Chapter 5

  The First Attack

  A few nights later, one of the patrols heard a lady scream. The noise came from a barren field several hundred yards away from the Endicott's cowshed. The deputies were all dosing. The first one to hear her, went back to sleep. The second chose not to get involved and rolled over. Eventually the third awoke, and after urinating at a base of a tree, roused the others, having the good sense not to investigate the scene alone. Together they chased the unknown assailant into the woods, and it was there, slumped against the exposed roots of a tree the victim was found, a middle aged woman from another town on her way to visit her sister. Foolishly, to save time, she had deviated from the main road, seeking a short-cut through the forest. The assailant ambushed her near the cowshed.

  Had the deputies not been on patrol, she most certainly would have been killed. Luckily, the bite inflicted upon her neck was not deep, the creature had not yet clamped down to feed on her, and after several minutes she was able to tell the deputy what had happened. He then escorted her to the Endicott's house where she found aid and shelter for the night.

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  Meanwhile, the other two officers chased the attacker into the woods. In the impenetrable darkness, their oil lanterns nearly empty, the inexperienced deputies feared they would soon lose the trail. Neither wanted a reprimand from the sheriff. In desperation, one of them starting shooting into the brush.

  “I think I hit him!”

  The second officer was not convinced.

  “I'm sure of it,” the first officer boasted. “Wait until we get closer. You'll see.”

  The second officer hung back, veering off to the right, as the first officer hurriedly advanced toward the thicket where he had fired. Amid the brush, a body lay moaning. The first officer fired three more shots at close range.

  “See!” he shouted. “I never miss,” he said, placing one foot on the corpse to claim his prize.

  The second officer laughed.

  “Now what do we do?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I'm certainly not carrying that bloody mess all the way back.”

  The first officer paused.

  “Give me your ax,” he said.

  The second officer passed it to him, handle first.

  “You might want to stand back,” the first officer smiled, and with both hands clutching the ax he cut off the ghoul's head and tossed it to his partner.

  Back at the station the deputies proudly presented the burlap bag to the sheriff, who, rubbing his chin a moment, replied, “That's not Mr. Barboux!”