The Corpse of Chester Clyde

I confess, by my sinister acts of depravity, that the corpse of Chester Clyde lies unrested in a shallow grave, having met his demise at the hands of an unspeakable horror three moons ago.

His appearance marked the culmination of multiple attempts by men of the law to uncover the mystery as to what had so hideously brutalized the livestock of my acre. For I had not witnessed the atrocity, I was unable to provide substantial assistance to their inquiries, and they promptly sent a professional to collect witness information and investigate the premises.

When I first saw the man I am none too shy to admit I was somewhat overwhelmed by his seeming lack of professionalism. His musty trench coat was loosely tossed on, and I do not believe he had ever properly learned how to dress a tie, if his attire was any indication. He wore a rather morose face, likely deep in thought, but at first glance I mistook his countenance for that of a simpleton.

“Good afternoon” he spoke plainly. “I assume my arrival was preceded by our requested approval of my presence here?”

“That it was” I replied, although I was in fact unkeen on admitting a sleuth to my abode, much less one so markedly uncouth. “Down to the hour, in fact. I might ask then, why you have arrived so early?”

His eyebrows furrowed as he blew the smoke from his pipe “I decided to take a stroll, as the weather permitted me, and found myself in the proximity, and I have merely waited for the appointment. But you see, it has started to rain, and I don’t imagine I shall be taking much of your time. I apologize if I have caught you off guard.”

“Not at all” I said, on the contrary rather offended by his loitering. “This way, and I will show you where the incident occurred.”

We started down the path from my dwelling to the pasture where my livestock once grazed. The rain was beginning to coalesce on the ground, and harder still it began to pour.

“Nasty weather. I shan’t be offended should you wish to reschedule.”

“That’s alright. I don’t find myself this far out often, and as I am already here, we may as well continue. Even amid weather such as this, the countryside does possess a certain charm, does it not?”

I nodded in solemn agreement. As we walked, he began to look around, eyeing every bush and tree with sharp precision. While he looked unkempt, his demeanor was far from loose. In fact, it seemed that from the moment I had first spoken to him he had already begun to analyze and formulate rationale about the situation he had been called here for.

“I regret that in my surprise, I failed to introduce myself, as well as gather your name. Mine is Langley. And yours?”

“Clyde” he replied. “Chester Clyde.”

“Well then, Detective Clyde, if you follow me down this hill, we may begin to discuss the atrocity that happened here three nights ago.”

I detailed to the detective what had occurred that night as we made our way to my tainted pasture. I had come from my cottage on the night of a full moon to discover a ghastly sight; where once my livestock flocked, they now lay dead and miasma-ridden, murdered by some assassin, as it would seem. I remembered having enjoyed an afternoon previous of excessive drinking, and it seemed that in my overindulgence of spirits I may have made an enemy who had come to destroy my livelihood. Yet it was this drinking that sullied my recollection, and I was unable to determine how I had gotten home, or how long I had been gone. It is true that on occasion my habits get the better of me, but I could not, for the live in me on this unholiest of hangovers, recall having agitated any of my drinking fellows to such a degree as to what I now saw with my own tired eyes. After my fear-induced state of paralysis had subsided, I quickly grabbed my rifle and lantern, and wearily stepped down to the scene of the crime. All this I disclosed to the detective, who hung intently on my every word, formulating and theorizing with deliberation.

“Not much farther now, detective” I assured, “It is here I first witnessed the acts of my transgressor, most likely a disgruntled patron of the bar, if I may speculate.”

Our footsteps squelched down the slope in the mud leading to my pasture. The gate was mangled, thrashed about like toothpicks by something of inhuman strength.

“Christ alive, that’s a spectacle” the detective remarked, showing a rare display of emotion in bewilderment. “This appears to be the work of some kind of determined beast. I doubt a wolf would possess enough gumption to attain entrance in such a primitive way, much less a man.”

“As would I” I chuckled. “Perhaps the remains of my herd will provide more detail. But as you may know, the exploits of a drunk man can sometimes prove…primal.”

Walking into the defiled pen, the detective scrunched his face in apparent disgust at the stench of rotten flesh. Ahead lay the ravaged remains of six or seven sheep, and had I not the foresight of their identity, it would have been impossible to determine that the corpses had at one point resembled anything ovine.

The detective knelt down before the body of one such animal, its legs twisted grotesquely, with flies billowing from it’s matted and bloody coat. He held one hand over his mouth and nose.

“These claw marks suggest the work of a wolf, yet I am unable to understand how one, let alone many, could destroy your gate so. Perhaps a bear? Although these tracks appear much too nimble to belong to such a stocky creature. I would like to follow them, before they become ruined by the downpour.”

We continued through the gate to the other side of the pasture, following the tracks which seemed to lead towards the nearby wilderness.

“Excuse my naivete detective, but being that this is a bestial matter, perhaps a game hunter might be better suited to this assignment than a hunter of men?”

Detective Clyde turned his head to me, continuing his tracking. “Were I sure of the matter, indeed a hunter may be the better suited profession for seeking this predator. But seeing as these tracks appear in a pattern reminiscent of bipedal creature, I’m afraid we are dealing with a human here, Mr. Langley.”

I looked at him, shocked. “Yet surely no man could have laid waste to my pen the way it has been? What manner of brute strength and insanity could possess a man so?”

