Chapter Text
“Tom,” Maddie whispered harshly into his ear, “wake up.”
Tom groaned, rubbing at his eyes as he turned over to face his wife. Even though their room was dark, Tom was able to make out the silhouette of Maddie sitting up on her elbow, her gaze looking towards the room window.
“Again?” He mumbled tiredly.
“They’re outside right now.”
“Alright, hang on.” Tom sat up from bed, opening the side drawer of the nightstand to pull out his handgun. He hadn’t any real intention to use it, but he needed something to let the lurkers know enough was enough.
The town had been complaining of their trash and sheds recently being rummaged through. At first, people were reporting a possible raccoon problem, seeing as their bins and gardens being targeted for scraps and food. But then sheds began to be broken into, and unless raccoons now understood the function of locks and how to break them off, it was clear these were not some wild animals. Especially not when shovels, carpets and storage bins were being taken.
Tom crept down the stairs, Ozzy emitting a low growl from his throat but not getting up from the bed. Maddie pat down his ears, grabbing her phone off the charger just to have it in her hands if she needed.
But Tom returned no more than five minutes later, shaking his head. Their garbage bins had been ransacked, as expected, but nothing otherwise. Some people had even taken to now locking their bins until garbage day and Tom was debating if that’s something they should start doing.
The following morning, Tom collected the fallen bins and any garbage littering their lawn before he headed off to work. Maddie bid him a farewell as she left for the office.
Tom sighed as he sat at his desk. The only reports being more people having their bins and sheds rummaged through. How did sleepy little Green Hills become a place of annoyed paranoia? Thankfully nothing of value was ever an issue; no cars were being burgled or damaged but people were not keen on leaving them out anymore.
“Tom!”
Tom looked up, watching as old Crazy Carl hurried into the office; a wheezing Wade following gradually behind him.
Wade leaned against the door frame, trying to catch his breath. “Sorry…Tom, he…he’s quick…”
“I needs t’talk t’ya,” Crazy Carl claimed, looking between the officers.
Tom waved his wrist, dismissing Wade that it was fine.
“Carl,” Tom greeted, gesturing to the chairs in front of his desk, “what can we help you with?”
Crazy Carl – or Carl Turner – was the town’s self-proclaimed looney bin. He was well into his sixties, a man who had never had a steady job. He was always into the abnormal; and in his old age he seemed to become tenfold. He sought for paranormal and extraterrestrials, convinced the things lived among us without human knowledge. Tom was sure that if Carl was in his younger years, he would be avid on those internet forums. But no, he preferred setting up traps about Green Hills, even going as far as setting up cameras and scouting areas with leaves glued to his face.
A few times he had been called in due to someone’s pet cat getting caught in these traps but no harm ever done. Crazy Carl was harmless and no one really thought him as a bad guy.
Carl collapsed into the chair offered to him, his lanky limbs curling inward as he leaned towards Tom’s desk.
“I saw ’em again.”
Tom sighed. “Carl, we’ve been over this. There’s no aliens in the woods.”
“Nah, nah, see, I don’t think they’re aliens no more. Some kinda devils maybe. They got them claws an’ make these shrieks.” Carl clawed at the space between them, letting out a weird garbled yelp that had Tom jump in surprise. Not by the sound per se, but that Carl had just decided it was acceptable to make such a noise.
Even Wade peeked back in, looking questionable. “Is there a dying cat in here?”
Tom smiled but felt his head begin to ache. He turned back to Carl, raising his hands to get him to stop the animal display.
“So, injured animals then.”
Carl shook his head. “No, no. Tom. Demons. There be some little devils in those woods!”
“Right,” Tom said, writing down on his notepad just to help Crazy Carl feel a bit less crazy. “Okay, then. Little devils. We’ll take a look, alright?”
“Now, I know y’don’t believe me.” Tom gave a laugh, something to assure Carl that no, of course he believed him. He believed Carl saw something, but the man also had a way of exaggerating the situation without intending to. “But I gots proof this time!”
Tom expected some more drawings. Last time, Carl had brought in some crudely drawn work of a blue creature he had thought was supposed to be some cartoon character. Allegedly, it was a drawing of this alien-now-devil that resided in the town’s woods.
Instead, Carl pulled out an envelope of all things. It was so normal that it was odd.
Tom eyed the envelope curiously.
“Did you get photos developed?”
“I sure did!” Carl threw the envelope down onto the desk, looking quite proud. “See, I been tryin’ t’photograph them woods for a sightin’ but them devils were quick. So, I picked a spot I seen ’em prior an’ just snapped photos for hours! Got them developed and I think you’d like t’see!”
Tom tentatively lifted the envelope and began sifting through the contents. There must have been about a hundred photos. Some were of just the midnight woods, some during the day. The ones at night were illuminated with some kinda infrared light (which had Tom briefly wonder just where Carl got access to his trinkets) while the daytime were normal. Then came the weird ones, the ones where blurs were smudged across the pictures. On these particular images, Carl had written on the backside the exact time the photo was taken. The back of this one said 18:08 Blue.
Tom looked up. “Blue?”
“See, there’s at least two of ’em. I ain’t convinced there ain’t more, but th’ Blue and Red one show up th’most.”
Tom continued to look through. Majority contained that weird smudge effect, but at times there were what appeared to be humanoid figures. It was difficult to tell with the infrared photos (although Carl was still able to label it ‘Blue’ or ‘Red’) but the daytime ones were harder to dispute. Yeah, he could somewhat make out reddish and bluish figures. Either in mid-movement or ducked behind forestry to blend in.
Tom frowned. What if these were just some kids messing with old crazy Carl Turner? They looked about the height.
“They’re,” Tom hummed, “small.”
“Short bastards,” Carl spat out much to Tom’s surprise. “No more than three feet.”
Well. That was certainly shorter than the average kid old enough to concoct such a plan. He folded up the photographs neatly onto his desk. With how quiet Green Hills was, it wouldn’t hurt to indulge in Crazy Carl’s latest obsession. The very least, he can put the elderly man at ease once he comes to a legitimate conclusion to this.
“Alright, Carl. I’ll look into these devils for you.”