《Dies Many Times》


 1. Let me Talk to the Detectives

    Fort Miller was not a small town, nor was it a big town. It occupied that distinctly midwestern niche that had enough people to attract businesses to supply everything one would need, but not enough to have a lot to do. Big enough to be the largest town in the county and big enough to have its own police station. It had to cover the smaller towns in its orbit, with around fifty officers of varying ranks, plus a sheriff and support staff to oversee it all.


    The sun went down an hour ago, but there was always someone at the station¡¯s front desk. Usually, it was a middle-aged cow with black and white fur and one leg. She lost the left one in a car accident sometime during high school. She got along just fine with one leg, but it pretty much ended her dream of becoming a police officer. As the years went by, she found she liked desk work more anyway. Organizing, filing, interviewing, and being able to call in officers standing a few feet behind her when a person got too rowdy were all nice aspects of her job she wouldn¡¯t get as much of were she on patrol. One appreciated safety more the more years went by. She still wore her uniform with pride, always clean and pressed. She liked the way the dark blues set off her fur. She wore her shield on her left chest. The right had her name badge, ¡®N. Flagstone¡¯, the N standing for Nell.


    She kept things in the lobby cozy. The collection of chairs in the waiting area were in good repair, being swapped out when the navy blue cushions split open from wear and tear. The magazines on the coffee table were up to date; no Greater Houses and Gardens from 1985 to be found. The coffee in the carafe was not always fresh, but it was never more than a day old. Usually never more than half a day, as the officers were likely to help themselves throughout the day. The navy blue carpet was vacuumed weekly or as needed. With her prosthetic leg, she had no trouble tidying up. For a police station lobby, it was as comfortable as it could be. Nice for anyone coming to report a crime, indifferent to anyone dragged in wearing handcuffs.


    The cow sorted some papers. Another slow night, her favorite nights of all. No one approached the desk for the past several hours. The night shift officers were out on patrol; every desk behind her empty. The 911 dispatcher was in the other room, listening for calls while watching online streamers play video games. A couple detectives were working late. Unusual for them, but they were in their own offices. Busywork was done for the evening. Until something came along, she was free. She reached into her satchel and pulled out a romance novel by her favorite author, Delia Moongrove. Having never married, she was convinced the novels were true to life. Just had to wait for her lover, who would have a body like it was carved out of marble, to sweep her off her feet. Well, foot. She leaned back in her chair and got ready to dive into The <u>Sunlit Cloister</u>.


    Halfway through the first page, the front door opened. Nell¡¯s nose remained glued to her book, but one of her ears tilted toward the door. She wanted to finish the page. If whoever it was had something urgent, they would run up to the front desk and let her know directly. She thought. His unusual nature made her put down her book. Her brown eyes regarded him, head tilting as she processed. She said nothing, mind forgetting the proper greeting protocol, even though she belted it out hundreds of times over the years.


    The person entering took his time to get to her. He was an odd sight, what there was of him to see. He looked like he was primarily made up of clothes. A black hoodie a size too large was wrapped around his torso. His hood was up, and a collection of black scarves wrapped around his neck and muzzle. It was dark outside, but that did not prevent him from wearing mirrored aviator sunglasses. Carpenter cut jeans covered his legs, a pair of work boots on his feet. His hands were in his pockets, but he was wearing black gloves. If someone were to look up the definition of a shady character, they would find a written description that matched this guy. She kept her eyes on him and her hand crept to the panic button under her desk.


    He walked past the magazines, head turning left and right. Taking in the scenic Fort Miller Police Department ambiance like a sightseer. Next to the door was a corkboard with a list of missing persons throughout the state. A few adults, but mostly children with their information for anyone who might know something. His gaze lingered on the posters. He almost looked like he was studying it. His long, sleek tail, black furred and the only thing not wrapped in cloth, twitched back and forth. He was a feline of some kind, that much Nell could tell. The figure¡¯s head tilted and she could only imagine what he was thinking. The board was looking a lot emptier than she had ever seen it these days. Lost children seemed to show up on their own lately, heads filled with fantastical tales and telling bizarre stories that could not possibly be real. Nell figured kids were excellent at making up details when they could not process what happened to them. Too many video games, most likely. Nell tried not to pay attention to the tall tales, she was just glad they were going back to their parents. After being interviewed by the detectives, of course. The newly promoted detective seemed particularly good about tracking down lost people.


    The figure, seeming to get everything he wanted out of the corkboard, finally walked up to the desk. He put a gloved hand upon it, face pointed at Nell¡¯s. He had a smell to him. Not a bad one, just different. She could not quite place it. Something like soil and when she visited someone in the hospital.


