Write

Rotten

It was preparing to deliver its death blow. Joey closed his eyes.

By Myron Ropp
Photo © Myron Ropp

Photo © Myron Ropp

Joey Turner was a rotten kid. No bones about it. Horrible, rotten kid. He had no excuse. Good and loving folks. Good education. What went wrong? Can’t really say. Point is. Horrible and rotten. Criminal record several pages long. Breaking and entering. Assault. Sale of narcotics. Battery. Prison time. Born and reared in Southwest Louisiana. Knew all the legends about the Rougarou. The swamp werewolf. Human by day. Predator by moon’s light. Silly made up crap to scare people. Weak minded people. Now those same people were talking about a vampire amoungst them. More nonsense.

Photo © Myron Ropp

Photo © Myron Ropp

He had just broken into a home he had been casing out several weeks. Great haul. The old woman should have just handed over her jewelry to him. He knows he hurt her pretty bad. If she makes it or does not make it, it did not matter to him. Better she doesn’t , no one to identify him. He was staying off the roads and cutting through the marsh. Heading back to his little domicle of filth. Walking a good pace. He thought he heard the sound of someone behind him. Even turning around to confront them. Nothing. It could not be guilt, for he had none. Continuing his trek. There. No mistake. The sound of heavy footfall. Crap. Had someone seen him leave the old woman’s house? He quickened his pace.

Photo © Myron Ropp

Photo © Myron Ropp

Not turning around. Walking faster. It was. Someone was behind him. Footfall into the shallow water. Huge splashes. He was not imagining. He heard the quick breaths above the sound of his own. Panting. The raspy labored breathing of an animal. A huge freakin’ animal. He stopped. ‘It’ stopped. Then came the howl. It’s volume alone vibrated and resonated in him. Within Joey Turner’s cold hearted, void of any human compassion chest. The howl alone brought Joey to an attribute he loved seeing in his victims. Joey Turner was completely filled with terror. He began to cry… And then he started running.
Entering the trees lining the great marias, He stopped just long enough to listen. The sound coming toward him was like that of a car running off the road and plowing down a picket fence. Crashing. Wood splintering. It was coming.

Photo © Myron Ropp

Photo © Myron Ropp

He turned back and ran with everything he had in him. He could see the old abandoned house. Heading straight for it. Some kind of cover. Some kind of barrier. Within yards of it. He was knocked face down into the soil. Flipping over onto his back and holding his outstretched arms up and in defense, he looked up. A huge dark silhouette stood over him. Easily close to seven foot tall. The Rougarou. No longer a myth. No longer a tale to scare people. The great beast arched it’s back and howled. A howl of victory and conquest. Its long clawed hand reaching up into the light of the mooned sky. It was preparing to deliver its death blow. Joey closed his eyes. No time for a prayer or repentance. He heard a yelp. Opening his eyes he saw a tall man, grasping the arm of the beast. The man’s other hand, had it by its throat. The human voice was calm. It told the creature. “Mine”. The beast let out a gurgled, “Nnnooo”. The man again softly said, “Mine”. Joey saw his chance and made a beeline toward the front door. Crap. Locked. He turned around to face the huge beast. There was none. Only the tall man walking toward him. Not injured. Not sliced up by the manwolf. Walking toward him, Joey judged him to be about 6’2 or 3. Medium build. Long light brown hair. The man’s complexion was pale, almost alabaster. The man walked up the steps toward Joey. Raising his face, he looked directly into Joey’s eyes. “Hello, Joey Turner. I have been very anxious to meet you. My name is Leslie McDaniel”.
Several hours later, there, standing over what remained of Mr. Turner were two figures. Leslie McDaniel, the vampire. Hank ‘Harry’ Richey, the Rougarou. The vampire spoke with his great Scottish accent. “I am sorry I had to interrupt you, my friend. I needed to deliver the justice to this one”. Harry gently laughed. “I understand, Leslie, but you owe me one”.

Comments are closed.