Monster in the Dark

By Loretta C. Rogers

As townspeople celebrate their annual Halloween Shocktoberfest barn dance, a panicked black stallion bursts through the open barn doors. Everyone cheers at seeing the rider dressed like Brom Bones of the Sleepy Hollow legend. However, when Doctor Tullah Holliday rushes to aid the fallen rider, she discovers a truly headless horseman. Who is he, and where is his head?
Halloween turns more horrible when the next victim, furred to look like Little Red Riding Hood’s wolf, is found with an axe in his skull.
When Tullah and her father, Sheriff Henry Holliday, discover a third grisly murder, again with the body arranged to resemble a specific fairytale villain, they must identify the maniacal psycho before he—or she—kills again.

• Language: Unknown
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Sep 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9781509250486

Book preview

Prologue

She clapped her hands over her ears to shut out the voices. Ritual, they told her, was important. This was her first kill. Three, they said, was the magic number. Use a jigsaw, they said. Her hand trembled as she made the first cut. Blood splattered. She wiped the plastic face shield as best she could and kept at it. There was no stopping now.

She was sick of being told what to do. Sick of other people’s expectations of her. Sick of the punishment. She mopped up the blood, leaving the room spotless. There was one little spot of red, on the cuff, that she had trouble getting out. Fearful of being punished, she worried at the spot for a moment.

The voices scolded her. You’re late; you’re late, for a very important date!

She hissed, Stop pestering me.

She finished dressing the corpse. And wouldn’t all those people dressed in their Halloween costumes be surprised.

Her laughter was loud and brittle. Because mine are the best costumes of all!

Chapter One

Mornings are normally my favorite time of day. There is a magic in the first moments of wakefulness, but not this morning.

The cold wet nose of River, my black Lab, nudged me from a restless sleep. I awoke groggy and filled with a sense of dread. Although the morning’s pale yellow light spilled through the window and across the foot of my bed, filling the room with an ethereal presence, I sensed something terrible was going to happen. I know this because when I awoke the metallic odor of blood assaulted my nostrils. I glanced around the room, trying to orient myself, and I let out a long, silent breath. Sliding out of bed and stumbling to the bathroom, I eyed myself in the mirror. The image that stared back at me wasn’t mine. Instead, she had short hair the color of snow—a contrast to my long, dark black tresses—and she wore a mask. Her eyes were clear blue, direct, and filled with malice.

I leaned closer. Who are you? What do you want?

The image faded. I glanced around and even pinched myself to make sure I was truly awake and not locked inside a weird dream. Was this a warning? When something out of the ordinary is about to happen, I’m usually contacted by a spirit animal. Never has a human essence communicated with me. An eeriness chilled my insides.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Perhaps I’d better explain.

My name is Tullah Crow Holliday. Most everyone calls me Doc Holliday. I am a veterinarian and on occasion assist the sheriff with complicated cases. By the way, the sheriff is my father, John Henry Holliday, and before you ask, yes, our ancestor is the infamous outlaw better known as Doc Holliday.

If you’re wondering why I, an animal doctor, assist my dad, it’s because I was born with a special gift. It’s not really a gift but rather a curse, a nuisance, that quite often interferes with my life. I sense and feel and sometimes see things that are not perceptible to other people.

I also have a special connection with spirit animals. My mother and my grandmother were born in the A-ni-wa-ya (Wolf) clan. Tanti says it is because of my Cherokee heritage that I have these special abilities.

My hometown of Enigma, Kentucky was a dying town until my grandmother, Mayor Tanti Crow, and her best friend, Vice Mayor Patty Sweet, persuaded a soft drink company to build their newest bottling plant in Enigma.

Sometimes growth of a rural town isn’t good. Personally, I liked Enigma when it was a quaint community where everyone knew everyone else. Growth brings change, and most often that change includes not only more people but some unsavory ones and increased crime.

On this crisp October Friday evening, the town’s people gathered to celebrate our annual Shocktober Fest. Revelers turned out to enjoy the Monster Mash costume barn dance. Tonight was the perfect setting to kick off the three days of Halloween festivities. There was a chill in the air, a brisk breeze, and a full moon.

This evening, the main barn at the 4-H fairgrounds was decorated with pumpkins, scarecrows, and massive cottony spider webs. The sounds of rattling chains and eerie moans and cackles were piped through a sound system. A large black syrup pot, containing dry ice that sent steam into the air, served as a witch’s caldron. People sat on bales of hay enjoying a variety of homemade goodies. Others milled about or stood in small clusters waiting for the band to begin playing.

