Terror in the Smokies: Terror Series, #3

Terror in the Smokies

J. Esker Miller

Also by J. Esker Miller

Heavy Jets – This is the tale of the first jet transport aircraft, the C-141, and the rowdy men who flew it. They were a breed apart, operating beyond the reach of 1960’s communications. Alone and fiercely independent, they were every commander’s nightmare.

Counter Intelligence –  As World War II enveloped Europe, the Army Counter Intelligence Corps was tasked to cripple Hitler’s military machine. They were first-in, last-out of every operation, living or dying by their wits and bravado. 

Vienna – In the war’s aftermath, 1946 Austria was divided among the Occupying Powers; America, France, Britain and Russia. But the dawning Cold War made cooperation impossible. The city of Vienna became a lawless, violent stage for intrigue, kidnappings, assassinations and endless spying.

Stealing Ho Chi Minh’s Gold- Three airmen shot down over Laos manage to hijack several North Vietnamese trucks and escape back to Thailand. The trucks turn out to be full of gold, tons of gold. But it will take almost fifty years and cost many lives before the survivors smuggle the loot back to Hawaii.

Kentucky Weed – A retired Marine, abandoned by his wife and child, goes back home to rural Kentucky seeking peace and solitude. Instead, he finds two drug dealing clans locked in endless warfare - and he is related to both.

Terror on the Tundra – In this prequel to Terror in Appalachia, giant creatures, superbly adapted to the Arctic, come out of the ice fog to terrorize a small Alaskan village. The Army and Air Force try to destroy them, but a young paleontologist from the University of Alaska vows to save the species – or die trying.

Terror in Appalachia

Giant wolf-like creatures prowl silently in the dark woods – hungry and desperate. The townspeople see them as horrifying monsters that must be killed at any cost. But, to the wolves, humans are merely obstacles to their own survival, and obstacles must be destroyed – utterly destroyed. Check out J. Esker Miller's debut masterpiece, Terror on the Tundra – In this prequel to Terror in Appalachia, giant creatures, superbly adapted to the Arctic, come out of the ice fog to terrorize a small Alaskan village. The Army and Air Force try to destroy them, but a young paleontologist from the University of Alaska vows to save the species – or die trying.

Copyright © 2019 by J. Esker Miller

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

ISBN: 978-1-948374-13-2

Hydra Publications

Goshen, Kentucky 40026

www.hydrapublications.com

Contents

Suunybrook, North Carolina

The Barber Shop

Adam

New Beginnings

Fish and Wildlife

Elly, Gray Eagle, Two-Bears, Mother Wolf, and the Dead Horse

The Chief

Stranger in His Own Home

The Amarok Legend

Mother Wolf

Dead Horse

The New Teacher

And There’s Alice

Mechanical Monsters

The First Kill

Who to Tell?

Reliving Kentucky

What We Need is a Demonstration

The Barbershop

Watching the Video

Calvin

Dead Dog

The Petries

The Barn

Dead Man’s Tale

Hollywood in the Hills

Guy Falcon Lands

Elly’s New family

The Train

Live on Camera

Heroes and Actors

Victoria and Mary

Enter the Star

Cherokee Nation

After the Stomp Dance

Freelance Reporting

Death of a Barber

Back to Civilization

Gatlinburg Wants In

Movie or Reality

How to React

Urgency

Dogs for Writers

How Much Is That Puppy?

Four Danes in a Car

Inspiration

Sheriff and Puppies

The Sheriff Arrives

Into Darkness

The Cutest Killers

The Sheriff Is Dead - Long Live the Sheriff

Oklahoma Calling

A Great Show

Miss Elly and Her Pups

Home Sweet Home

An Evening with the Stars

The Cleanup

Requiem or Publicity

Through the Wolf’s Eyes

The CCRA

The General

Elly and the Monsters

The Burning Question

Calling All Firetrucks

The Tube

Yo Ho, They Burned the House Down

Interviews

Into the Light

Mary James Returns

Medicine Person

Cherokee in Charge

Lost

Cherokee Warriors

Send in the Monster Hunters

Audition

Organizing for Battle

March of the Monster Hunters

Mayhem for Mayhem

The Brothers Grin

Hello Helo

The Professor Arrives

A Star Is Born

What Now?

