Loup-Garou: The Beast of Harmony Falls (The Ian McDermott, Ph.D., Paranormal Investigator Series Book 1) Read online

  Chapter 2

  Big Foot Country

  Ian had been driving for the last fifteen minutes along the shoreline of beautiful Lake Merwin, a twenty-six-mile-long dammed reservoir of the Meriwether Lewis River, itself a tributary of the mighty Columbia River. He stopped to rest at the Speelyai Bay recreational day-use park to stretch his legs and use the restroom. Checking his Tom-Tom global positioning system, Ian was pleasantly relieved to see that he was less than a mile from the town of Harmony Falls. He’d phoned ahead the night before and made reservations to stay at the only RV park within miles of the little town. After viewing the property’s website from his laptop, he’d discovered the modestly quaint resort offered a cluster of six rental cabins and a dozen tent camping sites as well as eighteen full hook-up RV pull-through sites, all nestled under a blanket of tall fir trees. The little resort had all the amenities that he would require for a stay that he doubted would be more than just a few days. There was even a little restaurant right next door, which pleased him since he rarely cooked for himself. That particular eatery sounded especially pleasing to him since the resort’s website boasted they made their own Northwest berry pies. The specialty of the house was Marionberry, which happened to be his favorite.

  After the short break at the day-use park, Ian got back on the road and had only been driving his 1993 Jeep Grand Wagoneer east for just a few minutes when he spotted the sign he’d been on the lookout for. He slowed his vehicle way down and turned left off of the highway and up the private road entrance to the Firlane Resort and RV Park. His Jeep’s odometer had maxed out, returning once again to its starting point of zero more than three years ago. It reflected just a little more than eighty thousand miles, which wouldn’t fool anyone that saw its obvious careworn condition. But to Ian, his Jeep’s engine still sounded strong with plenty of compression. He thought it sounded tough regardless of its age and mileage, especially since its catalytic converter and most of its tail pipe had gone missing in action while crossing over the Siskiyou mountain range near Mount Shasta a few months back.

  Faithfully in tow was his equally tired Airstream trailer. Ian was mostly oblivious to the noises of his trailer and Jeep clanking and squelching loudly. It was apparent to any onlookers that both his Jeep and its mate were suffering acutely from metallic rustinoma cancer, which even to the laymen’s eye had systemically metastasized throughout their wheel-wells and undercarriages. Adding to the Jeep’s long list of ailments was its chronic vehicular fatigue syndrome in the form of worn-out shocks, struts, U-joints, and balding tires.

  Shortly after registering with the park’s office, Ian parked his trailer in site number eight, a beautiful spot located near a large creek that ran not thirty feet behind his campsite. After unhooking his Jeep from his trailer, Ian opened the driver’s door of his Jeep and retrieved his cell phone from a cup holder on the console between the two front seats and called Sheriff Bud O’Brien.

  The phone began to ring through, once, twice, three times …

  “Harmony County Sheriff’s Department. Sheriff Bud O’Brien speaking, how can I assist …?”

  Ian chuckled to himself. For some reason, once again the professional tone of the sheriff of this tiny burg surprised him, but he quickly decided that after such a formal answering of the phone he’d start the conversation with a title of his own.

  “Hello, Sheriff O’Brien. This is Doctor Ian McDermott …”

  Upon hearing his voice, Bud began rapidly swallowing the bite he’d taken of his potato salad, and replied, “Oh yeah, McDermott, good to hear from ya. When you going to be arriving to our fair community?”

  “Well Sheriff, I have arrived. I’m staying at your local five-star resort, the Lone Fir, or Fir place … Uh, Fir something?”

  “Oh yeah, you’re at Molly’s place, Firlane Resort. Nice place, though we both know it ain’t no five-star resort.”

  They both laughed.

  “Say McDermott, why don’t you come join me? I’m grabbing a bite of lunch. I’m just up the road from ya, bout a couple minutes from where you’re staying. I’m at the Lakeview Bar and Grill. It’s in plain sight on the right side of the road 'bout a half mile from where you’re at. Like the name suggests, it’s got a nice view of the lake and good grub. Anyway, you can’t miss it. We’ll get further acquainted, and I’ll get ya up to speed with what’s been going on.”

