it that far into town, but the plot of land that ran out to the first of the sandy, rocky stretches was flat as a pancake save for the ubiquitous shrubbery and weeds.
The original intent had been to build a trailer park or a low-rent housing project there, but the construction company and the developers behind it had ended up going bust during the financial crisis. Since then, the open section had been a wasteland that was only used as an overflow parking lot for the various holidays, festivals and other major celebrations that took place in Goldsboro over the course of the year.
Mandy's sixth sense continued to ring the alarm bell, but nothing untoward showed up as the light made its way all across the open area. Shaking her head in annoyance, she resumed her mission of reconnaissance and moved ahead with great care.
---
At the exact same time, Wynne strolled along the dirt road toward the bright-orange GMC van. The familiar psshhhht! proved she opened a can of H.E. Fenwyck Double-Zero - the non-alcoholic beer offered little resistance as she gulped it down in seven easy swigs.
She looked around for Mandy, Blackie or anyone else she might recognize, but there wasn't much there to see save for the abandoned Durango, the GMC van and Beatrice Reilly whose face seemed frozen in an expression that could be interpreted as great concern or even the opening overture to a real panic. "Howdy there, Quick Draw! Say… y'all seen Sheriff Mandeh somewhe' 'round he' lateleh?" she said as she put the empty can in her left-hand jacket pocket.
When she was only greeted by silence, she scratched her neck. "Haw… Bea… wazzup with that there expres-shun an' all? Y'all look lack ya done seen one o' them there ghosts or som'tin. Ain't nuttin' ta worreh 'bout 'cos them ghosts jus' 'bout the onleh thing we ain't seen in Goldsborah. Whah, I sapose I need-a watch mah mouth in case somebodda be lissenin' an' all. But anyhows."
Her throat had become dry after all that talking, so she reached into the right-hand jacket pocket and found a new can of Double-Zero that was cracked open at once.
"Something just buzzed me…" Beatrice croaked.
"Haw? Yuh, I sure know dat feelin' well, yes Ma'am. Lawrdie, I 'member once upon a hot aftahnoon a buncha yeahs ago when me an' ol' Ernie done wanted ta sample a new beah that them fih-ne Fenwyck folks done put on the market. Yuh? That wus theeee first tih-me him an' me tried that there Extra Strong, an' lemme tell ya som'tin, de-per-teh… even mah hair hurt the next mornin'. Haw, it sure did." Nodding, Wynne took a long swig of the rather less potent Double Zero.
The NorPower service technician - who remained behind locked doors and the open window - stared in wide-eyed disbelief at Wynne and her nonchalant ways. "Okay… that just takes the cake. Even the town drunk's a damn comedian around here! I'm in the wrong Goddamn line of work. I knew I should have taken over daddy's paint shop…"
Wynne furrowed her brow at the 'town drunk' comment, but she chose not to comment other than to take a long swig of the beer.
Beatrice Reilly stepped away from the GMC van for a moment. "No, Miss Donohue, I meant something flew past us not twenty seconds before you came… something large and black… like a… a big shadow. It was almost like the darkness itself came alive.
"Haw? Holeh shittt…"
"I almost wish we were stalked by ghosts, but we're stalked by darkness itself!" Beatrice continued in a voice that held a slight tremble though she had drew her sidearm and held it in a tight grip. "And that's even worse 'cos the darkness is everywhere!"
"Yuh, okeh… but-"
From one second to the next, a pitch-black shadow descended upon the two women. Wynne let out a surprised shout and took a long, swift step back - her almost brand-new can of beer left her hand and went on a parabolic flight that ended in suds, tears and much gnashing of teeth.
A loud whooshing akin to flapping wings filled the air and caused untold mayhem down on the ground: Wynne shouted even louder at the loss of her beer before she slammed her hands onto her hat and stormed over to the GMC to use it as protection.
The service technician howled in terror and worked the swivel for the manually-operated window like his life depended on it - and in the middle of the rampant chaos, Beatrice let her pistol do the talking by firing into the air several times in rapid succession at anything that looked even remotely shadowy.
Four, five, six slugs of hot lead zinged out into the darkness of the evening; none hit their intended target. One of the six struck the side of the substation itself which caused a cloud of red dust to be kicked up from the bricks at the impact site. Another bullet ricocheted off the top of one of the high voltage power pylons that provided Goldsboro with electricity. Yet another round cured the tall lamp post's blinking-problem by shattering the light dome and sending an impressive shower of sparks back down to Earth. The remaining three screamed off into the night.
The fireworks had no effect on the eerie shadow that continued to hover just out of reach. It stayed there for a few more seconds before it began to dissolve. A moment later, it had vanished.
"Whaddinda flamin' pits o' hell wus that there thing?!" Wynne cried as she crawled away from her hiding place. Up behind the GMC's steering wheel, the technician was seen mouthing a great deal of words in a very short amount of time, but his ranting and raving didn't travel through the closed window.
"Lawrdie, this he' ol' town sure ain't safe fer us reg'lar beah drinkahs no mo'… Ah mean, lookie there whut done happened ta mah Dubbel-Zehra…" Wynne said as she stared at the golden pool that was all that remained of her latest beer. Sniffling, she shuffled out to stand in the middle of the dirt road to get away from the horrendous sight.
A loud hiss originating only a couple of feet to Wynne's left shattered the silence. Whipping her head around, she had no time to duck for cover before a black shadow came straight at her. A cry of "Hooooooooooleh-" burst from her, but the shadow was so fast her expletive never went further than that.
