The Beast of Bladenboro

Or a little cryptozoology from the Old North State.

An extra bit of fiction this week. I hope you enjoy it!

Lance cracked his eye open and when he saw that darkness surrounded him, he sat up straight. The bass boat rocked a little at the sudden movement, but to a man who'd spent most of his thirty years on one watercraft or another it was barely noticeable. "Damn, must have had one or two too many." Tall silver cans littered the floor. He kicked them to one side and got up slowly. A combination of the warm day, being up since well before sunrise, and a suitcase of beer had all gone to his head. Susie would rip his ears off, but it wouldn't be the first time he'd been out late on a hunting or fishing trip.

He sat down behind the console and keyed the engine to life. It came to with a dull thrum and the bottom of the boat vibrated under his feet. Now he just had to get his wits about him and figure out where on the Lumber River he was. He'd drifted with it for a while and had been asleep for at least a couple of hours. Still, he didn't recognize the shore. He could have drifted into one of the tributaries. There were woods within a dozen yards of either side of his boat. There was no place to put in, though.

"Hell, I could spend the night in the boat." His own voice spooked him a little. Looking down at where he'd been laying, another few hours on hard floor held no attraction. His sleeping bag and extra jacket were in the jeep. The chairs were padded well enough, but were unsuitable for getting a full night's sleep. The GPS app he had should tell him where he was at. He pulled out his cell phone and discovered that the battery was dead. Damn cheap Chinese piece of shit.

"Nothing for it but to put in somewhere and sleep in a tree if I have to." He turned the wheel to get closer to the shore on what had to be the east side of the river if the moon was any indication. A few feet before he hit any land, he cut the engine and turned the wheel again. With the practiced ease of an old hand, the boat drifted until he could reach an overhanging branch. Using it, he pulled the boat closer inland, and the crunch of gravel underneath the boat pleased him.

With a quick motion, he tied the boat to the tree limb. That was when he noticed the forest around him had gotten entirely too quiet. He expected to hear night birds and insects calling to one another. Instead there was only silence. A deep instinctive pull made him draw the skinning knife from its sheath on his hip. He didn't have a pistol, thanks to a misunderstanding with the Sheriff a few years ago. His shotgun was with his jacket and sleeping bag.

A scream sounded from deep in the woods. It sounded human, but he'd heard enough wildcats to know one when he heard it. Still, it was unlike any cougar he'd heard. It sounded pissed. "Sleeping in the boat it is." He swiped at the rope with his knife and turned his back to get the engine started. That was when he felt a sledge hammer with claws hit him between the shoulder blades.

He screamed as the sharp teeth sank into the flesh where neck and shoulder met. His final thought was of Susie and how sad she'd be.

~~~~~

The Beast of Bladenboro refers to the creature responsible for a string of deaths amongst Bladenboro, North Carolina animals in the winter of 1953-54. According to witnesses and trackers it was likely a wildcat, but the uncertain nature of its identity lends itself to cryptozoology. It was known to most commonly crush or decapitate its victims, which were mostly dogs.