《Dies Many Times》 1. Let me Talk to the Detectives Fort Miller was not a small town, nor was it a big town. It occupied that distinctly midwestern niche that had enough people to attract businesses to supply everything one would need, but not enough to have a lot to do. Big enough to be the largest town in the county and big enough to have its own police station. It had to cover the smaller towns in its orbit, with around fifty officers of varying ranks, plus a sheriff and support staff to oversee it all. The sun went down an hour ago, but there was always someone at the station¡¯s front desk. Usually, it was a middle-aged cow with black and white fur and one leg. She lost the left one in a car accident sometime during high school. She got along just fine with one leg, but it pretty much ended her dream of becoming a police officer. As the years went by, she found she liked desk work more anyway. Organizing, filing, interviewing, and being able to call in officers standing a few feet behind her when a person got too rowdy were all nice aspects of her job she wouldn¡¯t get as much of were she on patrol. One appreciated safety more the more years went by. She still wore her uniform with pride, always clean and pressed. She liked the way the dark blues set off her fur. She wore her shield on her left chest. The right had her name badge, ¡®N. Flagstone¡¯, the N standing for Nell. She kept things in the lobby cozy. The collection of chairs in the waiting area were in good repair, being swapped out when the navy blue cushions split open from wear and tear. The magazines on the coffee table were up to date; no Greater Houses and Gardens from 1985 to be found. The coffee in the carafe was not always fresh, but it was never more than a day old. Usually never more than half a day, as the officers were likely to help themselves throughout the day. The navy blue carpet was vacuumed weekly or as needed. With her prosthetic leg, she had no trouble tidying up. For a police station lobby, it was as comfortable as it could be. Nice for anyone coming to report a crime, indifferent to anyone dragged in wearing handcuffs. The cow sorted some papers. Another slow night, her favorite nights of all. No one approached the desk for the past several hours. The night shift officers were out on patrol; every desk behind her empty. The 911 dispatcher was in the other room, listening for calls while watching online streamers play video games. A couple detectives were working late. Unusual for them, but they were in their own offices. Busywork was done for the evening. Until something came along, she was free. She reached into her satchel and pulled out a romance novel by her favorite author, Delia Moongrove. Having never married, she was convinced the novels were true to life. Just had to wait for her lover, who would have a body like it was carved out of marble, to sweep her off her feet. Well, foot. She leaned back in her chair and got ready to dive into The Sunlit Cloister. Halfway through the first page, the front door opened. Nell¡¯s nose remained glued to her book, but one of her ears tilted toward the door. She wanted to finish the page. If whoever it was had something urgent, they would run up to the front desk and let her know directly. She thought. His unusual nature made her put down her book. Her brown eyes regarded him, head tilting as she processed. She said nothing, mind forgetting the proper greeting protocol, even though she belted it out hundreds of times over the years. The person entering took his time to get to her. He was an odd sight, what there was of him to see. He looked like he was primarily made up of clothes. A black hoodie a size too large was wrapped around his torso. His hood was up, and a collection of black scarves wrapped around his neck and muzzle. It was dark outside, but that did not prevent him from wearing mirrored aviator sunglasses. Carpenter cut jeans covered his legs, a pair of work boots on his feet. His hands were in his pockets, but he was wearing black gloves. If someone were to look up the definition of a shady character, they would find a written description that matched this guy. She kept her eyes on him and her hand crept to the panic button under her desk. He walked past the magazines, head turning left and right. Taking in the scenic Fort Miller Police Department ambiance like a sightseer. Next to the door was a corkboard with a list of missing persons throughout the state. A few adults, but mostly children with their information for anyone who might know something. His gaze lingered on the posters. He almost looked like he was studying it. His long, sleek tail, black furred and the only thing not wrapped in cloth, twitched back and forth. He was a feline of some kind, that much Nell could tell. The figure¡¯s head tilted and she could only imagine what he was thinking. The board was looking a lot emptier than she had ever seen it these days. Lost children seemed to show up on their own lately, heads filled with fantastical tales and telling bizarre stories that could not possibly be real. Nell figured kids were excellent at making up details when they could not process what happened to them. Too many video games, most likely. Nell tried not to pay attention to the tall tales, she was just glad they were going back to their parents. After being interviewed by the detectives, of course. The newly promoted detective seemed particularly good about tracking down lost people. The figure, seeming to get everything he wanted out of the corkboard, finally walked up to the desk. He put a gloved hand upon it, face pointed at Nell¡¯s. He had a smell to him. Not a bad one, just different. She could not quite place it. Something like soil and when she visited someone in the hospital. ¡°Good evening.¡± He said in an accent that sounded like it came from a character from a public television romance series. One set in Europe 150 years ago. ¡°I hope you are well, ma¡¯am.¡± ¡°I¡¯m fine, dear.¡± Nell stated. Her finger moved away from the panic button. A customer service smile crossed her muzzle. ¡°How can I help you tonight?¡±You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. ¡°I need to report a murder. A great many murders. Kidnappings too. And attempted ones.¡± Nell blinked. That was a lot of crimes. She sighed inwardly. Must be a traveler trying to have fun with the local cops. She fought to remain professional. ¡°Do tell. And where did these crimes take place? Who¡¯s involved?¡± ¡°Long story, ma¡¯am.¡± He replied. ¡°But it¡¯s all the fault of one man. A man who¡¯s been murdering his way across the countryside for years, right under everyone¡¯s noses. He moves like a shadow. Bulletproof, spell proof, a monster¡­.¡± His head tilted, voice tinged with indignation. ¡°If you would get someone in charge, I¡¯d like to tell it.¡± She sighed and moved her hand farther from the panic button. ¡°I see. Maybe you should lay off the conspiracy theories, sir.¡± ¡°You do not believe me?