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Nathan sat in the cold booth, clinging on to the scalding hot cup of coffee so tight that his knuckles had turned white. His fingers weren’t the only part of his body that craved heat, but his situation wasn’t so dire that he was ready to fling hot coffee at his own face. As he sat, he looked up at the old, barely functioning television positioned above the counter. “Now we turn our attention back to The Moose – a killer, as violent as he is enigmatic, that has been prowling the otherwise peaceful streets of Canada. The latest is he has claimed another victim. Maple Creek local man Jason Jones was found in what is thought to be a disused meth lab hanging upside down with all of his blood drained into steel drums.” Nathan grimaced and took a sip of the burning liquid, smiling as it washed over his numb lips. Nathan tried to shut the newscast about The Moose’s rampage out of his mind – after all, he thought, if anything was going to kill him that night, it would be ice on the roads. That’s what Nathan thought. But Nathan, of course, thought wrong. After Nathan had suitably warmed himself and got some food and coffee into his stomach, he ventured back out into the cold. The wind had settled somewhat, and the snow had lifted; if he made good time, he could still get to his destination before nightfall. As the sun sank below the horizon and darkness overtook the night, Nathan was thankful for the coffee he’d drank back at the rest stop. He flicked his lights on full, and just a few yards ahead, the beams illuminated a sight he never thought he’d see… A hitchhiker! He slowed his car down and pulled into the layby a few yards ahead of the woman, who excitedly picked up her weatherbeaten backpack and ran over. “Hey!” she said breathlessly. "Thanks for stopping.” “No worries.” “Where are you heading?” “Maple Creek. Where are you hitchhiking to?” he asked. The woman laughed, a relieved smile forming. “Maple Creek," she said, beaming. Nathan unlocked the car doors. “Well, if you want to hitch a ride, you’re welcome to.” “Yes please.” The woman said enthusiastically. She opened the passenger door and got in, stuffing the backpack in the footwell. Nathan pulled out of the layby and back onto the road – the road which was far less populated than it had been earlier in the day. Not that Nathan minded that – he was a man who enjoyed the romanticised idea of one man in a vehicle on the open highways of Canada. “So, why Maple Creek?” “I was born there, I have family there. Just visiting, got to keep up my Good Daughter Score," she said with a laugh. “Oh shit, how rude am I? I’m Megan. Thank you for stopping.” “I’m Nathan. It was a pleasure to stop," he said with a dopey grin. The drive passed pleasantly with the two of them exchanging stories about growing up in Maple Creek and offering opinions on the stories that were making the news. Of course, the discussion got more serious and somber in tone when the story of The Moose’s reign of terror was inevitably brought up on the news. “That’s scary shit.” Megan mumbled flatly, her posture changing. She shrank back in her seat and began to fidget nervously, her eyes darting around as if she were looking for an escape route. Nathan noticed her movements out of the corner of his eye. “Hey, are you okay?” “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine," she said, a little too quick… quick enough for Nathan to realise that she was lying. “I can change the station?” he offered. Megan shifted nervously. “You can let me out here.” “What?” “Here. Let me out. Please.” “But…” “Now. Please.” She snapped, now looking visibly distressed. Nathan relented and parked up in a layby and unlocked the door. Megan grabbed her backpack and got out of the car. She reached into her backpack and pulled out an expensive-looking flashlight, switched it on, and began to walk quickly. Nathan killed the engine and got out of the car. “Megan.” He called. She turned around. He was bathed in torchlight. “What?” “Why are you leaving? Is it because of the news? Are you scared?” “Of course I’m fucking scared.” “And you don’t trust me?” “You’re a man.” “Megan, we’re going to the same place. You can trust me. I’m not The Moose," he said softly in a measured tone. Megan stared at him, unblinking for a few moments before exhaling heavily. She trudged slowly back over to him. When she was closer, she looked into his eyes. “I’m sorry.” “It’s okay, it’s okay to be scared. But you don’t have to worry about me. Like I said: I’m not The Moose," he said with a friendly smile. Megan returned the smile. “I know," she said before slamming the head of the flashlight into Nathan’s temple. He yelled out in pain and went down. His head slammed into the bonnet of his car as he fell. Megan rushed to his side and checked his pulse – he was still alive. Nathan groaned and his leg twitched, but Megan was