by
M.A Dos Saints
The rain torrents down in sheets making a droning hum on the roof of Mr. Babs’ BMW. He peers through the windshield with the hope that the dark gray clouds thins enough to see the blue sky. Yet, Babs is more worried about getting mud on his leather shoes. Through the rain’s white mist, headlights of a car pulls to a stop. Carter, Babs assumes. By state law, a driver has to turn his lights on during rainstorms. He’s been waiting for this appointment for weeks. He, Babs, wears his dark blue sharkskin suit. It’s the type that reflects a shine. Now that the appointment comes, it had to rain, he thinks. The headlights cut and the car disappears behind the rain. The door opens and a black umbrella stretches up. He takes out his black umbrella but fails to open it in time. His Rolex is soaked with beads on the crystal glass while his dress sleeve sticks to the skin. “Gosh,” He steps out with his left foot and lands with a squish. What he thought was soft grass turned out to be thick mud. “Dammit to hell!” Babs says. He hopes that the rain won’t affect this meeting with the consultant.
Babs has been anxious about Mr. Carter. He knew the consultant as shrewd, to the point, very bright with accounting, and detail-oriented. Yet, Carter is quick to cut his loss on those he deems liable, reckless, and unprofessional. Babs even heard stories that Carter can see into the future. But Carter would probably insist that he’s not a seer but a logician, Babs believes. The rain lightens up to a drizzle. He manages to kick some of the mud away before seeing the appraiser. He and Carter shake hands under their umbrellas.
“A lot of people say you can see into the future?” Babs opens up with small talk while shaking the man’s hand.
“If that were true, then a ghost can give me the numbers for the Powerball.” The two men roar in laughter. “I’ve always been leery about the supernatural, though. How do you explain that in bureaucratic terms is something that makes me sleepless at night.”
“It’s illogical because as long as I can slice my hand through it, they don’t exist.” Says Babs. Yet, Carter just smiles back. Although Babs laughs at it, he secretly feared the supernatural, not because he’s superstitious, but because he has always been afraid to look like a coward.
“Please call me Frank,” Carter says after a momentary silence.
Babs considers him a comfortable dresser. Frank wears a dark green checkered sports coat together with khaki pants. Also, Carter has a crimson red tie around his neck (it’s the same material as the coat) over his white dress shirt. To Babs, he never liked wool because he thinks it gives a dirty appearance. The downpour now drizzles, and the sky is a light gray. As Carter folds his umbrella, Babs sees that he’s white and bald. But Carter’s baldness is at Babs’ forefront because he can see some sun rays bounce off with a shine. The man is tall and muscular enough gives the impression that one flex will tear his coat apart. He doesn’t wear glasses like Babs, but for a jacked-up guy, he’s quite egg-headed.
“To what I owe the pleasure?” Carter’s eyes flare a bit with impatience, and he motions over to hear his name. Babs knows he has a bad habit of sticking his chin up. For many, it turns people off, he thinks. Babs does so because he’s short and convinced he’ll look taller. But, to Carter, that habit makes him look like a snob. At this moment however, Carter implies for him to introduce his first name—Babs rests his hands on his pocket and stares at the ground,
“I’m Kortney. Uh, Kortney Babs.” Babs hates his name, and its implication is no secret. In grade school, the boys always snickered in the back classroom. Carter moreover observes that the man is not local as his brown skin is as dark as maple syrup. He has a long, sharp, pointed nose. The bridge of his round-rimmed glasses rests on the bony middle. His hair is straight and silky, making him think that he’s Pakistani yet Americanized.
“I thought we can check out this green stretch here.” Babs points to a large green pasture. “I need your expertise if this is good real estate.”
“It’s near the highway, which is a good location. It’s a legit startup with a steady attraction.” Carter takes a look at the large green field then tests Babs to see what type of person he’s working with, “Say, if you like golf, maybe after this we can work on our short game. I haven’t gotten the time, you know wife and kids.” Babs laughs aloud, and Carter joins, yet he concludes that Babs is a douche-bag.
