Today in the Café, I am going to allow you to feast your eyes upon a short story I have in the works. I may decide to make it a book or even a series one day. The title of this unfinished work is, "The Catcher". This is a horror story and I feel that it is time for the world to meet a new horror antagonist. For such a long time everyone has heard of Michael Myers, Jason Voorhees, Freddie Krueger and the like, well now I think it is time for the world to have a new killer unleashed. Who is "The Catcher"? I bet you are wondering what makes him so special that he deserves a spot with these fiends, well read the story and decide for yourself.
Happy Reading
The Catcher
Chapter 1
A Bloody Fourth of July
Over the course of many years there always seemed to be something that haunted the souls and minds of the people in a little town called Turlington Row. For you see this little town had its share of treacherous murders and heinous acts. On the surface, the town seems like a quaint area that anyone would love to call home. Nevertheless, the town’s people knew that once you became an inhabitant of Turlington, you would never be able to leave.
The murders began on a hot Fourth of July summers night in 1969. Everyone in the town had gathered for a lovely fireworks display. The air was thick and the spirits were high as the townsfolk cheered watching the wondrous lightshow. While everyone’s focus was on the show, a mysterious dark figure was taking stalk of everyone in attendance. Lurking in the shadows this cretin was seeking whom he could devour.
The town’s people continued to laugh with glee, eating watermelon and enjoying various other foods that were prepared. Just as the squeals of excited little children filled the air, there was a shrill cry for help that began to arise in the distance. “Help… someone shouted. “Help… I don’t want to die!”
The whole town began to turn their focus in the direction of the cries. It sounded to be that of a young woman whose voice seemed to be coming from the woods nearby. “Everyone…” Turlington’s Sheriff bellowed. “We are going to spilt up and find out who that person is. I want all of the men folk to gather your weapons and flashlights; we are going to put an end to this once and for all.”
The women and children began to huddle together as the men hurriedly gathered whatever gun or knife they could find. Just as the search party began to enter for the woods, there was another cry. “No… don’t come closer, he will kill you too.” It was the voice of the girl, this time she sounded as if she was gasping for breath.
As the men entered the wood with their weapons and flashlights drawn, they began to see pieces of what seemed to be white cloth hanging from the tree limbs. Deeper and deeper into the woods they went when suddenly they stumbled upon a figure that lay curled in a fetal position. It was the young girl, who appeared to be in just her undergarments, covered in blood. “Quick let’s take her to Doctor Harris!” The men cried.
“Don’t move her, she is a sacrifice.” An old man, short in stature with a bowed back, wispy gray hairs and a walking cane approached the young pale redhead girl and knelt down beside her. “She should have never come to this town. You know it happens every year around this time.”
“What are you babbling about? We must hurry before she dies!” The Sheriff shouted. The men all agreed and began to lift her lifeless body up from the ground. “You bring her back into town from this wood and he will come after your children and your wives! Is that what you want?” The old man cried as he pointed his walking cane.
“Look the legend of the Turlington Catcher is just that, a legend. Now leave this be MacArthur.” The Sheriff replied. As the men carried the young girl to the town’s only doctor, the old man began to pray a strange prayer, almost chant like aloud. “Cover us, don’t leave us, he will come in the night, leaving Turlington in a fright. Watch out, look out, all will see, The Catcher is real and not make-believe.”
Once his chant was over the men made it to the town doctor and began to pound away at his door. Since this was a rather small town Doctor Richard Harris performed all of his duties directly from his own home. “What is the matter?” Doctor Harris said finally answering in his robe, with his glasses falling from his nose.
The men still had the young girl held up as if they were pallbearers. “We found her in the woods. She had begun crying out for help just as the celebrations were taking place. “The Sheriff explained.
“Well don’t just stand there bring her in.”
As the men walked into the good Doctor’s home his lovely wife Abigail slowly walked downstairs and stood in awe. They placed her body on what appeared to be a gurney lined up in the hallway against the wall. The young girl was barely breathing and her lips were turning blue.