At the very last moment, she realized the shadow was a black cat that raced toward - and past her - at full blast. She let out a screechy laugh, but a split second on from the brief high, another black shadow rammed into her knees which not only made her let out a breathless "Owch! Sombitch!" but sent her sprawling. Her beloved hat went one way while the rest of her tumbled in the opposite direction.
Wynne landed with a bump and an "Oooofff!" at the edge of the drainage ditch that had already tried to lure Mandy Jalinski into its grasp. It was second-time-lucky for the ditch as Wynne rolled off the precipice and down the grassy embankment.
A very loud and rather surprised doggy-yelp was heard as the second of the two black shadows came to a halt in the middle of the dirt road. Blackie shook her head and let out a few more yelps before she staggered over to the nearest flat section to have a lie-down and a short breather after the head-on collision.
Down in the ditch, Wynne found herself sliding to a dusty halt on her hands and knees. A curtain of hair had fallen in front of her eyes which meant her hat wasn't where it should be. "Anehbodda get… da numbah… o' that there… dump truck?" she croaked as she swept miles and miles of dark tresses away from her eyes, nose and mouth.
Yet another shadow that came racing out of the darkness made Wynne duck down at once and bury her head in her hands. "Awwwww-shittt, whaddindahell is this?! I be in da middel offa dang-blasted demoli-shun derbeh… an' I be da one bein' demoli-shunned!"
The latest shadow turned out to be Mandy who roared "Cease fire! Cease fire!" as she came to a stone-flying halt. She whipped her own pistol around in a wide arch as the cone of the flashlight tried to penetrate the darkness surrounding them. "Deputy, what were you shooting at?"
"A shadow, Sheriff!" Beatrice said in a loud but trembling voice. "A big, black, mean as hell shadow that sounded like a hundred swarming bats! It was here and then it was gone… then it came back and slammed into Wynne-"
"No, it didn't! That was our dog!"
Beatrice stared wide-eyed at the sheriff before she groaned out loud, smacked a palm against her face and shook her head.
Whatever the eerie threat had been, it was no longer present. Mandy soon holstered her firearm and ran over to Blackie. Crouching down in a hurry, she ran her hands over the black fur to check for any kind of fractures, disjointed doggy-noses or other injuries.
A couple of woozy Woofs! escaped Blackie as she was being examined, but she was back to standing on all four paws before long. She seemed normal even if she moved a little slower than usual to begin with.
"Wynne? Wynne, where are you?" Mandy yelled after she had swept the cone of light across the entire dirt road without finding any traces of her partner.
'Depends, Sheriff Mandeh!'
"On what?" Mandy continued; she broke out in a relieved grin at the sound of Wynne's voice.
'On whut that there dog-gone shadah be doin'! Lawwwwwwwwr-die, that there nasteh thing knocked me on mah ass an' upside down an' inta the dang-blasted ditch ovah he'!'
Mandy let out an emphatic "Dammit!" before she hurried over to the other side of the dirt road. Shining the flashlight into the drainage ditch, she had soon caught a sour-faced Wynne who was literally grasping for straws so she could avoid dropping into the brown sludge at the bottom of the ditch. "Keep hanging on, Wynne… we'll have you up in no time. Deputy Reilly! I need a hand!"
"Haw! I be holdin' on, awright… I don't even dare ta fart or sneeze or nuttin'. I lost mah dog-gone hat… aneh o' y'all seen mah hat anehwhe'?"
"No. Okay, here's Deputy Reilly now," Mandy said as Beatrice swept away the worst rocks so she could kneel near the edge of the ditch. "She's got your left hand and I got your right. Come on, Wynne, reach up with your right hand," she continued while she stretched out to grab hold of The Last Original Cowpoke.
The actual mountain-climbing part of the rescue mission was less strenuous than feared, but Wynne still needed a moment of quiet reflection once she was back upstairs. For once, she was allowed a little peace as she sat on the ground in the middle of the dirt trail. A can of beer was soon retrieved from the pocket and cracked open. "Yuh, that wus kinda… kinda…" - she took several deep gulps that came close to draining the can at once - "Weird. Scareh an' weird. Haw. Weird an' scareh, too, fer that mattah. Whaddahell wus that nasteh-ass thing, anyhows?"
"It was Blackie, hon," Mandy said with a wistful smile.
"Say whut?! I got slammed on mah bee-hind an' down a dang ditch bah mah own dawggie? Awwwwww-hell… haw, it sure beats bein' munched on bah them zohm-bie cannibals or zapped bah them space aliens an' their dang U-Eff-Ohh, tho'. Where Blackie at, anyhows?"
"She was here a minute ago," Mandy continued as she strode over to the bright-orange NorPower van to convince the service technician that it was as safe to get out of the vehicle as it would ever get in Goldsboro.
A couple of muted Woofs! soon heralded the arrival of the black German Shepherd. Wynne looked up at once and spotted her beloved dog come running toward her with the battered and sweat-stained cowboy hat between her fearsome teeth. "Haw! That's mah Blackie! Awwwww-c'mere, girl! But no cuddle this tih-me, ya heah? Mah knees an' mah buh-tt be plentah sore aftah that there li'l mishap an' I bet ya noah-se is too."
