[Part 1] [Part 2]

I finally fell asleep just as the sun was rising, dispelling the sensation of damp, dead fingers around my neck. I suppose one benefit to being responsible for a motel beset by supernatural obligations is the ability to sleep late in the mornings. It felt good to be at least partially rested. I took a shower, washed my hair and I was even able to resist the urge to spike my coffee.

Just as I gathered enough courage to take another crack at the notebook, a piece of paper slid through my door. Immediately knew the author. Martina doesn’t text.

The note was characteristically brief: Cottage 13. Meet me in the basement.

Thirteen. Of course cottage number thirteen was associated with some terrifying supernatural force that required its payment. With a sigh I flipped open the notebook.

Number 13

Deer carcass (okay if not completely defrosted). Pack of cigarettes (any brand). Six pack of Labatt Blue.

Leave before sunset.

Payment schedule: every full moon

I spit out my coffee.

++

There is a small basement under the motel office that mostly consists of boxes and a couple giant, commercial-size freezer chests. When I arrived, Martina was already halfway inside one of them, muttering to herself, shifting various small packages out of the way.

“So what is it today, a frat boy sasquatch?”

She groaned and removed herself from the freezer with a wheezing cough.

“Glad to see you’re doing your reading.”

“Is this some sort of joke? Labatt’s? Cigarettes?”

“Oh, it absolutely is. Just not any joke of mine.”

“What do you mean?”

“Can you check and see if there’s a deer at the bottom of this?”

I nodded. Somehow, despite no longer having normal guests, the freezer was filled to the brim with packages of breakfast sausage, chicken breasts, and ice pops. It was so deep, I had to lower my entire upper body down to reach the bottom. Sure enough, there was a large mass wrapped in wax paper.

“Okay, I’m pretty sure it’s down here. It’s uh…pretty big.”

“That’s the last one we have. I need to follow up with the hunter’s club for our allotment for the year.”

“Let me do that. Taking over the reins, remember?”

Martina shrugged, but I could see a faint smile crease her face.

“Fine. The number is in the address book in the top desk drawer upstairs.”

“Consider it done! Easy. Now I don’t suppose we have a year’s supply of Labatt’s down here, do we? If not, I think there’s a pretty old six pack in my cottage’s fridge. Probably pretty flat, but do you think this thing will mind?”

Her face fell. Under the sleeves of her oversized sweatshirt, her fists were clenched, knuckles white.

“This…thing,” She began slowly, the anger deepening in her voice. “This beast enjoys mocking me.”

“You? Why? What could it possibly have against you?”

She stared at the freezer, face inscrutable, as if contemplating her next words or perhaps finding herself lost in the past.

“Help me with this damn deer.”

I haven’t spent my life around hunters or venison or any aspect of large scale meat storage. So while I had some idea that this wouldn’t be easy, I really had no idea how heavy this thing was going to be. Really heavy. We had a dolly and some rope, but it still took the two of us over an hour to haul it out of the basement and over to Cottage 13 for it to thaw. Both of us were sweating and out of breath. Martina took out a new package of the cheapest cigarettes she could find and threw it at the deer.

“Should we uhh…unwrap the meat and the cigarettes?”

“No!” She spat on the cottage steps and scowled a look so angry, I thought the cottage door would burst into flame. “Asshole can figure it out on his own.”

“We still have a few hours before sundown. I’ll bring over the beer, and then what?”

“You go home, lock your doors, and put these on.” She tossed me a pair of thick bangle bracelets of solid silver.

“Okay, sounds simple enough.”

“You would think so,” she muttered. “You would certainly think so.” She squinted down at the payment for Cottage 13, deep in thought. After a moment, she raised her head, a pained expression on her worn face. “Come on, Nora. It’s time I told you about Jake.”

++

I had placed the last piece of Cottage 13’s payment at the doorstep and Martina and I were now settled in my cottage, both of us with a nice glass of Chateauneuf du Pape, my addition to my late uncle’s alcohol supply, which, while copious, mostly consisted of scotch and bourbon. I have no problem with either spirit, however, I also prefer to have a greater variety of libations.

“You know I’m a creature of habit, Nora, but I must admit this French stuff is nice. Usually, I just stick to the tobacco.”

“See, this broadening of horizons goes both ways!”

I was eager to prod her, to bring out the notebook again and go page by page, beg for every story she could share. Let the poor lady enjoy her glass of wine.