Command Post

The Army Is Coming - From the Sky

The Big Show Comes to Town

From the Sky

Wolves Versus Airplanes

The Charge

After the Charge

The River

Oh Colonel, My Colonel

Army Moves Out

Real World or Drama

The Driver

After the Battle of the Pasture

The Command Post

A New Direction

Where Are the Green Dots?

The Ranger Can Find Them

He Who Talks to Wolves

Television Celebrities

The Movie Premiers

About the Author

Suunybrook, North Carolina

They had travelled far. Breathing out clouds of steam in the chill air, they kept a steady pace covering ten feet with every stride. Their gait resembled that of a pacing horse more than their canine ancestors. It was an efficient movement, well-adapted to the conditions of a snow-bound forest. This new place, this endless woodland, would be a perfect home for them and their clan. Their finely-honed senses told them of deer and ground dwelling mammals hiding all around. They would not go hungry.

And the woods provided cover – perfect for ambushes. The terrain was rocky and uneven, but intermixed with soft dirt that could become dens for breeding new litters of their species. Here they could thrive. Here in the misty mountains, they would rule, dominating all other creatures. This would be their new home, where there were almost no signs of the humans who had tormented and chased them out of other lands.

They paused, two magnificent creatures. Brothers, they would soon reach full maturity and become solitary hunters. For now, they were inseparable. Their gray winter coats were fluffy and thick, so thick around the neck that they were almost lion-like manes. The fur insulated them so well that snowflakes accumulating on their backs did not melt.

They looked much like wolves but massive, shaggy, and thicker-muscled. Even as juveniles, they were easily three or four times the size of a modern wolf. Creatures of the night, they had large, reflective, golden eyes, superbly adapted to the dark, perfect for stealthy nighttime attacks. Playful and friendly toward each other, they were still hunters, killing machines who required an endless supply of protein.

They paused for a moment to stand in the midst of a clearing. It was a greeting card scene. Gentle snow fell on drooping cedars in air, so still that they could hear the snowflakes. They took in the depth of the silence, smelled the forest scents, and surveyed their new domain. This place would certainly suit them and suit them very well.

The Barber Shop

W ell, will you look at that. It’s Miss Elly Teach. The witch is come to town. Calvin Watts still held his straight razor as he stepped away from the barber chair and peered through the shop’s front window.

The man in that chair sat up, still wearing his cloth. Witch? Who the hell is Elly Teach?

Calvin shook his head slowly. That woman out there. She’s a damned witch. That’s for sure.

Oh, come now, there’s no such a thing. You’re just puttin’ me on, aren’t you?

Barber Calvin Watts was a big man with a shiny, bald head. The buttons of his white coat strained against a bulging belly. He shook his head slowly and clenched his teeth. No sir, Mister Benton. That woman is the living, breathing manifestation of the devil incarnate. Wherever she walks, death follows.

Now Benton rose from his semi-reclined position in the chair and stood beside Calvin.

Both stared for a long moment. What gives you the right to think that she is some evil person? She seems to me a kindly looking old lady. I see no sign of darkness in her.

Calvin shook his head, and his face tightened. Then, you are deceived. I have known Elly since we were children. The woman has never been right. She married Big Ben Teach nigh onto forty years ago, but he’s long since dead. Now she lives alone in a run-down log cabin deep in the woods with no electric and no running water. She’s always got money to spend, though she has no visible means of support. There’s always a fire burning in her stove, though she has no man to cut the wood. There’s always lights in the window and music playing inside, even with no electric power. She’s a witch, all right, and a dangerous one, I say. I advise you to stay clear.