Blackie woofed again as she dumped the hat on the ground in front of her owner's boots. The hat was soon donned and lined up just right: the rim at the front sat low across Wynne's eyes as always to boost the coolness. Parts of the rim had been coated in a little doggy-slobber, but slobber meant nothing between close pals.
"Yuh… love ya, Blackie… but girl, the next tih-me y'all feel lack puttin' on a dawg-an'-poneh show, lemme know in advance so I can weah one o' them there padded helmets, yuh? Awww-it's rubbin' tih-me!" Wynne pulled her dog closer and gave the black fur a good rubbing after all - both owner and doggy let out similar, somewhat pained moans as various bumps and bruises were subjected to the hands-and-paws treatment.
-*-*-*-
A handful of minutes later, the van from NorPower took off in a roar. The incensed service technician kept his foot on the gas pedal all along the dirt trail which kicked up cascades of dust, sand, pebbles and clumps of dirt.
"Lawwwwwwwr-die!" Wynne said after she had been given a two-second warning to vacate her peaceful spot in the middle of the road or have her evening ruined even more. She pushed her hat back from her brow and shuffled over to the Durango where Beatrice and Mandy were discussing police business. "That fella sure didden wanna get hoah-me late fer suppah…"
"Suppertime's been and gone several hours ago, Miss Donohue," Beatrice said with a smile.
"Yuh… sure ain't no lie, Quick Draw," Wynne said and looked up at the dark sky. "I know how ta tell tih-me an' all… but y'all gotta 'membah that maneh folks ain't eatin' suppah at six. 'Spe-shu-alleh them blue-collar folks. Yessir, I been eatin' suppah at the weirdest tih-mes o' the day too. Whah, when I wus tryin' ta sell them en-sicko-pedias ovah in North Green-"
Mandy looked up from the temporary report she had been writing in her notepad. "Wynne… not now. Please?"
"Aw… sure thing, darlin'. I be gettin' anothah beah instead," Wynne continued before she began fishing around in her deep pockets to find the next can - it was soon cracked open with the familiar psshhhht!
"Thank you," Mandy said with a smile. She had already returned to the report when a thought came to her: "By the way, Grant Lafferty wanted you to know that your shipment of Centennial Brew had arrived-"
"Wooooooo-hooooooooooooooooo!" Wynne cried at the top of her lungs. Not only did she punch the air in delight, she whipped off her hat and waved it high in the air as well - the gesture made some of the beer slosh over the edge of the can, but she took take of that with her tongue. "Lawrdie, I been waitin' fer weeks an' weeks fer 'em ta get he'! Thank ye, Sheriff Mandeh! An' thank ye, Grant-Mastah!"
Beatrice was about to add her two cents' worth to the conversation when she caught a glimpse of an odd light out on Main Street. Cocking her head, she waited for a few seconds in case it was a truck with faulty lights or had something to do with the movie people, but the odd sheen remained stationary. "Sheriff… what do you make of that light?"
"Light?" Mandy said and looked up from her notepad. The eerie sheen made her lean her head back and groan out loud. "All right, that does it! Everybody into the Durango… we need more firepower!"
"Yeeeeeee-haw! Les'go, Cowgirls!" Wynne cried. She reached up with the intent to throw her beloved cowboy hat high in the air, but the risk of losing it for a second time that evening was too great to ignore. To compensate for the aborted celebration, she waved it around a little and drained the can of Double-Zero.
The three women and the German Shepherd all swarmed into the Durango. Mandy made a quick U-turn and stepped on the gas to get back to Main Street to combat whatever supernatural, otherworldly, interdimensional or just plain nasty creature that had decided to pay them a visit this time.
She had only just made the left-hand turn onto Goldsboro's main artery before she let out another groan. "Oh, what the hell is this now?" she said as the true source of the light was revealed to them.
It proved to be much worse than mere aliens, zombies, ghouls or vampires - it was the working light for a TV crew from KWMX who had arrived in a huge Peterbilt OB-truck complete with a satellite dish on the roof. The dish had been extended and moved into position suggesting they were uplinking to their base. The truck required so much space they had been forced to park in the middle of the southbound lane on Main Street right in front of Moira's Bar & Grill to be able to fit.
The moment Mandy came to a stop, everybody swarmed back out of the Durango. Blackie continued to move slower than usual, but the proud German Shepherd wasn't about to let her small mishap make her look weak; she puffed out her doggy-chest and assumed a fierce expression.
Wynne followed much the same plan except that she didn't puff out anything. Her favorite methods to look cool was to adjust her hat and grab another beer, so that's what she did. "Snakes Alive, that there nih-ce ladeh holdin' dat microphoah-ne… yuh? Ain't dat wotshernah-me from that there channel… uh… som'tin-or-othah?" she said while she scratched Blackie behind the ears.
"It says K-W-M-X on the truck," Beatrice added.
Yet another psshhht! was heard before Wynne spoke: "K-W-M-X, yuh… channel seventah-eight, 's right. I got that toohn-ed in on mah own dish back hoah-me 'cos them folks be showin' that there rasslin' on Sat-uhr-dehs. I reckon that's wotshername, awright. Shoot, I can't 'membah the nah-me o' that there Frah-deh ni'te prih-me tih-me show she be hostin' or nuttin', neithah, but she be one o' them there folks who done intahview fa-muss people lack sports stars an' celebrities an' actahs an' them folks."
