“Mum!” Cory ran back to the door reaching it just when Amos Argyle pushed it open
“Why was the door locked?” Cory demanded.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. It wasn’t locked!”
“I couldn’t open it!”
“Well, it’s open now.” Amos glared at her.
Cory rushed past him, out to the last place that she had seen her mother. There was no evidence of a storm, only the blackness of the sky with the twinkling stars in the distance. It was quiet. The air was still. She looked around at the ground where Amos’s and now her footprints were visible. There was no sign of any other disturbance. She ran over to Argyle’s cabin, barging in through the front door.
“She ain’t here,” he grumbled, coming up behind her.
Cory spun around to face him. “What’s happened to her?”
“You saw it,” he barked back. Deep furrows dug into the bridge of his nose; his gaze conveyed not fear but rage. “Same thing that happened before. It ain’t happened for five years and I want to know what you got to do with it.”
Cory stared angrily at him, willing herself to remain calm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. My mother and I are here for her work.” As she spoke, she tried to access his thoughts that were a jumbled mess of stray words that didn’t join together into coherent thought.
Argyle shook his head. His beady eyes were so dark they looked black, the whites were yellow and bloodshot. Cory looked away, uncomfortable in meeting his gaze.
He stood no taller than Cory and had a slim frame, probably not weighing much more than she did. His long, wild, grey hair looked like it had never met a comb, and his wrinkled pale face, covered partially with the grey stubble of a beard, made him look more like a troll than a man.
“If you know what’s happening, you had better tell me or…” she demanded.
“Or what,” he challenged, clenching his fists and stepping closer.
A terrified shiver spread all over her body. She knew that they might be about the same size but he’d lived in the wild and knew how to defend himself. She took a deep breath, closed her blue eyes, felt a slight sting and a split second later opened huge, round, amber cat’s eyes instead. Her vision sharpened. Her focus was intense.
Amos Argyle took a step backward, curling his lips revealing what were left of his decayed teeth set in pale, sickly gums. He didn’t look like he was about to back down.
Cory could sense his fear building. He tightened his jaw and she knew that she needed more than cat’s eyes to protect her from this human animal who was about to protect himself.
He lunged at her, fists first.
She dodged, jumping to one side, feeling his arm sweep by her ear.
Having thrown his full weight into the attack, Amos lost his balance and staggered across the room.
Cory thought fast. A parade of animals marched in her mind. Concentrating on their attributes: the claws of a bear, teeth of a panther, horns of a Springbok antelope she felt the tingle of transformation. Her face tightened, black hair covered her freckles, her cheekbones protruded sharply outward. Her eyes sank deeper into her face, sharp fangs pushed against her lips and then out of her mouth. Her hair pulled when the curved horns pushed through the top of her head. Her body became more muscular, making her clothes uncomfortably tight, and long claws replaced her fingernails.
Argyle’s threatening glare faded to a terrified grimace. He stumbled backwards. What little colour he had in his face drained completely. He looked at Cory helplessly before his eyes rolled up. He dropped to his knees, falling forward until his head hit the floor with a dull thud. It didn’t look like he was breathing.
Cory was gasping for breath.
“I killed him! She howled in a grisly roar as her panic ballooned. Without taking the time to change back into her human form, she rushed to his side dreading the thought of putting her lips on his rotting mouth to administer CPR. Placing her clawed hand firmly on his back in an attempt to roll him over, she felt his ribcage expand.
“He’s alive,” she whispered in relief, staring at his prone shape. His breathing seemed smooth and regular, and there was a subtle whistle when he inhaled.
“Amos,” she growled, pushing on his shoulder to get his attention.
He didn’t respond.
Her gaze darted around the room. There wasn’t much to the dingy interior: one bed, one chair, a tiny kitchen that resembled the one in the other cabin, and a rickety table that held the old boxy Ham Radio that her mother must have used earlier. She hurried over and flipped the switch marked “on”. No lights flickered nor did the ancient looking black box emit a sound, not even a buzz or a beep. She lifted the microphone and growled, not realizing that her voice wasn’t human. “Hello, hello… Can anyone hear me? P-L-E-A-S-E SOMEONE HELP.” No one answered.
She looked back at Amos, who was now whimpering like an injured puppy. She called to him in a low growl. At the sound, he returned to his opossum-feigning-death posture.
“Amos!” Cory bellowed. “Answer me you stupid, disgusting, freaky little man! Where is my mother?” Hearing herself for the first time, she realized that the sounds she was making were not human. Amos was visibly trembling.
She rubbed her face, feeling the hair that covered it. Her breathing was shaky. Then with little effort she spoke telepathically to him, sending her thoughts directly into his muddled mind. “Amos?”
He looked up and stared wide-eyed at her.
“Can you understand me?”
He nodded, his head quivering.
With her gaze locked on his, she again pushed her thoughts into his mind. “Tell me what you know about my mother’s disappearance.”
Amos’s eyes looked the size of dinner plates set in his gaunt face. He managed to push himself onto his knees and raised his arms above his head. Then rocking forward, he placed his forehead on the floor and stretched his arms out in front of him. He stayed in that position chanting only one word, “Maheetek!”
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