Jake Maddox stopped the Renault rental atop the hill overlooking their destination. There was no danger of blocking traffic on this lonely road leading to the remote village of Plairac, France.

Looking over at his friend who was studying the village ahead, he smiled. "Walt, why don't you step out and take a picture. It'll establish the beginning of our adventure into 'le village maudit'... the cursed village."

Walt Ramsey nodded. "Good idea."

Walt was a cowboy. No other way to describe him. The Texas native grew up riding, roping, and raising hell, and he had the size and gate of John Wayne. And the slow, plain speech to boot. Moving both hands in front of him, his fingers formed a rectangle mimicking a camera lens as he scanned the area below.

"Now would be a good time," Jake prompted.

"Hold yer horses. I'm trying to select the best shot."

"Wouldn't it be better to do that outside the car?"

"Hell no. It's freezing out there. I want to make my exposure quick."

He finally decided and reached for the Nikon in the back seat. Warmth was sucked from the car when he stepped out. It was nearing five p.m., but the sky was already darkening, throwing the buildings in the valley below into long shadows. Snow covered the roofs and smoke curled above chimneys making a picturesque view. Fading sunlight made the mountaintops sparkle, and the valley below the village dark grey where the mountains blocked the sunlight. Leafless trees intermixed with pine surrounded the little community. Snow covered the branches of all, reminding Jake of decorated Christmas trees of his youth.

Walt took several exposures, shivered, and jumped back into the car. "Head 'em out."

"Yeehaw," Jake blurted out and put the car in drive.

It was no surprise that the streets were empty, but the snow was trampled from footprints of recent passage. Windows of the homes they passed were lit, and they frequently observed people inside. Finding the pub was easy. A sign swinging above the door showed a stein sloshing beer.

They'd agreed before the start that if they were to overhear tales of the monster that was supposed to inhabit the mountains, it would be in the bar as patrons drank.

The little pub looked as if it had been transported in time from the eighteenth century. Whisky barrel seats at the bars and the two tables complemented the ambience of the place. It was likely built during that time period, and the owners had just never updated it.

Every inch of the walls in the tavern was cluttered with paintings of men struggling for survival against nature at its worst... bear attacks, families caught outside in blizzards. But there was a prominent one that captured their attention. It portrayed an ill-defined, blurry, yet enormous creature with blazing red eyes, six inch long claws, and sharp pointed teeth biting down on a man's head. The victim was suspended from the claws of one hairy arm while it's other swiped at another man holding a rifle that had just fired a bullet in the thing's stomach. A splash of blood from the wound is frozen in midair.

Contributing to the wall-clutter are centuries-old firearms and knives, along with boar, bobcat, and snarling bear and mountain lion heads. This is the home of hearty, adventurous men. Protectors of the innocent from the cruelty of untamed creatures of the wild.

After he tore their eyes away from the painting, Jake looked around noticing the quiet, and the eyes of four men were staring at them from the bar. They stood in the moment's silence like deer caught in the lights of an approaching car. They knew were unwelcome strangers... outsiders. That's when Walt assumed his cowboy persona.

"Howdy, partners. Got a prodigious hankering for a whisky."

The girl behind the bar giggled, but the four men at the bar just frowned. No one spoke. "A brew would do," he added.

They stared a moment longer and turned back to their drinks.

"I like your hat."

It was the girl behind the bar who had spoken. Walt walked up and placed his forearms on the bar. "Darlin', this is a ten gallon Stetson. It's so much more than a hat. It's a way of life."
She giggled, and Jake noticed that Walt's charm had disarmed another beautiful woman. How did he do it?

She stood close in front of him leaning in to his face, and with a sly smile asked, "Whisky or beer?"

"I'll drink either, but I could get high on just that smile."

Jake observed that the men were all frowning. "We'll take two beers. Whatever's on draft. Over at that table." He nodded to the table and grabbed Walt's arm and pulled him along. In a whisper only Walt could hear, "Douse the charm. You're irritating the patrons."

Walt ignored Jake's warning, and in a voice all could hear, "That gal's beautiful, isn't she? I'll bet folks hang around this place just to admire her loveliness."

Jake smiled and shook his head.

The girl brought the two beers to the table. Before she could turn back, Walt grabbed her forearm. "Can you sit for a minute? Things look slow at the bar."

She took his hand from her arm, but she smiled when she said, "I don't sit with strangers, and you are about the strangest men I have ever seen."

Walt jumped to his feet, took off his hat, and held out his hand, "I'm Walt. Walt Ramsey. Now if you'll tell me your name, we won't be strangers."

Her smile let Jake know Walt had hooked another one.