But Martina also seemed anxious to speak.

“This is hard for me, of course. I’m not really a team player. When I first came up here, your grandfather told me that to do this job is to be alone. That was fine by me. I was your age, just got out of a bad marriage, didn’t think I needed anyone. The only person I had in my life was my mother, and, for better or worse, I got this stubbornness from her. So I did the job. I did it well. It didn’t matter that I was scared shitless half the time; we didn’t have any trouble. People were safe because of me and I was proud of that. When your grandfather died, your uncle left the management almost entirely to me. I was proud of that too. You know your Uncle Jimmy, he was a gentle soul. I respect him for understanding that he just couldn’t handle it.

By the summer of 1999, I had been doing the job for nearly thirty years. When I heard that my mother’s health was failing, I thought to myself that I could take some time. I deserved it. Your uncle was enthusiastically in favor of this. But I knew I couldn’t leave the management to just anyone, not even for a few days. Luckily, at that time we were far from the next tax day. But I needed the right person. After all, how many people do you think could ‘confirm receipt’ of The Wet Lady’s payment?”

My stomach churned at the memory. I shook my head.

“Your uncle had a friend whose son had a few weeks before he went back to school. Smart kid, a rising junior at Clarkson. Engineering. Had his head screwed on straight. His name was Jake Hubert. I decided to meet him and found myself impressed. He was tall, lanky, a bit goofy looking, but took direction well and seemed eager to learn. As you know, of course, these qualities are more requirements for normal employment rather than the true task at hand. But there Jake impressed me too. Jimmy had had a talk with him, about his views on …” She waived her hand impatiently. “You know, weird shit. Jake told him he grew up in a haunted house himself, that he took such things seriously. I was pleasantly surprised. I thought…”

Martina’s eyes clouded, her voice cracked with tears. “I’m not a religious person, but I say my prayers every night. I thought perhaps this kid was a sign from God that it was okay to let go, just for a little bit.”

I reached over and tried to take her hand, but she swatted me away.

“Anyway, I trained him the entire week before I left. He was very attentive and trustworthy, though I did catch him sneaking a few of my cigarettes. As I said, I had everything sorted, organized, ready to go. The day I left I stopped by the office one last time to hand him the keys. Jake was there, waiting, but with him was his girlfriend and a six pack of Labatt’s. Now I don’t care what anyone does in their private lives, but it was completely inappropriate even for a normal job, and even worse given the type of obligations we have here. I pulled him aside and tried to express my disapproval, but he claimed I was being too harsh, that of course she would be leaving any second, that she only came with him because she was waiting for her brother to pick her up. I didn’t believe him. You see, he never looked me in the eyes, which was odd for him. But I told myself, I had to trust someone for once in my life. And my mother was becoming sicker by the day. My mother gave birth to me on her own in Nazi-occupied Greece after her husband was shot for being in the Resistance. I sure as hell wasn’t going to let her die alone because of a horny college student.

I made a mistake. I see that now. Because in addition to giving your mother the key to the wrong cottage, Jake made another mistake. A fatal one. I knew it would be a full moon while I was gone, but I didn’t think that would be an issue. Up until then, the payments for Cottage 13 were the easiest of any. Just the deer. He just needed to put the deer at the front of the cottage and go home. That was it. That was all I usually did. Your uncle always made sure the motel was empty on full moons.

I later learned that Jake decided to take advantage of the empty motel and invite his girlfriend over. What happened next, I’m not entirely sure. The girlfriend told police that they had heard noises outside, so he decided to go out and investigate with the gun from the safe. She said it sounded like a big animal. She heard shots ring out, Jake screaming in terror, and then a horrible grunting noise. She was too afraid to leave the motel, a decision that saved her life. In the morning, the only thing she could find was the gun, some spent shell casings and a copious amount of blood and…flesh. Poor kid. The girlfriend gave her report to the police, but then immediately fled back to her parents’ house somewhere downstate. I received the call after returning to the hotel from my mother’s funeral.”

She took a deep breath and rubbed her temples wearily.

“They barely had anything to bury,” she said, her voice labored. “The next full moon, I was angry. I stayed over at the motel and listened to that miserable thing growl and moan and grunt all fucking night. In the morning, I actually found a note, written in blood on the steps of Cottage 13. The handwriting was all over the place, but I was able to make out ‘Next Time. Add pack of smokes. Six pack Labatts.’ I ripped it up immediately, but I knew we had to obey. That bastard was mocking me, mocking that kid it had ripped apart under my watch. Somehow it knew, it knew the kid had liked my smokes and that shitty beer.”