“The rain cleared. We can go and see the property itself. I believe that the foreclosed land was a farm. The bank is anxious to sell it to the first buyer that tickles the interest.” Babs says and laughs together. “That’s where I’ll need your expertise.” They both depart from their parking spot.
A locked gate is ahead. The iron bars are chewed away by rust. Carter unlocks it and pushes forward. He hears the hinges scream and smells rust in the air. The two look around the farm, both take mental notes on the rundown henhouse for chickens, old sacks of hay dumped on the driveway, and a hay shack with an inwardly collapsed roof. They walk to the main house. Outside, graffiti block letters outlined in black and filled in with a bright blue—reminding the pair that vandals visited before them. Inside is a large hole on the floor. The old wallpaper fades into a yellow color while it slowly cracks into leafy flakes. “We can bulldoze this, along with the henhouse.” Says Babs.
“Well, Mr. Babs. According to my calculations, an indoor shopping mall here fits perfectly with the budget. The profits outweigh the cost. But,” With contractors, accountants, and consultants, they always have a reservation about every project being a downturn, Babs thinks.
“Well if it helps, I did a little homework and found out that the previous owner fell behind his mortgage payments, failed to report sanitary conditions, and what have you. What I mean to ask is for your but?”
“Why would a farmer, after making good money, just pack his things and leave? If you were scanning through public records, you did see that his real estate was going up because of the location. But with him leaving, and forsaking a fixed income, tells me something isn’t right.”
The two walk outside, because Babs is convinced he’ll lose his patience and it’ll evolve into an argument. For Babs, fresh air is the remedy to deescalate an argument. Standing outside to take a deep breath can give you a cool head. Yet, Carter spots a shack sitting at the fork of a Y intersection. The small building appears to have two windows on its sides. The windows are boarded up with two rows of long plywood. Between the two rows is a narrow space. While Babs peers at the shed, the two men shift their attention and follow the sound of a diesel engine. A white pickup truck pulls in and crawls on the soft shoulder before braking. A heavyset woman walks to the tailgate, shuffles things around and grabs three empty buckets. Her swagger makes her look like she swings side to side like a pendulum. It’s probably her weight, Babs thinks. She walks up to a wall and unscrews something that sounds like squeaking metal. Water then dumps into the bucket, making a droning sound. This is evicted property, Babs reflects. She has no right to this land. But then, the woman peaks through the planks. The pair then become suspicious of squatters.
“I have a few questions for the lady there. Care to join?” Carter asks. Babs trails behind.
Carter gets a good look at the woman who is hauling buckets of water and opens the tailgate before saying, excuse me out loud and three times. The woman stops, turns, and set the two large plastic buckets down. This is private property, Carter says. You can’t be loitering here without permission. The large woman picks up the buckets, hauls them to the bed of her truck and then pulls the handle of a plastic cooler, planting it on the floor. The two men hear a miniature rattle of ice cubes inside. She swings the roof open, both men cock their heads when they smell a putrid odor. They gaze at four gray slices of steak above the ice. A fly buzzes by. She swats it away, grabs one of the rotten cuts, and like a frisbee, throws it through the plank’s parallel space. She throws the other three at the same spot. She then hauls everything back, turns around and crosses her arms, asking them what they want.
“That shack isn’t a dumpster for rotten meat! It’s private land, owned by the bank. You have no right, nor deed, to walk in here and use the water pumps.” Says Babs.
“You really don’t know, do you?” She reaches for a handshake, introducing herself while telling them her name, “Loretta, Barnes,” she points to a house with her thumb and says that she lives there—which is not far from the abandoned farm. “I’m the current heir as she has been with the family for generations.” To Babs, Barnes’ mannerisms reminds him of Kathleen Turner. Barnes pauses for a moment, “I use to know Al before he left.” Here, Carter’s curiosity change as this is the one factor he needs to complete his calculation.
