A while back I wrote of the night we discovered why people disappeared on a local river. Today we were driving over the bridge in broad daylight and discovered local police and a couple of SBI jackets on the river bank. Around here, the rivers never freeze but today there was one small area that had.
Sadly I wasn’t allowed to take photos, but the brief moment we were on the bridge, I saw the mauled corpse of the thing we saw that night. Sometime had brutally done to it what it had done to its human prey. It was a quiet and grim ride to our destination.
We sat in the booth of a restaurant and just stared at the table. Something deadlier had moved in or passed through and took out an apex predator. The rest of the year felt like it was going to be grim.
There were no photos in the local paper. No headlines about a strange body found in a frozen part of a river that never freezes. No news break about a body found under ice. Who ever takes care of keeping the strange and unusual from being spewed across the news outlets is probably supernatural all on his/her/their own.
Jason and I quietly ate as we tried to digest what we had witnessed.
”Do you think it was something passing through that got washed over the dam from the rainfall or do you think there’s something else that’s decided to move in?” I asked Jason after making sure no one was around to eavesdrop.
”I don’t know and I don’t want to find out.” He responded with absolutely.
We ate our dinner and milled around the city we were in before heading home a few hours later. Both of our moods had picked up.
On the way home, we had to drive over the same bridge. We debated whether that was a good idea or not. The “crime scene” had been cleaned and the frozen ice was gone. I assume they took it with them. The river was quiet and stilled. It rained for 5 days straight coming straight down from the mountains. It should have been flooding and rushing with a rage from nature upturning its regular routine.
I hope I never meet what killed that thing and I hope it was just passing through to the mountains or to the ocean.
34 years of life below the Mason Dixon line leads to a lot of stories of old and new.