I made my way to the refreshment table and helped myself to tiny marzipan witches and pumpkins, white chocolate ghosts, and a cup of hot apple cider. As much as I wanted to leave, it would have been impolite, and though Grandmother rarely gets angry with me, it would have hurt her feelings if I left. She and Patty and the garden club ladies had gone all out this year to create a plethora of spooktacular fun.

The costumes ran the gamut from mundane to creative. The most prevalent, of course, were black-clad witches wearing pointy hats. Normally, I’d rather eat sawdust than dress up, especially in costume. To appease my grandmother, I had dressed as a jockey, wearing red, white, and blue silks; after all, we do live in the great state known for horse racing.

My gaze lingered on the crowd. Patty Sweet was dressed as a giant donut complete with pink frosting and multi-colored sprinkles. Maybe that’s because she owns Sweet’s ’n’ Eats, the town’s café and pastry shop. Grandmother and our favorite curmudgeon, Dr. Paul Ritter, were dressed as Alice in Wonderland and Prince Charming. Even my ever-so-serious father had finally relented and dressed as his famous ancestor, John Henry Doc Holliday, complete with a fake handlebar mustache and dual pearl-handled pistols.

An eerie feeling had again crept over me. I shifted to my right, where a tall figure dressed as the Grim Reaper, complete with a scythe, stood gazing at the crowd, face obscured by his black hood. Although he was a considerable distance from me, I could tell he was looking for someone, and suddenly he threw back his hood and grinned at one of the several people approaching him. He didn’t seem to be a threat. Farther away, almost behind the arrangement of cornstalks and pumpkins by the door, my gaze caught on a smaller figure in costume as Little Red Riding Hood. I couldn’t see her face, again because of the hood, but I knew I hadn’t seen her earlier. She must have just come in, and from the stiff stance and fisted gloves she appeared angry.

What bothers you, Little Sister? You have a troubled look in your eyes.

I had been so lost in thought the voice startled me and I let out a little squeak but smiled up at my godfather, Charlie Whitehorse—who, by the way, was dressed as Paul Bunyan, which was quite appropriate since Charlie is a giant of a man. I’m not sure, Uncle Charlie.

His eyes narrowed. "Did you have one of your special feelings?"

I worked to rein in my emotions. Maybe. I’m not sure.

He wrapped my hand in his. The band is playing a slow song. How ’bout a turn around the floor with an old man? A little fun will take your mind off what ails you.

I forgot about the apparition in my mirror that morning and laughed. I placed my hand in his giant paw and allowed him to lead me onto the dance floor. Charlie is a graceful dancer and never complains when I step on his toes. Midway through the waltz, icy chills slithered over my body, and I shivered.

There is a definite chill in the air. Are you cold?

The sun had set and the air had definitely grown downright cold. By morning there would be frost on the ground. I craned my neck to look into Charlie’s ebony eyes and shook my head. Not really.

He pulled back, holding me at arm’s length. Little Sister, you cannot fool me. Might as well ’fess up.

I lowered my voice. If you insist. When I awoke this morning, I smelled blood.

His smile puddled into a frown. That is a bad omen, Little Sister. What do you think it means?

He twirled me around the floor. I stopped and stood still. Listening.

Tullah?

Do you hear it, Uncle Charlie?

He cocked his head sideways. Hear what?

Horse’s hooves. The horse is frightened. He’s running.

Charlie made light of my unease. Aho, probably some rancher’s thoroughbred jumped a fence and decided to join the party.

I didn’t want to seem dramatic and decided not to say anything more. Still, I couldn’t help the dread that filled me.

In the middle of our dance, a gust of cold wind blew through the wide-open barn doors. A rider, his black cape flapping in the breeze, raced in from the darkness astride a Thoroughbred black stallion. The horse whinnied and reared. It reared again and again. The rider on its back listed sideways, unable to control the frightened animal.

The band stopped playing. People scattered to avoid the frantic horse’s dangerous hooves. Parents gathered their screaming children and sought safety.

I raced forward and held out my hand, speaking to the frightened horse in the language of my mother’s ancestors The stallion tossed its magnificent head and pawed the floor. I could almost see my reflection in the large brown eyes. I inched forward and continued to speak until I got close enough to grab the dangling reins.

Someone from the crowd shouted, Look, it’s the headless horseman! He definitely wins the contest for most authentic costume.

Nervous laughter filtered around the room. One of the band members blew his bugle. The blast caused the mighty horse to rear again, lifting me off my feet. I grabbed the bridle’s cheek straps and held on.

