Sligger Island Read online

  Most of the townspeople knew her by name. She had been in town for almost a full year, so this did not surprise her. And she had come to know many of them. Including Sherrie and her staff at the restaurant Denise loved to frequent, the cashiers at the grocery store, a couple of the tavern owners and bartenders, and of course the young town sheriff, Mason Parker.

  He’s just a pup, she remembered thinking when she first met Sheriff Parker. But oh, what a cute pup. Something about that red hair and boyish but handsome face. There were times when she wanted to invite the sheriff over for a drink. Her moral compass took over, however, and she denied the thought knowing he was already taken by a cute little country girl. Of course, telling herself she could not have him only made him more appealing to her.

  Fortunately her work demanded most of her concentration. Tonight was no exception. Denise had been sketching various images of how she perceived the sliggers while in motion. From a natural standpoint these creatures did not make any sense. A reptilian tail, two thick, amphibious legs with webbed feet, six tentacles armed with a venomous tip, short snout with long, needle-like teeth, and enormous, bulbous black eyes. But based on the few complete specimens excavated from the destroyed lair, and eyewitness accounts from Mason and his girlfriend, Denise could imagine how the creature utilized its parts together to move in the water and on land. It was a solid example of evolutionary adaptation.

  But the million-dollar-question was how the hell it came to be.

  Denise had taken various samples and had them tested, but all the labs could ascertain was that the tissues were from different marine animals. Tests for radiation, chemical alteration, and environmental toxins all came back negative. This pleased the Environmental Protection Agency, but did nothing to shed light on how these beasts got here.

  Samples came back as known marine life – some cells were identified as squid, some as sand tiger shark, some as alligator – but not quite the same. It was as if God took different species of ocean life and molded them into one terrifying organism.

  How could this be? was the thought that kept hammering on Denise’s mind. There had to be an explanation, but the only theories she had were shot down by the lack of radiation, pesticides, or chemical waste in the tissue samples. So how could this be?

  With a sigh, she picked up her notebook and pencil. She resumed her sketching, again trying to imagine the mechanics of each part she drew. Maybe envisioning how they move would give her some kind of clue to their origin. Or maybe she was just running in circles, chasing a dead end.

  It was getting late. Denise knew that if she did not wind down and relax, she would be too keyed up to get any decent sleep. She clapped the notebook shut with both hands. After giving it just the slightest shake of frustration, she placed it on the coffee table for the night. Then she ran her hands through her long, black hair, pulling it back from her face and letting it fall between her shoulder blades. She needed a drink.

  She thought about wandering down to one of the pubs for a cocktail or two, but did not feel like exerting that much energy. She had wine at the house, and that would suffice. The only thing she would be missing was company.

  Denise walked to the kitchen and opened a bottle of pinot grigio. She poured a full glass, then returned to the living room to turn the TV on. After finding a satisfactory sitcom to watch, she settled into the couch and pulled her feet up next to her.

  Half an hour and two glasses of wine went by before she started thinking about the cute, young sheriff. If only he were lying on that couch with her, timidly kissing her, and she was slipping her hand beneath his shirt to feel his lean chest…

  Down, you cougar, she scolded herself. You’re forty years old; he’s like seventeen years younger than you.

  The guilt both shamed her and made her feel more sexual. Yes, she countered, but men are in their prime at his age. And the things I could teach him…

  She was not helping combat the loneliness of the night. Knock it off, she demanded of herself. Just relax, drink, and watch some mindless TV until you’re tired enough to go to bed. Denise took a sip from her glass and focused on whatever the TV offered to distract her swarming mind.

  CHAPTER 4

  Sal should have been tired by now. He had been on the open sea for practically an entire day searching for his stray crabbing pots. Most of them had been recovered this afternoon in the waters near Georgia, and he followed the currents north to find the remaining few. He was now somewhere off the coast of South Carolina. It was almost midnight, but his task was nearly complete. He would keep at it until all his crabbing pots were retrieved. Then maybe he would feel like sleeping.