Mandy stood with her legs planted on the ground and her hands pressed onto her hips. A grim mask of annoyance had fallen upon her fair face to such an extent that her lips had been reduced to thin lines - the deep furrow between her eyebrows had been there since the incidents at the substation. "We have plenty of trouble in town already… and now we have to waste precious resources keeping a close eye on these people so they don't end up in all the wrong places. Dammit!"
"Yuh… imagine if that there nih-ce ladeh reportah done ended up visitin' Derrike Iverson's dive or som'tin. Lawrdie. That sure would confirm a buncha them negative stereotah-pes 'bout us rural folks… yuh," Wynne said before she took a long swig of her beer and let out a quiet belch.
"Deputy Reilly," Mandy continued. "I don't want you to say a word to them. Not a single word. Nothing about the latest incident, nothing about the film set, nothing about anything. Do you understand?"
"Fully, Ma'am!"
Mandy nodded; letting out a sigh, she relaxed her stance and moved over to The Last Original Cowpoke who leaned her long frame against the side of the Durango. "Wynne?" she said and hooked her arm inside her partner's in a most un-Sheriff-like pose.
"Yuh, Sheriff Mandeh?"
"You're Goldsboro's secret weapon. Go get 'em."
"Yes, Ma'am! Considah 'em git! Haw!" After chugging down the rest of her beer, Wynne let out another quiet belch and set off for the camera crew and the celebrity reporter.
As Wynne and Blackie shuffled across the street, Mandy and Beatrice offered each other a pointed look that soon morphed into sly grins. "They'll never know what hit them," Mandy said and moved away from the Durango. "Come on, Deputy. We have a mountain of paperwork to create."
"Yes, Ma'am," Beatrice said and pushed herself off the police vehicle as well.
---
Wynne and Blackie soon reached the large truck in their inimitable style. When one of the members of the camera crew spotted the tall cowpoke, he alerted the reporter by pointing at their guest - the light, the camera, the reporter and the microphone were all swung around to shine the literal and proverbial spotlight on the local talent.
The reporter soon thrust the microphone ahead. "Good evening, Miss! What's your name? Do you live here or are you in town for a little stargazing?"
"Howdy, y'all! Good evenin', Americah! Ah be Wynne an' this he' wonn-dahful dawggie is mah li'l, ol' Blackie. She ain't on da market or nuttin' in case aneh hopeful boy-dawggies be lookin' at this he' broadcast! Anyhows, lack Ah done said alreddeh, y'all be lookin' at an' tawkin' to the one an' onleh Wynne Donnah-hew. Yessirree, an' Ah be he' ta tell y'all there ain't but three things in lih-fe… an' them things be General Motahs, sweet lovin' an' cold beah. Yuh?"
Woof-woof! - Blackie's comment meant 'don't forget the spiced jerky served by Moira MacKay!'
The reporter only had time to utter an eloquent "Uhhhh-" before Wynne continued:
" 's ack-chew-leh kindah funneh 'cos back in the day, yuh? Back in the day, them three things used ta be fast trucks, fast wimmen an' fast food but we sure as stink-on-shoot can't say that these he' days, can we? Nosirree, we sure can't so Ah ain't gonn'. How long y'all reckon it gonn' be befo' we can't say cold beah, neithah?"
"I'm-"
"But anyhows, whadda y'all doin' he' in li'l ol' Goldsborah? Naw, lemme guess! Ah betcha'll be he' fer that there mooh-vie shoot out in that there desurht, ain't that right? Yuh, Ah wus there an' played an actah part… on camera an' ev'rythin'. An' Ah done had a couple a lih-nes. Yessir! Haw, it wus kinda fuh-n but mebbe a li'l borin' too 'cos o' all that waitin', but… ya know. Waitin's lih-fe, yuh? Rubbin' is racin' an' waitin' 's lih-fe. Y'all he' fer anehbodda in parti-coo-lar or som'tin?"
The reporter's eyes had grown wider and wider through Wynne's lengthy soliloquy, but her professional instincts kicked in at the right moment: "Uh… yes… we're here to interview Simon DeLane, America's number one heartthrob. Did you see him? Did you talk to him? What did he wear?"
"Lawrdie, them quest-yuns sure spew outta ya lack shoot from a shovel, huh? Naw, Ah ain't seen 'im 'cos Ah be told he wussen he' an' ain't gonn' be he' neithah 'til tamorrah fer them scenes them mooh-vie folks gonn' be shootin' down there at Silvah Creek, yuh? Ya know, the ol' abandoned minin' camp an' all? Yessir, where all dem great-lookin' ol' Westurhn buildin's be lookin' purr-fect ta be in a Westurhn, yuh? Even a horrah Westurhn. Sure is."
"I see-"
"Ah'mma-gonn' be there as well, yessirree! Ah'mma-gonn' play one o' them there cowpokes who gonn' be… naw, Ah bettah keep mah trap shut. Else them lawyah folks gonn' be messin' with me from now 'til eterniteh, yuh? An' Ah sure as stink-on-shoot ain't gonn' be wantin' that all ovah ag'in, nosirree. Whah all ovah ag'in? Weeeellll, 'cos Ah done had mah fair share o' them lawyah folks tryin' ta mess with mah head ovah them yeahs. Lawyahs ain't nevah no fuh-n folks, an' that sure ain't no lie."
