The Beast of 1977 (Book 1)

Bruin and Fitzpatrick got out of their cruiser. Standing at the entrance of the tiny church was Brice, who was shivering like an
overstuffed popsicle with his hands lodged securely inside his pockets.
As the detectives made their way towards the man, Linus couldn't help but to glance over at the white man and woman who were
staring down at a mutilated cow on the ground.
There was something inside of Linus that wanted so badly to veer off over to where the couple was standing behind an old
rugged, wooden fence. But with as much restraint as he could amass, the man maintained his course towards the long-suffering
Brice and the tiny church he was standing in front of.
All three men entered the church through the double doors. Once they were inside, they caught sight of two, white officers who
were conversing with an elderly white minister who was bundled up in a black winter coat.
Brice happened to look down at the carpet to find the same mammoth paw prints that he examined earlier, while Linus and Alan
surveyed the freezing church.
"I sure hope to God no one was in here last night." Linus' teeth chattered while kneeling down to pick up even more strands of fur
from off the floor.
"Guys, take a look at this." Brice said, pointing to the floor.
Linus and Alan made their way over to Brice's direction to observe what looked to be a smelly heap of waste.
"Is that what I think it is?" Linus turned up his nose.
"Yep," Brice replied in a snippy sort of voice while taking out a pair of small tongs from his coat pocket.
Linus and Alan looked on at the young man as though he were doing something wrong. They stood and watched as Brice poked
and prodded at the dung like a science experiment until he was able to grab a hold of something.
"Do I even want to know what that is?" Alan cringed, too afraid to step any closer.
"You got it." Brice despondently replied as his tongs scooped up a partially eaten human thumb from out of the thickness of the
feces.
Trying not to appear jarred by the scene, Linus too stood back and asked, "What is that over there?"

With his human body part still lodged in between the tongs' tight grip, Brice scooted forward and examined what appeared to be
a glob of clear mucus lying on the floor, just a few feet away from the altar.
"Is it blood?" Fitzpatrick mumbled.
"It's blood, and then...some saliva." Brice answered.
"How do we know it's the saliva of the animal?" Alan questioned. "It did kill seven people last night. It could just be residue."
"True, but this is the only saliva sample that I've managed to collect all morning long so far. It looks as though the thing vomited.
Most animals regurgitate their food, and then eat the remains."
"Excuse me, gentleman." The short, bearded minster approached the three men from behind. "Are you men police officers?"
"Yes, sir," Linus replied. "This is Detective Fitzpatrick, Brice, and I'm Bruin."
"Good to meet you. My name is Pastor Gabriel Longfellow." The genial man greeted, wiping the cold fog away from his
eyeglasses.
"Mr. Longfellow, how old is this church?" Fitzpatrick asked.
"Oh my," Longfellow pondered in his head, "this place has been around since 1883. It's the oldest in the city. Why do you ask?"
"No particular reason, I'm just fascinated with old things."
"Tell me, does anyone know just what it was that left those kinds of tracks, or what killed the Franklin's cow out there?"
"We're still working on that, sir." Linus seriously responded.
"Hey, guys, look at this for a second." Brice stirred, crawling about on the floor in the direction of the paw prints. "The tracks
seem to end...right here." He motioned.
Linus, Alan and the pastor all gawked down at the muddy carpet in disbelief.
"Hold on," Linus panted, "look here. It appears as if the thing crashed through the window over there, took a stroll down the aisle,
then...look at that."
Everyone looked to their immediate left to see a long, dark smudge streaked across the floor in an almost orderly fashion.

"There aren't any tracks leading out of this place either." Alan noted. "Judging by the direction of the streak, it looks as though it
were dragged away."
"Who could've dragged something that enormous?" The pastor asked.
"We have no clue, sir." Linus replied while kneeling down and rubbing against the smudge. "It ends right here. Now, unless our
friend can fly, there is absolutely no way in the world it could have gotten out of here without leaving any tracks in its wake."
"This church has only one floor, Detective." One of the officers commented. "We searched every corner. We're the only people in
here."
Linus looked over at the pastor and asked, "Sir, was there anyone else in here last night?"
"No, sir, Mr. Bruin," Longfellow scratched at his beard. "Last night we had our prayer meeting at six. I locked up around seven,
and that was that."
Studying the carpet with a sharp eye, Linus began to pace back and forth until he found himself face to face with the crucified
Christ that was lanced on the cross down behind the altar.
The detective then turned around and wearily exhaled, "Somebody, please kick me in the head."
"It makes no sense trying to rack our brains over this, Linus." Fitzpatrick said while standing next to his exhausted partner. "The
trail ends here. And we still got one fella that's missing."
"Can you tell me, detectives, did the kidnapper leave any survivors?" Longfellow desperately asked.
"Yes, sir, we have two." Bruin sighed.
"Thank the good Lord." The pastor graciously smiled.
"Thank the Lord?" Linus smirked in a coy manner. "Where was the Lord when all of those kidnapped people were murdered? No
offense, padre, but four little girls were eaten alive last night. It makes no sense whatsoever."
"Sir, the Lord works in mysterious ways. I cannot explain it, but his love does endure forever. I can only hope and pray that the
two survivors can pull their lives back together again in Jesus' name."
In silent rebuttal, Linus turned to Alan and whispered, "We need to get Mercer's address."

