Where Monsters Lie (The Monster Within 2)

“He’s an axehandle hound,” I tell him.

“Seen those before,” he says. “Just thought I was crazy, so I didn’t tell anyone about it.”

“Most people don’t realize they’re not just dogs,” Piers chimes in. He scratches Cleaver’s ears. “They’re friendly, for the most part.”

I fold the map up and tuck it into my pocket. “Well, while we’re here, it’d probably be best if you weren’t.”

Henry nods. “Yeah, all right. You’ll be gone by January?”

“Yes.”

“I’m gone, then. Have at it.” He walks over to the fire and pours a bucket of sand on it, dousing it. Disappointed, Cleaver wanders back over to me. We follow Henry out, and he locks the door behind us and gets into his pickup truck.

As the truck drives away, Piers eyes the tent he’s left leaning against the rental car. “Well, off to find a place to set up camp, I guess.”

I unfold the map and we take a longer look at it. My hands are already growing numb from the cold. The marks Henry has made correlate with what we know about agropelters—namely, that their territory usually consists of a little over a three-mile radius. It doesn’t sound like much, but for us it means it could take weeks—or longer—to find it.

We pick a spot central to the red marks, pick up our gear, and head out.

Getting ourselves to the spot we’ve picked is easier said than done. We have to trek up and down hills, and a few places are muddy where the local geysers have melted some of the new fallen snow. Cleaver has no issues. He runs back and forth ahead of us, barking and wagging his tail, having the time of his life. Once we arrive, we have to find a spot flat enough to even be able to pitch the tent.

“Are these human tracks?” Piers asks incredulously as I’m building a campfire.

“Probably Henry’s,” I reply.

“How big were Henry’s feet?”

“Why would I be looking at Henry’s feet?” I ask, looking over my shoulder. “Just come here and help me with this fire.”

He mumbles to himself and drifts over to help.

A day goes by. And then another, and another, until it’s been a week.

And then it snows.

The agropelter’s territory might be small, but that doesn’t make him easy to find.

Piers and I are already miserable. The tent is small and not well-insulated. Fearful of running out of rations, we start to hunt regular animals for our meals, which is fine until we realize we didn’t bring anything for seasoning. Not even a pinch of salt. Every day is spent fumbling through the cold December air searching for signs of the agropelter, and every day we return empty-handed.

Not that there aren’t signs—there are plenty of those. Droppings, nests, claw marks on tree trunks, all the telltale signs that our books told us about. It’s just that the actual monster alludes us. There are a few signs of humans, too, but I assume those are just traces left by Henry the groundskeeper. Piers catches sight of a man wandering through the woods one day, but I tell him that it’s just a local farmer.

“Do local farmers’ eyes glow?” he asks nervously.

“You’re being stupid,” I tell him, ignoring my own misgivings. The nearest town is miles away, and no one in their right minds would be hiking around the closed park this time of year. Anything … unusual … that Piers might have seen I chalk up to delusions brought on by the freezing weather.

I don’t know when the snow starts again. All I know is that I wake up shivering and gasping in the night from a dream where I’m being disemboweled by an agropelter with icy hands. I open the tent flap just a smidgeon to see a blanket of white over the ground outside, and Cleaver gamboling around in the snow like an idiot. He hates the tent and would much rather sleep out in the cold.

I struggle to fall asleep despite my shivering for a few minutes until finally I give up. I drag my sleeping bag over to Piers’ and push myself against him.

He jerks awake immediately. “Avery? What the—what are you doing? Shit it’s cold!”

“That’s why I’m doing this,” I mumble. “It’s snowing again.”

“Fucking perfect.” He opens his sleeping bag. “Just come in here. It’ll be warmer.”

I gratefully abandon my own to crawl into his, snuggling against him for warmth. He wraps his arms around me as I bury my face in his chest. Already it’s warmer.

We’re fully clothed, but I’m aware of his body against mine. His chest rises and falls with his breaths.