"Well, thank you for your time-"
"Tell ya whut, there nih-ce ladeh, when ya gonn' put mah nah-me on one o' them there lih-nes that all y'all teevee folks use fer people's nah-mes… ya know, them lih-nes that go jus' 'bout he'-" - Wynne moved her index finger diagonally across her chest - "be sure ta spell it right, yuh? 'Cos Ah done seen it spelt in a bajillion wrong ways an' Ah hate it when it ain't right. Mah name's spelt dub-ya whah enn enn eee, yuh? Wynne. Donnah-hew. Dee oh enn enn- uh… som'tin som'tin som'tin. Aw hell, Ah be in da phoah-ne book. Y'all can look me up, yuh? An' now, it be Fenwyck tih-me 'cos mah whissel need-a be wetted, yes Ma'am!"
With that, Wynne dug into her side pocket and grabbed a can of Double Zero. A broad grin was plastered on her face as she cracked the can open and chugged down most of its contents in the first few gulps alone.
The reporter had been reduced to frantic nodding by now, and she grabbed the golden opportunity to wrap up the transmission by moving her finger across her throat in the age-old gesture of stop this madness before I lose my grip on reality.
The lights and the camera were soon turned off. The reporter thrust the microphone into the sound guy's hand before she stomped off out of sight. A moment later, the pantograph for the satellite dish retracted down into its locked position marking the definitive end of the seance.
"Yuh," Wynne said as she wiped the suds off her lips with the back of her hand, "sure wus nih-ce tawkin' to all y'all! An' if y'all be plannin' on spendin' the nite he', jus' tell ol' Moira that Wynne done sent ya! That gonn' give ya a spe-shul discount! I ain't shittin' yer or nuttin'!"
Nobody on the camera team seemed the least interested in spending the night in Moira and Wynne's Bed & Breakfast, because as soon as they had stored their equipment in the back of the Peterbilt truck, they jumped inside and took off in a hurry.
"Awwww… wus it som'tin Ah said?" Wynne said as she took off her cowboy hat and pressed it to her chest. Chuckling, she used the hat to wave at the truck as it beat a hasty retreat southbound out of Goldsboro. "Nih-ce tawkin' ta ya, anyhows. C'mon, Blackie… all this yappin' sure made me hungreh an' all. Whaddaya reckon? Ya got room fer one o' them there sticks o' jerkeh?"
Woof! Woof-woof-woof!
"Now that don't need no transla-shun, no Ma'am!" Wynne said as she and Blackie strolled toward Moira's Bar & Grill. "An' tell ya whut… I'mma-gonn' treat mahself ta a buncha fries an' one o' them there chili-burgahs that Slow Lane be so good at makin'. Haw, I nevah reckoned I wus gonn' say them words in the same sentence or nuttin', but we gotta praise 'im when praise is due, yessir. Y'all lack his chili-burgahs, Blackie?"
Woof-woof…
"Aw, yuh… they ain't as good as ol' Ernie's hawt sawces, that sure ain't no lie. But nuttin' is 'cos Ernie's a chili-wizard. Okeh-dokeh… lessee what the rest o' this he' evenin' brings, yuh?" Wynne said and held the door open so Blackie could run in first.
-*-*-*-
The sheriff's office echoed with the characteristic noises created by the new-fangled electronic typewriter as the Town Council had, after weeks of debate, allowed the department to dip into the following year's budget to replace the ancient manual typewriter that had been used to write reports since the late 1940s. The exact date was known because Mandy had found a casefile dated October 11th, 1947, where the deputy sheriff writing it had made a brief footnote explaining that it was the first to have been written on the new-fangled manual typewriter - after its retirement, it had gone straight to the Goldsboro Town Museum where it was undergoing a meticulous restoration so the adoring public could see it on display.
The person at the keyboard was Beatrice Reilly who transferred her hand-written reports on the latest instances of extraordinary goings-on in Goldsboro to the proper forms. A skilled typist, she was able to make the electronic machine sing unlike her less-adept colleagues who all used the tried-and-tested method of searching for each key when they needed it. Even better, she already had plenty of experience with the model since it had been the same type she had used during her years at the academy - it meant she had no need for the inch-thick user's manual that had been the source of much frustration ever since they got it.
Beatrice sat at the small desk near the back of the office while Rodolfo Gonzalez manned the watch desk as usual. He seemed to have picked up some of Barry Simms' bad habits as the front of his black-and-dark-gray uniform was full of cookie crumbs; worse, the tip of his necktie was still damp after dipping it into a mug of coffee as he leaned forward to save something from falling over the edge. To kill time between assignments, he read one of the Sally Swackhamer, P.I. pulp detective novels that had struck a cord with the entire roster of deputies - this particular one was issue 49, Lookin' For Action In All The Wrong Places.
At the sheriff's desk, Mandy tapped her own reports into order after doodling her name on the final page. She leaned back on her chair and looked at nothing or no one in particular. "Deputies, we have a serious problem on our hands. Two random attacks on regular citizens within a span of a few hours," she said after a short pause. "Mr. O'Sullivan told us the attacker was a black shadow that could appear and disappear at will, yet had the strength to throw him around like a rag doll. A preposterous notion until we saw it with our own eyes at the second incident. Nobody has been badly injured so far, but our luck will run out sooner or later. Any theories?"
Beatrice stopped typing to look at the sheriff. "When Miss Donohue and I came into contact with that thing, uh… the assailant, there was a very distinct sound of flapping wings. I don't know what it might be, Ma'am, but it reminded me of bats."
"Battus Giganticus?" Rodolfo said with a grin that soon faded when he happened to catch the sour look on the sheriff's face. "Never mind. I'm afraid I don't have any theories, Sheriff. If I were to guess, I'd say chances are that it's somehow connected to the film crew. The attacks only started after they arrived."