"If you let me wear that hat for a while, I might tell you."

"Darlin', givin' you this hat is like givin' you my heart." But he placed it on her head and fiddled with it to give it just the right tilt.

She put out her hand and said, "I'm Aimee Rodier."

Before Walt could say anything else, a voice called from the bar, "Aimee."

They all looked over at the man, and he held up his empty stein and shook it. She walked back to the bar, and they both watched her fill the man's glass. He said something low and gruff to her but the words were indistinct, and she frowned and mumbled some rebuke. And with the air of defiance she walked back over to their table and sat.

"If he said something bad to you, I'll whip his ass," Walt said.

Jake looked over at the man watching her, and the man turned his gaze back to his drink. It was hard to judge the man's height while he was sitting, but he looked hard, and Jake guessed he outweighed Walt by fifty to seventy pounds.

"He doesn't think I should be talking with outsiders. And he doesn't like me wearing your hat. I told him to mind his own business."

"I can still whip his ass if you want."

She laughed, shaking her head. "He's bigger than you. What makes you think you can whip his ass?"

"I've wrestled down a thousand pound steer. I can take him."

"You haven't. A thousand pound steer?"

"Oh sure. All cowboys can. You just have to stay clear of the horns. Besides, they don't have arms. Now I might have some trouble with something like that." He nodded over to the picture on the wall, and we all looked at it.

When we first saw the creature in the picture, we both knew it was the creature in the stories we'd heard, and it was the reason we had come to this place.

"Oh. You like my painting?"

Jake's brow furrowed. "You painted that? How'd you come up with the creature?"

"People around here call it la bete. "

"La bete," Jake repeated.

"You mean it's real?" Walt asked.

"Yes. In English it means the beast. Everyone's heard stories about it. A few have even seen it, but they won't talk about it much since most people think they made it up."

"Then how do you know...?" Jake began.

"That hunter with the gun is my father. He and a friend were hunting when the thing attacked them. It killed his friend before he even saw it. He shot it, but it knocked his rifle from his hands, and he had to run. His friend's head had already been bitten off, so there was no way he could have saved him."

Walt took her hand. "I'm so sorry. Is your father all right?"

"It depends on who you believe. No one in the village wants to believe him. They think he's a killer or he's crazy. They shun him." She glared at the men at the bar, and added, "Us. I believe him, so I painted the picture from what he remembers. You'll notice the creature is not very clear. Dad couldn't describe him very well. But I like that parts of him are blurry. He looks more menacing fuzzy like that, don't you think? Like a nightmare."

Walt patted her hand. "I'd sure have nightmares if I encountered that thing."

She pulled her hand from his, uncomfortable with the intimacy. "I doubt very much that you believe creatures like that exist."

Jake sat forward, placing his elbows on the table and looking Aimee in the eyes. "Walt and I have open minds, and we've seen evidence of creatures that no one believed existed. We've seen the colossal squid of the Antarctic; searched for the Dobhar-chu in Ireland and found signs of Bigfoot in Utah. It's what we do. We know there are things in this world that no one can explain."

"Is that why you're here? To hunt for la bete?"

"Yes. Can you help us?"

The four men at the bar were scowling at us, and the big fella on the end stood up and walked over and spoke in a gravelly, harsh voice, "You're not welcome here." Then he frowned at the girl. "Aimee, don't encourage these fools. They will ridicule our town and make us look like buffoons."

Jake looked up at the guy. Walt may wrestle a steer to the ground, but this guy looks like he could throw down an elephant. "We're not here to ridicule anyone. We enjoy investigating the supernatural. It's exciting. Like I'm sure you feel hunting bear or mountain lions."

"You need to leave. Now," the big fella said.

Walt stood up and put his face near the man's, but he had to look up to do so. "That's not going to happen. We haven't finished our beers or our conversation."

With one arm, the giant flung Walt across the room and took a step toward Jake. "Leave."

Aimee yelled, "Achille, leave them alone. Go back to your seat."

He looked at her, but made no move.

Jake looked at the massive chest and shoulders. One punch or even a hundred would never put this giant on the ground, and that's assuming he could even land them. This guy was used to his size intimidating people. Before Jake could decide his next move, Walt had jumped on the man's back with arms tight around his neck.

Achille. Like the mythical warrior with just one vulnerability. The heel. What was this man's weakness? If he couldn't find it soon, he and Walt would end up in the hospital. He was big. Heavy. Muscular. The weight this man carried around for so long suggested one weakness. While the man struggled and flailed to get Walt off his back, Jake kicked him in the side of his knee bending it at an unnatural angle. He fell to the floor screaming in agony.

