Robert Walker - Scalpers

But the wound to Dean's arm and the blow to his head had effectively stunned him. He did a stumbling dance toward Sid, seeing him through the haze, hearing his plea only half-real, when suddenly the evil weight was on his back again.

With a revulsion and hatred Dean had never felt before, he reached round with bloodied hands and got firm hold of the thing by its arm and shoulder and flung it with all his might into the hearth, where for an instant Dean's eyes focused on the hairy beast with the enormous red-embered eyes, its nostrils flaring, the huge, curved knife looking like its horn.

"Dean!” shouted Sid. The knife-wielding dwarf slashed first his right, then his left leg, skittered past him, and disappeared yet again.

"Under the corner table—no, the other corner!” Sid shouted. “The gun, get the gun!"

Dean, the pain of his arm intense, reached under the table. His hand felt metal and he wrapped it round the gun and snatched it out only an instant before the sound of the scimitar told him he could have lost the hand.

Backing off from the dark corner, Dean tried desperately to see the evil hiding there, to blow it to pieces.

"God damn it, Dean, get me loose,” Sid cried behind him.

Dean backed cautiously to where Sid remained propped near the fireplace, stumbling over Sid and reaching round to undo the hands, when Sid shouted another warning. Again the devilish dwarf was on Dean, who rose to his feet, trying to dislodge the thing from his back, holding firmly to the gun, using it as a pummel against his attacker.

With a wild, wheeling twist and push, Dean sent himself and his attacker hard against the far wall, knocking the air out of the dwarf and flipping him forward. The creature's small body skittered once more into shadow, a squeal of pain pealing from him. Dean didn't dare look away from the place where the thing had pulled itself. He leveled the gun, preparing to fire, when he realized the dwarf was on a shelf at eye-level, and not on the floor, and that he was coming through the air at him for a final blow, the knife coming right at Dean's eyes, when Dean ducked.

The dwarf's miss hurled him hard against the hearth a second time. This time Dean was ready for the bastard, for at the very moment Dean ducked, he also wheeled and brought up the .38, trained it on the dwarf, and sent the hammer back.

But Dean stopped cold to stare at the pleading eyes inside the ugly, deformed head, deep beneath folds of skin and hair. They were Hamel's eyes!

This must be Hamel's supposed dead twin brother, after all.

Dean stared for a moment, mesmerized by the man's eyes, as the dwarf lifted the knife, preparing to throw it.

Sid, his legs free, had worked his way closer to the fire and the pot. Now, suddenly and viciously, he kicked the lug pole free, sending the scalding, putrid stew over the hairy animal at the hearth, making it squeal in pain. Suddenly it snatched up its brother's scalp and raced madly for safety, disappearing. The dwarf was badly scalded, and Sid, too, had been burned by the water. But Sid ignored his own pain as Dean freed him from his bonds. Dean was angry with himself for not having killed the ugly, hairy thing when he'd had the chance. His moment's hestitation had now allowed the gnome to disappear again, this time out of the room and down the corridor, a final door slamming deep within. Dean breathed a little better and helped Sid from his remaining bonds.

"I thought the bastard had you,” gasped Sid. “You're bleeding like a pig, Dean!"

Sid worked to tie off the arm, the worst of the wounds the dagger-wielding little creep had inflicted.

"Where do you suppose that thing is now?” Sid asked.

"Your guess is as good as mine."

"You think you can walk?"

Dazed, Dean wasn't sure. “Maybe we should wait for sunrise."

"Maybe we ought to get in one of those cars outside and get the hell out of here."

"Run off by a dwarf, you and me? Two big-deal guys like us?"

"I think we've both had enough heroics for one night. Besides, there's another one lurking somewhere."

"Hamel? No, he's dead ... I found him in the kitchen."

"Oh, yeah, now I remember—I got him in the head with a kitchen knife just before I blacked out."

"And his brother took his goddamned scalp."

"He what?"

"That ugly gnome took Hamel's scalp."

Sid shook his head. “Good God, Dean!"

"Exactly. That's why we've got to see this thing through, see this ... this creature dead. It's not human."

"All right, but we stay together. I don't care how short that guy is, he's bloody strong—and dangerous."

"There should be backup units coming."

"Did you ask for bloodhounds and helicopters? He's very likely deep in the wildlife preserve by now. It's all swamp, marsh, and palmetto bush, very hard to maneuver even by daylight ... not to mention wild things like cottonmouths and alligators."

"Maybe we'd better wait, then."

"Be wise to, but that'd be out of character for you, wouldn't it, Dean?"

"How's the leg?” Dean asked. Sid tied off a second bandage for him.

"I think the bleeding's stopped. You were damned lucky."

"How is your leg?"

"Burned both ankles, as a matter of fact, but I'm trying not to think about it"

"You burned him pretty good, too,"

"Think it'll slow the little bastard?"

"It might. Come on."

Getting through the long house and to the outside was scary in itself. Dean felt like a little figure in a video game, afraid of opening the next door, or stepping through, knowing that the killer could be waiting at every turn. But they got to the porch without incident. Down the dusty road came the glare of successive headlights, reinforcements. Over the siren noise, Dean heard something like a chicken scratch, and he suddenly jumped down from the porch and stared up to the darkened roof, half-expecting the creature to leap at him again. But it didn't come; nothing was up there.

Where had the noise come from?

Sid raced to meet the others, waving at them. Dean had another thought as the cars, their headlights flooding the yard now, showed some streaks coming up through the cracks on the porch from beneath.

He was there, under the house. Dean just knew it. But to catch the animal, everyone must somehow be alerted.

They needed to fan out. Dean tried to convey this message to the noisy, gung-ho policemen jumping from their units.

"The suspect's a dwarf,” Sid told them as Dean indicated the underside of the house, pointing, unsure whether or not the gnome had caught on to their next move.

Cautiously, after having had a full look at Staubb and Williams, and with jokes to one another about midgets and little people, the cops fanned out, trying to circle the rambling, L-shaped house. Not six feet off were the woods.

Flashlights streaked into the underside of the house and suddenly a shot rang out on the far side. Dean heard the sounds of running feet and rushed to where the gunshot had been fired. A policeman named Mike had filled a stray dog with buckshot, the animal still thrashing until another officer put it out of its misery.

"There! Over there!” shouted another cop, hearing something moving off through the bush.

The chase was on, Dean armed now with a 12-gauge shotgun, Sid beside him with Staubb's .38, everyone fanning out, trying to ensnare the killer in a human net.

"He's armed and dangerous,” Dean told the men.

"Armed with what?"

"So far as we know, only a knife, but it's his weapon of choice."

"Hear that, men?"

Up and down the line, the word was passed as the manhunt moved into the dark woods.

"Going to send two of my men back to make a call for dogs,” said the officer in charge, Staubb's superior. “We ain't letting this bastard get away."