quick and slammed the torch against his temple again. Nathan’s head slumped forward. She heaved Nathan into the passenger seat, and she got into the driver’s seat, adjusted the positioning of the seat, and drove off into the night. *** Nathan let out a loud moan as he woke up. He opened his eyes and then quickly shut them again as a stinging liquid hit his irises. He turned his head, opened his eyes slowly, and saw that his arms and legs were bolted to the ground. He couldn't move. In an erratic exercise in futility, Nathan tried to free his limbs, but alas, he was unable to. He tried to work his hands or legs free – the foul-smelling liquid had made him wet and slick – but the restraints were much too tight. He was most certainly trapped. The sprayers overhead ceased spraying and Nathan was left in silence – without the sound of the sprinklers to distract him he became acutely aware of just how sodden he was and how putrid the stench was. He heard the door open and now that he was able to he opened his eyes and looked at the figure who was approaching him. She was wearing a containment suit, but Nathan still recognised her – it was Megan. She’d hit him in the head with a torch! “What do you want? Why am I here?” he asked, struggling to keep his composure as some of the mystery liquid seeped into his mouth. “And what the fuck is this shit?” he spluttered. Megan chuckled. “Well, let’s see,” she began, “let’s start with the liquid, shall we? That is a mixture of cedar oil and beaver pheromones.” “What the…” “You’re here,” she interrupted, “because what baby wants, baby gets. And I’m baby.” She walked to the door that she had come through and turned. “Oh Nathan, as for what I want, I would have thought that would be rather obvious to you. I want you to die.” She turned to leave. “Why me? What the fuck have I ever done to you?” Nathan yelled desperately. Megan stopped and turned around. “Nathan, you’ve done nothing to me. We’ve never met before. I don’t know you, you don’t know me. Why you? Because you stopped. If you’d carried on driving, someone else would be here instead of you. You may be the main character in your own story, but in my story… you’re a footnote. This isn’t about you, this is about me. I like to kill people. I am The Moose!” She turned and left the room as Nathan yelled uselessly for help. The door closed. It locked. All around the room, small segments of the wall opened, revealing pitch-black apertures – and from within Nathan could hear a scratching sound. A scratching sound that was getting progressively louder as something, or some things, approached at speed. “What’s happening, what’s going on?” Nathan screamed, his voice cracking and leaving his mouth as a high-pitched squeal. The scratching noise reached a crescendo and a horde of beavers swarmed into the room. The beavers were in a frenzy – they could smell the pheromones and the smell of wood – they were consumed with the urge, the need to strip bark and mate. All of the beavers that had flooded into the room were male, and as the lack of wood and viable mates became ever more apparent, their confusion and fear swiftly changed to anger and frustration. At first, they snapped and swatted at each other, but animals so often work together, especially when they are up against a foreign threat. And so it was that their aggression towards one another paused and was turned upon the large pink creature on the ground. One beaver tentatively nipped at one of Nathan’s exposed toes. “Ow, you motherfucker!” he yelled. Another beaver - this one much bigger and evidently much bolder - rushed forward and sank his large teeth into one of Nathan’s love handles and tore away a small chunk of flesh. The wound wept thick tears of blood as Nathan howled at the ceiling. The beavers quickly realised that their foe was little threat to them, and so, one by one, they rushed forward to take a bite. One bite turned to a second bite and a second bite turned to a third. The hungry, aggressive beavers severed with their mighty teeth, rending flesh, stripping muscle, slicing tendons with each bite, all the while Nathan screamed incoherently and wept. A sizeable cluster of the blood-sodden beavers rushed to Nathan’s neck and began to chew, and as their hunger grew and their frenzied tearing continued, Nathan’s screams became quieter and quieter. His screams were completely and utterly silenced when one of the fatter beavers, who had worked up a monstrous appetite, tore apart Nathan’s throat and eagerly dived in. Its teeth shredded his windpipe and silenced his impotent screams, and as his body filled with spilled blood, and as the animals worked their way inwards, he looked up. And as he died, as his vision turned black, the very last thing he saw was a particularly fat beaver clambering onto his face. This beaver had a hunger… for eyes. FIN.
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