Free Raven Stole the Moon by Garth Stein Page A

circle the fire pit mumbling half-words and non-sentences to himself, keeping the fire raging, feeling that somehow it would protect him from whoever was out there. There was nobody there, he told himself, nobody but the little people in his mind. But still. A scratch against the window, probably a branch blown by the wind, and then some hurried steps, probably an animal, maybe a coyote because it sounded too big to be a squirrel. Why did he notice all these sounds now? He knew they were the sounds of the woods and they existed whether or not he was there to hear them, and he could only figure that his state of exhaustion and hunger made him more aware, and that his lack of human contact and being bottled up in the stupid building watching a fire was finally getting to him. The buildup of nicotine in his system probably wasn’t helping, either. But still, no matter how much he rationalized, when he heard the thump like a big animal falling against the building, his heart jumped into his throat and he was afraid.
    He knew he had to investigate. That would be the only thing that would calm him down. Go out into the cold darkness and find out what was there. You must face your fears. You must confront them head-on and find out what is real and what is imagined. That’s the only way you can proceed through life. So he grabbed the flashlight and opened the door to the night.
    He couldn’t hear anything except for the beating of the rain and the wind, and he circled the building seeing nothing, no movement, no animals, no moving shadows, nothing. He was satisfied that it was the weakness in his mind caused by fatigue that made him hear things. But he wanted to circle the building again. Just to be sure. So he started around the back of the building, sinking into the mud to his ankles, and this time he saw movement. It was an animal lying on the ground by the building. From where he stood, he couldn’t really make out what it was, but it seemed pretty big, a furry back and long legs. The flashlight was weak and the yellow light it cast on the animal didn’t tell Ferguson anything. The animal moved and Ferguson could see its short, oily coat glisten in the rain. It growled, so it was definitely alive, but it seemed hurt. Ferguson picked up a stick that was at his feet. It wasn’t quite long enough for his taste, but he held it out and jabbed the animal with it. The animal barked and snapped at the stick and Ferguson stepped back in horror. Even in the darkness and the rain Ferguson could tell that this wasn’t an animal he had found. No, it wasn’t an animal at all. It was David Livingstone.
    Ferguson took a step back and looked down at the animal in disbelief. It was like nothing he had seen before. Not human and not animal, it lay on its side breathing heavily. Ferguson crouched down to get a better look. Was it David? He thought he had seen David’s face, but now he didn’t know. It was hurt, whatever it was. It had no strength. Ferguson reached out his hand, hoping to roll it over so he could see it better. He touched the soft fur. Roll it over on its back. The animal suddenly snapped around, swiping at Ferguson’s arm and baring its sharp teeth. Ferguson fell backward with a yell. He heard a screeching sound from the animal as it turned on him, and he swung his flashlight, hitting the animal hard on the side of the head. The animal recoiled and Ferguson hit it again and then a third time, until it finally fell to the ground, unconscious.
    The animal didn’t move when Ferguson nudged it with his foot. He rolled it over on its back and aimed his flashlight at its face. He could see clearly now that it was David’s face, strangely flattened but recognizable. It had peculiar, thin arms growing out of the front of its chest. There was a short coat of hair all over its body. Ferguson didn’t understand what was going on or what this thing was at his feet, but he decided to drag it into the community house in case it