Excerpt from NightWalker


High above Lewiston, on a cloudless night, the moon shines down, fat and full. An almost gale force wind rips down Main Street and screams through the small back streets and alleys, knocking over trash cans and scattering debris in its wake.
In the darkness of night, on the outskirts of town, something howls. The ominous sound drifts with the winds, lonely and savage.
Floyd Harmon – also known around town as Old Man Harmon – sits alone in his living room watching the nightly news on his Zenith, color TV. The newscaster is telling Floyd the grizzly story about some kid who drowned in Lake Erie that very morning. Outside the wind rises to a shrill scream. Floyd raises his head uneasily and looks toward the door, and then returns his attention to the TV and the news. After all, it’s only the wind – but the wind doesn’t scratch at doors… begging to be let in.
He gets up from his recliner, a Pall Mall cigarette hanging haphazardly from one corner of his mouth, his wrinkled and weathered face lit in soft yellow tones from the lamp with the yellow shade which sets on a small table near the chair. The news breaks for a Ford commercial as ashes fall from the cigarette and onto the floor.
The scratching continues. A dog, Floyd thinks; hungry, scared and wants to be let in. That’s all it is – but still, he hesitates. A frigid finger of terror is probing just below his heart. He remembers the evil that only one year ago this summer plagued this small town. He remembers it well. The memories are all too fresh and are buried deep into his mind.
Before he can decide what to do, before he can reach the door and make sure it’s locked, the scratching stops and turns into a growl – a low guttural growl. There is a sudden thud as whatever is on the other side of the door hits it… waits for a moment… slams into it again. The door shatters in its frame. It splinters from top to bottom.
There, standing in the doorway, the full moon reflecting off its face and body, its snout wrinkled back in a menacing snarl, its red eyes glowing, is the biggest wolf Floyd Harmon has ever seen.
Floyd is mesmerized by what stands in the doorway. His feet are stuck to the linoleum floor. To save his life he can’t force his trembling legs to move.
The creature steps across the threshold and crouches down. Its tongue lolls and then it lunges at the man who can’t move. It lands in front of him and takes one swipe at his head with a huge hand-like paw. The head goes sailing across the room wide-eyed and slams into an end table, scattering its holdings onto the floor. A Bozo the Clown figurine shatters against the wall. The cigarette is stuck to the head’s lower lip – still lit.
The body that can’t move stands there momentarily, not knowing exactly what to do without its head there to tell it. And then, after a few moments, it falls to the floor with a dull thud.
The wolf raises its head and howls.
The Beast has returned to Lewiston.