¡± A throaty chuckle came from under his wraps. ¡°Would not expect you to. But he¡¯s real. He killed me four times.¡± Nell rolled her eyes. Yes. He was crazy. Or drunk. Probably both. ¡°I suggest you go sleep off whatever you have in your system. It¡¯s a crime to abuse emergency services, you know.¡± Another chuckle. He reached up to pull down his hoodie. One of his ears was missing, a jagged hole in its place. The visible flesh was pale. He took off his sunglasses. His eyes were milky yellow. They looked flat and dim; a corpse¡¯s eyes. The wraps came off his muzzle. Part of the flesh was stripped away from the upper jaw. A large, yellow fang and two teeth around it were exposed, sticking out of purple gums like bones from a tar pit. ¡°I think the detectives will believe me. If you would get them, I¡¯d be most appreciative, ma¡¯am.¡± Nell never pushed the panic button faster in her life. After the chaos, the stranger was brought back to an interview room. No expense had been used in decorating it. Folding chairs, an old card table that was a hand-me-down from one of the officers, four walls, and a door. The stranger sat down on one side of the table, two detectives on the other. The black panther with missing parts settled into the chair, sitting perched on it with his hands folded on the table. He looked as relaxed as an ambulatory corpse could. His eyes were still clouded from his recent revival. He could see two figures, but not many details. The name badges were a blur. The two detectives were a lion and a sloth. The lion wore a dark blue dress shirt, black tie, and black slacks. His mane was neatly trimmed and a silver ring was on the ring finger of his left hand. His shirt had several wrinkles on it, having never been ironed since purchase. The sloth had russet fur and a white dress shirt. Not a single crease on it or his black and white striped tie. He wore rounded spectacles with gold frames. The ring on his left ring finger was gold. Both married men, wives at home who were proud of the work their husbands did. ¡°Sorry for the confusion, Mr. Eacott.¡± The sloth stated. ¡°It isn¡¯t often our receptionist sees a dead man come in. Well, not one walking and telling tales.¡± The panther nodded. ¡°Think nothing of it. You may call me Thorpe, if you¡¯d prefer to be less formal.¡± A smile creased his mangled muzzle. ¡°And I¡¯m aware of how I look. I¡¯ve not been in this body long and it usually takes a week or so before the tissue starts coming back.¡± He traced a finger over his missing ear. ¡°I was not aware there was a timeline for such things.¡± The sloth stated, the lion wearing a slight smile at the wry comment. Thorpe chuckled. ¡°I¡¯ve had a long time to understand it. You¡¯re both taking this rather well, I must say.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve seen worse.¡± The lion commented. ¡°Can I get you something to eat? Coffee?¡± The panther shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m fine, thank you. I don¡¯t eat or drink, generally. Not food, anyway.¡± The sloth reached into his pocket, pulling out a pack of Blue Velvet brand cigarettes. ¡°Smoke? Mind if I do?¡± The panther shook his head again. ¡°I do not need to breathe either. By all means, smoke them if you have them.¡± The sloth shook one out, put it to his lips, and lit up. Exhaling a plume of smoke, it had a bluish cast under the fluorescent lights. ¡°You mentioned multiple murders when you came in. Sounds like you have a lot to say.¡± ¡°Indeed.¡± He nodded. ¡°It¡¯s not a short tale, if you would bear with me.¡± ¡°We got the time.¡± The lion took a sip from his mug of coffee. Thorpe¡¯s stomach lurched. Even when he was alive, he disliked coffee. Too bitter. ¡°It involves someone even more unusual looking than I am.¡± The panther leaned forward. The milky haze in his eyes focused, his expression clearing. He may have been dead, but he still had emotions. Hackles raised slightly at the very thought of the man who did him wrong. Smoldering coals in his chest at having been killed multiple times by a single malefactor. ¡°One who might be responsible for every missing child on your community board. Maybe every missing persons case in your record books. I¡¯ve seen him kill many, myself included. Such a man would surely be of interest to people who serve justice.¡± ¡°You have our attention, Mr. Eacott.¡± The lion said. ¡°Start at the beginning, if you would. ¡°Most certainly. Feel free to ask questions as I go. I¡¯ll fill in whatever details I can if it means this man cannot kill anyone else. The man known as ¡®the Farmer.¡¯¡± 2. Dying at the Theatre The first time I met the Farmer, I wasn¡¯t looking for a fight. Far from it. I was in Hobson for a spell, finding the surroundings to my liking. A nice place with a sleepy population. The parlance would be a bedroom community. It¡¯s surprisingly busy, being dead, so I needed a break. Even reanimated corpses need relaxation every so often. Wish I knew better that it wasn¡¯t safe. These sort of places draw the farmer. Cinema has progressed greatly over the last several decades. The addition of sound and color did wonders for the medium, so I find myself seeing a lot of movies. You may find it a bit childish, but I¡¯m fond of the cartoon movies. The work going into animation is a thing of beauty and I have to admire the drive of creators pouring their souls into their work. The advent of computers seems to have done nothing but improve the quality and draw more happy children into the seats. The Hobson Orpheum may not have been big, but two screens was more than enough for the town. The film that night was a newer one, I believe. The title eludes me, but it was about a family of wolves adopting a pair of squirrels. The plot was all right, what I remember of it. Heartwarming and full of family bonding. My mind was elsewhere. Unsettled, I had an odd premonition. Anyone who¡¯s been around as long as I have gets them. Like someone walked over my grave. My original one. Tried to ignore it and focus on the squirrels, but the feeling made itself comfortable in my head. After the movie, the kids started filing out. Must have been a birthday party or some other event, because there were not many adults around. Just lots of young ones, laughing and having the time of their lives. Warmed my heart, or would have if it still pumped blood. Heart almost was beating again. Body gets livelier after enough time¡¯s passed, and I¡¯d been a badger for a couple decades. Liked that body. A lot. Nice and trim with just the right about of muscle. Had a funny, star shaped birthmark in the white fur on my right thigh. Had the nicest blue eyes too. Miss that body. I walked out of the theatre a little early. Could see the ending coming, so I figured I¡¯d get out to make sure everyone leaving made it safely to their cars. Do that sometimes, especially when I had that uncanny feeling. Turned and headed toward the emergency exit near the bathrooms. Carpet back there was faded, some of the lights out. Dark, but I never