An Occurrence in Crazy Bear Valley Read Online Free PDF

never wanted to, not even when he was drunk. He seriously doubted that he’d get the urge to sleep with Crystal, either. It wasn’t that he didn’t like women. He’d certainly had his share—both the willing and the unwilling, especially during the war. But pussy had always been more of an afterthought to him, a way to wile away the time when boredom threatened to creep in. He’d much rather be out in the woods, hunting, than he would lying in some bed with whore-stink all over his pecker. Also, there was something about sticking his dick where other men had stuck theirs that just didn’t appeal to him. It seemed unnatural. Uncivilized. Turned a man into nothing more than a wild beast, rutting with whatever was in heat. That was no good for a hunter like him. As far as Gunderson was concerned, a man needed to be better than the beasts he killed. Superior.
    He turned his attention back to the task at hand, peering out into the moonlight, ever watchful, waiting for something to take the bait. Another thirty minutes passed before that chance came.
    Gunderson’s first sign that a predator had entered the clearing was the sudden overwhelming silence. The sounds of nighttime in the forest—the owl and the insects and all of the other creatures—ceased abruptly. One moment, a nocturnal cacophony. The next moment, the only sound was that of his sleeping companions and the muffled drone of the river. Even the horses were quiet.
    Then came the stench. It wafted in on the night breeze, subtle at first, but quickly coalescing into an almost permeable cloud. Wincing, Gunderson reeled back in his seat, turning away from the window. His eyes watered and his nose burned. He reached in his back pocket and grabbed his dirty handkerchief. As he wrapped it around his nose and mouth, he wondered if he was smelling the same thing Stephens had reported earlier. It was acrid, nauseating, and somehow wet . He’d never experienced anything like it in all of his time in the wild. It wasn’t a skunk, or the musk of a bobcat or wolf in heat. And despite what Stephens and the new girl had said earlier, it wasn’t the stench of decay, either. Squinting, he blinked the tears away and looked out the window again.
    A shadowed form moved in the moonlight, loping across the clearing. It walked upright on two thick legs. Two long arms swung by its sides. It paused, turning toward the horses, but then it resumed its stride again, heading straight for the corpses. Morgan’s idea had obviously worked. The creature was attracted by the smell of the bodies. From his vantage point inside the bunkhouse, Gunderson couldn’t see much else, but it was obvious that the animal was covered in fur, and even at this distance, its size was huge—easily well over eight feet tall.
    That ain’t no bear, he thought, slowly reaching for his rifle. Its forelegs are too long and no wild bear could walk on its hind legs like that for so long.
    He’d heard tell of gorillas—human-sized versions of monkeys—before, but he’d never seen one in real life. But from what he’d been told, gorillas were shorter, and used their forearms and hands to help when walking. The creature in the clearing walked more like a man, and it was very tall. It wasn’t a bear. It wasn’t a gorilla. It wasn’t a man. What else could it be? A crazy bear? Sure. Or at least, the source of the Indian legend. But what was a crazy bear?
    Doesn’t matter what it is, Gunderson mused. In a second, the only thing it’ll be is tomorrow’s breakfast, lunch and dinner.
    He raised the rifle, rested one elbow on the windowsill, and set the weapon’s stock between his shoulder and armpit. He swallowed his tobacco juice, rather than spitting. His stomach gurgled. Outside, the horse whinnied nervously. The worst of the stench dissipated as the animal drew further away from the shack. The creature approached the pine trees where Stephens had hung the corpses with a mixture of trepidation and eagerness.