  It was his own fault. He knew Hurricane Joyce was going to hit his Florida fishing waters, but he had procrastinated pulling his floating traps until the ocean got too choppy for his boat. He had no choice but to wait until the storm rolled back out to sea before collecting the pots he left out there. But now he was almost finished reclaiming them, and he would know better the next time a storm came.

  At least it was a pleasant night. The skies were essentially clear, showing an abundance of stars and the unfiltered light of the full moon. Sal was thankful for the smooth sailing tonight. His task would have been quite disagreeable had there been a cold, whipping rainstorm.

  The twenty-five-foot crabber chugged diligently through the Atlantic, its aluminum hull cutting through the rolling waves. The radar was picking up an island about a quarter of a mile from the port side. Sal also noted indications of nearby reefs, of which he would be sure to steer clear.

  What looked like one of his yellow floats was dead ahead. He went to the pilothouse and stopped the motor. While the boat slowed, he zeroed in on the float with the deck-mounted spotlight. Sure enough, that was his large writing on the plastic foam.

  Sal grabbed his boat hook and stretched it out over the water. He dipped the hook into the sea, just behind the twelve-inch float, and caught the buoy line. As he started pulling it toward the boat, what looked like a dark, shiny head popped up behind the float.

  What the fuck was that?

  It was only there for an instant, but Sal could have sworn he saw the head of some bizarre fish staring at him. Something with huge, black eyes. Whatever the thing was, it was gone now.

  With a shrug, Sal continued bringing his pot in. The boat hook brought the yellow plastic foam to the starboard hull. He leaned over the side and gripped the buoy line. Bracing his back muscles, he pulled the pot up from the depths. When he got the trap in his hands, he smiled as he found a small catch of rock crab inside.

  He felt something whip past his head in the air. It struck the gunwale next to him, causing him to turn his head. He saw what appeared to be a glistening tentacle cover the handle of the boat hook and suddenly yank it into the water.

  Stunned, Sal quickly stood up and backed away. Something bad was in the water. Something that wasn’t afraid to strike out at him and his boat. His instincts told him to get the hell out of there.

  He heard the striking sound again, and saw something draped over the gunwale. It was that tentacle again. Then another landed next to it. Then yet another. Sal was mesmerized, mystified, and afraid. He felt nothing but terror when he saw a monstrous creature climbing over the edge and into the boat.

  His mind screamed at him. It’s in the boat! It’s in the goddamn boat!

  In the light of the moon, Sal could see the unbelievable thing on his deck. It raised itself and stood on two stocky legs and a tail, showing a midsection with three tentacles on each side. Its head was round, with a wide snout full of thin teeth. And bulbous, black eyes that seemed to bulge from their sockets. It opened its jaws to let a sticky hiss escape its throat. Then it came for Sal.

  Get the harpoon! he urged himself.

  Sal turned and dove for the six-foot harpoon that was tucked inside the port wall. His hand gripped the steel handle just as something strong wrapped around his left leg. Horrified, he looked down to see one of the tentacles squ
eezing his thigh. It tightened with astonishing force, causing unbearable pain. He cried out.

  The creature lashed out at Sal, claws at the ends of its tentacles digging deep into the flesh of its victim. Then it clamped its wide jaws down on Sal’s shrieking face. The screams became gurgling gasps as the beast continued to bite and eat. After a minute, Sal’s voice was completely silent and his body was still.

  The beast retreated to the edge of the boat with its kill in tow. It tumbled into the sea with its prey, disappearing into the murky depths of the ocean.

  The Atlantic current took possession of the aluminum vessel, escorting it farther north along the open sea.

  CHAPTER 5

  “Good mornin’, Sheriff.”

  Mason’s eyes found Deputy Henner seated behind his desk. “Mornin’, Doug. How’s everything?”

  “Another day in paradise,” the recruit replied. He nodded toward the coffee maker. “I just made a pot.”

  “Cool.” Mason pocketed his keys and went to fill his mug. “I wonder what crime-fighting superpowers we’ll be needing to use today.”