Carter asks about any scandals, divorce, crime, or things out of the ordinary. As far as he knows, no internet search nor public record points to a controversy. “Al moved because he had a run-in with his oldest son. They aren’t speaking—” As Babs struggles to listen, he feels a presence inside the shack. He hears a pair of soft steps making its way to the odorous steaks and drag it to the farthest corner. Yet, Babs sees that the front entrance is boarded up the same way while the planks meet at the corners. Except that the bottom board that blocks the corridor is long and touches the ground. He further realizes that the planks are fresh with new, hammered, steel nails. There’s rotting wood behind, but something tells him that the way Barnes strolls to this shack might have something to do with the bordering it up part. Babs tries to peek between the narrow rows of the long plywood. Barnes stops him.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Babs gives his apologies while Carter presses on, asking why Al left.
“For some reason, it looks like that this shack was originally a sentinel checkpoint for security or a county sheriff. But it’s not, and it’s a wedge on this road. This shed belongs to the farm that’s behind it. When we buy this land, this shack will be bulldozed with the other structures too. Unless maybe you can tell me why this Mr. Al has had the shack in the first place?”
“I told you before, it was because of his oldest son. No one is supposed to be here except me. Let’s say that this abandoned shack doesn’t care if it makes sense in your paperwork. Its shunned. Cursed if you folks want to call it that. But no one is supposed to look into the shack, much less stand near. You can have the land, but the shack stays.” Barnes walks away, swaying side to side while Babs shift his eyes right to see what’s inside.
At first, he catches the sight of hay, a pitchfork, and a rusty shovel, but on one corner appears an inky darkness. Babs tries to focus on the shadow but feels that Barnes is about to shout. He stops and turns his neck, but she climbs in the truck and drives off. That was weird, Babs reflects. He goes back to staring while appearing less obvious.
Babs searches for the dark shadow and rests on it. He tries to focus on it again and follows an outline that appears to look like a human child. The boy hugs his knees to hide his face. He’s very shy so he squeezes tighter. Yet, Carter claps his hand on Babs’ shoulder. He shudders, then Carter feels terrible for surprising him. “We got to go,” says Carter. Babs glares again, focusing on the shadowy corner, but this time he only sees the concrete wall.
***
Days pass by. Kourtney Babs successfully buys the land from the bank and prepared to sell allotments to potential customers. Yet, he overhears from the locals the sightings of a Cenwolf. (Or whatever a Cenwolf is, He thinks.) It’s more often than usual, Babs reflects. The sightings from the locals bothers him. From the surface, he says that what these people say is bad for business, but deep down, Babs feels the fear crawl through his nerves. That trembling can make him wake up with a night sweat. Still, he continues to ignore folklore as silly stories.
Babs walks into the former farmland. It’s all under construction. He wears a hardhat while dressing himself in a gray sharkskin suit. (The sun reflects on it, giving it a silver look.) As he arrives, all construction workers greets him with a sullen look. For a moment, the sight falls into a silence. What’s everyone’s problem? Babs contemplates. The other day, the schedule was set back because they had difficulty digging through stubborn rock yet came across burial sites. He remembers telling them to pour concrete over, Now that Babs thinks about it. If they keep looking at me that way, they can kiss their paychecks goodbye!
Mr. Carter is not far, as he’s seen talking to architect contractors while cradling large blue poster papers. Babs walks over, shake hands with Carter, and introduces himself to the contractors. Carter goes over the project with Babs, who tells him they completed most, if not all, of the project. Babs asks if they bulldozed the shack. Carter pauses, dismisses the contractors and turns his shoulders to him.
“According to the bank,” Carter says, “they referred me to a lawyer. When I got in touch with the lawyer, he told me by local and state law we can’t bulldoze without a formal, notified eviction. That translates that you have to go there and hope to Gosh that someone answers. Or staple the paper on one of the planks to legally evict it/ If empty, though.”
“Where are the eviction papers?” Babs scowls.
“You sure you don’t want to call the sheriff for this?” Carter asks, yet Babs reminds him that there’s no point if no one lives there. It’s just a stupid formality “But what if there is something there, not someone?”
“For the last freaking time, Carter. There’s not a Cod-damn soul in there!”
“Then you know what that means. By law, you have to staple the eviction papers on one of the planks.” Carter hands him the eviction papers inside a plastic sheet pocket. The white paper has three sheets of blue, pink and yellow at the back. Babs takes it and looks up at Carter. “ Mr. Babs. I’m sorry to upset you but what if … What if, you know if it’s true—”
Kourtney Babs explodes in a verbal tirade, “There is no such thing as a Cenwolf, werewolves, or Centaurs. They exist only in fairy tales that suppose to scare kids. Give me those stupid papers and let put this stupid formality to rest!”
