Monsters in the Midwest (Book 2): Northwoods Wolfman by Scott Burtness Read Free Book Online

the
details.
    “He
might’ve. Actually, yeah. ‘Reflect on things,’ or something like that.”
Dallas’s face screwed up in thought. “He told me to reflect on things and get
my bearings.”
    Looking
down at the map and the little card Randall had dropped, he ran a hand through
his hair. “But what the hell, Stan? How am I supposed to get my bearings when
the damn little map ain’t nowhere around nowhere?”
    Stanley
picked up the small card in one hand and the big map in the other. Looking
around the room, he turned first one way, then the other before moving with
purpose down the hall. Stopping outside the main floor bathroom, he looked back
at Dallas.
    “Go
for it,” Dallas waved. “But light a match when you’re done. Your dumps smell
like roadkill chili.”
    “Dallas,
come here,” Stanley said.
    “What?
Need help finding it? Too bad. A friend in that kind of need ain’t no friend I
plan on helping,” Dallas laughed.
    “No,
the m-mirror, Dallas. Reflect on things. ”
Straightening his shoulders, Stanley stepped into the bathroom.
    Curious,
Dallas followed him down the hall. Stopping outside of the bathroom, he looked
in and saw Stanley had one hand pressing the map up against the wall next to
the medicine cabinet mirror while the other held the card in front of his
chest, tiny map facing the glass. Dallas walked in behind him and looked first
at the aerial map, eyes going straight to the little circle he’d drawn over
Cecil’s. Up the road a short ways was an auto body shop. A half mile or so west
of the main road and across the river, the Skarsgard’s farmhouse could be seen
in a small clearing. Dallas knew it well. He’d dated old Skarsgard’s daughter
in high school and used to sneak up the trellis to her bedroom window. Not much
else around since Cecil’s was, like most of the establishments in
Trappersville, tossed almost randomly in the woods.
    Dallas’s
eyes shifted to the reflection of the card’s hand-drawn map in the mirror. That
line running at a slight curve from top to bottom, the one they thought might
be a river or a creek, it could be the highway. Looking at the little
rectangle-triangle things, two of them seemed to line up pretty well with
Cecil’s and the old Skarsgard house. If that was true, that other line could be
the Burnt Shanty Creek, a small tributary that fed into the Wolf River.
    “Ho.
Lee. Shit,” Dallas whispered. Leaning over Stanley’s shoulder, he pointed a
finger at the mirror.
    “Look
here. The creek. Skarsgard’s. Cecil’s. That means the little “X” on their map
is probably right around there.” Dallas said. Mentally figuring distances in
his head, he continued, “That can’t be but a mile, maybe two into the woods,
but there ain’t nothing out there. I think maybe an old, abandoned cabin.
Otherwise, just empty woods. Why draw me a map to go there?”
    Stanley’s
reflected eyes met Dallas’s. “P-perfect spot for top secret stuff to happen,
don’t ya think?”
    Dallas
breathed deep. The scent of a Rueben with fries was still strong in his nose.
    “I
think it’s time I paid those sneaky-deaky government boys a visit, Stan. No
more popping in on old Dal. I’m gonna drop by their place unannounced and see
how they like it,” he announced, every pore oozing alcohol and resolution.
    “But
first, let’s get some lunch. I’m starving.”

Chapter 8

 
    Dallas
couldn’t remember having been so hungry. The beer brat with a side of cheese
curds went down faster than a third string quarterback behind a rookie center.
The fried pickles had barely hit the paper tray before he’d swallowed them all
in three bites, burning his tongue in the process. A second brat fared no
better than the first, despite being loaded with all the fixings Cecil’s had to
offer. It wasn’t until after he’d polished off a bacon cheeseburger with fries
that Dallas felt satiated. After a long, belly stretching belch, he licked salt
and grease from the fingers of