The Ramble wood stood as a bastion of nature against the relentless urban encroachment of the city of Adalaine. Designated as a wildlife refuge by the Vanderbilt family, the great wood was cordoned off for preservation. The family commissioned the construction of a great fence to encapsulate the wood and resist urban invasion. Human entry was forbidden. Nature was left to its own devices.
Farmland, once serving as a buffer between the wood and the urban populous, had been largely eliminated as farmers, on-by-one, sold out to developers bringing the neighborhoods to the very doorstep of the wood. Relentless pressure mounted on the great wood and the creatures who dwelled within.
Once abundant with wildlife, the population of rabbits, deer, bear, and bats in the wood had fallen precipitously. Local experts blamed habit loss while others theorized a new predator was afoot. Ecologists of international merit were brought in by the Vanderbilt family at great expense. Extensive surveys and investigation by the experts could find no cause for the sudden decline. The animals had simply vanished.
Legend grew of a strange creature that inhabited the wood. Stories of sightings were sporadic and inconsistent in description. Some described a human-like creature, walking upright, while others claimed it lumbered about on all fours. The Mexican work-hands spoke of a Chupacabra. A hideous creature rumored to steal small children from their homes in the night. Many refused to work near the fenced perimeter of the wood for fear of an encounter. Tales of the creature became a favorite pastime at the neighborhood clubhouse, often during evenings of over-imbibement, serving to cloud their veracity. The legend reached a fever-pitch when WLOS broadcast a grainy cell phone video that claimed to be the creature retreating into the dense brush beyond the wood. Being of low quality it was quickly written off. The affluent residents of the neighborhood rimming the wood would laugh the stories off as good fun akin to the tales of a giant catfish lurking in the community lake. Their refined intellect could obviously not accept such a ridiculous legend. A few residents, however, felt differently, if only in private. These were the few whose homes backed up directly to the fenced wood. Because on some moonlit nights, as their dogs stood barking viciously at the darkened wood beyond the fence, they would feel a chill up their spine and a creeping feeling something was watching them. Something medieval. Something dangerous.
The shrill ring of the rotary phone cut through the air like a knife shattering the peaceful early morning quiet and awakening Grady VanZandt with a gasp. 2:04am. Grady lifted the receiver and in a moment the world came back into focus. "This is Grady". The voice on the other end was frantic, a patchwork of spanglish and incomplete sentences interrupted by a staccato of exasperated breathing. "Ok, Ok, tranquilo, tranquilo amigo". Grady tried to calm the chicano across the land line. "What did you see? Que paso?". "Ok, ok, I'm coming. Me voy!" Grady glanced outside the bedroom window for a moment. The full moon cast an eerie pale white light on the lawn beyond the louvered bedroom window. Grady regarded the thought and rolled out of bed bracing his hand on the bedside mahogany table. Carol VanZandt stirred and rolled part way over regarding her husband. "What was that all about?" "Chicano worker says he seen some kind of creature along the fence line near the workers quarters. You know, them trailers in the back quarter. Got himself all worked up about it. Probably drunk at this hour. Or worse still. Maybe a cyote or bobcat. Plenty of them roud'. I'm up now. Might as well check it out" "Ok, be careful"
"Moon like this. A man hardly needs a flashlight." "You're bringing your flashlight" "I'm bringing my flashlight darlin'"
Farmland, once serving as a buffer between the wood and the urban populous, had been largely eliminated as farmers, on-by-one, sold out to developers bringing the neighborhoods to the very doorstep of the wood. Relentless pressure mounted on the great wood and the creatures who dwelled within.
Once abundant with wildlife, the population of rabbits, deer, bear, and bats in the wood had fallen precipitously. Local experts blamed habit loss while others theorized a new predator was afoot. Ecologists of international merit were brought in by the Vanderbilt family at great expense. Extensive surveys and investigation by the experts could find no cause for the sudden decline. The animals had simply vanished.
Legend grew of a strange creature that inhabited the wood. Stories of sightings were sporadic and inconsistent in description. Some described a human-like creature, walking upright, while others claimed it lumbered about on all fours. The Mexican work-hands spoke of a Chupacabra. A hideous creature rumored to steal small children from their homes in the night. Many refused to work near the fenced perimeter of the wood for fear of an encounter. Tales of the creature became a favorite pastime at the neighborhood clubhouse, often during evenings of over-imbibement, serving to cloud their veracity. The legend reached a fever-pitch when WLOS broadcast a grainy cell phone video that claimed to be the creature retreating into the dense brush beyond the wood. Being of low quality it was quickly written off. The affluent residents of the neighborhood rimming the wood would laugh the stories off as good fun akin to the tales of a giant catfish lurking in the community lake. Their refined intellect could obviously not accept such a ridiculous legend. A few residents, however, felt differently, if only in private. These were the few whose homes backed up directly to the fenced wood. Because on some moonlit nights, as their dogs stood barking viciously at the darkened wood beyond the fence, they would feel a chill up their spine and a creeping feeling something was watching them. Something medieval. Something dangerous.
The shrill ring of the rotary phone cut through the air like a knife shattering the peaceful early morning quiet and awakening Grady VanZandt with a gasp. 2:04am. Grady lifted the receiver and in a moment the world came back into focus. "This is Grady". The voice on the other end was frantic, a patchwork of spanglish and incomplete sentences interrupted by a staccato of exasperated breathing. "Ok, Ok, tranquilo, tranquilo amigo". Grady tried to calm the chicano across the land line. "What did you see? Que paso?". "Ok, ok, I'm coming. Me voy!" Grady glanced outside the bedroom window for a moment. The full moon cast an eerie pale white light on the lawn beyond the louvered bedroom window. Grady regarded the thought and rolled out of bed bracing his hand on the bedside mahogany table. Carol VanZandt stirred and rolled part way over regarding her husband. "What was that all about?" "Chicano worker says he seen some kind of creature along the fence line near the workers quarters. You know, them trailers in the back quarter. Got himself all worked up about it. Probably drunk at this hour. Or worse still. Maybe a cyote or bobcat. Plenty of them roud'. I'm up now. Might as well check it out" "Ok, be careful"
"Moon like this. A man hardly needs a flashlight." "You're bringing your flashlight" "I'm bringing my flashlight darlin'"
