Ken Douglas - Nightwitch

And Harry stood firm, a wild Indian, long hair blazing in the wind, fringed buckskins flowing, and a lone feather stuck in a leather head band. The moon at his back covered him in a soft glow, his hair, whipping out from around the head band, picked up the moonglow, reflecting it away and forming a halo that surrounded his grinning face.

Harry fired a second silver bullet. He missed again and the animal kept coming. He stood his ground, grin intact, and fired a third time, and this time it was Harry’s laugh that filled the night as a trail of blazing flame and smoldering blood seared along the back of the beast, causing the animal to roar like no hyena had ever roared.

Then it was in the air as Harry fired again, hitting the monster in the chest, before its gaping jaw ripped into Harry’s own chest as it barreled into him, knocking him down and raking his face with a clawed front foot. He was wounded badly, but he still managed to stick the gun into the belly of the beast and jerk off two rounds, blasting the animal off of him.

The hyena backed away and Harry fired again, missed and the animal turned to flee. It started across the clearing toward the path, but Arty blocked its way, firing the shotgun again, missing by inches, but the silver dimes flying over its head were enough to turn the animal toward the cliffs at a full run. Harry put his last two shots into the beast, the last one hitting it in the rear as it shot into space, before it started its fall to the rocks below.

The night was quiet save for that lone cricket Arty had heard earlier. The air was cool and still. No rustling of leaves, no whispering of pines, no sounds from the city below. The clearing was an alien world, soundless except for that forlorn chirping. Arty watched, dazed, but unafraid as Sarah Sadler helped Carolina’s father up.

Arty and Harry walked and hobbled to the cliff’s edge and peered over. They could see the rocks below, but they couldn’t see where the hyena had landed, or even if it had landed.

“ Daddy,” Carolina said, rushing across the clearing. She hugged her arms around her father’s waist. He grimaced against the pain of broken bones as he ran his left hand through her hair, and he smiled a little, despite his hurt, when she squeezed even tighter.

“ I’m sorry,” was all he could say. He wrapped his left arm around her and hugged her into himself.

“ Is it over?” Sarah asked. She was holding the empty gun in one hand, trying to keep her windblown hair out of her eyes with the other.

“ No,” Harry Lightfoot said, clutching his bloody chest. They all turned to look at him. His hands were covered in blood and his grin was forced, but he looked like an avenging angel straight out of the Black Hills.

“ Not until we kill it,” John Coffee added.

“ After all that, and it’s not dead?” Sarah said. She tucked the warm gun into her pants and used both hands to hold her hair in place against the strong wind.

“ Low tide,” Harry said, bending down on one knee. It was easy to see he was hurting.

“ I don’t get it.” Sarah said, not understand his meaning.

“ He means,” John Coffee said, “that if the tide would have been in, the creature would have landed in salt water. End of story. It would have burned up. But the tide’s out, so it landed on the rocks. It’ll build its strength and come back, strong as ever, maybe stronger.

Arty dusted himself off and looked down again. The tide was beginning to roll in and splash among the rocks. He used to like to sit down there and watch the crabs scurry around and he hoped that the Nightwitch was smashed, and the little crabs were having a ball as they chewed into and ate up all the witch parts, but he’d heard the conversation and he wanted to be ready when it came back.

“ Carolina, I need the rest of the shells,” he said.

She eased herself out of her father’s embrace and opened her backpack. “Come on out girl,” she said. The ferret jumped onto her shoulder and nuzzled her ear. She handed Arty the backpack without a word, then pulled Sheila off her shoulder and hugged her to her chest.

John, Sarah and Harry Lightfoot watched as Arty fished the shells out of the bottom of the pack and started jacking them into the side of the shotgun, like he’d been doing it all his life. The gun was too big for the boy. The boy was too young for the job. But he was doing it just the same.

“ The locket is under the ferret’s nametag,” he said to the adults. “If the Nightwitch finds out, I think it’ll kill me and Carolina, but I’m not gonna let it.”

“ It’ll take more than silver dimes to kill it,” Harry said.

“ You knew I took the other rolls?”

“ I knew,” Harry said.

“ He’s right,” Carolina’s father said, and Arty saw the man screw his face up with pain. He was hurting and Harry Lightfoot was, too. Blood covered Harry’s chest and stomach and he had a bloody gash on the right side of his face. It didn’t look like he could open his right eye, and he wheezed when he talked. These men would not be able to help anymore. It was up to him now.

“ I know where the skin is,” he said, shoving the last shell home.

The adults didn’t get the time to appreciate what he’d said, because a giant shadow blocked the moon. Carolina, her father and Sarah had their backs to the cliff and didn’t see the giant vulture as it rose from below, riding up on the wind.

The mammoth bird carried a twenty foot wing span, had a head the size of a Volkswagen, blazing red eyes the size of tires, a five foot, black beak and its red eyes were fixed on Carolina.

“ No,” Harry screamed, jumping from his crouch. He shot forward, grabbed the knife out of John Coffee’s hand and dove over the cliff onto the great bird. He hugged the vulture around the neck, with his head under the beak and sliced the knife across the giant bird’s throat.

Arty’s hands tightened on the gun as they fell to the rocks below, with old Harry’s warrior scream mingled with the shrieking squawk of the vulture. Arty closed his eyes, but it didn’t help. He pictured Harry riding the bird to his diving death, silver hair blowing in the wind, gray eyes laughing, as he held on to the bird one handed, plunging the knife into its neck and head all the way till the rocky bottom.

Arty opened his eyes when the screaming and the shrieking stopped. Carolina was holding the ferret tight in her hands. Miss Sadler had an arm around Carolina’s father, helping him to stand, and once again the only sound in the clearing was the mournful chirping of that lonely cricket.

“ I gotta go,” Arty said.

“ Where?” John Coffee asked.

“ It’s between the houses. I saw the wolf carry it out, just before it changed into the old woman. I just figured out what it was.”

“ You’ll need rock salt and hot pepper.”

“ I got salt and cayenne pepper,” he said, turning to go.

“ Wait,” John Coffee said. Arty turned back around to see Carolina’s father drawing his good left arm around in front of himself, digging into the right pocket of his Levi’s. He pulled out a jar. “It’s gotta be rock salt,” he said, tossing a small plastic container to Arty, “Use your cayenne pepper, but use this, too. It’s a mixture, hot ground chili peppers and rock salt.”

Arty stuffed the container into his pocket along with the salt shaker and the cayenne pepper. He smiled at Carolina.

Now it was up to him.

Arty turned and ran across the clearing. He saw Brad Peters and Ray Harpine when he reached the path. They’d been waiting.

“ That’s what you want to kill?” Brad said. The two boys had been watching and had seen everything. Arty made an instant decision.