Page 7 of Blood Moon

“Mr. Stutz, what kind of animal are we talking about exactly?” I ask.

He stares at me, sheepish, and shakes his head. “Well, I didn’t get a very good look at it.”

His reluctance to give a straightforward answer tells me there’s more coming. “It was dark, you know,” he adds. “The thing was moving fast.”

The thing …

I recall the creature that approached Tomasetti and me when we were at the covered bridge. Is it the same animal? Or are we dealing with more than one?

The Amish man’s brows knit. “This animal … Chief Burkholder, I’ve hunted my whole life and I can tell you this beast was like nothing I’ve seen around here. It wasn’t tall, but large. Thick bodied, you know. Two or three hundred pounds. And quick.”

Merle Beachy’s description of the animal that mauled him scrolls in the backwaters of my mind.

… the size of a young bear …

“What do you think it was?” I ask.

He shakes his head, then forces a laugh. “Spuk Butzemann.” Haunted Scarecrow. The quip falls flat. He’s embarrassed because he doesn’t know how to answer my question. Because he doesn’t want to appear a fool. Because whatever he saw frightened him.

Tomasetti tosses me a puzzled look. “Spook what?”

“Spuk Butzemann,” I tell him. “According to Amish folklore, it’s a scarecrow that transforms into an animal at midnight. It sneaks into farmhouses and eats children who don’t obey their parents.”

“To think that some kids are afraid of clowns,” he mutters.

“Mr. Stutz, can you show me where it happened?” I ask.

“This way,” he says. “Kumma.” Come.

The Amish man takes us to a small pasture—a couple of acres—located behind the barn. Flashlights in hand, Tomasetti and I spend fifteen minutes looking for tracks or any sign of the predator. But the ground is muddy and trampled by the cattle; we find nothing.

Back in the Explorer, I hail dispatch. “Margaret, did you reach ODNR?”

“A wildlife officer is on his way, Chief,” she replies.

“ETA?”

“He’ll be here in about an hour.”

I pause. “Have there been any calls put out about the escape of an exotic animal?” I ask. “From a hunting ranch? Or zoo?”

“Not that I’ve come across,” she tells me. “Do you want me to check with County?”

“That would be great, Margaret. Thank you.” I rack the mike and look at Tomasetti. “So, what weighs three hundred pounds, bites, and looks like a bear?”

He shrugs. “And isn’t a close relative of mine?”

I smack his shoulder. “And no Sasquatch cracks.”

We sit there, our minds working over the possibilities. Then Tomasetti shoots me a sideways look. “If there’s an exotic on the loose this time of night, it’s possible the owner isn’t even aware of the situation.”

“Which means there may not be a report at all.”

“Exactly.” He looks out the window, toward the barn and the woods beyond. “We have a little time before the wildlife officer gets here. What do you say we cruise around, see if we can spot that wayward scarecrow?”

Rolling my eyes, I put the Explorer in gear. “What could possibly go wrong?”

Ten-year-old Danny Hochstetler couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so excited. He loved to fish more than anything in the world and night fishing was best of all. Tonight, he and his older brother, Samuel, finally got permission from their parents to camp out.