FEVERCHAIN 9.5

FEVERCHAIN is a HORROR serial set in the fictional Pinetown, New Jersey. HORROR, motherfuckerzzzz

Voiceover by the versatile Emily S Hurricane.

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I can search for Smokey and film cool forest stuff. Not deer. I have so much friggin deer, they’re boring. Last week, I spotted a coyote, but it ran away before I could record it.

Currently got 6 shots of roadkill. I would have more if Mom would stop the dang car. “It’s creepy, it smells,” yeah, duh. That’s the whole point, Mom. It catches the eye before you look away. You wanna pretend it isn’t there—Bambi with brains exposed—that’s how I know it’s powerful. All these dead things with no funeral. Left to rot. To be forgot. Kinda messed up. Kinda more disturbing than anything you’d find at Spirit Halloween or in the CGI horror movies. And roadkill is free to film.

What if I found… Smokey’s body? That would be fucked! Real sad.

Glad we agreed to split up and spread out.

Apparently Smokes just walked out their front door last night, even though Miss Panco swore she locked it. If she really did—that’s one smart dog. Or maybe he’s stupid. There’s coyotes. Got my blowhorn out for a reason. Locked and loaded.

“Smokey! Yoo-hoo! Smokey!” I try to whistle, but only spit comes out. Step over and between dead shrubs, my sneaks crunching pine straw. Maybe if I find him, I’ll get money. Even if I don’t, this whole thing could be inspo for a screenplay, a mystery: Dog Dissolved. Everyone thinks the dog got lost but actually someone kidnapped it (I recorded Binks while she was crying… such a pretty crier… I probably should’ve asked her first). The CIA kidnapped it because the dog has nuclear codes in its brain. Or it’s secretly an extraterrestrial.

I’m not heartless, alright? I’m worried too. Especially with the coyotes being rabies babies. I jiggle the blowhorn.

“Yoo-hoo! Yoo-hoo!”

Branches wave and rustle at me. From the distance I hear: “Ruff!” from a domestic doggie. Coyotes don’t sound like that. They scream.

So it’s gotta be Mr. Smokes! I turn on my camera and sprint, calling yoo-hoo, yoo-hoo…

Where is that motherfucker??

“Smokey?”

Something shadow moves between the trees. Moving strange. Is he hurt? I zoom in with my camera, fingers trembling in fingerless gloves. My blood and breath are wooWOOwooWOO—I gotta chill. Focus.

Behind the pine trunk I see a leg. A black curly carpet hairy human leg. Then another one. It backs up to look at me on all fours, eyes super freak blue. WHAT THE FUCCCKKKKK. I back up, keeping my camera on the thing, trying to keep quiet as I swallow my lips.

It’s the Jersey Devil. It’s Bigfoot. In real life. Real life!—I slip. Hit my butt. Survey everything everywhere, left right left. Whatever that thing was is gone. Nowhere! I listen. Nada.

“Hello?”

I shouldn’t have been such a bitch and gotten closer. But what if it was just a really hairy naked guy in the woods? Sitting on the sandy dirt, I blow the dust from my camera and tap buttons to look at the footage. Yeah, it’s a human leg. Man nose over the mustache and beard. It’s really just a hairy guy. Almost Ripley’s Believe It or Not! hairy. I grimace and turn from the screen, but I don’t think his junk is in it. Why did that dude bark?

Why’s he messing with Emilio, eh?

Something ain’t right. My head and hair swish around, meeting pine tree pine tree pine tree pine tree. How the heck do I get outta here when I don’t know where ‘out’ is? “Dad?” I shouldn’t have run ahead. That wasn’t cool, especially because he has knee problems. “Dad?”

A shadow figure against the pines. It stands. Barks.

Not a doggie. Not. I snatch my camera, remember to press record, and bolt. “DAD DAD DAD DAD!”