Mandy leaned forward and grabbed her indispensable ball point pen to have something to do with her hands. She moved her head in a slow, thoughtful nod. "The coincidence is rather suspicious. The thought has crossed my mind, Deputy."
"I've been looking at the movie company's various profiles on social media," Rodolfo continued as he held up his smartphone, "but there isn't much there beyond the regular Hollywood ass-kissing. However, on some fan-run sites and boards, I read they've had problems with obsessed fans during previous productions. It seems that one director in particular had a couple of hardcore stalkers follow him around from one set to the next a few years ago. And get this, that director is the one who's going to film all day in Silver Creek tomorrow."
"But who directed today's scenes, then?" Beatrice said.
"The movie's second-unit crew. All they did was to shoot a couple of location sequences with the stunt team. None of the stars were present today," Rodolfo continued before he looked at Mandy and broke out in a wide grin. "Well, apart from Wynne, of course!"
Mandy got up from her desk and moved over to the coffee machine. "That's good research, Deputy Gonzalez," she said with a smile.
"Thank you, Sheriff."
Sniffing the stale contents of the pot made Mandy crinkle her nose in despair. The cookies and pastries brought over by A.J. 'Slow' Lane as part of the long-standing agreement between Moira MacKay and the sheriff's office had been reduced to nothing more than crumbs, but the persistent gnawing in her gut suggested she needed something substantial down there - and it needed to be P-D-Q.
---
After returning from the restroom with an empty and freshly rinsed coffee pot, she started the coffee machine anew before she made her way back to her desk and sat down. She picked up her own telephone but held off calling the Bar & Grill for fresh supplies. "Obsessed fans. Hardcore stalkers. We know for a fact it's not Mr. Maderow and Mr. Preston, the young men who are staying over at the B-and-B. They're undoubtedly nerds wearing white facial makeup and home-made costumes, but there's nothing nefarious about them."
"They might simply be good actors, Sheriff," Rodolfo said.
"True. But in any case, the video clip I watched proved they couldn't be behind the assault and battery on Mr. O'Sullivan. And of course, I was with them when you raised the alarm on the attack at the substation. No, this is something else entirely," Mandy said and cast a longing glance at the babbling coffee machine as if she was trying to make the black liquid drip a little faster into the glass pot. "I'm too seasoned to have any all-devouring obsessions, but I remember from my teen years that some of my friends went dangerously close to the edge regarding the music and movie stars of the time."
"It's much worse today, Sheriff," Beatrice said. "Social media has changed everything when it comes to fans and fandoms. Stalkerish behavior is almost the norm in some circles."
Mandy let out a sigh as she looked at the young deputy sheriff. "I don't get it… but that's my antiquated point of view speaking. I suppose Mr. Preston and Mr. Maderow are at one end of the spectrum while someone far more dangerous occupies the other end."
"Typical nerdy weirdness, then," Rodolfo added.
Beatrice opened her mouth to counter the sweeping statement, but before she could go on, the door to Main Street opened to reveal Barry Simms wearing the old-style brown-and-browner Polyester uniform.
Although his hue was still waxen and unhealthy, he had lost the bluish-green tinge he had gained during the unfortunate incident where he had coughed so hard he had thrown up all over his regular uniform. One of his notorious home-rolled cigarettes - made of waste tobacco that he bought wholesale from the factories - was stuck in the corner of his mouth as he entered the sheriff's office.
"Deputy Simms reporting for duty, Sheriff," he said in a voice that had gained a husky, gravelly quality after the countless coughing fits he had been through in recent times.
"Good. Take over the watch desk, Deputy," Mandy said and got up from her swivel-chair to make a beeline for the coffee machine that had - at long last - finished babbling.
While Rodolfo and Barry swapped over, she poured herself a mugful of steaming-hot black coffee before she moved into the center of the office. "All right, listen up. As long as we don't know what's behind these attacks, I want you to proceed with extreme caution. Stay sharp. Stay focused. If something happens, we need to move fast and be there before this mysterious force can disappear again. Therefore, we're to keep a constant presence on the streets of Goldsboro for the rest of the evening and perhaps even into the night."
"Oh, but I've-" Barry said in a distinct whine, but he was cut off at once:
"Deputy Gonzalez," Mandy continued, "make sure all portable radios work and have fresh batteries."
"Yes, Ma'am," Rodolfo said and strode toward the crew room at the back of the office to get the box of radios and the spare batteries. He soon returned and put the box on the floor; crouching down next to it, he took the first portable unit out and opened the back panel.
"Deputies, once we're out on the streets," Mandy continued after she had taken a long swig of coffee, "make sure your radio is tuned to the correct frequency so you can call in at once if you're in trouble. Also, bring your night sticks. Deputy Reilly, please, no more gunfire tonight. The paper mountain is bad enough already."
A strong blush exploded onto Beatrice's cheeks as she brought up her hand to salute her superior. "Yes, Ma'am," she said in a mumble.
"Very well. Do you understand your orders? Deputy Simms, you were saying?"
Barry looked up in a hurry. He had been rummaging around in the bottom drawer of the watch desk to find either a crossword puzzle or the Sally Swackhamer novel he had put there himself earlier in the week - both items had vanished without a trace. "Oh, but… I've… I only just came back to… to… sit here for a little while, Sheriff. I've already bought a ticket for the late-late show up at the movie theater… they're having their biweekly Cult Classic Night. They're showing Santa Claus Conquers The Martians at midnight."