“I would like to thank you gentlemen for bringing her, but now I must ask you all to wait outside.” Abigail calmly said as she escorted the men to the door.
“You promise you will tell us of her condition as soon as there is a change?” a man questioned.
“Yes, my husband will take good care of her. I will inform you if there is any change.”
The men walked out to the front porch and began to peer in through the window as Doctor Harris began to examine the young girl. “There will be no more bloodshed!” One of the men shouted, raising his rifle into the air. “Next time we will be ready!”
*****
Several months had passed since the young girl was murdered in the woods. Many townspeople began to fear that they too would be the next victim. The old man MacArthur began to hold meetings in the town square hoping to educate people about the killer and to let them know that this sort of incident would definitely happen again.
“You young whippersnappers must realize that before many of you were born, there were quite a few killings that took place right here in this very towns square. Every Fourth of July individuals would notice that someone who was new to this town would have their child taken as a sacrifice…..” The crowd listened intently as the elder ranted on. The Sheriff headed towards the square; he stopped and decided to hear what the old man had to say.
He stood silently, taking in every word but it still seemed like the killer he spoke of was not real. The more he talked the more the Sheriff began to think that the old man just loved having the attention, since he was the only surviving member of the town’s original founders.
“The blood shed began when I was just a young lad. My mother, my father and I traveled a long ways with many other families from Scotland in hopes that they would have success in this new world. Once in America we settled in a place called Turlington, Nebraska. All seemed lovely when we first arrived. We happened upon an area that was nothing but vast land and fields of trees as far as the eye could see…” MacArthur suddenly took a deep sigh and then lowered his head. “This was a lovely place….that is until the killings. I figured that whoever lived here before we arrived didn’t like the fact that strangers had moved onto their territory.”
The look of fear spread across everyone’s faces while MacArthur continued. The Sheriff wanted to put a stop to the old man but he decided against it. He stood back and let him finish telling his tall tales.
“So….MacArthur, who do you believe lived here before you arrived?” The Sheriff asked trying to mask his chuckles.
“I know you like to poke fun at an old man like me, but I’m going to share my story in the hopes that some of you may be spared the heartache of having a loved one killed.”
“Let the old man tell us what he knows!” A woman shouted from the crowd. “I don’t want to lose any of my children.”
“Alright then, carry on.” The Sheriff replied as he tipped his hat in MacArthur’s direction.
“I suppose I will just begin where I left off…. Well when we arrived here, we wasted no time building our cabins and forming square. The official day of our town dedication was the Fourth of July. That day we had a celebration, a large bone fire and music just as we still do today. In the midst of the festivities, a number of other youngsters and I decided to venture off into the wood, not knowing what dangers laid ahead. I can remember as if it were yesterday the sound of rustling leaves and the shrilling cry from one of the boys carried away into the treetops.
“Taken up into the trees?” The Sheriff interrupted. “Since when are the victims hoisted up into the trees. The young girl killed a few months ago was lying upon the ground. It was clear that she was never taken anywhere else but the edge of the woods.” He snickered and began to walk away.
“Sheriff……haven’t you ever wondered why the child had wood splinters in her feet and hands?” Abigail Harris questioned, as she arrived late to the town gathering. “I watched as my husband used tweezers to remove huge pieces of wood from that girls’ hands and feet. Now I don’t know if what MacArthur says is true, but I do believe that somehow that young girl tried to climb up a tree to get away from her killer.”
“It is The Catcher and I assure you, that before the days over, another victim will be claimed!” MacArthur shouted.
“Enough of all this nonsense! I let you ramble on because of the respect I have for my elders, but this gathering is going to have to disperse right this minute!” The Sheriff said shooing the crowd.
MacArthur looked on in disgust as the crowd began to leave and head back to their homes. “Sherriff you will be sorry that you didn’t let me finish warning the townspeople. The next victims blood will be on your hands.”