Benton sat back down in the chair and watched the elderly lady as she passed. Her pace was slow and cautious. She was a small woman, bundled up against the winter wind in a coat, two sizes too large, with ragged cuffs and worn elbows. A head scarf knotted under her chin concealed most of her face.

Calvin, I think you may be seeing more than there is to see. She seems a simple, poor woman making her way the best she can. Probably has Social Security and gets by on that alone. I don’t think you ought to be making such allegations without cause.

Oh, I have cause. The rotund barber wiped his razor clean of shaving cream then tossed the towel over his shoulder.

Once, maybe twenty years past, my son, and a couple of other young ones, sneaked out onto her property to discover her secrets. They were just kids, meant nothing by it. Just wanted to go check out the old, crazy woman in the woods, maybe tease her or something. Well, they was rewarded by a shotgun blast that sent them running home to pluck out buckshot. The sheriff wouldn’t hear of filing charges. Said if anyone was at fault, it was my boy.

Well, Mister Watts, that just sounds to me like a lonely lady with a shotgun being frightened by a couple of kids and not going to take no shit from ‘em.

Benton settled back into the antique padded chair of Bakelite, chrome and leather.

Calvin turned to him, sniffed, and slowly scraped his razor down Benton’s cheek. He inspected his work and nodded, satisfied with the smooth skin revealed by his stroke.

He stood poised with the razor, like an artist preparing to make a critical brush stroke, and spoke softly. She makes a monthly journey into Sunnybrook to shop. Drives a thirty-year-old pickup truck that always looks as though this might be its last trip. She’s always neat, clean and polite, but she has those blue eyes that don’t never focus. Unnatural I tell you – eyes of a witch.

He leaned close and almost whispered. Oh, she’s all business in her dealings here, but real shy-like. Don’t make eye contact, and don’t ever have much of a conversation. She pays cash and never haggles. It’s like she can’t wait to get back to her lair.

Her lair? Well, if she’s a witch, how come she don’t just fly?

Calvin sort of chuckled. No, not that kind of witch. She’s like – I don’t know - a devil worshipper, one of them that dances in the moonlight.

Oh, come on, my friend. Give the poor lady some benefit of the doubt. What evidence have you ever seen of such goings on?

Calvin sucked on his lips and looked around. There was no one else in the barbershop to overhear. Still, his voice was hushed. Have you heard of the cattle mutilations down by Burns Hollow?

No. Mister Benton was hesitant, but interested. Tell me.

Calvin still looked all around. It was two nights ago - three feeder steers dismembered, all tore up. Their hearts was ripped out and other body parts missing. The farmer said he heard cries like women singing or something. Calvin moved his face close to Benton. I tell you, it was Elly Teach. She’s got a covern of them witches out there.

I think that word is ‘Coven’ and I think that’s a damn strong accusation, Mister Watts.

Calvin’s face knotted. Don’t go makin’ light of this. I tell you the woman is evil and, if you go near her, you’ll wind up regretting it.

Both looked up, startled to see Elly staring in at them through the wide storefront window. Small of stature, gray and frail in the blustering winter wind, her penetrating eyes and disapproving scowl made both men lean back. She couldn’t possibly have overheard their conversation. Still, there was a bitterness in her face as she tilted her chin back, said something they could not hear, then turned to walk away. Even as she left, she kept looking over her shoulder, eyes on the two men.

Neither of them spoke for a few seconds, until Calvin cleared his throat and almost whispered, Did I tell ya? That woman is the spawn of Satan, and she shall bring destruction down upon us.

Benton frowned and shook his head. He wasn’t sure what to say.

Adam

Adam Hucksbury was not a people person. He had little patience with them and often said that he did not suffer fools. Unfortunately, Adam considered almost everyone around him to fit that description. For him, the job in Fish and Wildlife was perfect. He worked alone, for the most part, usually out in the woods. His three-man unit had a lot of paperwork, and he was happy to let the other two handle it while he did the field work.

