Ebon Moon Read online

  EBON MOON

  By Dennis McDonald

  EBON MOON

  Copyright 2010 Dennis McDonald

  All rights reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means,

  graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping,

  or by any information retrieval system without the written permission of

  the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  dennismcdonaldauthor.com

  To John Ferguson (aka Count Gregore), from a young boy who sat wide-eyed before a flickering black-and-white television in the dead of the night.

  “In the 15th and 16th centuries, the belief in were-wolves was, throughout the continent of Europe, as general as the belief in witches, which had then come to resemble in many respects. It gave rise to the persecutions almost as frequent as those for witchcraft, and these usually ended in the confession of the accused, and his death by hanging and burning. It was calculated to inspire even greater terror than witchcraft, since it was believed that the were-wolves delighted in human flesh, and were constantly lying in wait for solitary travelers, and carrying off and eating little children.”

  The International Cyclopedia (1898)

  Ebon (eb’an) a: black like ebony. (Old world term)

  Webster’s Dictionary

  PROLOGUE

  “Are you sure we’re alone?” Michelle Carlson asked the man sitting next to her in the front seat of the pickup truck. Light from the full moon shining through the windshield highlighted his lean face and dark brown eyes. She thought his name was Doug but wasn’t sure. Or was it Dave? The night spent at the karaoke bar left her memory in a beer-induced fog.

  “We’re way out in the middle of fucking nowhere. Nobody’s going to see anything,” replied Doug/Dave. His gaze focused on her chest like an anxious child waiting to unwrap a birthday present. “Now get that shirt off and show me those big boobs.”

  She slid the T-shirt over her head and dropped it on the dash.

  “You want to see these, cowboy?” She reached for the clasp of her bra.

  “Fuck yeah,” he replied, taking a sip of his longneck beer.

  Friday night and another horny redneck, she thought while undoing the clasp. What the hell? The guy’s got gorgeous brown eyes.

  She tossed the bra on the dash.

  “Ooooeeeee!” the Doug/Dave guy whooped. “You got some fine tits.”

  “Thanks.”

  Her pregnancy with Missy two years before had left her breasts rounder and fuller. Every Friday night, she slipped on her tightest T-shirt and got her mother to watch her daughter. Her next stop was the honky-tonk for a night of partying and a possible hookup with some fortunate cowboy. Being a single mother at twenty-three, it was her best chance for sex. The rest of her week consisted of long shifts at the convenience store and changing diapers at the house alone.

  “You like?” She threw aside her long brown hair.

  “Fuck yeah.” Doug/Dave took another sip of the longneck. “Titties and beer. Two great tastes that taste great together.”

  He poured a swash of beer across her breasts causing Michelle to gasp from the sudden cold liquid on her nipples. Handing her the bottle, Doug/Dave smiled and then leaned in to lick up the spilled Budweiser. Enjoying the man’s lapping tongue, she settled back in the seat.

  At least he’s creative. Not like the last asshole who wanted nothing more than a quick blow job. I think I’ll give this cowboy the grand tour tonight. I just hope he lasts longer than eight seconds in the saddle.

  With half-closed eyes, she gazed out the front windshield. They had parked on the side of a country road near a tall stand of trees. Overhead, in a starlit Oklahoma sky, the hazy full moon transformed the rolling countryside into a two-tone palette of silvery light and dark shadows. A late August breeze, whispering with the smell of freshly cut hay, blew through the open passenger window. The night had been as perfect as the weather. Doug/Dave licked up the spilled beer like an expert. A pleasant warmth spread through her body, and she laid her head against the back of the seat.

  Something growled outside the truck.

  Michelle opened her eyes. “What was that?”

  “Waat wooss whaat?” Dave/Doug said with his face still buried between her breasts.

  “I heard an animal growl.” She sat up and stared out the side window where the shoulder of the road ran close to the grove of trees. She sensed something waiting there, something watching from the shadows … something evil.

  Wiping his chin on the sleeve of his pearl-snap shirt, Doug/Dave said, “It’s probably just a coyote.” He took the beer bottle from her hand.

  “I think someone’s watching us over there.” She pointed toward the trees.

  He peered out through the front glass. “Bullshit. I don’t see a damn thing. There’s not a soul out here.” After taking a long swig of the beer, he added, “Besides, it could be a bobcat or a bear. Or it could even be Bigfoot. Yeah, Oklahoma’s got him here, too. I’ve got a friend I go hunting with, and he swears he saw the damn thing in the woods near McAllister one night. Bigfoot watched them from the trees for a while and then took off running when they drew near.”

  “You’re trying to scare me.”

  “Why would I want to scare such a stacked piece of ass?” He leaned in for another kiss.

  “Doug, listen to me, I don’t feel safe here.” She grabbed for her T-shirt and bra off the dash. “Let’s just go.”

  “My name’s Larry, by the way.” He let out a frustrated sigh and took a last sip of the beer before flipping the bottle out the open driver’s window. “Don’t be afraid. You ain’t the only one that’s got a rack.” He reached up and patted the hunting rifle nestled on the gun rack in the back window of the truck cab. “This baby can drop a bear dead in its tracks. Don’t worry.”