"Santa Claus Conquers The Martians?!" Rodolfo said and broke out in a disbelieving chuckle.
"Yeah? So?" Doing a double-take, Barry narrowed his eyes in annoyance when he spotted the Sally Swackhamer novel sticking out of Rodolfo's rear pocket.
"Oh… nothing. Isn't that a kids' film?"
"Well, for your information, Senior Deputy Gonzalez… it's a cult classic is what it is!"
Mandy reached up to scratch an eyebrow; it didn't need to be scratched, but it was the only way she could stall long enough for the strong comment that had already been lined up inside her to subside. "Well, Deputy Simms. You won't be catching any late-late shows tonight," she said in a flat voice.
Barry's face fell into a mask of disappointment; Rodolfo chuckled and Beatrice chewed on her cheek. The old cigarette was down to its last, so Barry took a new one from the pack in his breast pocket and lit it with the dying embers of the old one. Soon, a new, foul-smelling cloud of toxic smoke rose from the watch desk. As it reached the drooping felt tiles in the ceiling, it almost appeared as if one or two of them drooped even harder.
Mandy scratched her eyebrow again. Something needed to happen, so she picked up her telephone and called Moira's to get someone to come over with a fresh batch of sandwiches and sodas.
-*-*-*-
Wynne had found the first of A.J. 'Slow' Lane's chili-burgers such a roaring success that she had ordered a second one right away. Thus, she sat at one of the tables in the Bar & Grill chowing down with plenty of noisy relish. While her left hand was busy holding onto the greasy, warm, spicy burger, her right moved in a constant one-two-three sequence between the pile of fries, the latest can of beer and the napkin she used to wipe the excess grease off her lips and chin.
Four empty cans of Double-Zero already littered the table. Three more were lined up and ready to go before she needed to get back to the refrigerators to restock - and chances were she needed to visit the restroom to release the high-tide valve first.
What she had no knowledge of at this particular point in time was a small mishap that had taken place when 'Slow' Lane had made the second burger for her: an empty glass container of ground chili powder had necessitated a small trip to the storage room for a new one. The new glass that A.J. had found on the shelf was a mix of 15% red paprika, 15% double-strength chili and 70% granulated garlic, but he never looked at the label before kneading the regular amount of spices into the beef and shaping it into a burger patty.
The contents of the next can of Double Zero had just met its fate when Brenda Travers came out of the public restroom. The breezy Western dress she had worn at the start of the long day had been retired in favor of a pair of dark jeans and a maroon shirt that created a pleasing contrast to the color of her hair. Sitting down opposite Wynne, she crossed her legs which revealed her track shoes that featured neon-green laces.
"Frah?" Wynne said through a mouthful of burger, fries and beer. She pointed at the basket of fries that had been reduced to a great deal less than it had been earlier.
"No thank you. I had some when I came back to town. They're too greasy for my taste… I prefer the low-fat variety."
"Suit yaself," Wynne said and scooped up a handful of the yellowish, crispy things that she shoved into her mouth.
Brenda chuckled at the sight before she shuffled around on the chair so she would face her friend. As she did so, she looked underneath the table so she could avoid bumping her shoes into Blackie who was down there enjoying a stick of jerky. She leaned forward and propped her head up on her arms. "When Vaughn called to say he had to spend the night in Cavanaugh Creek 'cos his board meeting ran late, I thought I had plenty of things to do to kill time… well, guess what, I didn't. Twenty minutes later, I was on my way up here."
"I sure know that feelin' well, yes Ma'am. I spent mo' tih-me he' at Moira's than in mah own trailah befo' I met mah sweet, li'l Mandeh. Yuh." Shrugging, Wynne resumed wolfing down her second chili-garlic-burger; the drop of grease that trickled down her chin was soon all that remained of it.
Brenda grinned as she leaned in toward her friend: "Did you hear the latest?"
" 'Bout Mandeh?"
"About me!"
"Naw. Whazzup?"
"I got a part in the movie after all!" Brenda said as a beaming smile spread over her graceful features. "Isn't that great? Not as a hooker or a saloon girl or whatever, but a school marm! Yes, I pestered the producer and the casting agent for so long they caved to my demands… probably to shut me up, but who cares. I've been summoned to the wardrobe and makeup trailers at seven thirty tomorrow! Oh, I can't tell you how excited I am!"
"I gotta clue, there, Brendah," Wynne said with a grin. "Congratula-shuns! A school marm, yuh? That sure is a classic Westurhn character, awright. Lawrdie, we gonn' put li'l, ol' Goldsborah on the map fer real, yuh? Seven thirteh in the morn'… that's when I'mma-gonna be there fer mah own costume fittin' an' all that. Yuh."
"So, how is it? I mean, the actual sets and the filming and all those things?"
"Aw, well, yuh…" - Wynne needed to pre-wet her whistle before the explanation, so she cracked open a new can of Double Zero at once and took a long swig - "it be kinda borin', ta be honest. Yuh. It sure wussen as fuh-n or excitin' as I reckoned it wus gonn' be. The actual filmin' part wus thrillin', but it sure wus a whole lotta waitin' 'round fer a teeneh-weeneh ree-ward, catch mah drift?"
Brenda nodded and let out a short "Hmmm." A sudden snicker escaped her: "Sounds like my Vaughn. A lot of waiting, very little to show for it and then it's all over."