Mr. Carter hands it to Babs. “Well, for the record, if you go over there and staple it. Be sure that I think you very brave for doing so.” Carter laughs at his own joke, but Babs lets the air sink into an awkward silence.
Babs and Carter park out front of the shack, climb out and slam the car doors simultaneously. For a moment, Babs swears he hears a growl. The two men freeze and shake their heads. Its early twilight. The sun is down, the sky is a hazy light blue while the moon is a full ripe yellow that reminds Babs of cheese. Like last time, Babs feels Barnes watching him. Yet now he pictures her in his mind walking outside and rocking side to side. Babs knows that Barnes sees him and Carter. Babs hears a fleeting yell from her making him think he’s warning him not to look inside the shack. He turns, but Barnes only stares. He doesn’t know what she’s doing, whether she’s picking up mail from the mailbox or gathering fruits from her tomato garden. Babs walks closer, remembering the planks because they’re easy to spot but pays special attention to the gray concrete blocks that holds the shack and wonders about its sturdiness. What is this shack hiding? Babs thinks.
In the deep black shadows, Babs sees horse hooves. The tail bristles like a brush. At first, he thinks to himself, what is a horse doing inside this shack. The last time they were here, he little remembers smelling such a musty scent. He follows the horse’s body. But Babs expects to see the horse’s neck—because he’s peering through the shadows—Babs only sees the upright ears of a wolf. What is a wolf and a horse doing in the same space? Better yet, why is there a wolf on top of a horse? But Babs feels that paralyzing fear that’s felt at the fingertips. Carter moves to staple the eviction paper. But, blood drains from his face, all the while momentarily freezing and slowly stepping back.
A deep growl comes from the darkness of the wolf’s head. Babs smells the musk and sees a row of sharp ivory teeth. What looks like a snout raises its lip back. The growling escapes between the narrow spaces of its white teeth. Yet, Babs sees the teeth from the side, so he moves around to see what Carter saw. This has to be an elaborate prank, Cenwolf’s are exactly that, fairy tales to scare kids. Yet, there’s a feeling that once he sees whatever his colleague saw, he won’t ever be able to unsee it again. He snags the papers from Carter and attempts to staple it at the front plankboard. But then, Babs locks his knees and shivers all over. The man stares at a pair of golden yellow eyes. It follows Babs’ movements and does little to hide its fierceness. It doesn’t blink but shies behind the darkness. The growl comes back, but louder. The face of a white and gray wolf motions forward from the darkness to the moonlight. The head sits on a broad muscular built.
The wolf flexes its snout and bares its sharp fangs. The growl escapes between the teeth which the warm air hits Babs in the face. The stench is unbearable for Babs to tolerate. He observes how its fur covers its top muscular figure. Its arms appear like large, bulging biceps thick forearms, connected to round shoulders and thick trap muscles. Its fingernails are as black as obsidian. The creature must be an undiscovered animal, Babs tries to rationalize. Whatever it is, it’s a huge animal. The Cenwolf motions its heavy arms and slashes at the planks. The blow knocks whatever dust that settled on the plywood and puffs outward—creating a shockwave which Babs flies off of his feet. Babs lands on the grass on the back of his head—but not hard enough to stretch the eviction paper. The wolf-horse doesn’t take it lightly. The creature bellows making Bab’s ears ring and sting. Its voice is deep, and it’s bark is deafening. Babs can feel the thick saliva raining on his face. His eyes search for help, but Carter just stands there helpless. The Cenwolf forms a fist and pounds against the planks. As the last hit connects, the plywood explodes outwardly into a cloud of sawdust.