  “Yeah, sure Sheriff. That’ll be fine. I’ll meet up with you in a few minutes.”

  Chapter 3

  First Impressions

  The restaurant was just as easy to spot as Sheriff Bud had assured him it would be. Ian switched on his right-turn blinker and proceeded ahead until he reached the gravel driveway that led to the restaurant parking lot. Upon pulling in, he immediately noticed the place did indeed have a beautiful view of Lake Merwin.

  After parking, Ian slowly climbed out of his Jeep and stood looking for one long moment out at the lake. It was a mostly cloudy and brisk windy day. The wind had the lake’s surface pretty kicked up, but for the moment, the sun was shining brightly through a cloud break, creating what to Ian looked like millions of brilliant, shimmering shards of golden light that gently kissed the slightly white-capped surface as they danced across the blue-green water. Everywhere he looked, Southwest Washington’s sub-alpine flora in all indigenous varieties comprised every color and texture imaginable. Ian stared up at the trees and was mesmerized by the abundance of heavy, moisture-laden leaves on branches that swayed back and forth in the breeze. He marveled at the shades of fiery yellows and burnt oranges that, though typical of the fall season, were nonetheless beautiful to behold. Ian couldn’t help but smile just a little as he took notice of the thousands of leaves that had lost their battle to hang on and had joined their comrades in helping to form the ever-growing blanket that covered the ground at his feet, creating to him what resembled a colorful, expanding, organic tapestry all about the parking lot and beyond. The brilliant, natural palette of colors that surrounded him in every direction reminded him of a time years ago when he’d visited Vermont in the autumn. Somehow, what surrounded him now was even more beautiful than that, and it brought a momentary smile to his face before his usual dismal demeanor began once again to take hold. He began intellectualizing all of his surroundings, as picturesque as they were, as just the mere changing of the seasons that in short order would all rot and wither away. After a protracted, discontented moment of reflection, Ian did finally concede to himself that all of the beauty wasn’t doomed to merely rot away as he gazed across the lake to the other side at the nearly timeless existence of the massive stand of ancient evergreen forest. At least the sections that haven’t yet been clear-cut, he mused. The gentle, swaying treetops gave him the eerie impression of the trees breathing, somehow taking in, devouring, or at least hiding all life. Suddenly, Ian felt a slight chill up the back of his neck. He quickly turned away from gazing at the forest beyond the lake. Ian spotted the entrance to the bar, which was located in the backside of the restaurant, and began walking towards it. Just as he reached the door, Ian turned to gaze once again out upon the lake and the mountainous hillsides beyond. From there, the densely-forested hillsides across the lake seemed to go on forever. Ian suddenly realized with clarity how isolated and primal that area was and how small one man could feel.

  If ever there was a playground for Big Foot or some type of predator that could exist largely undetected, this is it!

  As he entered the bar entrance, it took a couple of long, uncomfortable seconds of standing in the open doorway for his transition lenses to lighten up enough to see around the room. Just as he could see well enough to proceed on in he heard a familiar voice booming from across the room.

  “Hey, that you, McDermott?” Ian nodded and gave a reluctant smile. “Well, come on over and cop a squat … with a cop. Ha!”

  Ian walked over to Sheriff Bud’s table, smiled, and shook his hand. He then pulled out a chair and took a seat across from him. Without hesitation, Sheriff
Bud O’Brien jumped into the conversation.

  “Hey, McDermott. Your first name’s Ian, right?”

  “That’s right, Sheriff.”

  Sheriff Bud smiled a very large, warm, good ole boy smile. “Well now, how ‘bout we forgo any further formalities, and you call me Bud, and I’ll call you Ian. No more to do with titles and such. That sound okay by you?”

  Ian replied with a smile and sigh of relief, “That sounds good by me!” Right out of the gate, Ian liked Sheriff Bud’s laid-back style. Ian hated people that were full of themselves.

  “Well Ian, the food here’s good. But say, if you like meatloaf sandwiches, well ole Gracie, she owns the place and does most of the cooking. Anyway, she makes the best goddamn meatloaf sandwich I ever tasted. Comes with mashed taters and beef gravy.”

