43.
“I saw the monster. It was
there.” The man stepped out of the forest and met the people gathered there.
There were men and women, some armed with rifles, while others held what they
could grab from their homes.
“It was running by the
treelines there.”
“May God have mercy on us!”
One of the women there called out, holding the metal rake in the right hand.
“God will once we kill the
monster.” A man called out. To the masculine, it was all about the killing.
They will seek penance after it or have their egos praised over the mugs.
“Let us find the monster.”
The man who called out earlier took the first step. He was brave with the Brown
Bess rifle held in his hands.
“Ian McShane, you do not
rush in there. We have a bairn at home who needs his father.” His lover
cautioned him. The man stopped in his tracks and looked back. Nothing could
stop a man except the cries of his own.
“I am coming with you,
Shane. I am not letting you have that round of drinks without my name there.”
Trust old Patrick Duffy with the sabre; he took it off a Lancer officer in the
war to shore up the courage in Ian. Both took the lead, followed by the others.
There were words to describe
a hunt: "The thrill of the hunt is not in the kill, but in the challenge,
the preparation, and the chase." Alas, the ending always sounded
like this: "Every hunter has a story; it's woven into the fabric of their
being."
Shots rang out at
intermittent times; the rifle was at fault. It needed reloading once it
released the shot. The shooter will pour the black powder from the cartridge
down the barrel, then spit the musket ball into the muzzle, stuff in the
wadding, and ram it all home.
“Sonny, you keep watch with
the pitchfork. I am loading the ball in.” The father, Patrick Duffy, having
fired the rifle last in the war, was nervous about reloading the rifle. If his
ornery sergeant were there, it would have been five rounds of marching as
punishment. He was also lost from the others, having taken the wrong turn on
the path. He had shot at what he perceived to be a monster, but it was the
fleeting shadow of the branches.
“You keep on watching,
Sonny.”
“I can hear them over
yonder.” Sonny told his Dada.
It was not an annual affair
of fox or duck hunting there in the forest, but the villagers did a grand task
of stirring up the atmosphere with the noises and screeching then. If there
were tigers around, they would have fled the forest.
But not the monster.
“Dada, what does a monster
look like?” Sonny asked.
“I would not know. Ugly and…
huge.” Patrick muttered. His lover was huge but knew what matters to him.
“Dada…….” Sonny was to
caution the father when the older man had his head grabbed from the rear. He
was to raise the shout when he felt his head pulled to the back; the force was
great, and the cervical spine, where the first seven vertebrae were in the spine.
It supports the weight of your head, surrounds and protects your spinal cord,
and allows for a wide range of head motions. The force of the grab was followed
by the pull action that caused the vertebrae there to crack and the head was
without its support.
It may be called bad
whiplash damage, but Patrick was slumping to the ground, struggling to breathe.
Sonny screamed and had the first real sight of the monster.
“It… it was a monster.”
Sonny muttered in between sobs of tears. He was pressed to describe the
monster.
“I do not know. I…… Dada is
dead.” Sonny released his fear into tears.
“We must find the monster
quick. First Wallace, Terry, and now Patrick. “The leader of the gathering
voiced out.
“Tell us what we are to do,
Collins?” The leader sports a small frame, but he had served in the infantry
and retired a non-commissioned officer.
“The monster must have a
hideout. We need to find that and then trap it there.” Collins spoke out.
“Gathered around me. The killings took place here and here and here.”
Collins drew a rough sketch
of the area on the ground with the twig he had fashioned as a pencil.
“I say the monster is holed
here.” Collins pointed to the chalk drawing on the ground. “We need to drive
the monster here. There we will wait and kill it.”
“What do we use as bait?” It
was Ian who asked. “I hunt the hogs.”
“No, we will lure it there.
We will form groups and make a lot of noise to get it there. The paths we will
take are here and here.” Collins looked to the sky. “We have like three hours
before it gets dark. Before that, we will convene back here. We will then
return home and begin at dawn.”
The gathering split into
four groups and took off.
“Silvus, we will go to the
creek.” Victor told the man who was with him. Victor was armed with the revolver,
while Silvus had with him the dagger he had on him inside the coat. He had
fashioned a long staff for protection.
