Close Encounters Read online

  Close Encounters

  Spells, Salt, & Steel Vol. 4

  Gail Z Martin

  Larry N. Martin

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Epilogue

  About the Authors

  Falstaff Books

  Chapter 1

  I think I’d know a mammoth if I saw one.

  After all, I’ve seen the bones and tusks in a museum, so if I met one with its skin on, alive, I’m pretty sure I’d recognize it.

  This was definitely not a mammoth, despite the excited blubberings of the kid at the convenience store, where I’d stopped to pick up lunch and gas. He told me all about the strange prehistoric creature that had been spotted near Lake Pleasant with the energy level only a true dinosaur geek could muster. I felt for the kid because I understood why he’d think having a real, live mammoth practically in his own backyard would be exciting. But, at the same time, when ancient monsters suddenly come back to life, I’m the sorry son of a bitch who has to go in and gank them.

  I’m Mark Wojcik, mechanic and monster hunter. I’m not in it for the thrills, and I’m sure as fuck not in it for the money. No one wants to become a monster hunter. They want to avenge someone they loved and lost, and if they survive their first encounter, they discover that they’re part of a small, mostly secret club of people who do the dirty work of cleaning up creatures and cryptids so that everyone else can sleep safe and sound at night. In my case, it was a deer hunt with my father, brother, uncle, and cousin that ended up with a wendigo hunting us. They died, I didn’t, and monster hunting is my penance and atonement.

  So I listened to the nice boy with the bad acne go on at length about the huge creature fishermen had glimpsed near the lake that must have started eating people, because why else had they disappeared? And, oh yeah, its hooves were on backward, wasn’t that cool?

  I sighed and counted down from ten for patience. Joey, the clerk, seemed so genuinely happy to have someone to talk to that I felt bad about encouraging him to get to the point.

  “Do you know when people saw the…mammoth?” I prompted.

  “Carson told me that his dad’s friend said it was right around dusk,” Joey supplied helpfully. “Are you going to go see for yourself?” He grabbed a piece of paper. “If you get a picture, can you text it to me? That would be awesome!”

  I accepted the number because he meant well, but I don’t generally do selfies—of me or the monsters. And in this case, I didn’t intend to give Joey any photos he could show around because I felt certain someone who did know what a mammoth was supposed to look like would figure out that the cryptid in the shot wasn’t a big hairy elephant with tusks.

  “Depends on the light,” I hedged. “It might be too dark to get a good shot.”

  Joey nodded. “Right. Like how those Loch Ness monster photos are always blurry?” He leaned across the counter. “My grandma gets Fate Magazine, you know, about all the weird stuff that happens? I’ve read all of them.”

  I managed to suppress a sigh. Fate Magazine is something of a legend in monster hunter circles because, while it sensationalizes the fuck out of stories to sell copies to mundanes and keep the authorities off our asses, it usually gets the details about the sightings right.

  He rang up my items, and I paid. “Thanks for the tip,” I said, glad to have found a local who would talk to me.

  “Just remember to send me that picture!” Joey added with a laugh. Maybe I could figure out how to send him something out of focus or with my thumb covering part of it so he’d have bragging rights without giving him evidence the Feds were going to want to rendition him over. I grunted something noncommittal and headed back to my truck, wishing that a wooly mammoth really was what I expected to see.

  Lake Pleasant is tucked off to one side in the woods between Erie and Waterford. It isn’t as big as Lake Erie, or as commercialized as Conneaut Lake, so most people overlook it, except for the local anglers and people with nearby summer cabins. If anyone outside the area has heard of it, that’s because a few years ago someone snagged an old skeleton and paleontologists practically peed themselves over finding mammoth bones. Those were the real deal, and I could see why locals thought this new sighting might be Manny from Ice Age come to life.

  I was pretty damn sure it wasn’t and that the real story was a lot scarier.

  Lake Pleasant was formed by the glaciers from the real Ice Age, and it’s a “kettle lake,” where bits of the ancient ice flow broke off in a trench and melted to form a permanent body of water. That means it’s really old, Pleistocene old, and no one actually knows what’s buried in the muck under forty feet of water. Or what was sleeping, until recently.