He drove a beat-up, government-issue SUV that rattled over every bump on the dirt road. Springs in the driver’s seat no longer cushioned the jolts, but Adam wasn’t fussy about comfort. He wasn’t fussy about much of anything, except wanting to be left alone.

His dash-mounted GPS did not depict the road he travelled. But, no matter, it did show his destination as a funny-shaped icon floating against an almost empty map depiction and it told him that he was just about there.

Trees overhanging the road opened to pastures surrounded by weathered, four-board wood fencing. Curious horses ran along the fence and snorted clouds of steamy breath at the intruder in his junky car.

Adam continued onto a side road that led back to a barn. It was there where he got out and tried to hitch up his gun belt. A bulging belly made that all but impossible. He saw no one, but this had to be the farm. He was sure it was the right place.

As he walked, the fence line horses followed him, watching the intruder’s every move as though ready to trample him if he tried to enter their pasture domain.

He tried to calm them by speaking calm and slow. Hey fella. What’ ya doing? It’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt ya.

A sorrel mare leaned her head over the top rail to inspect him with wide eyes.

He made a clucking sound and reached to pet her.

She responded with an ears-back, teeth-bared stretch to bite at him.

Adam yanked his hand back, as though he’d touched a hot stove and murmured, Bitch.

A voice came from the barn.

Adam turned to see a compact man with a dark, weathered face and black hair. Rolled-up sleeves revealed well-muscled arms. His eyebrows were tight, suspicious. Help you?

Adam cleared his throat and used his official voice. Yes, sir. I’m Officer Hucksbury. He didn’t need to identify his agency - the uniform did that. I’m here to check on a report of a horse being killed. Possible predation by wildlife.

The man came out of the barn into sunlight, wiping his hands on a rag. Adam thought he might have some Cherokee blood. Many in the valley were descendants of the original native population. Not that Adam had any ill will toward the Indians. Many were perfectly fine people, he supposed.

The man made a quick nod. Come. I’ll show you.

They walked silently through pasture. Horses followed them but kept a respectful distance now that Adam was being escorted. It was a long walk, perhaps a quarter mile.

Even in the cold Adam, began to sweat and feel short of breath. He was about to say that he needed to pause for a moment when they came over a grassy rise and saw the carcass splayed out in a dark circle of blood and gristle. Thankfully, there were no flies. In summer, the corpse would have been swarming.

Adam knelt by the dead horse. It lay on its side, neck extended, mouth still open from its final cry, eyes wide, but dull and unfocused. She was an older mare, slightly gray at the muzzle. Two legs extended straight out, frozen in a gravity-defying pose. The flesh from her torso had been ripped away, exposing ribs and a large cavity where her belly had been. Chunks of her hind leg were gone.

Son of a bitch. Adam couldn’t hide his revulsion. The smell of blood, entrails, and raw meat from a fresh kill could gag anyone who wasn’t used to processing hunter’s game – or working in a butcher shop. He turned to the black-haired man he assumed was the owner.

You got any idea what it was that did this?

The man shrugged. He definitely had a little Cherokee in him. My first thought was coyotes, but I never heard of them going after anything bigger than a deer. I guess it could have been a mountain lion. I see black bears all the time, but I just can’t picture a bear doing this. They mostly just root in the garbage and stuff.

Adam grunted as he tried to lean and touch the ragged edges of torn meat. Well, I think you’re right that it wasn’t no mountain lion or bear, but I’ll be damned if I know what it might have been. He thought for a second. You know, we have wild boar up here. You hardly ever see or hear of them, but they’re here. You ever seen one?

No. Didn’t know nothing about them. You think they could do this?

Adam blew out a long stream of air. I don’t know. Mostly, they rut and eat vegetation, but I have heard of them killing rabbits and ground hogs and such. He sat back on the cold ground and dusted his hands together. No, I just can’t see this being the work of a hog. See how high on the flank these bite marks are? And look here. He pointed. There are what looks like claw marks. I would guess the attacker hooked its claws into the horse’s flanks and then bit into the muscle to bring it down.