    ¡°Good evening.¡± He said in an accent that sounded like it came from a character from a public television romance series. One set in Europe 150 years ago. ¡°I hope you are well, ma¡¯am.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine, dear.¡± Nell stated. Her finger moved away from the panic button. A customer service smile crossed her muzzle. ¡°How can I help you tonight?¡±Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°I need to report a murder. A great many murders. Kidnappings too. And attempted ones.¡±


    Nell blinked. That was a lot of crimes. She sighed inwardly. Must be a traveler trying to have fun with the local cops. She fought to remain professional. ¡°Do tell. And where did these crimes take place? Who¡¯s involved?¡±


    ¡°Long story, ma¡¯am.¡± He replied. ¡°But it¡¯s all the fault of one man. A man who¡¯s been murdering his way across the countryside for years, right under everyone¡¯s noses. He moves like a shadow. Bulletproof, spell proof, a monster¡­.¡± His head tilted, voice tinged with indignation. ¡°If you would get someone in charge, I¡¯d like to tell it.¡±


    She sighed and moved her hand farther from the panic button. ¡°I see. Maybe you should lay off the conspiracy theories, sir.¡±


    ¡°You do not believe me?¡± A throaty chuckle came from under his wraps. ¡°Would not expect you to. But he¡¯s real. He killed me four times.¡±


    Nell rolled her eyes. Yes. He was crazy. Or drunk. Probably both. ¡°I suggest you go sleep off whatever you have in your system. It¡¯s a crime to abuse emergency services, you know.¡±


    Another chuckle. He reached up to pull down his hoodie. One of his ears was missing, a jagged hole in its place. The visible flesh was pale. He took off his sunglasses. His eyes were milky yellow. They looked flat and dim; a corpse¡¯s eyes. The wraps came off his muzzle. Part of the flesh was stripped away from the upper jaw. A large, yellow fang and two teeth around it were exposed, sticking out of purple gums like bones from a tar pit.


    ¡°I think the detectives will believe me. If you would get them, I¡¯d be most appreciative, ma¡¯am.¡±


    Nell never pushed the panic button faster in her life.


    After the chaos, the stranger was brought back to an interview room. No expense had been used in decorating it. Folding chairs, an old card table that was a hand-me-down from one of the officers, four walls, and a door. The stranger sat down on one side of the table, two detectives on the other. The black panther with missing parts settled into the chair, sitting perched on it with his hands folded on the table. He looked as relaxed as an ambulatory corpse could. His eyes were still clouded from his recent revival. He could see two figures, but not many details. The name badges were a blur.


    The two detectives were a lion and a sloth. The lion wore a dark blue dress shirt, black tie, and black slacks. His mane was neatly trimmed and a silver ring was on the ring finger of his left hand. His shirt had several wrinkles on it, having never been ironed since purchase. The sloth had russet fur and a white dress shirt. Not a single crease on it or his black and white striped tie. He wore rounded spectacles with gold frames. The ring on his left ring finger was gold. Both married men, wives at home who were proud of the work their husbands did.


    ¡°Sorry for the confusion, Mr. Eacott.¡± The sloth stated. ¡°It isn¡¯t often our receptionist sees a dead man come in. Well, not one walking and telling tales.¡±


    The panther nodded. ¡°Think nothing of it. You may call me Thorpe, if you¡¯d prefer to be less formal.¡± A smile creased his mangled muzzle. ¡°And I¡¯m aware of how I look. I¡¯ve not been in this body long and it usually takes a week or so before the tissue starts coming back.¡± He traced a finger over his missing ear.


    ¡°I was not aware there was a timeline for such things.¡± The sloth stated, the lion wearing a slight smile at the wry comment.


    Thorpe chuckled. ¡°I¡¯ve had a long time to understand it. You¡¯re both taking this rather well, I must say.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen worse.¡± The lion commented. ¡°Can I get you something to eat? Coffee?¡±


    The panther shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m fine, thank you. I don¡¯t eat or drink, generally. Not food, anyway.¡±


    The sloth reached into his pocket, pulling out a pack of Blue Velvet brand cigarettes. ¡°Smoke? Mind if I do?¡±


    The panther shook his head again. ¡°I do not need to breathe either. By all means, smoke them if you have them.¡±


    The sloth shook one out, put it to his lips, and lit up. Exhaling a plume of smoke, it had a bluish cast under the fluorescent lights. ¡°You mentioned multiple murders when you came in. Sounds like you have a lot to say.¡±


    ¡°Indeed.¡± He nodded. ¡°It¡¯s not a short tale, if you would bear with me.¡±


    ¡°We got the time.¡± The lion took a sip from his mug of coffee. Thorpe¡¯s stomach lurched. Even when he was alive, he disliked coffee. Too bitter.