  Father Leo put me on to the job. He’s the parish priest of a church near me and a good poker buddy. More importantly, he’s the local point man for the Occulatum, a secret, monster-hunting branch of the Roman Catholic Church. So Father Leo is kind of the area dispatcher for cases, and I’m on his short list of who he’s gonna call when there’s something strange in the neighborhood.

  See, a real wooly mammoth wasn’t likely to eat people, even if it somehow had been kept in suspended animation at the bottom of a lake for a couple of million years. But there were other very nasty possibilities, none of which ought to be left to roam the countryside, munching on the neighbors. Which is why I was out here on a very nice Tuesday instead of fixing Mr. Zimmerman’s brakes at my garage out in Atlantic.

  I came prepared for a fight. I had a permit for the Glock in my glove compartment, and a shitload of other weapons that they don’t issue permits for in a hidden compartment. I suspected what the creature might be, and the gear bag on the floor held some specialized items I’d need if I was right. But I wouldn’t be sure until I saw the cryptid, and by then, there’d be no backing out.

  My plan was simple: wander up to the lake and present myself as a tasty monster snack, then turn the tables and kill the critter before it polished off any more locals. I’m not much for nuance. Monster hunting requires a lot of lore, a little luck, and plenty of brute force. I had a lot of high caliber “persuasion” with me, but if we were right about the creature, it would take as much trickery as firepower to stop the killings.

  I drove out to the lake and parked in an out of the way spot, in case I came back covered in blood—my own, or better yet, the monster’s. I loaded the gear bag with some of the less conventional weapons, including a sawed-off shotgun with rock salt rounds and a couple of clips of silver bullets for my Glock. I strapped a silver-edged Ka-Bar in a sheath on my hip, just in case. Then I texted Father Leo to let him know I was in position and headed off to meet the creature for dinner.

  Normally, a walk around a beautiful lake on a nice afternoon would be my idea of relaxation, but not today. I couldn’t afford to let the scenery distract me because whatever had killed four people was out here, somewhere, and it would kill again unless I put a stop to it. But Lake Pleasant didn’t look like Camp Crystal Lake, and no suitably ominous music warned of the creature’s approach. Some cryptids had the ability to lull their would-be victims into a trance, an extrasensory roofie that dulled their self-preservation instinct until it was too late. I was hoping that the blessed silver Saint George medal—patron saint of monster hunters—would give me some protection. It wouldn’t save my ass, but if it even bought me a few extra minutes of reaction time, that might be enough to save my life.

  The sun glinted off the still water. My approach spooked ducks near the water’s edge, and they took wing. I was intentionally not trying to be quiet, my way of ringing the dinner bell. r />
  And suddenly, there it was, a beautiful black horse with an elaborate bridle and saddle, standing at the marge of the lake. It looked at me with uncanny sentience, sizing me up as a threat. Those ancient eyes regarded me warily, taking my measure.

  I’d never seen a kelpie except in books. Even so, I couldn’t imagine how anyone would mistake something the size of a huge draft horse for a mammoth. The mane and tail were wet, resembling seaweed more than hair, and the hooves pointed backward. Even so, it was a breathtakingly gorgeous animal, and I felt its siren call to come closer.

  Although my silver medal and weapons did help me keep a clear mind, I allowed myself to move toward the creature, trying to act as if I were under its spell. I shrugged out of my gear bag. Now that I knew for certain what the monster was, I had everything I needed on me. The kelpie lifted its head, making eye contact, drawing me into those liquid brown eyes, promising me wonders. It snorted when I came within reach, sidestepping closer, offering me the ride of a lifetime. Or, more to the point, to my doom.

  I reached behind me and drew my Glock, intending to put a silver bullet right through the blaze between the kelpie’s eyes. Before I could aim, the kelpie swung its huge head, slamming into my hand, knocking the gun out of my grip. It flew through the air and landed several feet away, useless. But once your skin touches a kelpie, you can’t let go. It dragged me until I had no choice except to climb up into the saddle, and then the kelpie ran full speed into the lake, with me unable to jump clear.

