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Small Town Monsters

9

poor Danny was abused.

“Being a bit of a freak, Danny was shamed by his peers. Kids would visit Artemus’s place to get a glimpse of the wolf boy. Then they’d brag to their friends in the locker rooms and dance halls about Danny’s ferocious-looking claws and teeth.

“Mass paranoia can be a formidable force. After four weeks of murder and fear, a group of toughs went to Artemus’s place to look it over. They tore apart the man’s shanty home and eventually found a shallow grave filled with body parts; pieces of the six victims.”

Kurt sat rapt on Hugh’s story, his beer warming in one slack hand. “Where were the authorities?” he asked.

“Not needed. After beating young Danny nearly to death, the mob dragged him into town and deposited him on the steps of the police house. Long story short, he was tried, found guilty, and executed in the electric chair,” Hugh said flatly then took a sip of his beer.

“Who’s to say Artemus didn’t commit the murders?” Kurt asked.

“That, my young friend, is a good question. Fact is, the murders stopped after Danny’s execution. As for Artemus, he slipped out of sight and out of mind. He’s still alive. Lives just south of the scout camp. He was always a bit strange, but the death of his son caused him to back away even further. He’s a distant relative of mine, I believe. But, hell, everyone in this town seems to be a distant relative of everyone else.”

The moon shone like a gigantic coin, bluing Hugh’s yard and the spruces that guarded his home. A south-western breeze chilled Kurt as he raised his bottle and drank the last swallow. “Well, that’s a hell of a story. I’d best be turning in,” Kurt said. He stood and dropped his empty in a wastepaper basket Hugh kept on the porch.

“Good of you to come over and keep an old man company,” Hugh said.

“You are a master,” Kurt said.

Hugh raised his bottle of beer in solute.

Kurt stepped off the porch onto Hugh’s lawn. A cold fear,