He turned his head to the tracks again. “I shall aim to find out, Mr. Langley.”

I could not tell through his confusion whether he was beginning to mistrust me, but as I pondered this thought he stopped our progress, pointing toward a hollow in the wood.

“Look, there! It appears to be the dwelling of something, and these tracks lead straight to it!”

“Then we have surely found a beast, detective, and we must commune with someone more equipped to deal with such a threat!”

The detective, narrow-minded in his pursuit of truth, replied rather rudely. “Nonsense! As I have previously determined, these tracks appear to suggest the canter of a person, and I do believe they have made their home inappropriately in this glen! We shall find this ravager of livestock here and bring him to the law!”

He started before me, now moving swifter in anticipation. The rain was pouring harder than ever, with thick drops of liquid splashing on the leaves of the trees above, causing large pools of dark water on the ground, now completely covering the tracks. I admit, the detective’s work was admirable, for even in these inclement conditions he was able to follow the path of my assailant. But his persistence had begun to annoy me, and as we made our way into the wood I attempted to rid him of my property, for his inquisitiveness had grown old, and I rather wished he would allow a trapper to continue this case.

“Here!” said the man, approaching the den. “A den of brush, with the markings of a human presence! See here, a man lay down, perhaps sleeping. And here, the bones of some creature.” Only the bones we saw belonged not to an animal, but rather the pelvis of a man, with flesh still attached!

“By God, these are the bones of a human! What a depraved individual! We must wait here so as to intercept this criminal” said the detective. By now the rain came down with the fury of the heavens, and the moon was now bright and full.

“Detective, I appreciate your assistance in the matter, but I do believe we are unsafe to be here, considering the ill omen of the moon and downpour on a gloomy night such as this. I find it best we retire for the day, and continue our search come morning.”

The detective looked about his surroundings, puffing anxiously on his pipe with a cautious hand on his pistol. His eyes squinted as he examined the dwelling and the human remains we now both stood over. He spoke with anticipation and fervor.

“Good fellow, we are so close to the truth now the stench stings my nostrils, and I know it not to be the smell of death that surrounds us. I can conclude that your assailant has been here, and recently. Under cover of brush, the rain has yet to tamper with these tracks, and I now see what was not obvious to me before.”

“And what would that be detective?” I replied coldly. I could feel my adrenaline begin to swell. The moonlight now began to reflect on the puddles we stood betwixt, and a strange fog began to envelop. The detective drew his gun from his holster, and his pipe fell from his lips, hitting the ground with a splash of mud. Nervously, he began to hypothesize.

“It would appear your gate was opened by something of monstrous strength, yet in your pasture I witnessed the clear markings of a canine, which might indicate a man setting his dog on your flock. But a dog could not so easily have gained access to your pen through the savage means which we saw. And I have yet to see any clear markings of a second creature, which supports my theory that your creature walks upright. And now we see the tattered remains of men in this den, I can almost definitively conclude the identity of your assailant.” He looked up at me with weary eyes, and I saw the overwhelming sensation of fear in his realization.

Had he not been frozen with terror, he might have had time to draw his weapon in defense. But as the moonlight trickled through the trees, I felt myself growing hotter. And with beastly force I struck his arm, batting aside his armament. Blood gushed from his wrist as he stumbled to the ground, desperately crawling away. I could see now in his expression that he did not desire to be correct in his assessment, but rather found himself faced with it most abruptly.

As he sifted frightfully through the mud for his gun, I let out a harrowing howl, and began to distort as my anger took hold. Hair began to grow through my pores, and my teeth began to jut out monstrously. My face became elongated, and my once-human eyes now resembled that of a wolf. As my shadow came closer and closer to him, I could see him becoming more and more distraught. Once I was upon him, I raised my hand to bash his head, but he held his pistol madly in front of him and fired, blinding me. I felt a hotness in my shoulder, and when the smoke cleared, I could see him attempting to make his escape through the woods surrounding my property. The pain I felt only exacerbated my torment, and I quickly gained as I chased him across the forest. When at last I was close enough to his heels to smell the blood from his wound and the fear on his breath, I leapt at him, gashing his spine. He let out a deafening cry and fell lifeless to the ground.

And in my bloodlust I now discovered, that where I had murdered the detective was not the forest bordering my farm, but the property of my neighbor, and a few moments after his death throes echoed through the scarce trees, I saw the light of a lantern emerge from his doorstep in the nearby clearing. Now the moon began to dim, obstructed by that peculiar fog, and I felt myself once again becoming a man. The rain had moistened the ground so that I could not obscure the corpse that lay at my feet, and in a few moments it did not matter. I noticed my good neighbor raise his light, screaming in horror at what he saw.

“Langley! You murdering bastard!” he cried. I heard the cock of his gun and made my way back through the forest, now a made man. I hurried to my home, where I used what little strength I had left to move my wardrobe away from the wall it stood against, revealing a basement just underneath. I lit a lantern and lifted the hatch, taking care to throw a rug over the door after I descended.

I threw a blanket over myself, found a journal and pen, and took to writing, and it is here that I now find myself. It shan’t be long before the authorities discover me in my own home, naked and covered in the blood of Detective Clyde and mine own. In few moments I shall succumb to my wound, and there will be little to postulate about my transgressions. And so I confess through this manifesto, that I am the horror of these woods, and predation of my fellow man under veil of moonlight hath brought me to this tragic end.