  This wasn’t how I wanted to fight Freaky Flicka, but I was going to need Plan B. As usual, that meant winging it and hoping for the best. The kelpie never broke speed as the water deepened to its withers. The lake was cool, and down in its depths, where the kelpie made its lair, I knew it would be even colder. The kelpie wasn’t swimming; it walked out on the lake floor, and it would keep on walking as the water grew deeper and deeper until I drowned.

  I’m not a horseman. The extent of my riding experience ended on the pony track on my fifth birthday. Watching Westerns didn’t count. But the kelpie had me prisoner for the moment, so staying on wasn’t my top priority. If the lore was right, I could get loose by closing my hand around the piece of steel in my pocket. Getting off before I drowned and killing the monster—that was what I had top of mind.

  Later, if I survived, I could beat myself up for missing the shot. The nice, easy headshot. But the kelpie was running deeper, and the water was already covering my chest, so I had to get to work. I squeezed my knees into the kelpie’s sides so that if he decided to try to buck me off, I could finish the job. Then I pulled my Ka-Bar and leaned forward, grabbing the reins and starting to saw through the bridle.

  That was how you’re supposed to kill a kelpie if you don’t shoot the damn thing. But the bridle wasn’t easy to cut, so the kelpie continued to gallop into the lake, backward hooves sinking into the deep muck. We were in the water up to my shoulders, and I was sawing away for all I was worth. The kelpie snorted and chuffed, not quite trying to buck me off, but giving me a rough ride to distract me long enough for him to drown me. I wondered whether kelpies rolled you in the deep water like alligators, and decided that I really didn’t want to find out.

  My silver-edged knife had a wicked sharp blade, but the bridle was enchanted, giving the kelpie some of his power. The lore hadn’t said anything about magical saddles, and if I didn’t drown sawing through the bridle, I’d worry about it later. The kelpie pranced and bucked like a show horse, which was funny considering he was the one who’d trapped me on his back.

  That’s one of the things that pissed me off with monsters. It’s all fun and games when they’re trying to kill you. But turn the tables and try to kill them back, and they get bitchy about it.

  A regular knife wouldn’t have made a dent on the bridle, but the silver edge sank into the hard leather, making slow progress. The deep saw teeth of the Ka-Bar ripped into the bridle, and for the first time, the kelpie seemed to realize its danger. It plunged farther into the lake, up past my chin, and when I ducked down to reach the bridle, I had to hold my breath.

  I wondered why the kelpie didn’t just release its hold on me. But maybe it couldn’t. Perhaps it didn’t fully control the magic, and that meant we were locked together, ‘til death did us part. I also didn’t know what cutting the bridle would do to the kelpie. Reports varied, and the lore is, by its nature, vague. Some said it would kill the kelpie; others said it would merely free me. But from the way the kelpie began to buck and sidestep, tossing its seaweed mane and frothing at the mouth, I figured it had started to see me as a threat more than a meal.

  I broke the surface, got a deep breath, and then ducked under again, sawing as hard as I could. Each time I went up for air, it was harder to reach because the kelpie continued its trek back to the depths. Soon, I wouldn’t be able to get a new lungful of air, and if I hadn’t cut my way clear by then, Father Leo was going to need a new hunter.

  The kelpie’s next steps sank a couple of inches into the primordial ooze at the bottom of the lake, and we went under. I felt the bridle begin to give as I put my weight into the blade, ripping at the straps as my lungs burned and my vision began to darken. The kelpie lurched, and that was exactly what I needed, his weight and bulk pushing against the frayed leather. The bridle snapped, and I ripped it free.

  When it came loose, the kelpie lost its hold on me. But I couldn’t let the monster return to the depths and continue its killing spree. I tangled a hand in its mane and held on, kicking with my feet as I darted forward and sank my silver blade deep into the kelpie’s neck.