mind the lack of light. Woke up in so many coffins and morgues that dark, cramped spaces almost feel comfortable. It was clear the employees didn¡¯t get back there much. My feet sank into the spongy, ugly carpet with each step. Hideous thing; brown with orange and black spirals dancing all over it. Some reject from the 1970s, the ugliest era I can think of. Cloudy glass cases on the wall held movie posters from the same era. Air smelled like they were waiting until the end of the night to clean the lavatories. Wasn¡¯t strong enough to cover the smell of children, but nothing is. Saw them filing out in a disorganized line. Lots of short, young people laughing and chatting eagerly about the movie. Seemed to like it, talking about¡­ I don¡¯t even remember. Probably the squirrel kids saying something funny or the wolf dad falling down. Groups of twos, threes, and fours. The only chaperone was an elderly wolf at the front of the line; probably someone¡¯s grandmother. One of the kids in particular got my attention. A buck that was a little tall for his height with fur a little red for his species. No antlers yet, so couldn¡¯t have even been eight. He was walking all alone. Felt bad for the kid; I didn¡¯t have a lot of friends when I was a boy. There was another chaperone at the end of the line, but he didn¡¯t see me as I slipped through the shadows to follow them. Trailed them outside. Hot for that time of year, I think. Kind of lose track of the days and months when you¡¯ve been around as long as I have, but it seemed too warm. Feeling was stronger than ever, so I kept a close eye on the kids. The little buck wandered off a ways, his attention captured by a flickering in the shadows. Probably a sensitive kid, you can tell the type. Easy to distract and guide. I followed him. Got closer. Smelled like those sour candies you get at the movies, the ones shaped like little people.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. The shadows seemed to snatch him away. Kid just disappeared. You can understand how alarmed I was. I¡¯m a people helper, you see. When I see someone trying to hurt someone else, I run after them to try and stop it. That¡¯s what I did. I broke into a sprint. I¡¯m pretty quick and can press any body I¡¯m in to its limits. When you don¡¯t need to worry about catching your breath or overtaxing your heart, there¡¯s a lot you can do. Guess I¡¯m something of a superhero. Between my magic and undead body, I¡¯m pretty clever in a fight. Fully capable of besting whatever creature sought to hurt the poor, innocent lad. The sound of cracking bone should¡¯ve alerted me to something I couldn¡¯t handle. Knew something bad was going on. He was killing the kid, tearing him apart. I looked around, but I couldn¡¯t see him. Nasty creature. Never saw him till he was on me. Felt like someone dropped a truck on me and I¡¯ve been hit by automobiles before. It was like he dropped out of the sky. I remember his face, though. Almost human, but like he was drawn by someone who¡¯d never seen one. That ugly face with angular lines and a hooked nose. Steel gray eyes that looked right through you. His lips were peeled back into a snarl with blood on his teeth. He¡¯d been eating the kid. I raised my hand to fight him, but I wasn¡¯t fast enough. His fist came down on my face. I felt my muzzle collapse, bones cracking into splinters with enough force to split apart the flesh and fur of my muzzle. It hurt like hell. Even being dead, I can still feel pain. Not as much as when I was alive, but it¡¯s hard to miss having your skull burst like a melon. I was dead. The detectives took the story in, calmly regarding Thorpe as he finished his tale. No outward signs of being rattled by it, to the panther¡¯s surprise. He had to give them credit for that. Many would have already run away screaming from the sight of his face. Being seasoned did not set off a lot of alarm bells in Thorpe¡¯s head. The world was a strange place and more police officers realized this than they let on. Or maybe they were not paying attention. ¡°Are you¡­ familiar with these events, detectives?¡± Thorpe asked. The sloth nodded. ¡°We heard about Hobson. Happened around spring of last year. Your story checks out, especially about the buck. Found him much like you described. Bones split open and the marrow drained.¡± ¡°¡­ He got the theatre employees too. Four of them.¡± The lion added. ¡°Strangled. Did you happen to see that?¡± Thorpe might have, but it seemed unimportant. He shook his head. ¡°No, but I can¡¯t say I was watching them too carefully.¡± ¡°They were found near the child. It would have been hard to miss.¡± Thorpe felt a vague sense of annoyance course through him, but quelled it. ¡°My focus was on saving the child. If I missed them, my apologies. I may have been occupied having my brain pulverized.¡± The lion nodded. ¡°Understandable.¡± He cleared his throat. ¡°You said you were a badger back then. You clearly aren¡¯t now.¡± Thorpe had to chuckle. He was waiting for this to come up. ¡°A complicated problem with a simple answer. While my body can regenerate over time, it does not have infinite capacity to revive itself. I heal at roughly the same rate as a normal person, if not a bit faster.¡± Faster still if he was well fed, but some details the police did not need to know. Too distasteful. ¡°However, if I am damaged to the point I ¡®die¡¯, my soul shifts to another body.¡± Both officers looked concerned, he assumed. It was hard to read their expressions because his vision was still cloudy. ¡°I can tell you are unsettled, but don¡¯t be. I move to empty shells. Bodies where the soul has already passed on. Recently deceased and still intact. All the arms, legs, and parts functioning decently. There¡¯s a larger number than you¡¯d think out there. It¡¯s a condition of mortality that people die. Well, most people.¡± He smiled at his own joke. The detectives offered pity smiles. ¡°That must be¡­ jarring.¡± The sloth commented. ¡°It does take some getting used to.¡± Thorpe replied. ¡°But, it¡¯s better than the alternative.¡± ¡°I¡¯d rather pass to my reward, frankly.¡± The lion interjected. ¡°This world¡¯s just a temporary stop.¡± Thorpe felt his body stiffen. He passed it off. The less he thought about that, the better. ¡°I have too much to do to pass on. May place is still here.¡± He tried to avoid looking awkward, but failed. Thrope straightened up, knowing it best to continue his story. ¡°I¡¯d like to move on, detectives, if that¡¯s all right with you. I have more information to disclose. Three more meetings with the Farmer.¡± ¡°By all means, continue. I¡¯ll be back momentarily.¡± The lion stood up, taking his coffee cup to refill. Thorpe decided it best to wait until he returned. 