Uncle Charlie rushed to my aid. The frightened animal fought against the restraint, and then the unspeakable happened. The rider tumbled from the saddle and crashed to the floor.

Folks twittered and pointed, like a joke had just happened. I’ve always wondered why people laugh when they witness someone getting hurt. By this time, Dad was at my side. My stomach roiled. Don’t get me wrong—as veterinarian, I’m used to seeing blood and guts and gore, though it’s not exactly an image I want rattling around inside my brain. This, however, was an exception. Just like when I awoke this morning, the metallic odor of blood fouled my nose.

Feeling disoriented, I drew in a deep breath. Dad, someone has chopped off his head. The extreme brutality of the victim’s death, combined with the costume, made it appear as if the killer had carefully and perhaps deliberately created an appalling sensation.

Dad grimaced as he leaned in for a closer look. Who is the victim supposed to be?

Brom Bones Van Brunt, a character from the fairy tale ‘The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.’  I noticed the only thing missing from the costume was a carved jack-o-lantern.

A note was pinned to the dead person’s jacket. I say person because at this point we weren’t sure if the corpse was a man or a woman.

I reached for the piece of paper. Dad stopped me.

Dressed as Johnny Appleseed, Deputy Tiny Goodbody knelt beside us. Figured you could use these. He pulled a pair of evidence gloves from the pocket of his breeches and handed them over.

Dad thanked him. Tiny, clear the room. I’m afraid the party’s over.

Uncle Charlie led the quivering horse outside. I stood to follow, but Dad said, Tullah, I need you here. Only under dire or professional circumstances does Dad use my given name. This situation was about as dire as it gets.

I nodded and remained next to the body. There was something about this scenario that didn’t sit right with me.

Dad unpinned the note and read aloud, I am death, and I make all people equal. Furrows lined his forehead when he said, It’s signed ‘Godfather of Death.’ 

I exhaled deeply. That’s a quote from the Brothers Grimm fairy tales.

You’re frowning. What’s bothering you, Tullah?

Nothing.

"That’s not your nothing face."

Okay, two things. I pointed. Except for that small speck on the cuff, there’s no blood.

Yeah, and what’s number two?

Dad’s expression flattened when I looked at him and said, Where’s the head?

He stared at me for a moment, his blue eyes growing dark and tension suddenly lining his face. Tullah, I’m going to need you on this one. It appears we have a real sicko running loose.

Dr. Ritter’s voice drew my attention to where he stood with my grandmother. Come, Tanti, we’re not needed here.

She cajoled, But Paul, I want to see. How bad can it be?

I rushed forward and helped the aged doctor gently steer my grandmother toward the barn’s gaping doors. Believe me, Grandmother, it’s worse than horrible. Some fiend cut off the victim’s head.

The color drained from her cheeks. Her knees wobbled. I said, C’mon, Grandmother, you and Dr. Ritter must be tired from all that dancing. Would you like me to drive you home?

She placed her hand on my arm and gave me an endearing smile. It’s a short distance. We can make it.

I leaned down and kissed her cheek. Trouble filled her eyes when she looked at my dad and said, Henry, should we cancel the other festivities? I don’t mean to sound insensitive, but we’d have to refund money for the haunted graveyard tour. It involves a lot of bookkeeping.

He offered an empathetic smile. There’s no need to spoil everyone’s fun. This is probably an isolated incident. My guess is we have a looney who wants to see his name in headlines and decided to capitalize on Halloween.

I knew by the way his jaw worked that Dad was really trying to set Grandmother’s mind at ease. He escorted her and Dr. Ritter outside and waited until she turned on the car’s headlights and headed toward town.

I stood next to him in the yard. Dad, I’m going to check the stallion for tattoos and anything else that might be an important clue. Often breeders tattooed registration numbers inside a horse’s lip or inside the ear. If such a number was found, it would lead us to the Thoroughbred’s owner, and hopefully to the killer.

Dad’s brow scrunched into a deeper frown. What’s that on your hands?

In all the excitement I hadn’t noticed that my hands were coated with a waxy black substance. I lifted the palms to my nose and sniffed. It smells like boot polish.

I followed his gaze as Dad glanced at my black jockey boots. I knew what he was thinking and said, Not from my boots. They’re new.

Then where?

I lifted a palm and sniffed again. I detect a faint odor of horse sweat.

What you’re implying is that whoever committed this heinous crime smeared boot black all over the horse?

It appears that way.

Why?

I felt a headache beginning to form and heaved a deep sigh. My best guess is it has to do with the reason the corpse was dressed like a fairytale character.