  “There could be a tornado today,” said the deputy, playing along. “Might have to use our laser eyes to blast it apart.”

  “Or maybe a bunch of terrorists will drop in by parachute and we’ll have to break out the flying armored suits.”

  “Ya never know. I like to be prepared for anything…” Deputy Henner kept a straight face, gazing at the ceiling while taking a sip of coffee.

  Mason chuckled. He liked his two deputies very much. Both were sharp, helpful, and capable, but where Demarcus was ambitiously by-the-book, Doug was easy-going with a sense of humor.

  The phone only rang once that morning. It was the principal of the town’s elementary school, asking if Mason or one of the deputies would come in to talk to the kids about safety. Mason agreed to stop by, and scheduled it for the following week.

  After the phone call, Mason stretched. “Well, that’s about as much excitement as I can handle in here. Think I’ll go on road patrol for a bit.”

  Deputy Henner nodded. “Affirmative. I’ll try to keep things under control here.”

  It was a warm and sunny Friday morning. Mason paused for a moment to take in the blue sky, the various birdsongs, and the scent of jasmine flowers drifting in the air. The lovely day brought a contented grin to his face.

  He hopped into his squad car and started the engine. Driving east down Main Street, he took note of the inactive bank, people walking out of Rosie’s Creamery with their favorite ice creams, the rows of healthy magnolia trees on either side of the street, and finally the dock at the end of the street. Three fishing boats were tied to the moorings, lazily rocking in the gentle waves.

  Mason turned left where Main Street ended. He headed north along the coast, taking a heartfelt look at Sherrie’s Shack to his right. It was a small, humble restaurant, with corrugated metal roofing and weathered cedar shingles coating its walls. It would literally look like a shack if not for the large windows, festive awnings, and the brightly-painted sign above the entry door. Mason had spent much of his life in that restaurant. He loved Sherrie, the owner, for helping his mother raise him ever since he was little. And he loved Sherrie’s daughter very much too.

  He continued north to Pirate’s Bend. The pavement ran out and became a dirt road just before it curved to the right around the cove called Pirate’s Bend. The calm water in the cove was surrounded by rocky walls, except the open section leading out to the Atlantic Ocean. Having a familiar, uneasy feeling, Mason decided to stop the police cruiser.

  He parked the car on the edge of the dirt road. Then he turned the motor off and stepped out. He gazed out across the cove and could not help but sigh. This was where it all began. And ended.

  The first victim of the bizarre, new creatures was the old fisherman Earl Goates, whose damaged boat was found right down the rocks from where Mason was standing. Mason himself had a close call in the waters here, when he, Eaver, Danny, and Sheriff Steele were attacked on the police boat. Following the rocky shore to his right, Mason saw what used to be Pirate’s Point. It looked totally different now that Mason and the late Marty Bennett had blown it up to bury and kill the sliggers in their lair beneath. What used to be a prominent overlook to the ocean was now a short hill of boulders and rubble.

  A few of the creatures’ bodies had been recovered when the authorities and scientists came into town to investigate. Most of the specimens that were excavated were just body parts – a few tentacles here, a tail there, a couple of heads in between – but with the testimony of Mason and some of the other witnesses, the world was able to see what a complete sligger looked like.

  Thank God the story ended there. It would have been overwhelming to discover the murderous creatures had somehow survived and were still a threat. The town of Sweetboro could not go through that hell again.

  When he had reflected long enough, Mason got back into the squad car and drove to the end of the cove, where he could safely turn around. Then he headed back toward town.

  By the time he returned to the police station, Deputy Henner was getting ready to leave. The boredom of sitting in the station had gotten to him too, and now he wanted to go on a road patrol. Mason waved his deputy off and bid him good luck.

  He had only been alone in the station for a minute when Denise Baddington, the marine biologist from Florida, approached the glass door and came inside. Wearing khaki shorts and a white, button-up shirt, she gave Mason a little wave upon seeing him behind his desk.