  “Is it loaded?”

  “Fuck yeah. All I got to do is throw the safety off and jack a round into the chamber.”

  She studied the black hunting rifle. The weapon looked intimidating and dangerous in the dim light. Nobody’s going to screw with someone armed with that thing, she decided.

  “All right.” She smiled and touched his chin. “Let’s take it from where we left off.”

  “That a girl, I knew you weren’t no wuss, babe.”

  She lifted up her breasts with both hands. “Come and get ’em, cowboy.”

  Larry leaned face-first into her cleavage and made a motorboat noise while he shook his head from side to side. The antic caused Michelle to laugh … for the last time in her young life.

  Out of her peripheral vision, a large shadowed shape rushed from the trees. Something heavy landed in the truck bed shaking the vehicle with its sudden weight. Michelle caught a glimpse of a dark hulking form in the moonlight. Wolflike fangs and fierce red eyes flashed a second before the creature leaped up on the roof.

  “What the fuck?” Larry said, forgetting about her breasts.

  “Something jumped on the truck!”

  They both looked up in dismay. Black claws punched through the roof as if constructed of cardboard instead of sheet metal.

  “Son of a bitch!” Larry grabbed the hunting rifle off the rack and jacked the bolt of the weapon. “What the fuck is it?”

  “I don’t care. Let’s get out of here!” Michelle pushed the button to raise the side window before realizing there was no power without the truck running.

  The growling horror tore open more of the rooftop. Through
the jagged hole in the metal, a silhouette of something with canine fangs looked down at both of them.

  “Goddamn!” Larry said, handing her the rifle. “Hold this! The safety’s off, so be careful.”

  “Let’s get out of here!”

  “Fuck yeah!” He reached for the key in the ignition.

  With a deep animal snarl, a clawed hand grabbed through the open driver’s window causing Larry’s head to snap back. He turned to Michelle with a look of surprise and terror in his brown eyes. Mouth working silently, he tried to speak, but no words came out. In horror, Michelle realized why. There was now a bloody meat hole where his throat had been a second before.

  She screamed.

  Claws reached in again and snagged Larry’s shirt and yanked him out through the driver window. The heels of his cowboy boots were the last thing Michelle saw before he disappeared into the dark. She glanced at the ignition. The keys were gone.

  Larry had taken the keys with him!

  More animal snarls sounded. Michelle looked through the front windshield and watched multiple humanoid shapes move in a loping gate across the moonlit road. The creatures descended upon Larry’s struggling form and fed like a pack of wild animals, ripping apart his pearl-snap shirt and blue Levi’s to get at the flesh beneath. His cowboy boots twitched from the violent feeding. For the moment, the terrible beasts had forgotten about her. Breathing in short gasps, she stared down at the hunting rifle in her shaking hands and thought of her daughter.

  She had to escape … to live to see Missy again.

  Michelle studied the weapon. Larry had said the safety was off. Did that mean the gun was ready to fire? Her trembling finger slid around the trigger. Oh God, please let me live. Raising the rifle to her shoulder, she pointed it toward the passenger window and listened for sounds outside. The violent snarls had died down. She dared a glance out the windshield. Larry’s remains lay sprawled in the center of the road, reduced to a bloody mangle of half-eaten bone, exposed organs, and ripped clothing in the moonlight. He still held the truck’s ignition key in one outstretched hand. The terrible creatures had retreated back into the shadows.

  Or had they?

  She fought back the tears blinding her vision and focused on the truck keys. Fifteen feet to the keys. If I could just reach them and get back to the truck, I can drive away from here. I would live to see my little Missy again.

  She decided to go for it and unlatched the passenger door handle. In the next instant, an inhuman face leaped up into the side window. Michelle glimpsed fangs dripping gore and red eyes filled with a primal hunger. Reflexes driven by fear took control and she swung the rifle around and pulled the trigger. With a thundering flash, the weapon bucked in her hands as the recoil knocked her down across the front seat of the truck.

  Michelle lay still and waited. Her ears rang from the gunshot. Did I kill it? She concentrated on listening. No more growls. The night had grown quiet. Even the constant noise of the insects went silent, as if they were waiting for what would happen next. The only sound was her desperate breathing and the pounding of her heart. Hands slick with sweat gripped the rifle across her bare chest.

  She prayed the things had returned to the world of nightmares where they belonged. Agonizing moments of silence passed until she could no longer contain her need to look.

  She sat up.

  They waited in front of the truck. Four large hunched forms covered in bristling dark fur studied her through the windshield. In that instant of terror, Michelle realized the creatures reminded her of something from a bad horror movie. At the time, she only paid half attention to the film. Her constant day-by-day drama of raising a baby daughter and searching for a decent man was more important than a crappy monster movie. Now the beasts hungered for her with red eyes and sharp fangs dripping drool in the moonlight.

  Werewolves!

  “No!” Michelle screamed.

  One of the monsters jumped up against the driver’s door and reached in to grab her. In panic, she threw herself to the side while claws ripped across her bare shoulder blades. Michelle kicked open the passenger door.

  Run!