  Those huge eyes fixed on me, sparkling with flecks of red. Or maybe that was me, succumbing to oxygen deprivation. Silvery tendrils of fairy blood rose in the dark water of Lake Pleasant as I drove the blade in deeper. The kelpie tried to turn and snap at me. Regular horse teeth are terrifying, capable of biting off fingers. The kelpie’s jagged, razor-sharp teeth looked more alligator than Appaloosa, and I figured it could bite through my arm if it caught me.

  We were locked in a death dance, the kelpie and me. I sawed at the creature’s neck, raking that sharp, serrated blade against the spine. Few creatures except ghouls, zombies, and cockroaches do well without their heads. With one final stroke, I severed the backbone, and the fire went out of the kelpie’s eyes.

  I’d won, but my overtaxed lungs couldn’t hold out any longer. I let out the breath I’d been holding and fought the instinct to breathe in because I was below the surface. This was it. I couldn’t fight reflex, and the water flooded into my nose and mouth. The kelpie’s corpse dropped away below me, returning to the sludge. I stopped struggling, and as consciousness slipped away, realized I didn’t have enough time left to think about all my many regrets.

  On the rare occasions when I thought about the afterlife, I hadn’t imagined being smacked around. Then again, my life’s track record was spotty, to say the least, so maybe my eternal severance package came with extra pummeling.

  “Come on,” a voice muttered. “Breathe, dammit!” More smacking commenced, right between my shoulder blades, and the next thing I knew, I was horking up lake water and everything else in my stomach.

  “Wow! That worked!” Joey, the kid from the convenience store, sounded utterly amazed. “Thank you, YouTube!”

  I cleared my throat twice before I found my voice. “Joey?”

  “I saw you floating, and I swam out to get you,” he said, sounding proud and sheepish. “Then I dragged you back, but I failed my lifeguard exam, so I YouTube’d how to get you to breathe again. And it worked!”

  I patted his arm, with all my waning strength. “You did good, kid.” It took a few minutes for my brain to catch up. “How were you out here, anyhow?”

  Joey reddened like I’d caught him doing something he shouldn’t. “I followed you,” he admitted. “I wanted to see the dinosaur. But I missed it, didn’t I?”

  He sounded so sad and so terribly sincere. And since he’d saved my life, I felt guilty
. “It wasn’t a real dinosaur,” I said. “I think it was some kind of mutant alligator, and I killed it, but it rolled me. Whatever it was, it’s down at the bottom of the lake now.” It was a lie, but I was letting him down easy and keeping him safe because, in my business, a little knowledge can get you into a whole lot of trouble.

  “Well, at least you’re okay,” Joey said, trying to find the bright spot.

  “And I owe you one,” I replied because the kid did save my life. “If I ever do see one of those alligators again, I’ll make sure to get a photo for you.” It was a hollow promise, but Joey looked so hopeful, I decided I had to find something, somewhere to send him that wouldn’t make problems for him.

  Joey headed back to town, and I walked back to my truck, dripping the whole way. That’s when I realized I still had something clutched in my left hand, and when I opened my fingers, I found a shard of something that wasn’t quite metal, not exactly ceramic, and definitely odd. The piece was a little smaller than the palm of my hand, just large enough for me to make out strange markings that I didn’t recognize, and I wondered when I had found it. I didn’t remember grabbing ahold of anything except the kelpie, but the moments after I killed the creature were a little hazy from lack of oxygen.

  I regarded the shard suspiciously and opened up a lead box I keep in the back of the truck for just such occasions and tossed the piece in. When I had time, I’d ask Father Leo to take a look. But before that, I needed to get out of my soaking wet clothes. I grabbed a towel and wrung out my shirt as best I could, threw the towel over the upholstery, and got in. I couldn’t leave Lake Pleasant in my rear-view mirror fast enough.

  Chapter 2

  Who thought it was a good idea to build a sanitarium on the grounds of an old orphanage? Color me surprised when restless and vengeful ghosts decide to wander.