Savage Moon

Six

It was late by the time Peterson got to the car park at Daisy Nook. To his annoyance, he'd fallen asleep in front of the box, waking up well past midnight, an erection jutting out from his jeans. Time to get that sorted he decided, reaching for his car keys.

As his headlights illuminated the parking area, Peterson frowned. It was tiny, or perhaps intimate was a better word. He glanced at the dashboard clock. Shit, the only ones likely to be out this late on a weekday night were people like him — the desperate, who didn't need to bother getting up the next day for work. And the sad fact was, all too often those ones weren't that bothered about personal hygiene either. What had the guy on the forum said? Ten o'clock onwards, Peterson thought.

He swung his car round and reversed into a corner, headlights facing outwards so he could signal any arrivals. Turning his lights off, he left the engine idling and reclined his seat slightly, leaning the back of his skull against the headrest. Darkness was all around, thick and heavy, pressing in on the windows. He liked the dark, the way it aroused people's more basic desires. How many acts that would cause outrage if performed during the day, safely took place under the cover of night?

With his eyes half shut and a hand massaging his groin, he watched for the telltale sign of any approaching headlights. The minutes ticked slowly by. From somewhere nearby an owl hooted, the call both forlorn and inquisitive. Is there anybody else out there, it seemed to say.

Peterson was beginning to wonder the same thing. He lowered a window to let in some air. A single light twinkled far across the fields and a sheep bleated. What if I'm in the wrong car park, he suddenly wondered. There could be another one on the other side of the park. I didn't think to check the map properly. A sudden image of a busy car park flashed across his mind, men clambering from one vehicle to another, perhaps a young chicken who would come over to Peterson's car…

With the thought that he was missing out tormenting him, Peterson turned off his engine and opened the door. The interior light came on and he squinted at the sudden brightness. After climbing out and shutting the door behind him, he tried to examine the tarmac itself, looking for signs of recent activity. Wedged-up tissues, discarded condoms, empty bottles of pop- pers.

But the light inside his car had messed up his ability to see. The darkness swam with unnatural reds and oranges, blinking reviving a burning comet-shaped ball from where he'd glanced at the bulb itself.

Car keys dangling from his fingers, he slowly made his way across to the other side. Something was on the ground. He crouched down and patted the tarmac, fingers making contact with an empty packet of cigarettes. Looking up, he could see that the thick undergrowth separating the car park from the fields beyond was now only a few feet away. Bulky white forms seemed to float there. Sheep, slowly making their way from the field's edge. There was a strange smell in the air, sharp and musty. Cheap aftershave? He heard a sound close by and slowly stood. Was it a cough? His night vision was beginning to return, the swirls of colour fading to reveal his surroundings in a monochromatic grey.

He sensed more than saw something near the tree. 'Hello?' Peterson said, heart quickening with the thrill of someone else being there. 'There's no reason to be afraid.'

He peered at the area below the branches, trying to detect forms in the dark shadows lurking there. Then he stepped closer, holding a hand out. 'Please, I think we're looking for the same thing. There's no need to be shy.'

Was that the shape of something crouching at the base of the trunk? Something denser, blacker than the shadows around it? Peterson leaned forwards. That smell again. Not aftershave. More the tang of something unwashed.

With a sudden snarl, an inky mass shot upwards and outwards. Frozen to the spot, Peterson felt his eyes instinctively widen, allowing a fraction more light on to his retina. Pointed ears, a muzzle, something swinging towards his face. The impact caught him on the side of the neck, raking downwards across his throat. He wasn't aware of stepping backwards, or even falling, but now he was on his back, the black form moving in a blur above him as his torso rocked with fresh blows. Feebly, he lifted a hand to defend himself. His fingers made contact with thick, coarse fur before his hand was knocked away. Now there was liquid flying around, landing on his face, getting in his eyes. Rain? No, the droplets were shooting upwards, out of him. When he tried to shout only a bubbling rasp escaped.

Then the thing was gone. Coldness took its place, emanating down in waves from the star filled sky above. He tried to breathe in, immediately choking as a thick warmth flooded into his lungs. He tried to cough the liquid back out, unaware that most of the muscles in his neck now lay in tatters on the ground about his head.