“What an asshole,” I added. “Do you know what it even is?”

She shook her head.

“No one who has seen it has lived to tell the tale. It is certainly noisy though, as you’ll figure out tonight. And it does not like silver.”

“Speaking of,” I shook my wrists making the bangles jingle. “I’m all set. I want you to go home and rest. I’m going to lock the door behind you and then complain about hearing this thing all night when I see you tomorrow morning. Got it?”

She nodded, but was clearly still reluctant. She did allow me to escort her to her car and see her off, just as the sky was beginning to deepen into the oranges of sunset. True to my word, I locked my door behind me. I figured I’d just put my white noise machine on and go to bed early.

As you might have surmised, given how things have been going around here, my night was not nearly that boring.

About an hour after sunset, I began to hear it. At first it was just heavy footfalls, accompanied by the occasional animal pant. Though I had been mentally preparing myself all day for the creature’s arrival, I was still filled with dread. At least I’m not outside. I double checked the locks on the front door. I retreated to the bedroom, at the back of the cottage. I had my laptop, a few podcasts and a decent internet connection to distract myself.

But then the howling began. Now I’m hardly a wildlife expert, but there’s no way this was a dog, or a wolf, or a coyote. The howling was deeper, more guttural, as though the sound was coming from the land itself. It wove its way through the property, accompanied by a wet growl, and then the scraping, crunching, tearing sound of the deer being consumed in front of Cottage 13. I sighed. Receipt of payment, I guess. This occupied the creature for some time, and I began to close my eyes and drift off to sleep.

However, just before I was able to do so, I was jolted awake. Something was compelling me to get out of bed. Outside, the sounds had ceased, giving way to a silence that was not all together peaceful. I rose and left my bedroom almost unconsciously, as though I were being pulled by an invisible lure. I tried to shake it off, but the more I fought, the more the pressure increased in my head, beckoning me forward. No, no, I’m not that stupid. I shook my head and raised my hands to my temples, the silver bangles brushing against me. I pressed them against my skin and fell to the floor as if suddenly released.

At that moment, a heaving roar erupted from the front of my cottage, wretched in its fury, followed by the force of a huge object crashing into my front porch and thudding against the door with a sickening crack. I clutched the silver even tighter, curled into a fetal position on the wood floor. The door held, but just barely. A humid, rancid stench filled the air of my cottage, like the breath of a rotting dog. Just beyond the wall beside me, I could sense the panting Beast, I could feel it’s anger. A primordial instinct of self-preservation overtook my human urge to shout and scream. Outside, it growled and scratched in frustration.

I don’t know how long I spent in that position, every hair on my body tensed as though the Beast would break through the door any minute. I thought of Jake Hubert. They barely had anything to bury. I couldn’t let that happen to Martina again.

Somehow, the hours passed and the sounds diminished until the air was clear and I could hear the crickets again. I fell into a fitful, frightened sleep, but when I opened my eyes, the welcome sun drifted into my cottage and I said a prayer of thanksgiving, kissing the silver still at my wrists. I picked myself up, limbs aching and sore from sleeping in such a cramped position.

With a sigh, I inspected the front door. Luckily, it seemed to not be that damaged. The real carnage, however, appeared when I opened it. The half-eaten deer carcass had been propelled with immense strength at the cottage, completely destroying my beloved screened porch in the process. The deer lay before me with clouded, questioning eyes, already covered in flies, pieces of wood and metal mesh protruding. The threat to my life now seemingly over, the enormity of the cost of clean up and repair made me ill.

I took out my phone and dialed Martina. I was happy to hear that she was groggy when she picked up—at least one of us had had a good night sleep.

“First of all, I’m completely fine.”

“Good. I’m sensing a ‘but’…”

I sighed, surveying the damage. From my standpoint I could glimpse the area in front of Cottage 13. The cigarettes were gone, but the cans of beer were untouched. The only destruction lay at my front doorstep. I swore under my breath.

“But …I’m going to need the number of a good carpenter.”

“That miserable son of a bitch.”

x

[Part 4]

[Part 5]

[Part 6]

[Part 7]

[Part 8]

[Part 9]

[Part 10]

[Part 11]