The Cenwolf escapes while his hooves momentarily trample Babs but not as hard as he expects. The wolf then gallops in full speed and rave its obsidian claws at Mr. Carter. Quickly, Carter shields his face with a county codebook that’s as thick as a phonebook. Swinging with the right hand, the impact connects. The weight and force toss Carter off the ground like a toy doll. The sharp ends pierce right through, tearing most of the pages with a gaping, shredding impact. Carter lays on the dirt, touches his face and closes his eyes while sighing with relief that the swing didn’t destroy his face. Carter looks at the Cenwolf and feels that this is unreal. It moves frantically, swinging its arms violently while picking up one of the many thick broken planks and bites through it with little effort. It shuffles around, stands on its hind legs and howls to the full moon. The Cenwolf sticks it’s nose in the air and smells a scent. It’s eyes locks to a scent and gallops away. Now I get it, he thinks. It’s a werewolf with the body of a centaur. That’s why they call it the Cenwolf. The neighborhood’s boogieman. Carter feels bleeding coming from the back of his head. It feels no worse than a scab. He catches his breath again.
Mr. Babs reaches for his phone and dials 911. He hears the operator through the micro stereo. But, the man struggles to describe what happened before he faints. He tells the operator that there’s a wild animal. But, the operator asks what kind. He closes his eyes because he doesn’t know how describe something he doesn’t believe. The last thing he hears is the rhythm of galloping hooves against the pavement. It runs off to a tree-line, Babs thinks before he drifts away to a blackout.
***
The shack was bulldozed along with the old farm. The construction workers had a field day when Kourtney Babs told the supervisor someone lived there. As they unearthed, they found only hay and rusty tools. The patch of land was then converted to an entrance while a tall indoor shopping mall is named in a ribbon ceremony, The Convenient Square. It’s architecture is modern and spacious on the inside. Yet at night, the same shoppers report to security that they hear a galloping horse. After the sightings, articles from news apps come out with stories of farms close by that a wild animal mauled their livestock. The article is titled all in dark bold caps, Feathery Massacre—while a picture at the bottom front shows chicken feathers stuck to dry pools of blood. Underneath it says, “third time this month.”
It’s been a year after the attack, and Carter sits in the waiting room for a follow-up. He thinks about Babs skipping the appointment and shakes his head. In that same year before he and Babs were discharged from the hospital, Kourtney was in a concussive coma. It wasn’t the blow but shock that caused him to shut down. He remembers waking up with bandaged wraps around his forehead. He suffered head bleeding like Carter. But it’s the concussive blow to the head that worries their doctors. But, Babs sits up and yells at the top of his lungs, “Cenwolf! Cenwolf!” A team of nurses pin him down while the doctor reminds him that he’s safe. (The doctor feel that mild head trauma contributed to hallucinations of this Cenwolf.) But Babs feels embarrassed and later decides to skip the follow up all together. Carter tried to talk about what happened, but Babs quickly showed signs that he doesn’t want to. Carter foresaw this type of uncertainty in his calculation as this was his missing model.
Frank Carter takes out a notepad and pencil but rests the eraser on his lip. He then writes as if he’s in a hurry. As Carter scrawls, a frantic yell creates an episode. He stops and cranes his neck to the noise. Carter thinks that to be a good mathematician, you never conclude on assumptions. He makes out the yell. Pretty soon, he doesn’t have to listen closely to the panic as a patient screams, “Cenwolf! Cenwolf!” sorely from the back of his throat. A female nurse in blue mutters by, “The fourth time this week,” and scowls. Frank then goes back to his scrawling.
He includes the Cenwolf in an abbreviated model. Carter writes in equations because he believes it saves time. In college, he was a believer of the Chaos Theory—where something small becomes big (like the splitting of an atom that can cause an atomic bomb explosion, that kind of thing). Before, Carter only included the old farm. But now he has an answer to his ‘but.’ Carter includes the Convenient Square Mall. The probability is now conclusive. Eventually, the mall will be the Cenwolf’s new shack.
***
In the dead of night, the moon floats in the black sky as a giant orb of light. Hooves trod towards a cliff. The Cenwolf pushes a branch away and ducks through the closely spaced, tall, pine trees. It stops at the edge and stares down on what was once its home. Hot vapor sizzles out of his nose. The Cenwolf rocks back to stand on its hind legs and cries a long melancholy howl. It then turns around and gallops into the night.