By Stoney M. Setzer
“Stay away from him, Miriel! He’s a killer! Can’t you smell other people’s blood on him?”
That’s what I tried to say. All that came out was a bunch of barks and growls. I smelled danger. The fur rose on my back, and I tried to warn Miriel to stay away, but I knew she wouldn’t even if she had understood me. She would only see someone in need, not the danger to herself. Once she felt the need to help, nothing else mattered—not even her own safety.
We had been on the porch, me lying at Miriel’s feet while she knitted, when this stranger’s motorcycle conveniently died in front of our house. He wore camouflage from head to toe, including his hat and jacket, despite the heat of Georgia in July. And one sniff told me he hunted his fellow man.
“Down, Matteo!” Miriel commanded. Reluctantly, I obeyed, if only to maintain my facade. My effectiveness as her companion hinged on everyone in this realm—including Miriel—believing I was just another dog.
Miriel turned her attention back to the stranger. “I don’t know too much about motorcycles, but I do know a good mechanic, and I can tell you could use a good meal. Sit on one of those wicker chairs on the porch, and I’ll show you some good old Southern hospitality.”
Despite my gut instinct, I didn’t protest. Miriel would only hear growling and barking anyway, but I also admonished myself in trusting her. This was the same woman who had crossed over to my native realm years ago and saved us all from destruction. Our greatest hero. She had proven herself trustworthy then, and I knew I should trust her now, no matter what.
The stranger nodded.
***
“I already had this whipped up, just added some special seasonings. Forgive me for not inviting you inside, but my house is a mess right now,” Miriel said as she set a plate of food on the porch table. “Matteo tears up most of his toys, and I haven’t swept up yet.”
Sure, blame me, I thought, but I didn’t mind. Captain Camouflage would be less dangerous out here in the open. If that meant making me a scapegoat, so be it.
He still hadn’t spoken as he sat on her wicker chair. Most humans at least talked occasionally, but this man was ominously silent. Combined with the stench of blood and death, it made him seem wholly inhuman, and yet Miriel still acted oblivious. Yet something deep down still told me to trust her.
“You may have had mashed potatoes and gravy before, but you’ve never had gravy like mine,” she remarked. “Special, secret ingredient, almost impossible to find here in Georgia. But it’ll really make an impression on you, I promise. And that seasoning on the chicken, you won’t want to get up from the table.”
Miriel then sat down on another chair a few feet away from the table and picked up her knitting. It didn’t smell like what she had been working on earlier in the morning, but I was too fixated on our guest to examine it more closely.
Captain Camouflage took a bite of the mashed potatoes. After a thoughtful second, he shoveled the food in his mouth as if he hadn’t eaten for days.
“You’d better be careful wandering around these parts,” Miriel said. “Folks keep talking about some kind of psychopath on the loose, cutting throats at random, no rhyme or reason.”
I growled deep in my throat. Had Miriel somehow not noticed the sheathed machete hanging from Captain Camouflage’s belt? My hackles rose again, and I barked in spite of myself.
“Hush, Matteo!” Miriel scolded. “You need to let our company eat in peace!”
I stifled my growl, but I kept my gaze fixed on the stranger. Already I was planning how I would defend her when he made his move.
At last Captain Camouflage dropped his fork—on the porch, not on the table. Immediately after, his arms went limp, and his head lolled to one side. I couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but it looked for all the world as if he was asleep.
“Stand back, Matteo!” Miriel commanded. As soon as I stepped aside, she threw one of her knitting needles as if it were a dart, yarn still attached. It threaded perfectly through a hole in the wicker. Miriel threw another and then another, each with yarn still hooked to it. At last, the slumbering serial killer was covered from the neck down with a web of yarn.
I cocked my head to one side. Suddenly, I saw the method in her madness.
Moving as quickly as her old joints would allow, Miriel hustled behind the chair and tied the yarn into knots. “My secret ingredients worked perfectly. He’s gonna be in a stupor for about another twenty minutes—plenty of time for the police to pick him up. Even if he should wake up before then, that’s no ordinary yarn. He’s not going anywhere.”
She called the police and then knelt down to pet me. “Poor Matteo. You probably thought I had lost my mind, didn’t you? Sorry to worry you, but I had to lure him up here. I wasn’t really planning on any of this, but once I saw him acting like his motorcycle had broken down, I knew I had to help the rest of the community, you know?”
“Never doubted you,” I barked once in reply. Her coy smile made me think she just might have understood me after all.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Miriel’s right that she’s tied him with “no ordinary yarn”. She used course woolen Wensleydale yarn with a high lanolin content! A mere touch sets the skin ablaze with itchiness. Struggling against it is to tempt death. Captain Camouflage is going nowhere.
I didn’t know that, but that’s good information! Thank you!
Woolen Wensleydale yarn will itch you to death. But worsted Merino yarn can also comfort you to death. Beware, either way, the yarn of the enemy!
I love the surprising ending. I was really getting scared for Miriel.
Thank you!
Oooh, good story. Creepy and suspenseful, with a great ending from good old ever-resourceful Miriel and her wonderful Matteo.
Thank you, that’s exactly what I was trying for! Glad you liked it!
I love it when the creepo gets captured. Way to go, Miriel and Mr. Seltzer! It makes sense that he was a psychopath because anyone wearing head-to-toe camouflage in the middle of a Georgia summer is insane. When I lived in Augusta, I wore a stormtrooper costume to an outdoor Halloween party (it was almost November, mind you) and nearly died of heat exhaustion.
Oh yes, I have lived my entire life in Georgia, so I can definitely relate to that! I’m glad you enjoyed the story! Thank you!