Chapter Two

Almost shoulder-to-shoulder, Charlie and Tiny marched toward us. Addressing no one in particular, Charlie said, I’ve stabled the stallion in Barn B, the first stall, and unsaddled him. And here’s the strange thing. When I removed the saddle blanket, the horse wasn’t black, it was gray.

I lifted my blackened palms and held them forward. I guess that explains these.

My vet tech, Ella Sanders, had scrounged a tablecloth for Dad to cover the corpse. She quickly averted her eyes. Pushing himself to stand, he offered a weak smile. Thanks, Ella.

Her voice trembled when she said, I feel just terrible because, like everyone else, I thought it was a joke, and I laughed. She swiped a tear that dribbled down her cheek.

Dad placed an arm around her shoulders and gave her a gentle hug. Don’t beat yourself up, Ella. You’re only human.

My heart melted a little. Dad is a tough lawman and capable of taking down dangerous criminals, but he also has a tender heart.

Oh, my gosh!

What’s the matter, Tullah? Dad released Ella.

I drew a deep breath, closed my eyes, then opened them. I looked away from where the victim’s black riding boots protruded from beneath the orange tablecloth. I had a horrible thought. What if he, or maybe she, is someone we know?

Ella shivered and verbally expressed the chill I suddenly felt.

A siren sounded in the distance. Dad’s mouth formed a grim line. I guess that means Bubba and Rita are on their way.

Bubba Dawson and Rita Graham are Enigma’s resident EMTs. For years, two emergency medical techs were all we needed. Unfortunately, as the town grows, Bubba and Rita have more business than they can handle.

Tiny said, The saddle and blanket are in the trunk of my patrol car. I’ll brush them for prints as soon as I get back to the office.

Dad nodded at his deputy. Find anything outside, Tiny?

Nope. Even with a full moon it’s too dark. I’ll give the grounds a thorough going-over once it breaks dawn.

Do you mind if I tag along, Tiny? I’ll bring coffee.

The burly deputy winked at me. I’ll bring donuts. Meet me here around six-thirty. Another pair of eyes is always welcome, Tullah.

A thought occurred to me about the horse. Uncle Charlie, other than the black paint, were there any identifiable markings on the stallion?

He cocked a busy eyebrow. Tell you the truth, goddaughter, I didn’t think to look.

Bubba and Rita entered with a gurney. Bubba glanced at the blanket-covered corpse. Heart attack?

Before I could blurt out a warning, Rita squatted and pulled back the tablecloth. Holy mother of… She made the sign of the cross. Guys, if this is some kind of sick Halloween joke, I’m not laughing.

Bubba expelled an anguished rush of breath. What kind of crazed monster did that?

A worried look furrowed Dad’s brow. A person with no soul.

Ella glanced toward the open barn doors. Bubba, where’s my mom?

The spare tire around his waist attested to his love of Patty Sweet’s donuts, and he huffed to stand. Before he could answer, Dr. Sunny Sanders entered, chief surgeon at the hospital and Enigma’s medical examiner, as well as a no-nonsense woman with an easy smile. Ella ran to her mother. Mom, it’s absolutely horrible. You’d better brace yourself.

Dr. Sanders nodded a greeting toward my dad. I didn’t miss the subtle blush on her cheeks when he smiled. I might be prejudiced because he’s my father, but he is ruggedly handsome. She said, That bad?

Dad’s smile shifted to a frown. Like Ella said, you’d better brace yourself.

Dr. Sanders squatted next to the corpse and opened her medical bag to pull out a pair of rubber gloves. She snapped them on her hands with practiced ease. It felt like everyone in the barn was holding their breath until she slowly pulled back the tablecloth.

For a second, she said nothing. She looked up at me, then at my dad, her face a mixture of puzzlement and revulsion. When she tried to speak, she had to clear the rasp from her voice. There’s no head.

Dad snatched the fake mustache from his top lip as if it were an annoyance. Yep! Whatever your exam can tell us will help us with the identity.

Dr. Sunny Sanders looked at me. Tullah, did you examine the body?

I squatted next to her. Briefly. In my opinion, an autopsy might be difficult.

She cocked an eyebrow. Oh, and why is that?

I pointed to the headless shoulders. There’s no blood. It appears the body has been embalmed.

Dr. Sanders and Dad spoke in unison as they nearly shouted, Embalmed?

Of course, that’s just my opinion.

Dr. Sanders knelt closer to the cadaver. She traced a gloved finger around the decapitated neck. "I believe you’re right, Tullah. The ghoul that did this knows