Walt disentangled himself and got to his feet. "The old knee-cracker. Wow. Never let me piss you off."

The other three men were now standing and looking at Achille on the floor.

"I don't think I want anymore beer. What do you say we leave?" Jake suggested.

They backed out of the pub and turned toward their car.

Aimee called from behind, "Walt! Your hat!" She ran to join us and handed Walt's Stetson back. "I know where la bete was last seen. If you'd like, I'll take tomorrow off and show you the place."

An ear-to-ear grin spread across Walt's face. "Aimee, that'd be great."

She smiled back and said, "How about six tomorrow morning. I'll meet you right here in front of the tavern. Dress warm. It's in the mountains."

****

Aimee stood near the tavern swaddled in a coat so thick it masked her petite size and her gender. They drove as far up the mountain as the car would carry them. Then they hiked.

"I'm glad you didn't bring guns. La bete doesn't deserve to be killed. It's just its nature to defend itself."

"We just want photographic evidence that the beast exists. If we spot him, I hope it's at a distance," Jake said.

They'd hiked about a mile through snow, brambles, and gullies, when they came to a clearing.

One moment Aimee was talking, then suddenly she wasn't there. Vanished. Jake flinched in disbelief. Walt was a few steps ahead searching for prints and was unaware of what had happened. Jake's heart began pounding in his chest, and he felt a overpowering need to run. "Walt! Move. Let's go."

Jake's alarm caused Walt to jerk around. An unnaturally dark mist zoomed toward Walt low to the ground as if propelled by a strong wind and knocked him to the ground. How can a mist be solid? Its movement suddenly jetted upward as if it had collided with an invisible glass wall. Expanding as it reached ten feet, Jake saw Walt lie on the ground too shocked to move. A hairy, human-looking foot as large as a whisky barrel jolted from the mist, crashing into Walt's side and propelling him five yards through the air.

Jake heard ribs snap at the kick and watched in horror at the scene. He wondered if it had killed his friend. "Walt!"

The scream alerted the beast, and it jerked in his direction. As if stepping from behind a curtain, a hairy head, shoulders, and arms protruded from the blackness. The furrowed brow line, protruding jaw, yellowish eyes, and sharp teeth, were manlike, but much too exaggerated to be human. The leathery face smiled menacingly and floated toward him. Jake kicked at the beast's stomach, but the abdomen withdrew into the mist and his foot flashed through emptiness. Its protection is the mist. It can materialize or evaporate at will. A follow-up spin kit connected with nothing, and, off-balance, he tripped and fell. A protruding tree root sliced his left forearm, and warm blood slowly saturated his coat sleeve.

The creature towered over him again, partially visible from the mist. He would die. I won't die lying on the ground. As he struggled to his feet, he heard a gunshot and heard the creature scream. In an instant the beast withdrew into the mist. Then it disappeared.

Achille hobbled toward Jake with a Winchester rifle still braced against his shoulder but pointing toward the ground.

"Are you injured?"

"A cut on the forearm. Not sure about Walt."

They walked over and Jake knelt beside Walt. When he touched his shoulder, Walt flinched. "Don't touch the ribs. I think some are broken. Is Aimee okay?" He rolled onto his back. Jake didn't answer right away, and Walt frowned.

"Where is she?"

"Walt... that was Aimee."

He saw disbelief in his friend's eyes. "Aimee is the beast. I don't know how. She... she can change."

The gravelly voice of Achille said, "That was Aimee? No. I followed you to protect her. From you." Tears formed at the edges of the big man's eyes.

Jake realized Achille must have suffered a great deal of pain tracking through the mountains in a knee brace. All to protect a girl he loved. "I'm sorry, Achille."

"Did I kill her?"

"I don't know. You hit her. I heard her shriek. But she just disappeared."

It took hours for three wounded men to get back to town.

After assuring Achille they had no intention of publishing anything about Plairac specifically, he headed back into the tavern. Jake and Walt headed for their car to drive to the nearest hospital.

They both turned when their names were called. Aimee rushed to them exhibiting no injury at all, and they just stared, open-mouthed.

"I just wanted to say goodbye."


Jake shook himself to verify he wasn't dreaming. "You're back. Here."

She winked. "Of course. Where else would I be?"

"I don't know. Maybe dead?"

She laughed and kissed his cheek. "You silly. Don't you boys be strangers."

They watched her run back into the tavern.

"Jake, I think you need to write this adventure yourself. I don't understand what happened."

"You think I do? I'm not even sure how to explain our injuries to the doctor."

"Hell, I just got thrown from my horse. What you tell 'em is your business."