"Let's get the hell outta here." Alan grumbled before turning back to Longfellow and smiling, "Thanks for all your help, sir."
"I'm here whenever you need me." The pastor waved.
"You comin' with us, Brice?" Linus looked down at the young man.
Standing back to his feet, Brice, with a plastic pouch in hand, said, "I think I'll hitch a ride back with some of the other officers.
There's still a wealth of info I need to collect just right here."
Linus glanced over at Alan before turning and walking out of the church. "Perhaps you're right about that guy, Al." Linus
whispered into the man's ear.
"A wealth of what, poop," Alan asked with a snicker. "What the hell is wrong with that generation anyways?"
As they made their way outside, still standing behind the fence was the couple who were still ogling down at the deceased cow in
the snow.
Linus' once rapid pace back to the cruiser gradually slowed the longer he stared on and on at the couple before he eventually
paused and made a direct approach towards their direction. The man just couldn't help himself.
"It killed our last cow." The middle-aged, ragged looking woman said without even being asked.
Linus stopped short of the fence before looking down at the animal that had its entire stomach torn wide open.
"I was just wondering, do you two happen to live around these parts?" Linus asked.
The woman turned her attention back to the dead animal while the man lifted his head to stare at Linus. His entire face was full
of unshaven, silver fur that ruffled in the brazen wind. His brown eyes shot bullets at Linus like the question he asked was sinful.
"We live around here." His scratchy voice answered. "Are you reporters?"
Unfazed by the man's piercing demeanor, Linus pulled out his badge and replied, "No, sir, we're Detectives Bruin and
Fitzpatrick."
The man stared on at Linus for a bit longer before saying, "My wife and I live around here."
"Can you tell us if you saw or heard anything last night?"

The man, with his hard stare still stuck on Linus, replied, "I was born and raised in these parts. I've lived here all my life."
"Did you manage to see or hear anything?" Linus' tone urged.
The man turned his face away from Linus and pointed it behind him. "You see that field out there? Last night, I saw something
that I've never seen before in my life."
"Let's get out of here." Alan whispered into Linus' ear. "This guy looks like he's about three sheets to the wind."
"Last night, I saw it." The man's tone turned suddenly methodical.
"You saw what?" Linus' attention perked up.
"Last night, in that field, I saw it running around."
"Was it a bear?" Linus asked.
Shaking his head, the man said, "No, bears don't look like the thing I saw last night. This thing had hind legs. A snout and eyes."
"So it was a wolf." Fitzpatrick shrugged.
"I never said that. I was taking out the trash when I saw it racing through the field. It didn't look or sound like anything I've ever
seen before. But it did look at me."
"It looked at you?" Linus frowned.
"It had these eyes. These glowing eyes that just glanced at me for a few seconds before it took off again."
"Wait a second, if you saw this thing, did you ever contact the police?" Linus questioned in an agitated voice.
The man just kept his face pointed towards the snowy field. "Perhaps I should have, but I just remember its shining eyes."
"You gotta be kidding me." Alan moaned. "We didn't come all the way out here for this Rod Serling, 'Night Gallery' bullshit. Let's
get back to Cypress."
Without another word, the mysterious couple meandered away from the detectives and plodded their way back across the field.
Right then, the wind found it within itself to become even more stiff and rampant, but that didn't seem to deter Linus who began
his own jaunt over the fence, past the cow carcass and out into the field.

"Are you crazy?" Alan hollered. "It's 19 degrees out here!"
Linus carried on and on until he managed to stop halfway between the church and the middle of the field. He stood and eyed the
spacious landscape from front to back and side to side before looking down to spot a set of tracks layered in the snow.
Linus stuck his booted foot in the track and noticed that it was about five sizes bigger than his own. There was more fur lying in
the tracks, but the man had no desire to gather any more evidence for the day.
Instead, he remained in the middle of the sprawling field all to himself, just where he wanted to be.