3. Dangerous Librarians When I came back to life, I was a wolf. It was adequate. Legs were shorter than I like, but long enough I could walk on them without difficulty. Pretty fresh, so the eyes weren¡¯t even clouded over. Not like the ones I¡¯m using now. Would have preferred black fur, but the russet coat was fine. Waited until the mortician went home and unzipped the body bag. If you¡¯ve been at this as long as I have, you know how to do it from the inside. Ask nice and I might show you how. You never know when you¡¯ll need it. Once I got my bearings, I moved on. Felt a bit drained. There¡¯s always a breaking in period when I enter a new body. No two people move completely alike. I¡¯d been in the badger for years, so all my muscle memory was for muscles I didn¡¯t have. Had to relearn how to climb stairs without falling on my face. I adjust quick enough, so I was out and about within a couple days. Part of me wanted to run and hide. Would be foolish to pursue the gray, hulking monster that took me down. I barely even knew what it was. But, that thing was still out there. I¡¯m not one to leave the hornet¡¯s nest alone, never have been, even if this was just one big, angry hornet. Had to figure out what I was dealing with and how to take him down. Have to admit, some of it was pride. I¡¯m still pretty angry he shattered me so easily. It¡¯s a natural state for anyone. If someone kills you, you want to kill them back. Yeah, I was mad as Hell with no idea where to even start looking. Didn¡¯t go back to the theatre. I was in another state when I revived. Knew he wouldn¡¯t be there, no point in going. I stuck around where I was. Lots of small towns, so I looked around places I thought he might be. Theatres and anywhere kids might gather. If he ended up anywhere, it¡¯d be where he can find victims. Stalked around for a while. Found some bodies and I¡¯m sure the police did too. Look up the reports. Wherever there are missing children, pretty sure he¡¯s involved. Finally tracked him down in Ewerdale. Town was a little bigger than the ones I¡¯d been looking through. The public library was impressive; funded by some retired farmer with a passion for philanthropy. Or maybe just a guilty conscience. Isn¡¯t my place to judge, as the kids seemed to like it. Had a little playground inside to get them more interested in books. The local¡­ well, some elderly association put on a story time event. Think pensioners dressing up as literary characters and reading to kids as they spilled their provided juice and snacks on the carpet. Some of them may have even paid attention. It got out late. A lot of the families already left, either because of tantrums or having better things to do. I was waiting in the stairwell. I checked the entire building for hiding spots, anywhere that gray freak might be slinking around. No sign of him anywhere. For just a moment, I figured he might not make an appearance. I couldn¡¯t have been more stupid. The last two kids and one elderly man lingered in the lobby. The kids were a little bull and a white furred mouse, the old gentleman a terrier dressed up like a pirate. Even had a foam rubber parrot pinned to his shoulder. The lights were down. Librarians probably in the process of closing up and passive aggressively signaling it was time to leave. Tried to warn them not to do that earlier. Didn¡¯t listen. A gnarled, gray hand snatched the bull into the dark. The spray of blood came next. Screams for help from the old terrier followed. He ran to help the bull. Didn¡¯t stand a chance. I could hear his death rattle from my hiding spot. Split open like a baked potato. The little mouse ran for the exit, but he was too fast for her. He leapt from the shadows and landed with a heavy thud, cutting off her path to the exit. I never was very religious, but if someone ever told me they saw a demon, he¡¯s what I would picture. Just seeing his face doesn¡¯t do him justice; the whole package is much worse. I¡¯ll never forget that body. He¡¯s tall. Probably about seven and a half feet. When he first killed me, I thought he was proportioned like a human. I was incorrect. The rest of him is just as twisted as his face. Long, large boned arms that reached to his knees with massive, gnarled fingers like the roots of an evil tree. He was broad shouldered, large enough he shouldn¡¯t have been able to hide in the shadows as well as he did. His entire body had that leathery, uniformly gray flesh covering it. Only hair to be seen was that messy mop on top of his head. Face too long, jaw too square, he looked like an artist¡¯s depiction of the monster under their bed. The one that crawled out on spindly legs, climbed up the ceiling, and descended on you to devour you before you could yell for mother. And those eyes. Steel gray, piercing. His whole pallor was dull, but those peered out like freezing embers in a fog. I hate those eyes. If I ever finally get ahold of him, I want the last thing he sees to be my thumbs jammed into his eye sockets. He grabbed the little mouse girl. Picked her up with one hand like she weighed as much as a light reading novella. She screamed. A lot. Dangling there and kicking her feet. Nowhere near long enough to reach him with that lengthy arm, not that it would have mattered. No running for either of us. He saw me and I saw him. I demanded he put the girl down, trying to distract him while the two remaining librarians circled behind him. I managed to convince them of the threat he posed. They agreed to aid me in taking him down, provided he made an appearance. Not certain they believed me until they saw him; likely just humoring me up until the moment he showed his hideous face.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. They lunged at him in tandem. One went to his left, one to his right. I doubt he saw them coming until they were nearly upon him. He dropped the girl and she ran off into the night. Smart, precocious little thing; I would¡¯ve done the same. The librarians did less well. One was a fat bear. Big, lots of mass, no fighting ability. The gray man backhanded him so hard his head came off. I knew he was strong, but that was on another level. Wasn¡¯t enough to make the thin, matronly pine marten back off. She tried to bite him. In the same motion that took off the bear¡¯s head, he swung his arm under his overcoat and pulled out a sickle. Yes, an archaic farming tool, but bigger than it should have been. Had to be to fit his massive hand. Probably custom made, if you need something to investigate. She didn¡¯t even make it to him before the sickle separated her head from her body. I didn¡¯t want to get near him. Figured with how he crushed my head last time, I wouldn¡¯t do too well attempting to fistfight him. Now, detectives, don¡¯t be mad at me for this, but I had a gun. Yes, I didn¡¯t acquire it legally. I don¡¯t make it a habit to do things outside the law, but this was necessary. I needed something to defend myself against him. I¡¯m not exactly able to get an identification card and the bodies I enter seldom have one on their person. The way I saw it, the monster I was up against necessitated such a thing. I¡¯m not certain what kind of gun it was. A handgun of some type. Big. I¡¯ve fired large caliber guns before and I stopped keeping track of innovations in firearm technology decades ago. I trained it on him as he walked toward me. I pulled the trigger until the gun was empty. It fired eight times. I hit him seven of those times. A nice grouping on his chest, punching bloody holes in his white shirt. He flinched slightly, but it was more from the impact of the bullets. It did not cause him to break his stride. Didn¡¯t slow him down. The bastard was bulletproof. I had time to utter a curse on his ancestry before his sickle bisected my head. I was dead. Again. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Thorpe leaned back in his chair. He paused in case the detectives had any questions or comments. He hoped they would not, but knew they would. Law enforcement across the eras were a curious lot. Many could be made less curious with a little money, but that was not his purpose and he doubted they were the type to be swayed by lucre. The lion cleared his throat and took a sip of his coffee. A little cream and sugar in it this time. No time for supper earlier, so this was the best he could do. ¡°You said this happened in Ewerdale? I read the case file on that earlier. Your story checks out. For the most part.¡± Thorpe tilted his head. The nice thing about being dead was he could hide being annoyed quite well. Corpses are not particularly emotive. Also helped to hide the surprise that they were looking at a file related to him on the same night he came to find them. Life could be a series of odd coincidences. While Thorpe did not believe in the goodness of a higher power, he had to admire the universe¡¯s sense of humor. ¡°I¡¯d be happy to elaborate upon any details to your satisfaction, detective.¡± He offered. ¡°The young mouse did get away. The Ewerdale police department tried to get her version of the events, but she wouldn¡¯t talk to them.¡± The sloth said. ¡°Not trusting of police? How tragic.¡± Thorpe replied. The sloth shook his head. ¡°She hasn¡¯t much talked to anyone since then. Gets really nervous around wolves, though. And humans. Can¡¯t stand to be near them. Any comment on that?¡± Thorpe¡¯s turn to shake his head. He felt a pang of regret deep inside. ¡°I¡¯m afraid not, but such trauma cannot be easy for the young. She has my sympathy, being witness to such a thing at her age.¡± He tried to smile. Paying a visit to her might be in Thorpe¡¯s future. Checking on her and talking her through what happened could put her mind at ease. He made a mental note to do that when this was all done. Finding her would be simple enough; he tracked people down before. ¡°Kids shouldn¡¯t have to deal with anything like that.¡± The lion commented. ¡°Something else unusual. It¡¯s about the librarians. The ones you said helped you fight off the Farmer.¡± Thorpe tilted his head. An unreadable look crossed his face, the flesh on his muzzle tightening for a moment. ¡°What of them?¡± ¡°Their wounds were fatal, both sets of them. One set had signs of bleeding, the other set after the blood already coagulated.¡± The lion leaned in. ¡°What do you know about that?¡¯ Thorpe sighed. Elaborating on his power set was something he wished to avoid. Most found magic distasteful, and that was the stuff that did not involve dead bodies. That was just counting the people who knew about it, which was a small number. No avoiding it now. ¡°I may have¡­ encouraged them to keep fighting after the first set of fatal wounds.¡± He held up his paws and continued before they could interrupt him. ¡°Please, don¡¯t misunderstand me. It¡¯s not a task I take lightly. And it¡¯s no more dark than what medical science does to keep people alive. I merely kept them in tact and alive to fight.¡± ¡°That sounds a bit dark to me.¡± The sloth stated. Thorpe shook his head. ¡°Sir, I have to respectfully disagree. Is it any stretch to believe a man capable of surviving death can prolong the life of others? What I did was healed them as they fought. And it does not come without a considerable cost to myself. I only have a limited amount of energy. I wanted to preserve their lives as long as possible.¡± Thorpe sighed. ¡°Unfortunately, I failed. They did not last long against the farmer.¡± The pair looked at each other. Thorpe felt his skin tighten. Almost looked like they would not believe him. ¡°Let¡¯s move on.¡± The lion stated, seemingly mollified. ¡°I¡¯d like to hear what you did next time you met the farmer. Tell us about that, if you would.¡± ¡°With eagerness, but some displeasure, detectives.¡± Thorpe¡¯s smile showed his yellow teeth. ¡°No one likes recounting fatal injuries.¡± 4. Public Pool This time around, I was a horse. Woke up in the back of an ambulance wrapped in a sheet. Heard the paramedics bantering above me. Motorcycle accident. Brain dead. Drunk (explained the smell of vomit on my leathers). As fun as it would have been to start moving and frighten the daylights out of them, I knew that never ended well. I stayed still until they loaded me into the morgue and left. They were going to leave the body alone until the medical examiner reported in the next morning. Wouldn¡¯t he be surprised when there was no body? As out of shape as the wolf was, this body was alarmingly fit. Lots of lean muscle on a two-meter-tall frame. Fur was dark brown, but not well groomed. Mane was tangled something awful. Can¡¯t have everything, I guess, but you take what you get. Felt better after a shower. When I worked through learning the limitations of my body, I had my purpose. Had to hunt down that gray bastard and kill him. I¡¯ve learned to be a pretty clever tracker over my unnaturally long existence, so I had some ability to find him. Experience brings wisdom, after all. The two places I encountered him were near each other. I knew what I had to look for. Dead bodies. Lots of them. Follow reports of murders. As you may understand, this is not as useful as you¡¯d think. But, I was relentless. I don¡¯t sleep and he does. At least, I think he does. I zoomed in on a little town called Ellsberry. Lots of kids going missing, lots of them found without a heartbeat. Always kids with this guy. It¡¯s like he feeds off them. In a way, it was easy to find. Computers are a wonderful thing. Time was, I had to spend hours upon hours in library archives, poring over countless reels of microfilm for records of deaths. Can¡¯t tell you how much time I¡¯ve spent looking at obituaries and newspapers. Now, it¡¯s all online. Kind of miss the feel of newsprint ink coming off on my fingers and the look of a good missing person¡¯s poster, but the convenience is worth it. It was summer, so school was out. Kids were drawn to places of recreation. I tracked him to a public pool. Not hard to narrow that down. It was hot and kids love water, particularly the kind of gross water only communal swimming pools can provide. Never understood the draw, but I haven¡¯t been a kid for a long time. Had to swim in the river when I was growing up. I watched and waited. A week passed since the last disappearance, so he¡¯d be there