“Follow me.” Victor took the
lead to the creek. He heard the noises made by the other groups, but he had his
own path. The walk was long, and finally they reached the creek. It was quiet
there, and Victor examined the ground. There was no sign of the creation.
“Master Victor, can I have
my coins now?” Victor heard the request. He was to reply when he felt the
impact of the staff onto his back. He fell forward, and the second blow was on
his head. He suffered a concussion then, but he was aware that his pockets were
searched when his body was turned face up and his revolver removed.
“Master Victor, where are my
coins?” Silvus stood over the fallen man. Victor shook his head to clear it and
looked at Silvus. The vision was unclear, but he knew that if he had fallen
prey to the man.
“Where are my coins?” Silvus
had thrown away the staff and drawn out the dagger. He leveled it at Victor. He
had taken from the pockets of Victor’s coat the few coins there. It was not
enough.
“I do not have it…… here.”
Victor struggled to focus. “It is in the mansion.”
“You are lying, Master
Victor.” Silvus was desperate. “I will …… kill you.”
“Kill me, Silvus? And you
will not get any more coins.” Victor said. “They will hang you.”
“Hang me? I am ... No, you
will be dead. I will tell them the monster did it.” Silvus laughed.
Silvus did not feel the pain
when the staff cracked his head and smeared his brain matter to the ground. The
crude wooden staff broke on impact. The dead man fell forward onto Victor. The
latter struggled to push the dead man off him. Once he had done that, he had a
glimpse of his savior.
“Henry?” Victor muttered
before he slipped into darkness.
Elizabeth wished she was
enveloped in darkness when the door to her home was opened. Her aunt stood
there in the doorway and was not stepping aside for the younger lady to go in.
“May I come in, Aunt?’
“The prodigal girl
returned.” The elderly lady then admitted the younger lady. Elizabeth ignored
the lady and walked to her room. Mrs. Muriel looked at the departing lady and
then rejoined her meeting with the members of the committee.
“How is she?” The empathic
Doctor Judith Landis asked.
“She will survive.” Mrs.
Muriel sat herself down on the seat.
“I could attend to her.”
Doctor Edward Theodore III, with a doctorate in theology and medicine offered.
“No necessity.” Mrs. Muriel
looked at the doctor. “She is in good hands. Let us go back to the matter we
were discussing.”
“As I was saying earlier,
the matter of the monster has escalated, and it is all related to the
Frankenstein family. The unexplained death of Ernest Frankenstein has raised
more questions on their link to more drastic works.”
“What about Ms. Muriel’s
involvement with……?” Mrs. Landis had raised a valid concern.
“Ms. Muriel was there as she
was……looking for a place to stay, knowing that her friend, Justine Moritz, was
there before. She could be packing up Ms. Moritz’s personal items, which are
unfavorable to be touched by strangers. She was unable to leave when the rumors
of the monster were highlighted and reservedly inflamed by the villagers.” Mrs.
Muriel stamped her authority on the matter. “I trust Ms. Muriel will give us
her reasons after she has rested.”
Doctor Edward was to cut in,
but the chairperson continued.
“I was there to offer her
safe passage home, but the Frankenstein had denied me that. To that, we will
vote on the next action to be taken against the Frankenstein.”
Action was getting things to
be done, or done, but Chief Constable Lestrade was not rushing to that. He had
joined the gathering in the forest but held back his action, even restraining
the constable then.
“Watson, we must not act
impulsively. We are to act within the available evidence cumulated in our
investigative works. We must apply logical …. Reasoning from the evidence,
eliminating…… no, it shall be deductions of the causes to arrive at the …….”
“Sir, may I join the
search?” Constable Watson asked.
“Oh, yes, you may.” The
Chief Constable nodded. The newly appointed constable took off on the hunt,
leaving the Chief Constable then standing at the altar of the church. He looked
to the figure on the crucifix.
“It was elementary that the
man may lack the proper skills of the crime detective, but given time he will
learn.” The Chief Constable, Lestrade, traces the cross on his forehead, lips,
and chest.
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