The can of beer stopped halfway up to Wynne's mouth; below the table, Blackie let out an amused Woof?! Wynne blinked several times before she completed the task of taking a swig of the beer. "Haw. Yuh. Okeh. Lawrdie, not sure I needed ta know that, but… okeh," she said and scratched her neck with her free hand.
The regular din of the Bar & Grill took over the conversation for a couple of minutes while Wynne finished off her fries, emptied the next beer and visited the restroom to get rid of some of the other seven that had made their way through her system.
Returning to the table, she moved the chair around so she could stretch out her long legs. "Brendah, our wardrobe tih-me o' seven thirteh means we gotta get up a six or som'tin lack that… an' that be awfulleh earleh in da morn', so wouldya mind if this he' ol' cowpoke done left ya ta go hoah-me fer a li'l shuteye?"
"Not in the least, Wynne. You're right. It's going to be an early start and a long day. I'll head home as well," Brenda said and pushed her chair back.
Blackie took that as her cue and moved up from her spot under the table. She gnawed on the final piece of the jerky as she ran over to wait at the door.
Grinning, Wynne got up as well and put out her hand. "Haw, there be plentah o' weird stuff goin' on in town tanite, so lemme escort ya out ta that there Foh-rd o' yers an' all."
"Why, thank you! How chivalrous of you!"
"Ya shiverin'? I didden think it wus that cold… but okeh, I be wearin' a jacket," Wynne said and opened the door to Main Street - she didn't notice the amused look Brenda sent her.
Blackie ran ahead to check out the state of affairs. A Woof! proved it was safe to venture outside.
"Anyhows," Wynne continued as she and Brenda strolled along the sidewalk to get to the luxury SUV, "once we done said bah-bah, I'mma-gonn' head ovah ta that there sheriff's office an' say nighteh-night ta mah sweet, li'l Mandeh, yessirree! Then I be headin' hoah-me fer them there silk sheets o' ou-ahs."
"Give her a goodnight kiss from me as well," Brenda said and leaned over to bump shoulders with her friend.
"Uh… yuh…"
Brenda soon found her key fob and unlocked the door. Getting in, she made herself comfortable and twisted the ignition key. All that happened was a loud Clunk! A second attempt yielded a second Clunk!
"Lawrdie," Wynne said and pushed her hat back from her brow. "Now I sure ain't no expuhrt on them Foh-rds or nuttin', but I reckon y'all got a spot-a trubbel, there, Brendah. Trah ag'in."
Clunk!
Brenda let out a "Dammit!" and thumped her hand onto the rim of the steering wheel.
"Yuh, y'all deffa-nete-leh got some kinda trubbel," Wynne said and moved over to the driver's side door to peek at the instrument panel. "Trah settin' the key ta pre-start. What them gauges tell ya? Y'all got enuff gas an' stuff? How 'bout the amp metah an' them things?"
"I filled it up earlier this week… and I don't think there's an amp meter anywhere… no, I don't see it."
"Okeh. Mebbe that there battereh gone bah-bah. Pop the hood an' lemme see… mi'te be som'tin easeh ta fix," Wynne continued as she shuffled up to the front of the SUV.
Once the latch had been released, Wynne opened the hood to look at the advanced engine - not that she could see much as most of it was protected by a large plastic cover that carried the traditional Blue Oval logo. "Okeh, sure don't be lookin' none lack mah K-ten or even mah Silveradah. That there battereh be an integrated unit so there ain't nuttin' I can do 'bout that."
"Damn…"
"Yuh… when that there startah motah on mah ol' Chev done messed with me, I whacked it but good with mah hammah 'til it worked, but… I ain't even be seein' that there li'l thingamajig anehwhere."
Wynne stepped back to have room to kneel and look under the tall SUV. "Naw, this he' vee-hickel ain't leakin' nuttin', neithah. Brendah, 'fraid y'all gonn' hafta get ol' Tuckah Garfield ta swing bah. Mebbe even get it towed up ta them folks at the Bang 'n Beatin' fer some T-L-C."
Brenda let out a long, pained sigh as she climbed out of her unresponsive SUV and locked the doors behind her with her remote. Leaning against the side of the vehicle, she rubbed her face twice before another sigh escaped her. "There wasn't anything wrong with it when I drove up here! Dammit… this is really inconvenient."
Stepping back, Wynne closed the hood and pressed down on it to get the latch to re-engage. "Them cah-rs can be a real sombitch at times… there ain't nuttin' I don't know 'bout that. Anyhows, les'get y'all inta mah truck an' turn on that there ray-dee-ohh or som'tin' while I say bah-bah ta Sheriff Mandeh. Yuh? I promise it ain't gonn' be mo' than fih-ve minnits."
"Thanks, Wynne. I owe you one," Brenda said as they shuffled back to the sidewalk to the mouth of the alley next to Moira's - the front of Wynne's mat-black Silverado peeked out behind the corner of the Bar & Grill to show where they needed to go.
Blackie followed with a happy Woof! at first, but from one moment to the next, she came to a hard stop and made a slow circle to take in as much as she could of the street near them. Though nothing or nobody came into sight who could pose a threat to her or her owner, she jumped into an offensive stance with her ears swept back and her teeth bared in a feral sneer. A growl started deep in her throat; the growl soon turned to several thunderous barks as she tried to zero in on the diffuse, unseen danger approaching them.
*
*