again before long. Gave me time to prepare. I couldn¡¯t fight him. Two attempts proved that was an idiotic prospect. I¡¯m stronger and more durable than the strongest mortal, but this guy was in an entirely different category. Good thing my wits are sharper than his sickles. I got my wish. The pool closed at its usual time, but a particularly mischief prone little otter decided to hide in the locker room. Thought he would have the pool to himself once everyone left and have a carefree night of swimming. An endearing sentiment utterly ignorant of how dangerous the world truly is. How was he to know monsters are real? A lone child is the sweetest bait for all manner of predators, as I¡¯m sure you detectives understand. Didn¡¯t know he was still there at the time. Kids are unpredictable and I had no way of knowing he was hiding in the locker room. I can detect life, but didn¡¯t think to check the pool before I left. Never assume. I did and figured there was no possibility anyone was left, so I didn¡¯t bother. Instead, I went out patrolling the surrounding streets, thinking the farmer would follow one of the kids home. He tracks by scent, you know. That nose of his can follow prey for miles. Doesn¡¯t even matter if you go to another town, he¡¯ll find you. Probably how he knew the little otter was still there. When I got back, everything was supposed to be quiet. It wasn¡¯t. As soon as I went to the changing rooms, I heard whimpering. No screams, just terrified pleas, like someone whose mouth was covered trying to call for help. Every muscle in my body tensed the way they do whenever something isn¡¯t right. Without thinking, my vision shifted to when I attempt to detect life. World faded and I saw one point of light in the shape of an otter about 10 yards away, in the showers. Just the one, and it was fading. Even though I could not see him, I knew the farmer was there. He doesn¡¯t show up when you use magical vision. Never seen anyone who could do that. It¡¯s probably why he¡¯s escaped people like me for so long. Lockers rushed past me as I ran to help. Had to get to the kid before the light of his life faded. Had to save him. Cursed myself for leaving. If only I stayed behind when he snatched him from his hiding spot in the locker room, the kid might still be alive. He was already dead by the time I got there. The farmer turned, those gray eyes boring holes in me. He dropped the otter¡¯s flayed open body. His face was streaked with blood, as were his hands. No sickle out. He didn¡¯t need it to deal with one little kid. I think he prefers to kill them with his bare hands. Pull them apart like a roast chicken. Even though he shrugged off being shot multiple times during our last meeting, I had hoped he bled out somewhere after and I¡¯d never hear from him again. No luck there, he was intact.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. But, he was also in my trap. It saved me having to lure him into the showers, being already there. I¡¯d left the water running overnight, every night, to make sure the ground was nice and wet. There was about two centimeters of standing water on the shower floor, the drains being more than a little slow. He took a step toward me with murderous intent, a sickle out. His head tilted and he sniffed the air. When he caught my scent, his eyes narrowed. Now, I¡¯m not sure if souls have a smell. Never smelled one myself and I¡¯ve been around a long time. Bodies have a smell and mine changed with every new shell. He seemed to see past that. That spark of recognition in his eyes told me everything. He knew who I was. ¡°Killed you twice.¡± He spoke. I remember that much. How could I forget that voice? Want to know what it sounded like? Take two rusty speakers, drop the low frequencies to a snarl, and rub them together. That¡¯s what it sounded like. I¡¯ve revived in three pack per day smokers that sounded better. I didn¡¯t want him to kill me a third time. I reached for the wall and pulled an electrical cable from it. I managed to externalize some of the wiring and run it under the wall. Covered it with tile so the lifeguards and kids wouldn¡¯t notice. I took it out, stepped on a bench, and threw it into the water. Sparks flew. You could practically see the electricity arcing into his body. Crackling bolts running into his legs and up his arms. He spasmed. Looked like he was cooking from the inside. I smelled burning flesh. I honestly thought I won, but the burning smell was coming from the kid¡¯s dead body. He walked toward me. His muscles twitched slightly, but it didn¡¯t seem to do much else. Too stunned to move, I couldn¡¯t believe it. Bullet and shock proof? That¡¯s not fair! He was on me in a second. The next half hour was a haze of pain. Guy seemed to have it in for me. Or, maybe just hates horses and he¡¯s a rampant speciest. Probably both. Regardless, he broke my arms and legs. Maybe pulled some parts off me. It was hard to tell. He thought if he broke me enough, I wouldn¡¯t come back. It¡¯s not accurate, but he tried his best. When he finally did kill me, it was a relief. Thorpe flexed his hands. The memory of having his fingers snapped and pulled off, one by one, was not something he would easily forget. Fingers tucked beneath his paws, he waited for the detectives to say something. It was a lot to take in. Each installment had to sound increasingly fantastical to the point he worried they would stop believing him. Being a walking corpse added credibility to his tale, but it still strained credulity. The sloth was the first to speak. ¡°We heard about that. Place caught fire after you left. Electrical. Report said someone tampered with the wires.¡± ¡°Arson was suspected.¡± The lion added. ¡°Found two bodies at the scene. The young otter you described and a horse that was too badly mangled to be identified. Local cops decided the horse was the culprit. Closed the case.¡± Thorpe¡¯s muzzle twisted into a sheepish smile. ¡°They were technically correct, though it was not my intention to burn down a public pool. One would not think that would be possible; all the water. The collateral damage was not on my mind. I was only concerned with eliminating the farmer and keeping him from harming more children.¡± ¡°Admitting to arson in front of two detectives is a rather bold move.¡± The lion raised an eyebrow. Thorpe tilted his muzzle. ¡°Well, it¡¯s the truth. What need have I to lie? If it means destroying the farmer, I¡¯d rather not omit any details.¡± ¡°Even if that means going to jail? Life in prison means a lot to someone who can¡¯t die.¡± The sloth proposed. ¡°Again, it¡¯s a price I¡¯m willing to pay. And I¡¯m certain my actions will be vindicated by the end of this.¡± Thorpe tried not to sound amused. He had never been in a jail cell for very long in the grand scheme of things. If the detectives were trying to make him nervous, they did not know him very well. His original body was long gone, Thorpe Eacott having been dead for nearly two centuries. For all intents and purposes, he did not exist. They were interviewing a memory. The detectives looked at each other. Clouded vision, so he could not read them well. ¡°Why always children?