Chapter Two: The Beast was Hairy and Massive
With vision clouded by a thick wall of driven snow obscuring the light from the halogen lamp, I observed that the thing advancing slowly on top of the frozen snow was huge.
When it paused at the illuminated pole just outside the window its head was well above the blue light on the pole. That marker lamp is up 16 feet. Discounting the snow on the ground, it meant that the creature was probably as high as the basketball hoops in the gym at the University of Maine in Fort Kent - ten feet.
Picking up the telephone to contact the police department, I was midway through punching in the numbers when I realized the phone was dead. I checked my transmitter meters to make sure the radio station was still on the air. It was.
A tapping at the window froze me before I could think of what to do next. Because the snow was so deep, the thing at the window had to kneel in order to be able to see inside.
I realized then that the fur it was encased in was no more than a very heavy arctic type overcoat with an expansive hood that obscured much of the face of the improbable ‘visitor’. I could tell now that I had been mistaken about his height. He was probably no more than six feet.
Reaching inside his coat the man withdrew a square of cardboard with large printed letters….
“Please Help. My chopper went down. Let me in.”
I hadn’t heard a helicopter, though with the howl of the wind, it’s unlikely that I would have been able to. It’s also improbable that a chopper could have safely landed on the mountain during a blizzard.
But there he was. Outside my window with his breath coming out in ragged gasps that turned to icy vapor as they hit the glass. What could I do? Against my better judgment, because I knew no mortal man could have been on the mountain top that night, I let him in.
In winter, the only entrance to the cabin is via that outside set of stairs leading to the roof. I pointed towards the stairs and he understood. I walked up to the rooftop door and opened it. He came through and said, “Thank you for being here and for allowing me in.”
We walked down to the living quarters with no further dialogue. I was still shaken and in disbelief that anyone could have somehow found their way to the top of Ragged Mountain.
I led him to the kitchen and offered him a seat while I turned on the front burner of the LP gas stove and started a pot of coffee – percolated, the old fashioned way. Remembering that I was supposed to be delivering the local news, I dashed back to the studio just as the network broadcast was wrapping up.
I flipped on my microphone and gave a quick station ID and pushed a button that started a 60 minute transcribed program. With mixed excitement and fear, I darted back to the kitchen to converse with the impossible guest.
He had taken off his winter coat, gloves, hat and boots and was dressed almost the same as I was – flannel shirt, jeans, and moccasins. Looking around the room quickly I thought it odd that I did not see where he had put his heavy coat.
As we went in the living room to sit down and talk, I realized I had greatly exaggerated his height. He was actually almost the same as me, about five foot eight. That wasn’t too unusual, but I found it strange that he had a chin scar that was identical to mine.
I mentioned it to him. …Told him I got mine in a college wrestling match. He remarked that by coincidence, he acquired his in the same way.
“Really? What school did you go to?”
“The same college as you,” replied the visitor with a smile that was more a grimace than a grin.
He looked at me in disgust and with no provocation sprang at me. As he flew towards me I noticed that his face was identical to mine.
The ferocity of his charge knocked me from my chair. Using my wrestling skills acquired in four years of high school wrestling and four more at college, I took the attacker to the floor and tried to pin him.
With amazing strength and agility he countered my every move. As we grappled for a while it became apparent to me that the intruder had skills that were the exact equal of mine. In fact everything about him was identical to me.
“Who are you?” I demanded as he twisted out of the half nelson that I applied.
He stopped for a moment. I too froze in place. We were like statues with sinewy arms extended trying to strangle each other. Still motionless, he snarled.
“I am not you. But in a few seconds I will be you and you will be a frozen stick in a snow bank.”
As he spoke, his skin darkened. Millions of sepia hairs began sprouting and spreading weed-like over his torso which was also growing at the rate of a foot every few seconds.
In less than a minute he had transformed into a ten foot tall hirsute ape-ish creature. The thing advanced towards me. I made a grab for an axe that I use to split wood for the fireplace. The gorilla-like monster tore it from my hands and grasped the end of the handle in one ham sized paw and the blade in the other. Holding it high above his head like a trophy, he snapped it in two.
Fear glued me to the floor. I couldn’t run. I stood there waiting for death. The monster tossed the head of the axe away and jammed the handle in his mouth like an oversized cigar. With a loud grinding he began chewing the wooden end. As easily as a man, eating peanuts he gnawed away at the axe handle. He extracted it from his mouth, revealing a perfectly formed, wooden dagger.
Lifting his hairy arm above his head, he prepared to plunge the weapon deep into my chest when a blast of water hit him in the face. The behemoth looked wild-eyed and frightened. With a wimper as streams of water soaked him, the beast collapsed to the floor.
Dozens of tiny jets of tepid water kept drizzling down and whipped the beaten attacker into little more than a soaked rug.
Water.
The creature had been felled by water - just as gorillas in the wild are said to become immobilized by sudden rain showers and are unable to move, even when being attacked by lions.
You might well ask where the water came from. My coffee pot! I had lit the gas stove as you will remember. I put on the coffee but then forgot about it. Shortly after the water boiled away, the pot became over heated and the sensors in the cabin’s alarm system thought there was a fire. The sprinkler system was activated and poured a ’rain’ of terror on the fiend.
By the time the ogre had transformed back into a human shape, I had my revolver trained on it. When it poised to attack me again, I had no choice but to empty my gun into it.
Dragging the body to the roof, I pitched it into the snow. When the phone was back in service, I called the police department and you said that you would get here as soon as the weather allowed. So here you are.
“We were able to land today. But I am not sure that we will be able to leave because the weather is worsening. We may have to stay here a while,” said the Chief of the tiny Maine town of St. Ange and the surrounding unincorporated villages. He had arrived with a pilot and one of his deputies.
While the chief was interviewing the disc jockey in the radio studio, the pilot Jim Burroughs and Jack Daly, the deputy, were in the kitchen having coffee and a sandwich. Almost before they had finished their meal, the chief came bursting into the room.
“We’re done here boys. We have to leave now before the weather gets worse. I have finished the investigation. Nothing happened. The isolation of Ragged Mountain made the disc jockey a little crazy. He’s seeing things that are not really there. Get in the chopper now. We have to go right away.”
Deputy Jack Daly had never seen the chief so jumpy. In the years they had worked together, they had faced down guns before, as well as rowdy gangs, and professional mobsters. Chief Bert Daigle had never been as ‘flapped’ as he was right then, after a ten minute interview with a disc jockey.
“C’mon Jack. Snap it up. We gotta go!!” the Chief persisted.
“Okay Bert. I will just be a second, you go on up those stairs boss, and I will be right behind you. I’m sorry but you know I’m on that bladder medicine. I just have to use the head for a few seconds and then I’ll be along.”
“Make it quick. Burroughs is going to start the helicopter and I will wait for you at the top of the stairs.”
Daly headed for the bathroom but after the chief had started up the steps, he moved swiftly towards the radio studio and pushed open the door.
There was a body on the floor. A wooden dagger made from an axe handle was protruding from the corpse’s throat. Daly blinked his eyes and then blinked them again because he could not believe what he was seeing. The chief had been interviewing the disc jockey. But the dead guy on the floor was not the dee-jay. It was the chief, himself!
Daly went back to the kitchen and collapsed into a chair.
“Jack. Let’s go,” came the chief’s urgent call, shouted from the top of the stairs.
Daly pushed open his heavy coat and drew out his Glock.
“I am coming right now Chief”
Softly, he added, “I’m Coming for you, whoever and whatever you are.”