    ¡°It involves someone even more unusual looking than I am.¡± The panther leaned forward. The milky haze in his eyes focused, his expression clearing. He may have been dead, but he still had emotions. Hackles raised slightly at the very thought of the man who did him wrong. Smoldering coals in his chest at having been killed multiple times by a single malefactor. ¡°One who might be responsible for every missing child on your community board. Maybe every missing persons case in your record books. I¡¯ve seen him kill many, myself included. Such a man would surely be of interest to people who serve justice.¡±


    ¡°You have our attention, Mr. Eacott.¡± The lion said. ¡°Start at the beginning, if you would.


    ¡°Most certainly. Feel free to ask questions as I go. I¡¯ll fill in whatever details I can if it means this man cannot kill anyone else. The man known as ¡®the Farmer.¡¯¡±

 2. Dying at the Theatre

    The first time I met the Farmer, I wasn¡¯t looking for a fight.  Far from it.  I was in Hobson for a spell, finding the surroundings to my liking.  A nice place with a sleepy population.  The parlance would be a bedroom community.  It¡¯s surprisingly busy, being dead, so I needed a break.  Even reanimated corpses need relaxation every so often.  Wish I knew better that it wasn¡¯t safe.  These sort of places draw the farmer.


    Cinema has progressed greatly over the last several decades.  The addition of sound and color did wonders for the medium, so I find myself seeing a lot of movies.  You may find it a bit childish, but I¡¯m fond of the cartoon movies.  The work going into animation is a thing of beauty and I have to admire the drive of creators pouring their souls into their work.  The advent of computers seems to have done nothing but improve the quality and draw more happy children into the seats.  The Hobson Orpheum may not have been big, but two screens was more than enough for the town.


    The film that night was a newer one, I believe.  The title eludes me, but it was about a family of wolves adopting a pair of squirrels.  The plot was all right, what I remember of it.  Heartwarming and full of family bonding.  My mind was elsewhere.  Unsettled, I had an odd premonition.  Anyone who¡¯s been around as long as I have gets them.  Like someone walked over my grave.  My original one.  Tried to ignore it and focus on the squirrels, but the feeling made itself comfortable in my head.


    After the movie, the kids started filing out.  Must have been a birthday party or some other event, because there were not many adults around.  Just lots of young ones, laughing and having the time of their lives.  Warmed my heart, or would have if it still pumped blood.


    Heart almost was beating again.  Body gets livelier after enough time¡¯s passed, and I¡¯d been a badger for a couple decades.  Liked that body.  A lot.  Nice and trim with just the right about of muscle.  Had a funny, star shaped birthmark in the white fur on my right thigh.  Had the nicest blue eyes too.  Miss that body.


    I walked out of the theatre a little early.  Could see the ending coming, so I figured I¡¯d get out to make sure everyone leaving made it safely to their cars.  Do that sometimes, especially when I had that uncanny feeling.  Turned and headed toward the emergency exit near the bathrooms.  Carpet back there was faded, some of the lights out.  Dark, but I never mind the lack of light.  Woke up in so many coffins and morgues that dark, cramped spaces almost feel comfortable.


    It was clear the employees didn¡¯t get back there much.  My feet sank into the spongy, ugly carpet with each step.  Hideous thing; brown with orange and black spirals dancing all over it.  Some reject from the 1970s, the ugliest era I can think of.  Cloudy glass cases on the wall held movie posters from the same era.  Air smelled like they were waiting until the end of the night to clean the lavatories.  Wasn¡¯t strong enough to cover the smell of children, but nothing is.


    Saw them filing out in a disorganized line.  Lots of short, young people laughing and chatting eagerly about the movie.  Seemed to like it, talking about¡­  I don¡¯t even remember.  Probably the squirrel kids saying something funny or the wolf dad falling down.  Groups of twos, threes, and fours.  The only chaperone was an elderly wolf at the front of the line; probably someone¡¯s grandmother.


    One of the kids in particular got my attention.  A buck that was a little tall for his height with fur a little red for his species.  No antlers yet, so couldn¡¯t have even been eight.  He was walking all alone.  Felt bad for the kid; I didn¡¯t have a lot of friends when I was a boy.  There was another chaperone at the end of the line, but he didn¡¯t see me as I slipped through the shadows to follow them.  Trailed them outside.  Hot for that time of year, I think.  Kind of lose track of the days and months when you¡¯ve been around as long as I have, but it seemed too warm.  Feeling was stronger than ever, so I kept a close eye on the kids.  The little buck wandered off a ways, his attention captured by a flickering in the shadows.  Probably a sensitive kid, you can tell the type.  Easy to distract and guide.  I followed him.  Got closer.  Smelled like those sour candies you get at the movies, the ones shaped like little people.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    The shadows seemed to snatch him away.  Kid just disappeared.  You can understand how alarmed I was.  I¡¯m a people helper, you see.  When I see someone trying to hurt someone else, I run after them to try and stop it.  That¡¯s what I did.