¡± The lion finally asked. Relief blossomed in Thorpe; they moved on to another subject. If they were plotting on giving him a prison cell, they were not showing it. He would remain wary. ¡°I cannot pretend to know the vagaries of a wandering killer, detective.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve run into him a few times. Do you have any theories?¡± The sloth asked. ¡°Perhaps he feeds on them? Perhaps he likes easy targets? It¡¯s immaterial. All that matters is destroying him.¡± Thorpe shrugged, his neck wrinkling slightly from the motion. Flesh was a little loose. It would tighten up eventually. Felt like wearing an extra skin at the moment. ¡°Humor us.¡± The sloth tapped his claws on the desk. ¡°Your thoughts on it might help us find him.¡± Thorpe suppressed a sigh. ¡°Well, he is not magical. He seems to be the opposite; a living conduit of antimagic. The blood around his mouth suggests he¡¯s a meat eater, but I¡¯ve never seen him eating the actual flesh, nor have I been able to examine the children after he¡¯s done with them. Were the bodies missing anything when they were found?¡± ¡°The brains.¡± The sloth answered. Thorpe leaned back. His brow furrowed for a moment. The answer was not one he expected, but he quickly recovered. ¡°Brains? Perhaps I¡¯m not the only undead creature around, if movies are to be believed.¡± He managed a smile. ¡°No, that¡¯s not right.¡± The lion corrected. ¡°Bone marrow. Cracked open the long bones, hips, and sternum to get at it.¡± Thorpe nodded. ¡°Hm. That¡¯s considerably stranger. Why do you think he¡¯d need to do that?¡± ¡°We¡¯d like to figure that out. It¡¯s why we¡¯re asking you.¡± The sloth commented. ¡°But, if you don¡¯t know, we can talk about your last meeting.¡± ¡°Certainly, detectives.¡± Thorpe commented. ¡°Though, I¡¯m afraid this one is difficult to talk about, even for me.¡± 5. The Abandoned Hotel I¡¯ll spare you the details of how I woke up. I was a white furred cat now. A big, fluffy thing that was mostly fur. I must have weighed a mere seventy kilos under all that hair. Tiny. Not ideal for having to fight a murderous giant, but I¡¯ve dealt with worse bodies. He knew who I was now. Smelled me or saw something in me he linked with my last few appearances. Only a matter of time before he tracked me down. Last time, I was expecting him, but my trap didn¡¯t work. When he came for me again, I would be prepared. He¡¯s tough and determined, but doesn¡¯t catch me as very smart. Luring him wouldn¡¯t be a problem, since his life¡¯s purpose was to end mine. It¡¯s something of familiar territory for me. As you detectives have had unscrupulous people target you, my share of malefactors have come after me. A problem that comes with being a hero, so I was used to it. Never had someone of the Farmer¡¯s level come after me, but I had a method of dealing with him. Small towns had abandoned buildings. Seems to be no shortage of them. I found a nice abandoned hotel to set up shop in. Some little tourist trap ten miles from the nearest town and twenty from the nearest highway. Probably failed when they moved the highway, but you can still see a billboard advertising vacationers to ¡®visit the birthplace of fantasy writer T.M. Hymer!¡¯ as you travel. Must have been a nice place at one point. Two stories, about twenty rooms. Not part of a chain originally, I don¡¯t think. Most of the decorations and anything of value had been stripped out. All that was left were a couple of nests for vagrants and a makeshift lab for making drugs. Cleared out the squatters. I needed the place to myself. Spent about a month setting up. Filled the place with every trap I could think of. Blocked hallways and rooms, set it up so to get to me he¡¯d have to wind his way through the lobby, several rooms, and up some stairs. Then, back down and into the center of the building. I¡¯m no master trap maker, but I set up a few swinging blades and improvised explosives. My aim was to get him injured and into the center of the building, then collapse it on top of him. It would crush us both, but I¡¯d be okay. He wouldn¡¯t. If I was mortal, the body I was in wouldn¡¯t have been up to building barricades. Good thing I wasn¡¯t bound to the physical limitations of it. I probably broke off every piece of edging and used every remaining piece of furniture in the building. Scavenged more wood from the farm refuse piles, decaying barns, and broken-down machinery in the area. That¡¯s another thing I love about the Midwest; lots of spare parts lying around if you have the inclination to get it. Most would be happy just to have someone haul the junk away for free. By the time I was done, I had a proper labyrinth in chintzy hotel form. Only thing left to do was wait. This took a little longer than I would have liked. A couple weeks passed. Occupied myself as best I could. Lots of reading. I spent a little time wandering around the area surrounding my den. Get a feel for the land, check for any signs of the Farmer, think. Have a lot of time to think, but a lot of my thoughts lately are consumed with finding and ending him. Looking back, I must have the worst luck in the world. A couple kids wandered into my funhouse. Probably dared each other to explore the potentially haunted hotel. Might be partially to blame for that. I thought I was careful enough to avoid any attention, but kids are sneaky. Probably saw all the lumber changing places around it or the barricades built around the doors. Regardless of the how, they found their way in. A couple of ten year old boys, a raccoon and a squirrel. The raccoon had his arm cut up quite badly trying to open a door. The squirrel stepped into a jawed trap trying to run. I was in my den at the time, thankfully, so I could find and tend to them. Decent doctor when I put my mind to it. Nice kids, if not a bit too curious for their own good. In my den, I just about finished bandaging the raccoon when my bad luck got even worse. He was here and deep inside the building. Already made it halfway through by the time he finally sprung one of my traps. Underestimation on my part. I figured he wasn¡¯t clever enough to spot them. Should¡¯ve hidden them better, but that¡¯s hindsight. There I was with two kids under my care and the very last person in the world that kids should be around. The farmer could wait. I had to get them out. Had my bag of belongings by the door, just in case I needed to make a hasty exit. The detonator for the explosives I rigged around the foundation was there. If I could get the kids out without the Farmer noticing, I could bring down the building. Even if he wasn¡¯t at the epicenter of the collapse, it may still be enough to end his life. There was only one exit from my basement lair. Had I the right amount of foresight, I would¡¯ve put in an emergency exit. Only one way in and out of the hotel, I made sure of that. But, there was an emergency exit that wasn¡¯t too boarded up. If I could move the boards aside, they could escape. Then I¡¯d be able to deal with the Farmer on my own terms. Fortune did not favor me. As soon as I turned the corner, he was there. He swung out of one of the rooms as soon as he spotted us, drawn either by my smell or the blood of children. I got a momentary thrill when he moved over a tripwire. His haste to get us brought him into one of my traps. A simple trap, just a can of hairspray with a lighter rigged to it to act as a firebomb. Didn¡¯t think something like that would do more than singe him. It went off in a burst of red and orange, but it didn¡¯t hit him at all. He dodged it.