  “Hi, Sheriff,” she said, removing her sunglasses. Her big, umber eyes looked bright. “How are you this fine day?”

  “Good, Denise, you?”

  “Can’t complain,” she replied. “Well, except for one thing.”

  Mason crossed his hands. “What’s that?”

  “Your sliggers. Those creatures are still driving me crazy trying to figure them out.”

  “They’re not my sliggers,” Mason chuckled, leaning back and raising a single eyebrow defensively.

  He’s so cute, thought Denise. She moved closer and sat atop Demarcus’s vacant desk to face him. “I’m stumped, I need to pick your brain some more.”

  “Shoot away.”

  “Well, from a genus standpoint, there’s no rhyme or reason. It’s like they’re a melting pot of various marine life species. Like a mutation of different DNA working together.”

  “Strange. But that goes along with what they look like and how they move in different environments.”

  “So then I thought mutation could be caused by pollution, environmental poisoning, something like that. But no toxic chemicals were found in the samples we tested. And we tested everything.”

  “Yep. No factories or plants anywhere around here that could produce any toxic waste.”

  “What about any nuclear power nearby?”

  Mason shook his head. “Hundreds of miles away.”

  Denise leaned forward to let her shirt fall away just enough to show a little bit of cleavage. “So you’re just as stumped as I am,” she sighed. “You’ve got to think of something that we’re overlooking,” she added, pulling her lengthy, black hair away from her neck and tossing it behind her.

  Eaver opened the glass door and entered the station. She immediately saw the marine biologist playing with her hair to expose her neck. She recognized the common act of flirtation, and her eyes hardened.

  “Hey, Eaver,” Mason said, standing up. He walked to her and gave her a kiss. “Whatcha up to?”

  Eaver held up a brown paper bag that she brought from the restaurant. “I thought you might like some lunch.”

  Mason’s eyes lit up. “Thanks, sweetie,” he said, taking the bag from her and setting it on his desk. “Smells delicious.”

  Eaver turned to acknowledge Denise. She was a nice enough lady, but there were too many times when Eaver had caught Denise eyeballing her man at the restaurant. “How are you today?” Eaver asked with a civil smile. “
It’s nice to see you again.”

  Denise nodded to the younger woman. “Hi, nice to see you too.” She knew Eaver and her mother, Sherrie, very well from her frequent dinner visits to Sherrie’s Shack. “Tell your mother I still think she has the best fried chicken in the world.”

  “Thank you, I’ll be sure to tell her.”

  Denise scooted off the desk and got to her feet. “Well, I better be getting back to the hospital. I fear we’ll never figure out how those dang creatures came to be.” She looked to Mason. “And call me if you can think of any other information you remember?”

  Mason gave a two-finger salute. “Will do.”

  “Alright. Goodbye, Sheriff. Eaver.” She waved to both of them and left the station.

  Eaver placed her hands on her hips. “So what’s that ol’ hussy want with you?”

  “What? Denise?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Nothin’, Eave. Just picking my brain about the sliggers, still trying to figure ‘em out.”

  “Mm-hmm. I’m figuring her out.”

  Mason laughed out loud. “You think she’s got the hots for me or something?”

  Eaver just stared at her oblivious boyfriend.

  “You’re being silly,” said Mason. “She’s just friendly, that’s all.” He stepped closer to Eaver and wrapped his arms around her. “Besides, you know I love you. Even if she was sweet on me, I’ve already got my girl.”

  Eaver smiled and kissed him. “Got that right,” she whispered. “Now go eat your lunch before it gets too cold.”

  “Okay.” Mason sat at his desk and pulled his meal from the brown bag. It was a barbeque chicken plate, with coleslaw and potato salad. He set a napkin on his lap and dug into the chicken.

  “Cinch put extra sauce in there, ‘cause he knows you like it that way.”

  “I do like my barbeque saucy,” he admitted proudly. After another bite, he asked, “So how would you feel about going out in Danny’s boat tomorrow?”