  She leaped out of the truck and fled into the dark countryside toward the stand of trees. Her tennis shoes pounded through tall grass and reeds while low inhuman growls filled the night air behind her. Running on an instinctual fear, she dared not turn around to see the things chasing her beneath the light of the full moon. To do so would shatter her mind with terror.

  In the center of the circle of dark trees, a hazy fog hung between the shadowed trunks and curled about her running form. Michelle stopped in the clearing and fought to catch her breath as she turned. Just beyond the edge of her vision, the snarls of the creatures grew louder in the mist.

  She realized she still held the rifle. Her hands fumbled along the sides of the weapon. How did he load it? Finding the lever of the bolt, she slid it back. A piece of cylindrical metal dropped to the ground at her feet as the bolt snapped back in place. Is the gun loaded? Oh God, I don’t know.

  A hoarse animal grunt broke the silence. Michelle looked up. Black hunched shapes moved through the misty spaces between the trees. Shaking with fear, she brought the rifle to her shoulder and slid her finger around the trigger.

  “The gun’s loaded,” she shouted. “I’ll shoot anything that comes near me. Please go away. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I have a two-year-old daughter who needs me.”

  A tree limb snapped and she swung the rifle toward the sound. A misshapen humanoid form with a doglike snout hunched down on all fours and licked its teeth. With a guttural growl, the monster leaped as she pulled the trigger. The muzzle flash lit the clearing, and the shot echoed across the countryside. In the next second, the beast knocked her to the ground. Claws tore the rifle from her grasp. She screamed and fought against the nightmare with bare hands pounding thick fur. Snarling, the thing clawed again and ripped away the flesh of both her breasts, leaving only raw torn meat in their place.

  Michelle stopped struggling. She was going to die. In numb horror, she watched the head of the creature lean back revealing a maw of fangs. A red tongue lapped out for a brief second before its mouth dropped to bite her on the side of the neck. The beast’s hot breath burned against her flesh as its teeth rendered and tore out her jugular. Michelle lay very still and looked up through the trees at the full moon. Blood poured from the bite wound. While the rest of the pack of werewolves moved in to feast, her final thoughts were of her daughter.

  I love you, Missy.

  The last thing Michelle heard before death was a piercing howl echoing through the moonlit night.

  THIRTEEN MONTHS LATER

  WEDNESDAY

  CHAPTER ONE

  Jessica Lobato reached across the picnic table and used a napkin to wipe the white ice cream from her five-year-old daughter’s chin. “Baby, you’re getting more on you than in you,” she said with a smile.

  “Thanks, Mommy,” Megan replied, promptly taking another lick of the vanilla cone.

  “You’re welcome, sweetie.”

  Jessica returned to studying her surroundings through dark sunglasses. She had decided to stop and buy Megan an ice-cream cone at a roadside Tastee-Freez on the outskirts of a small town in northern Oklahoma. The steel water tower rising out of the center of the rural community announced its name as Hope Springs.

  Hope springs eternal, Jessica thought to herself. And hope is the one thing I need now.

  She glanced back down the highway taken to reach the little town as a rusted old pickup topped a hill and rattled toward them. She studied the face of the driver as it drove past: an elderly man with long gray hair and beard. Jessica let out a nervous breath.

  Not my husband. Thank God.

  Thinking of Blake made her adjust the sunglasses. The three-day-old black eye was still noticeable. She surmised it would take one more day before she could hide the bruising with makeup and ditch the shades. Thanks to her abusive marriage, she had a lot of experie
nce covering over her injuries.

  The lunch-hour rush buzzed while the two of them sat at a weathered picnic table in front of the little drive-in. Locals hurried in and carried out white paper sacks filled with greasy burgers. Amidst the confusion, no one paid attention to them, and Jessica was glad for it. She let the familiar knot of paranoia subside in her stomach.

  It’s so peaceful and normal here. Nothing like the hell I left.

  She turned back to Megan. In appearance, her child was a smaller version of herself with sunlit honey-blonde hair and precious blue eyes. Everyone recognized them instantly as mother and daughter. The only trait Megan carried from her father was his strong chin. At least, Jessica prayed it was the only thing she inherited from the monster that sired her. In the noon sun, the bruises on her daughter’s right arm were ugly blue-green stains that would take more time to disappear than a black eye. She feared the bruises on her daughter’s soul were permanent, however.

  “What do you think about this town?” Jessica asked.

  “It’s nice,” Megan replied with a nod of her head.

  “Baby, we might see if we can find a place to live here.”

  “Do you think Daddy will find us?” Megan took another lick at the ice cream.

  “I pray to God he doesn’t, sweetie.” An icy chill ran down her spine at the thought.

  Megan ate her cone in silence. Jessica knew her daughter was too quiet and withdrawn for a five-year-old girl. Often she wondered what went through her mind in quiet times like this. Is she thinking of her sick father? What damage has the cold-hearted bastard done to the psyche of his own innocent child? Megan’s eyes tried to hide the pain she carried, but the hurt was still there like a jagged rock beneath a layer of thin blue ice.

  A terrible memory filled Jessica’s thoughts.