  Without even looking at a menu, Ian smiled at Bud. “By God, Bud, now you’re talking. That sounds better than great! Say, how’s their pie? I read online that the little eatery next to where I’m camped has good homemade pies …”

  Bud slid back slightly from the table, relaxing his abundant stature into a more comfortable posture. “Yes sir, they do got pretty good pies. But tell ya the truth, Gracie here’s got em beat. Got ‘em beat hands down, especially if you like homemade berry pie.”

  Ian spoke up eagerly, “You mean local berry pie like Marionberry?”

  “Why hell yes, Ian. You like Marionberry?”

  With wide eyes, Ian nodded and replied, “That’s my favorite!”

  “Ya don’t say. Hell Ian, that’s my favorite too. And just so happens to be a specialty of this here place. Well sir, we’ll just have to get us a slice or two to with our eats.”

  Both men smiled brimming smiles at each other. Bud turned his head towards the young gal that was tending the bar. “Say Sally, go an’ tell your mom that me and my guest here will have us a couple meatloaf sandwiches and a couple slices of Marionberry pie a la mode.”

  Bud looked over at Ian and immediately saw by his smile that his a la mode idea was met with resounding approval.

  As Ian sat there directly across from Sheriff Bud O’Brien, he had to fight back a grin once he noticed that Bud looked exactly as he had imagined from their first phone call. Ian surmised that years ago Bud was probably quite the high school athlete. He still looked tough, and he definitely had that ex-jock look of confidence about him even though he sported somewhat of a rotund midsection. But definitely tough as the pig-skin leather he probably used to pass around and carry for touchdowns. Probably de-flowered the Prom Queen after the big homecoming game, Ian mused. He went so far as to presume by the very aged wedding band worn on Bud’s left hand that he’d probably married his high school sweetheart. Ian had always prided himself on his ability to size people up. Good powers of deductive reasoning had over the years served him pretty well. In the field of cryptozoology, you had to be a good observer as well as a clever investigator. He further deduced that despite Sheriff Bud’s abundant belly, he could no doubt handle himself in a physical scuffle against pretty much any of the local logger roughnecks. There was just something behind the good ole boy exterior that led Ian to understand almost from the first moment he’d met Bud that this small town sheriff was no run-of-the-mill hick. Ian figured Bud could probably shoot the wings off a fly on the wall from thirty paces with the Smith and Wesson .357 Magnum that he sported in plain view holstered to his utility belt. Additionally, his utility belt housed plenty of ammo, a set of cuffs, as well as a telescopic night stick and the customary can of Mace brand pepper spray.

  Bud looked Ian up and down while sporting a sly but convincing smile. “So tell me, Ian. Exactly what is your educational background? I mean, what’s it take to be a hunter of the, well let’s say, the unusual animal variety?”

  Ian, not being the sort that likes uncomfortable silences, was glad that Sheriff Bud was to the point. He was ready for this line of questioning since it came up time and again when discussing his somewhat unorthodox profession.

  “Bud, I have a doctorate in zoology and a minor in biology. I’ve also studied primatology extensively, specializing in forensic anthropology and paleontology. Additionally, I had begun studying a few years back in psychology and parapsychology. You already have my phone number, but here’s my card for your file, or records, or whatever.”

  Bud accepted the business card from Ian. As he looked intently at the card for a long moment, he developed a perplexed, questioning look on his face that Ian tried hard to read.

  “Say there, not wanting to sound too ignorant … if I understand ya … and no disrespect intended, you’re sorta like that Indiana Jones character from those movies ‘cept you look for the Lock Ness Monster, Big Foot, or the boogie-man instead of buried treasure or bones like most characters with your credentials, Ph.D. and all. But what in hell’s creation is parapsychology? Isn’t that something like them ghost hunter fellows I seen on late night TV?”

  Ian smiled a genuine smile, not offended in the least by either the expression on Bud’s face or his question.

