three stages of the moon
The three stages of the moon, which affected the lunatics had come and gone. On the other side of town, the fog of amnesia had lifted; Dr. Jacobs pressed both hands against his throbbing skull as if this would help ease the pain. His pants were torn, shirt ripped to shreds. He looked around the room at the shattered mirrors, the headboard of the bed cracked, panic washed over him. He frantically checked the two windows but no cracks, no signs of tampering. He slowly, painfully staggered toward the door which was still locked.
“It’s impossible!” Dr. Jacobs beat his fists against his dresser, “I was just scratched, God dammit!”
He had been proactive; a round of antibiotics, tetanus and rabies shots to quell any sickness, it did not work. Every month for three days since the mysterious disappearance of the crazy reanimated ambulance worker the symptoms were getting worse. He could not shake the memory of this horrible figure that had come back to life and attacked him. The figure had to be preternatural in nature. He did his homework, dammit, smiling in disbelief because any mythical creature be it zombie, vampire, or werewolf the infection did not happen through only being scratched!
Dr. Jacobs came to a logical conclusion or as logical as the strange and supernatural could be. He theorized that Cody had died. However, as he learned in medical school and Creole culinary too the cadavers had a lot of fully functioning cells and the cells will be around for weeks to come as they decayed. These cells were attached to dead but otherwise workable machinery… Just like bullfrog legs with a sprinkle of salt forces the amputated legs to do a macabre jig so too the body of Cody… The magnetic pull of the full Moon like salt fools the cells and muscles, especially the heart into movement reviving him.
In time he did not blame the mortally wounded Cody for attacking him. Cody needed a way out; Dr. Jacobs could see it in his cloudy yet frightened eyes. Like a Tasmanian devil caught in a trap, chewing its own arm off to escape so too the frantic and frightened young EMT…
Gears started turning in the rational side of his brain. The mythical creature started to sprout claws and as a result blood began to flow…his eyes widened, it was in the blood, he reasoned.
Exhausted he dropped like a lead weight onto the kitchen chair taking his cell phone out of his pocket. He had tried to contact Capt. Rogers, but he was busy investigating the Royal Bay infernos.
“I need to reach Detective Jenkins, something is happening to me.” Jacobs moaned.
After two Alka-Seltzers, three aspirin, and needless destruction to the four kitchen chairs, Dr. Jacobs finally got a hold of Detective Jenkins and now he sat on his front porch steps and waited for him.
“What’s wrong with you, Dr. Jacobs?” Detective Jenkins questioned through the truck window before the truck had even stopped.
Jenkins put the truck in Park and opened the door. Almost a month sober now; bathed, clean-shaven, his button-up collared shirt tucked in, ironed and starched, and sporting clean pants. One track mind, a man on a mission, he dragged himself out from the dumps of depression and threw himself into work. Despite his obvious improvement he was still haunted with the vision of his son. His son’s ghost vanished out of the cab without having to open the truck door.
“My, oh, my… Dr. Jacobs looks like shit…” The ghost whispered to his father.
Detective Jenkins observed Dr. Jacobs’ shaggy hair. He had a real grizzly Adams appearance. Sunken and black and blue eyes, long filthy fingernails turning dark and he wore dirty ripped up dress pants and no shoes on filthy feet.
“The story that you told me when you shot the paramedic… I thought you were crazy but I was loyal, if you told me that you had seen fangs and claws then by damn you saw fangs and claws, even if I hadn’t seen it for myself…” Dr. Jacobs explained to Detective Jenkins.
He tried to ignore his son’s snarky comments as he produced a stainless steel 38 and checked to see if it was loaded, spun the chamber and handed it to Dr. Jacobs, “I have a revolver for you.”
“Capt. Rogers couldn’t be here, but he wanted me to check all of the houses destroyed by arson he found in his investigations in Plaucheville, Hessmer, Pollock, Saline, Calvin, Ida, as well as Batchelor and New Roads.”