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. You¡¯ll have to take a moment to imagine my surprise. I saw him wade through electrical currents, fight off multiple assailants, and take a cluster of bullets to the chest and not flinch. He just shrugged off the damage and kept going. When it came to fire, he moved. Graceful, fluid, probably out of reflex. He saw the flames and made sure they didn¡¯t touch his body. It was fire. The thing that could stop him was something as simple as mankind¡¯s very first invention. Wish I would¡¯ve thought of that sooner. Could¡¯ve loaded up the whole place with every flammable material in a five kilometer radius and lit a match. Had to keep that in mind, if dropping a hotel on him didn¡¯t work. He looked at me, his eyes narrowing. Then he looked at the kids. A big, gray shoulder rammed into my tiny housecat body. Knocked me aside like I was made of paper mach¨¦. The kids were dead before they hit the ground. He tore them both apart, but at least they didn¡¯t have to suffer. I landed with multiple broken ribs. Would¡¯ve hurt more if I had to inhale or catch my breath. Still didn¡¯t feel good. The kids were dead, the gray monster loomed over me, I was down. Perfect time to hit the detonator. The explosion collapsed the supports. I hadn¡¯t handled explosives for about a decade, but I read a lot of books. Amazing what you can do with fireworks, fertilizer, and some wiring. Wasn¡¯t entirely sure what I was doing, so I used a lot of materials. It worked. I heard the whole building groan like a collapsing giant before it came down. It wasn¡¯t a perfect demolition. If I had him closer to the center, it might¡¯ve smashed him into paste. Would¡¯ve been satisfying. Part of the wall fell on him. Brought him to a knee, but he shrugged it off, grabbed me, and dove through a window. Broke through it, boards and all, with me in tow. Being dragged through a splintered window sliced my skin to ribbons. I was alive. He was alive. Everyone was alive but the kids. That¡¯s not a good trade. I was in no shape to fight. He broke my legs. Shattered more of my ribs. He didn¡¯t kill me right away. I think he wanted to keep me around a while. But he was so bloodthirsty and enthusiastic about violence that he snapped my neck. Just as well. I wasn¡¯t eager to lose any more limbs. The sloth rubbed the bridge of his nose and let out a long sigh. ¡°You trespassed in a hotel, filled it with traps¡­¡± ¡°That injured two children.¡± The lion added. ¡°And then used homemade, illegal explosives to bring it down?¡± The sloth continued. Thorpe could only nod. Any law enforcement representative, and maybe most people, would view this through the lens of reckless irresponsibility. Negligent at best, murderous at worst. ¡°I admit it sounds unreasonable, but the Farmer is not responsive to reasonable methods. I was desperate to stop him. Still am.¡± ¡°And the kids? What about them? State troopers found their bodies in the hotel rubble.¡± The lion asked. Thorpe felt a pang of emotion in his chest. Such a tragedy. ¡°Words cannot express my regret, detectives. I wish their curiosity hadn¡¯t led them into my trap-filled den. Would that I could have warded them off. Or contacted their parents. There was no time. I did everything I could to protect them from the Farmer. But, he was too powerful for me. Everything was inadequate in my case, and I¡¯m truly sorry.¡± The sloth nodded slightly. A thoughtful frown was on his features. Brow slightly furrowed and eyes open. A look of sympathy and understanding. Thorpe¡¯s vision was starting to clear. His natural regenerative processes cleaned the lenses of their opacity, so he could see facial expressions again. It made answering questions much easier. Hard to do that when you cannot tell what the other person is feeling. The sloth leaned back in his chair. ¡°You have to know your story sounds pretty out there, Mr. Eacott. A bullet proof, child eating monster responsible for death and destruction across multiple towns for who knows how long. Something out of a direct to video movie.¡± Thorpe had to smirk. ¡°So is the walking dead, detective. You felt my pulse after Miss Flagstone summoned you to deal with me. Or, rather, my lack of one.¡± The lion nodded. ¡°If it makes you feel any better, I¡¯m familiar with the guy you¡¯re talking about. He¡¯s been an urban legend among multiple police departments. Seems to get the blame whenever a lot of bodies show up in one place. Particularly when people like you are involved.¡± An odd itch crept over the back of Thorpe¡¯s head, like a spider nibbling his skull. ¡°People like me?¡± ¡°Practitioners of magical arts. Wizards, mages, necromancers, whatever you call yourselves.¡± A sheepish grin and chuckle from the lion. ¡°No offense intended.¡± The itch went away. ¡°None taken, detective¡­¡± Thorpe squinted. He could read the lion¡¯s name badge now. ¡°¡­ Whelan.¡± Both detectives stood up. The sloth spoke. ¡°We¡¯ve heard enough to believe you. Farmer¡¯s been running around too long. Been wanting to bring him in for some time, but we¡¯ve never had anyone who he¡¯s fought approach us.¡± ¡°Or live long enough to do it.¡± Detective Whelan added. He shook his head. ¡°Not that you survived any of your meetings. Someone with your powers, well, you¡¯re very unique.¡± Apprehension that built up after his last story dissipated. Flattery went a long way in smoothing over his suspicious mood. ¡°Thank you. I knew you¡¯d understand. Your town certainly has its share of unusual stories. It¡¯s why I came to you in the first place.¡± ¡°Good.¡± The sloth clapped his hands once. ¡°Now, if you have time, would you come with us to a more secure location? We¡¯d like to discuss plans for dealing with the situation.¡± ¡°A¡­ more secure location?¡± Thorpe tilted his head. ¡°Is this necessary?¡± ¡°Not everyone in the department is so understanding.¡± The lion¡¯s voice dropped to conspiratorial tones. ¡°Not everyone understands how to do what needs done. And the threat out there demands a response.¡± The thought of even part of a police force coming down on the Farmer appealed to Thorpe more than words could express. Even if they could not stop him, they would be an adequate distraction. ¡°Of course, detectives. I have all the time in the world.¡±