With the rat's bloody body resting in a shallow grave, Amy had spent the last hour patting the dry, yellowed grass, scouring for the rodent's missing head.
She sat back on her haunches and blew a strand of blond hair from her flushed face. Muck clung to her sweaty forehead.
Alamo, a black and tan mongrel with about as much worth as a bushel of rotten peas, slept near the foot of the wooden porch. After spotting Freya, the feline scoundrel, Amy chased the blasted cat with a yard broom around the porch until the guilty cat had escaped under the trailer. Alamo perked one ear, slightly raising his head, but quickly went back to napping.
Amy returned to her knees and continued raking her fingers through the parched lawn and gold weeds while silently cursing Freya.
Behind her, Alamo put his nose to the ground. He sniffed along an unseen zig-zag line that led to the mound of wheat-colored grass trimmings. Within spitting distance of the heap, the dog excitedly began to dig through the mulch with his front paws.
Freya sprung from under the porch, stopping shy of Alamo. Hissing. Spine arched.
Alamo barked and growled but the nutty feline didn't take the hint.
When Freya slashed Alamo across the snout, he fled to seek refuge inside his doghouse. Freya meowed triumphantly.
With a dainty stride, the cat nosed inside the patch of grass and surfaced with a furry head in her mouth. Freya snaked around and in between Amy's legs before dropping the gooey head at Amy's feet.
"Heavens!" She plucked the head by a half-chewed ear and plopped it into the hole with the rest of its remains.
Her palms packed the cool soil over the grave as she grumbled at Alamo. Course he couldn't hear her from his doghouse across the yard. "How could you?"
To further ward off any vengeful spirits courtesy of the dead rodent, she strolled to the edge of the woods to pick some wild blueberries to put on the grave. An old Indian trick to keep the dead at peace. Nervous tremors took hold of her fingers while she carefully plucked the berries, making sure not to pop any. It was crucial she take ample care in pleasing the poor rodent's soul, especially if it was the dreadful portent Sherry had foresaw earlier.
Returning to the grave, she sprinkled the berries atop it. Mental checklist: Found head. Buried head. Covered with berries.
Then Amy made the sign of the cross, her hand moving from the right shoulder to left. "In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. Amen." She never recalled her pastor giving sermons on appeasing wronged spirits but she'd also been raised Baptist, so she hoped her pseudo-Catholicism was good enough.
Another thought jolted her to her feet and she ran to the side of the trailer. There she turned on the faucet to fill Alamo's dirty water dish before returning once more to the burial site.
She looked at the mucky water in the metal bowl. "God, please bless this water and make it Holy."
She dipped two fingers in the bowl and drizzled the grave.
"Please don't haunt me. I really do like all animals. It's just my dumb dog...or cat don't know any better. I hope you understand." She sprinkled more water on the grave. "Rest in peace, my furry friend."
Thunder rolled in the distance. Amy sniffed the air. There hadn't been any storms forecasted for tonight, but she sure could smell the rain. And the breeze carried an odious foreboding aroma.
A bright light geysered from deep within the dense forest of ash and oaks. A banshee howl bellowed from the doghouse and Alamo burst free, racing into the woods.
"Alamo!" Amy shouted but the cur was already gone.
Freya stalked the edge of the gloomy forest, swiping the air.
Maybe she saw an intruder visible only to her, Amy thought as dread seized her. Cats were able to look into alternate dimensions where the wicked wights and spirits capered.
And cats who ran in circles weren't just chasing their tails. They were chasing those otherworldly specters who hailed from the underworld. Felines kept tabs on the devils and wights that trespassed into the world of the living. Aunt Carol had taught her the way of cats. Aunt Carol would know 'cause she had thirty-nine of them before she went nuts.
Another crash of thunder rolled. This one a lot closer.
"Dear Lord."
Never once had Alamo ventured into Sacred Oaks. He'd only bark his ever-loving head off. Even a dumb mutt like him could probably sense the perilous secrets inhabiting those woods. But today the forest conjured him the way a witch summoned her familiar.
Nervously, Amy crept closer to the largest acacia tree along the edge of the forest. The shadow of the bushy branches swept over a large portion of the yard where it grew. In all the many years she'd lived in the trailer she'd kept a self-made promise to never go beyond that tree after the sun had set. With caution foremost in her mind, she reached out slowly to touch the tree, believing that if she acted too recklessly the forest would swallow her soul. Not even Freya dared to get too close to the tree. Beyond the ancient acacia were swarms of parched brown vines that skirted the other trees. The forest grew thorny bushes to serve as a more threatening defense for those who boldly passed the large acacia.
Realizing that she heard no crickets, insects or even a single hooting owl or distant coyote caused more anxiety to coil inside her stomach. For years, she'd heard the creepy tales about the Sacred Oaks forest that happened to thrive right next to where she lived, and now she might actually get to experience the spookiness in real time all by herself.
Behind her ribcage, her heart hammered. When she stepped forward her legs became the consistency of swamp goo. But she forced herself into the woods because Shane would wring her neck if she didn't fetch Alamo.
Branches and long grass scratched her bare arms and legs as she shambled into the accursed woods.
Isaac, in his nude human state, sloshed from the murky pond onto the marshy bank. The Narkush stone embedded in his chest flickered from its usual vibrant crimson to a pale gray. It obviously did not liken to the polluted atmosphere.
A black cloud of gnats and mosquitoes, along with a canine greeted him. Isaac knelt on one knee, sinking several inches into the mushy ground. A square piece of metal hung from the animal's neck. It read: Alamo 204-6701. He gently removed the collar and tossed it into the water.
You are freed. Take leave of me. He silently spoke to the canine, using their native tongue, but the small beast only cocked its head, ears perked, as if it hadn't understood his command.
Had this creature forgotten the native tongue of Beast?
Bearing his own teeth, Isaac growled. From the tops of trees, roosting birds squawked and took flight.
The pitiful creature whimpered, tucked his tail and scampered back into the woods from whence he had come. Such a deplorable sight to behold. If by chance Isaac should cross paths with the mortal who had enslaved the animal, he would revel in the pleasure of returning the sentiment.
He shrugged the swamp vegetation from his shoulders and black hair. More gray-green algae clung to his genitals. He picked the herbage from his person and flung it aside. "I despise this ill-begotten land already."
Anxious to complete his Mother's bidding and return to his home realm, he fell on all fours and morphed into Geminus, a lean, jet-black panther. Launching into a sprint, he arrowed through the thick forest. At the edge of the woods, Isaac unfurled his razor-edged crescent wings, wings that rivaled the span of an Eldritch gargoyle. With one final cursory glance at the enslaved canine, he soared toward the horizon well above the forest canopy.
Roaring, he announced his arrival to the creatures of this kingdom called Texas.
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