So where were we? The dogman - he’d hit the ground. Louis had hit the ground. Ben had hit the ground.

My striker had hit the ground.

Ingrid had not hit the ground. Because she is bad-ass.

For a second I forgot why we hated her. Then she reminded me.

“Lucky shot, babyman. But I had it. Don’t need to be rescued like some Disney Princess.” She hefted her log — and yes, for the first time I really got what it meant to “heft” something, seeing her kind of brandish it like it were a wee little twig, without letting you forget for a second it wasn’t wee or a twig.

I decided not to remind her that not every Disney Princess needed rescuing any more. Not after that nifty bit of hefting she’d just done.

“Aggghhhhh.” That was Ben. He was usually more articulate. But right now he was standing over a brained dogman.

And that dogman was…I don’t know how to describe it…it was, rippling.

So we’ve all seen werewolf movies.

That reminds me of my Dad’s number one werewolf joke:

“Your mom and I were walking in the woods one day, and I said — ‘Honey, there’s a wolf!’ and she said ‘Where?’ and I said ‘No, just a regular one.’” Guffaw.

So we’ve all seen werewolf movies, and we’ve all seen how dude becomes werewolf becomes dude again. Or dudette. The skin ripples and boils, the dude (or dudette) screams in sheer agony and then the snout comes out with all its teeth like a fire engine backing out of the station. And yeah, that’s a really terrible simile, but picture it in your head, and you’ll see it actually nails it.

This wasn’t that. This didn’t look like the fur was rippling or the skin was bubbling or the muscles were wiggling around like snakes under it.

This looked like some one was trying to get a picture but kept messing with the focus on their phone. Like you were playing an unsanctioned game of murder ball with a soccer ball or something, maybe a medicine ball, and you got smacked in the head, and tears sprung to your eyes and when Norman from down the street called you a cry baby you tried to look at him and he was all blurry because of the tears, which are a 100% natural involuntary response of the central nervous system of the human body, Norman, you jerk.

But I digress. Norman from down the street being a jerk isn’t relevant. True as it is.

The dogman kind of blurred all over. Went out of focus.

And for just a blink of a second —

No. That was my imagination. That was the comedown from too much adrenaline blasting through my system. Just for the blink of a second it was like something else was under that blur, under the fur. Something I can’t describe. Won’t. Don’t want to. But also can’t. It was just too…everything. Nothing. Like nothing you’ve ever seen or even imagined.

Then the blurring stopped.

“Holy shit.” Louis.

“Aaaggghh.” Ben.

“Stay down, Benji.” Ingrid. Bad-ass, and demonstrating a pretty impressive knowledge of classic cinema. Though, come to think of it, there was a Benji remake, wasn’t there? Wonder which one she meant? Have to ask her next time I see her. If. If there’s a next time I see her.

Digress. Sorry. Still trying not to think of the blurring and the It under the blurring.

Back to the stopping of the blurring: the blurring stopped.

Dogman was unbrained. Good as new. And wide awake. Dark doggy eyes glared up at us. Bright doggy teeth emerged from behind doggy lips as Dogman snarled up at us. Then it moved — and not just moved, but moooved, lightning after a triple espresso quick. It rolled under the log — did I mention Ingrid was taking a swing, had started taking a swing about halfway through the word “Benji”? Seriously. If she weren’t so repugnant, she’d be super-impressive.

Then it was on its feet, and into the woods.

I picked up my striker, and charged after it. I hollered “Come on” as I left the clearing, then I didn’t say much, because the bad thing about chasing a monster through a wood of Wisconsin — well, one bad thing about it — is that every branch, every spiky, thorn-covered, whip-like but still massive branch that the monster pushes through comes snapping back to smack you in the face. And the world goes blurry with an involuntary reaction of the central nervous system.

Someone was crashing through the woods with me. One someone. Two someones — and I could guess which two — had obviously bailed.

The whipping-thorn-branches stopped whipping and the forest dropped away as we came out to another clearing. But it wasn’t a clearing so much as an edge. The woods gave way to a little stretch of ground. And at the edge of that stretch of ground, air.

A cliff. We were at the top of one of the dells that Wisconsin Dells gets the “Dells” part of its name from. The other part being from “Wisconsin.” You know, the state.

Dogman was charging right for it.

An engine started off in the distance behind us. It revved, growled and then barreled towards us. The voices of two goofballs cheering than howling with pain as the thorn-whips started in on them. A sound like you’d think wild boar would sound, charging through the woods.

A sinking feeling in my gut.

Ingrid — and yeah, you knew it was Ingrid, didn’t you? Ingrid and I started out after beastie. But then the brush behind us rustled like a tornado was stuck in it, and the forest barfed out an ATV with two scratched up, bleeding fools who were my best friends in the world.

They saw the dogman, and God love them, they went for it. Ben, who was driving, gunned it. Louis, who was hanging on for dear life, howled something like “Stop fur face!” “Fur” might have been a certain four letter word. But since this is an academic report, we’ll go with “fur.”

It didn’t take the trick with the numbers and the trajectories to see what was about to happen.

Dogman reached the edge of the cliff.

Two howling banshees on a quad plowed towards him, throwing clods of dirt everywhere.

Dogman jumped.

One howling banshee hit the brakes while the other kept howling. The ATV skidded. The cliff sat there waiting for them, all like “Here I am, boys. Hope you kissed your mamas good-bye!”

“Jump!” I screamed.

“Jump!” Ingrid screamed. Along with some other stuff that I’m pretty sure wasn’t very complimentary.

Ben and Louis jumped.

The dogman disappeared. Nanoseconds later, the ATV went over behind it.

You know how in movies cars and motorcycles and, I’d guess, ATVs always go flying out into the air when they go off a cliff or a dock or the edge of an aircraft carrier or something?

Well, once again the real world disappointed.

Dogman dropped like a rock over the cliff. A few nanoseconds later the ATV kind of rolled off the cliff, running on momentum only without Ben giving it gas.

There was only one, ATV-sized splash as the thing hit the water.

Only one splash.