“Leave now MacArthur or I will be forced to hall you in.”
“Alright Sheriff, there is no need to throw an old man like me in jail.” MacArthur nodded his head and walked off with the rest of the villagers.
After the town square was empty, the Sheriff remained behind thinking about what the Doctor’s wife said. It is rather odd that she had splinters in her hands and feet. He thought. He began to shake his head trying to escape the possibility that maybe there was a bit of truth to the tales. As he continued to look around the square and eerie wind began to blow from the direction of the woods. The sky began to grow dark as if the sun was setting prematurely. “That’s strange, it’s the middle of the day and not a cloud in the sky, yet it looks like night is approaching.” The Sheriff said aloud with no one near to hear.
A sense of fear washed over him as he lifted his head noticing the sun had disappeared and all that remained was a void, Cimmerian sky. Suddenly the sound of leaves rustling arose from the woods. The noise entranced the Sheriff, forcing him to become mesmerized and compelled to seek out the sound. He began to journey into the woods not knowing what he was going to find.
The wind began to whip all around the Sheriff as he held his hat tightly on his head and clutched his gun, which was in its holster. As he contined to walk he heard a sound, something like a low shuddering whisper call out to him. Sheriff…. Sheriff. The voice made him withdraw his gun. “Who is there? Show yourself!”
Branches began falling from the trees, yet there was a stillness. The Sheriff began to feel that someone was watching his every move. The darkness was so blinding that he could hardly see, so he quickly reached into his chest pocket and found a single match. Once the match was lit he looked to see if there was anyone among the trees. “This is nonsense, there is no such thing as “The Catcher.” As those words emerged from his lips, a loud thud arose directly behind him.
The Sheriff was greatly surprised when he turned around to see that there was nothing there. “What is going on….is there someone here?” Sweat began to moisten his brow and his lips began to quiver. “I know someone is here, just show.…” Before he could finish his statement he received a blow to the head . The Sheriff remained unconscious while being hoisted over the shoulders of a shadowy figure. The figure that seemed to blend into the darkness was well over seven feet tall. Its frame resembled that of a man. The stealthy figure carried the Sheriff high up into the treetops and placed his body down in what appeared to be a nest-like dwelling.
The figure loomed over the Sheriff, staring directly into his shuteyes. Its nostrils flared as he drew in the scent of the musky man. Standing to its feet, the figure reached for what appeared to be a long dagger strapped to its leg. After unsheathing the dagger, it turned toward the Sheriff and paused, as if it were contemplating whether to kill him or release him. In a moment of uncertainty, the figure began to speak in a low guttural tone. “Man….awaken.” The figure, now still; watched as the Sherriff began to stir about. The Sheriff’s eyelids began to flutter as he regained consciousness.
Still in a daze and rather woozy he noticed the figure standing before him. Because he had suffered such a tremendous blow to the head, he assumed it must have just been a figment of his imagination, until the figure placed its colossal hand upon his head. “This can’t be happening!” The sheriff cried. “Who…or what, are you?”
Kneeling down toward the sheriff the enormous figure responded. “Many call me, The Catcher.
“Y-y-you s-s-peak?” The sheriff stuttered, and then gasped for breath.
The figure was now beginning to lean in closer, silently gazing upon the Sheriff. After a few moments passed, the figure spoke again. “I learned speech from the white man.”
The Catcher continued to stare, as the Sheriff remained paralyzed with fear. In his mind, he began to think of ways to escape. How can I get down? I am so high up. Those thoughts quickly diminished.
“How can you get down…?” The figure mocked. “There is no escape.”
“H-h-how did you know what I was thinking.”
“I am able to hear your thoughts. I can tell when your weak heart quivers.”
“Hear my thoughts… how?
“I am the undead…. I am capable of things your human mind can’t imagine.”
To Be Continued…….