  “Well yes, in a way, I suppose. But actually, it can mean many things. I mean many different disciplines of research, like say, the study of psychic abilities. Or, well, anything along the lines of people, places, or things that don’t exactly fit into what most people consider conventional wisdom. But understand that really isn’t what I do. Like it says on my card, my business is cryptozoological investigations. In other words, I look to verify or debunk reports of animals thought to be extinct. Or I search for hard evidence of the existence of creatures, for lack of a better word, that are generally considered to be mythological but in fact just might be very real. I keep an open mind and let the facts speak for themselves. In my investigations, I do a lot of field work, collect evidence, interview people. I do, I assume, much the same as what you no doubt do when you’re investigating a crime. Hence, the name of my business: McDermott Cryptid Zoological Investigations …”

  Bud looked up from Ian’s business card and stared directly into Ian’s eyes, then replied, “Cryptid Zoological Investigations. The search for strange or yet to be proven animals so to speak.”

  Ian interjected, “Yeah, that about sums it up.”

  “Hmm. Well, Ian, I’m glad you pointed that out what with all the liberal wacko jobs out there. Hell, I might have figured you to be some sort of animal coroner who investigates the cause of death of critters who die in the zoo and the like.”

  They both laughed at that notion.

  “Tell ya the truth, Ian, I pretty much knew what ya do for a living before I called ya in the first place.”

  Ian looked intensely back at Sheriff Bud and fired a question that had been burning in his mind since their first telephone conversation. “Tell me, Bud. How’d you come to be calling me in on whatever you’re hunting or investigating anyway?”

  Bud had been anticipating this question. He sat back in his chair, grinned and replied, “Well now, that is a fine question there, Ian. Ya see, I don’t readily buy into all the local talk of Big Foot or monsters and the like. I figure what we got here is a case of mistaken identity. Ya know, of a bear or wild dogs or such. It’s no doubt blown way out of proportion due to frightened people with overactive imaginations fueled by a host of local Indian superstitions. But here are the facts: I’ve got some tourists gone missing without a trace. I got a local man all torn up lying in a bed in the hospital in Portland, who by the way ain’t no greenhorn when it comes to the back country, spouting tales of his attack by Sasquatch. I got wild tales buzzing all round town … Crazy talk. And I’ll admit up till now, my investigations regarding those missing tourists and my banged-up local yokel ain’t turned up squat. Anyway, to answer your question, I’ve a friend who helps me check into things from time to time. She works at a library in Vancouver. You know, the one here in Washington next to Portland, not Canada. Anyway, I asked her to check through her library’s archives and see if she could come up with a reputable name of someone that investigates, we
ll, investigates strange phenomena regarding animal attacks, or stuff like that. Meanwhile, I did some checking around on the subject of fellows like yourself who investigate strange creatures and such. Your name was right at the top of the list. You’re considered by the scientific community to be slightly less crazy than most in your field. You actually proved that one fish still is around. You know, that one that scientists said was extinct.”

  Bud laughed a small laugh intended to make light of what he’d just said. He didn’t want Ian to take any offense. To his relief, it was apparent by Ian’s pleasant facial expression and body language that none was taken. Bud continued. “Anyhow, some days go by. My librarian friend, she calls me, tells me she’s sending me a couple of prestigious magazines that I needed to check out that had you plastered all over them. Magazines telling of you being an expert in your somewhat dubious, if I may, field. Well sir, I figured it might be in the best interest of the fine people of my little town here that all channels be considered. A feller like yourself just might add a different perspective. You know, maybe offer some insight on the very outside chance that we might be dealing with something, well, let’s just say out of the ordinary. Ian, I don’t mind telling ya this is becoming a very high-profile situation. I’m getting lots of unwanted questions and pressure from the media. Ya see, the tourists gone missing just happen to be the daughter and son-in-law of a prominent Seattle attorney, Mr. Walter P. Shultz. And if that ain’t bad enough, Mr. Walter P. Shultz, he just happens to be the son of Washington State Senator Hamilton Shultz. Needless to say, I got news vans with their reporters, microphones in hand, crawling all over. One in particular, a Ms. Marsha Steward, KATW Channel Thirteen news. Just yesterday, she crawled so far up my ass that if I was to fart, it would no doubt be quoted on the six o’clock news and out of context, far as that goes. Anyhow, back to the subject of you. After I did a little light reading of them magazines regarding your escapades capturing that prehistoric fish, I figured if I was gonna even consider extreme possibilities, you were my guy. So I got on my computer, Googled for your last known locale and contact digits, found ya, called ya up, and here we are. Say, you’re famous ‘bout what you do, or at least once were, right?”