Free The Case of the Bone-Stalking Monster by John R. Erickson

have monsters at the dog pound, and besides, my legs are so short, I’m kind of nearsighted.”
    â€œHmmm. I hadn’t thought of that. How many fingers am I holding up?”
    He squinted at me. “Let’s see. Fifteen?”
    I turned to Drover. “Ralph’s out. I guess it’s down to you and me. Or to put it another way, Drover, congratulations. You get the job.”
    â€œYeah, but I saw fifteen fingers too. My eyes are terrible.”
    â€œThey’ll get better with practice.”
    â€œAnd this old leg of mine . . .”
    â€œNever mind the leg, Drover. You’ll take the first watch. Ralph and I will go into Bunker Position. If you see anything suspicious, you can give us a call.”
    Drover whimpered and cried, but I ignored him.
    By the time Ralph and I entered the Fortified Bunker, darkness had fallen over the ranch. Oh, and in case you’re not familiar with Fortified Bunkers, let me describe this one. It consisted of one gunny­sack. To enter the bunker, we eased our heads be­neath the sack.
    You may not believe this, but that layer of gunny­sack material provides excellent protection against, oh, incoming mortar shells, laser beams, you name it. It also has the extra benefit of shutting out a world that has become . . .
    How can we put this? If a guy needs a break from the rigors of . . . he can find peace and quiet beneath a gunnysack, is the point.
    I know, Drover often uses this technique to flee from Reality, but that’s a different deal.
    Anyway, Ralph and I entered the Fortified Bunker. He broke the long silence. “You reckon the monster’ll come back?”
    â€œWe don’t have an answer to that, Ralph.”
    â€œI wish I was fishin’ with Jimmy Joe.”
    â€œGet some sleep, Ralph. This may be a long night.”
    â€œI wish I was back at the dog pound. I wish . . .”
    Just then Drover called in his first report. “Hank, I see something out there!”

    Ralph and I froze. Perhaps we exchanged worried glances. It was hard to tell in the darkness of the bunker. I decided to break radio silence.
    â€œBlue Moon, this is Dishpan. Go ahead.”
    â€œI was calling for Hank. I must have got the wrong number.”
    â€œThis is me, you drip, but I’m running under the code name Dishpan. Your code name is Blue Moon. Go ahead, Blue Moon. What do you see?”
    â€œWell, I’m not sure, but it moved.”
    â€œRoger, Blue Moon. Keep your eye on it and let us know what happens, over.”
    There was a minute or two of eerie silence. Then . . .
    â€œBlue Dish, this is Moonbeam. It’s still out there, and it’s still moving.”
    â€œRoger, Blue Moon. Can you identify that odd noise we’re picking up?”
    â€œIt’s my teeth again.”
    â€œRoger, Blue Moon. We’d better go to Silent Teeth. Can you give us a description, over?”
    â€œThey’re long and white and smooth.”
    â€œWhat are you describing, Blue Moon?”
    â€œMy teeth, and I can’t keep ’em still.”
    â€œBlue Roger, Moonshine, but we need a description of the moving object, over.”
    â€œOh. Well, let’s see here. Oh my gosh!”
    â€œWhat is it, Blue Moon? Report at once, over.”
    â€œIt’s a . . . he’s . . . oh my gosh! Dishrag, this Blue Cheese, and it’s a . . . it’s a red hairy gorilla with three yellow eyes and huge claws and long bloody teeth and . . . and he’s seven feet tall and he’s . . . CRUSHING BONES IN HIS MOUTH!”
    That last part sent a jolt of electricity out to the end of my tail. I tried to remain calm, but that wasn’t easy.
    â€œHoly cats, Drover, you’ve just described a Bone Monster.”
    â€œI was afraid of that. What should I do?”
    â€œHang on, Cheese Ball. Give us a minute to think.” I sent an urgent message to Data Control.
    Data Control sent back meaningless signals. We were on