Adam struggled to stand. The rest of your herd okay?

The owner nodded.

Okay. How about you keep your other horses out of this pasture. I’ll have the rest of my team out to check on this. We might even have someone from headquarters come have a look. I’ll just need a little information from you for my report.

Another nod.

Adam started back toward his truck but stopped in mid-stride and looked down at his feet. He stepped carefully, off to the side. Son of a bitch. Come over here. Look at this damned footprint.

Eli - that was the owner’s name - came to stand beside him. Adam’s face tightened. Jesus. How come I didn’t notice that before? What could make a print that size? What the hell is it?

Eli Lee inhaled through his nose and, after a long moment, spoke softly. It is the Black Wolf, returned to haunt my people.

New Beginnings

For her whole life, she had been called Mary Jane, but that just didn’t work with her new married name, Mary Jane James? No. Newlywed Mrs. Craig James decided to drop the Jane and just go by Mary James. She was only recently hired as an elementary school teacher in the town of Sunnybrook. No one in North Carolina knew anything about her, so there would be no questioning her name change - at least, not yet. Besides, after all that had happened back in Kentucky, it was probably good to break with the past and start over clean and fresh.

She was happy to be working again; happy to be married; happy to be out of Wade County, Kentucky. Her father and brother died there. Craig, her new husband, almost died there. She wanted to forget it ever existed, but that was not to be.

She heard the doorbell and opened the door to see a dark-haired man in a lumberjack shirt. He also wore a broad, toothy grin.

Mrs. James? I’m Kurt Krug but, for the duration of our time here in North Carolina, I would appreciate it if you referred to me only as Johnny Two-Bears.

She made a little laugh. Seriously, Johnny Two-Bears?

He shrugged. The optics, you know. We want everyone to pick up on the color and drama of your story. Since I’ll be your local producer, it will add authenticity. Again, optics. We want this tale to ring true.

She opened the door, and the man lugged in three large suitcases and a folding workstation with wheels. She stayed out of his way but shook her head. Goodness, do you really need all this?

Absolutely, Ma’am…can I call you Mary Jane?

Just Mary, please Mister Krug.

Johnny. From now on, I’m Johnny. We have to stay in character. Now, where can we set up? I’ll have the installer rig his satellite feed and do the inside cabling.

She pointed the way to a room she and Craig had agreed to use for the interviews.

Johnny lugged his suitcases, and Mary followed with folded arms like an inspector. So, how did you select this little town of Sunnybrook? she asked.

He dropped his load and caught his breath. Competitive bidding. The actual town of Bellville, or Bell City, or whatever, was too demanding. Not just on the price. There was some egotistical sheriff who wanted to have editorial control of the manuscript and supervise the shooting. I think he wanted to portray himself as the hero. Well, that would never happen.

He looked at Mary with the practiced sincerity of a salesman. This little town of Sunnybrook has been great. We’re paying them a tenth what that Bell town wanted. The local leaders here understand the tourism potential of this movie and book, and they’re going all out. They’re even making up props, signs and whatever, to match the real place in Kentucky.

She made a little chuckle. You’re really on this thing, aren’t you? Don’t you think you’re a little ahead of yourself since the story isn’t even written yet?

He grinned wide. "Oh, you have no idea. The story will unfold as we go. It will all happen. Money makes everything happen. That million-dollar advance you and your husband will receive…that’s a drop in the bucket compared to royalties that will go on for years. You’ll be wealthy. If the movie hits big, it could become a franchise with sequels for decades. Look at Star Wars."

Johnny Two-Bears looked around. So, where is Mister James?

"He’ll be here shortly. He’s been to Asheville to see a doctor. He had some lung damage after being caught out in that storm back in Kentucky. They say it’s minor and will have no lasting effects. Just a few more weeks of using an inhaler and limiting