    I broke into a sprint.  I¡¯m pretty quick and can press any body I¡¯m in to its limits.  When you don¡¯t need to worry about catching your breath or overtaxing your heart, there¡¯s a lot you can do.  Guess I¡¯m something of a superhero.  Between my magic and undead body, I¡¯m pretty clever in a fight.  Fully capable of besting whatever creature sought to hurt the poor, innocent lad.


    The sound of cracking bone should¡¯ve alerted me to something I couldn¡¯t handle.  Knew something bad was going on.  He was killing the kid, tearing him apart.  I looked around, but I couldn¡¯t see him.  Nasty creature.  Never saw him till he was on me.  Felt like someone dropped a truck on me and I¡¯ve been hit by automobiles before.  It was like he dropped out of the sky.


    I remember his face, though.  Almost human, but like he was drawn by someone who¡¯d never seen one.  That ugly face with angular lines and a hooked nose.  Steel gray eyes that looked right through you.  His lips were peeled back into a snarl with blood on his teeth.  He¡¯d been eating the kid.  I raised my hand to fight him, but I wasn¡¯t fast enough.  His fist came down on my face.  I felt my muzzle collapse, bones cracking into splinters with enough force to split apart the flesh and fur of my muzzle.  It hurt like hell.  Even being dead, I can still feel pain.  Not as much as when I was alive, but it¡¯s hard to miss having your skull burst like a melon.  I was dead.


    The detectives took the story in, calmly regarding Thorpe as he finished his tale.  No outward signs of being rattled by it, to the panther¡¯s surprise.  He had to give them credit for that.  Many would have already run away screaming from the sight of his face.  Being seasoned did not set off a lot of alarm bells in Thorpe¡¯s head.  The world was a strange place and more police officers realized this than they let on.  Or maybe they were not paying attention.


    ¡°Are you¡­  familiar with these events, detectives?¡±  Thorpe asked.


    The sloth nodded.  ¡°We heard about Hobson.  Happened around spring of last year.  Your story checks out, especially about the buck.  Found him much like you described.  Bones split open and the marrow drained.¡±


    ¡°¡­  He got the theatre employees too.  Four of them.¡±  The lion added.  ¡°Strangled.  Did you happen to see that?¡±


    Thorpe might have, but it seemed unimportant.  He shook his head.  ¡°No, but I can¡¯t say I was watching them too carefully.¡±


    ¡°They were found near the child.  It would have been hard to miss.¡±


    Thorpe felt a vague sense of annoyance course through him, but quelled it.  ¡°My focus was on saving the child.  If I missed them, my apologies.  I may have been occupied having my brain pulverized.¡±


    The lion nodded.  ¡°Understandable.¡±  He cleared his throat.  ¡°You said you were a badger back then.  You clearly aren¡¯t now.¡±


    Thorpe had to chuckle.  He was waiting for this to come up.  ¡°A complicated problem with a simple answer.  While my body can regenerate over time, it does not have infinite capacity to revive itself.  I heal at roughly the same rate as a normal person, if not a bit faster.¡±  Faster still if he was well fed, but some details the police did not need to know.  Too distasteful.  ¡°However, if I am damaged to the point I ¡®die¡¯, my soul shifts to another body.¡±


    Both officers looked concerned, he assumed.  It was hard to read their expressions because his vision was still cloudy.


    ¡°I can tell you are unsettled, but don¡¯t be.  I move to empty shells.  Bodies where the soul has already passed on.  Recently deceased and still intact.  All the arms, legs, and parts functioning decently.  There¡¯s a larger number than you¡¯d think out there.  It¡¯s a condition of mortality that people die.  Well, most people.¡±  He smiled at his own joke.  The detectives offered pity smiles.


    ¡°That must be¡­  jarring.¡±  The sloth commented.


    ¡°It does take some getting used to.¡± Thorpe replied.  ¡°But, it¡¯s better than the alternative.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d rather pass to my reward, frankly.¡±  The lion interjected.  ¡°This world¡¯s just a temporary stop.¡±


    Thorpe felt his body stiffen.  He passed it off.  The less he thought about that, the better.  ¡°I have too much to do to pass on.  May place is still here.¡±  He tried to avoid looking awkward, but failed.


    Thrope straightened up, knowing it best to continue his story.  ¡°I¡¯d like to move on, detectives, if that¡¯s all right with you.  I have more information to disclose.  Three more meetings with the Farmer.¡±


    ¡°By all means, continue.  I¡¯ll be back momentarily.¡±  The lion stood up, taking his coffee cup to refill.  Thorpe decided it best to wait until he returned.