One paragraph story... June 14- PM edition

With pressure from the City Council, and the Ladies Aid Society, Sheriff Rance Gallagher set up an elaborate stake out in hopes to catch the man responsible for the vicious killings that were happening around the Full Moon each month. After the second month the wackos were already calling in with their opinion that it was a Werewolf, but he, and most of the sane people, dismissed it, since there hadn’t been a Werewolf in the Burns Lake area since he was a boy. Soon after his Grandfather founded the Dogwood Irregulars in the 60s the surrounding area was all but cleared of any of the Devil’s Children even before Disco was dead. A few stragglers, who never came to town to read the public service announcement stapled to the message board in the Post Office, were rumoured to be living in the Uncha Mountains but by the time Punk had come over from England they were gone, too. Until April, when Saul Johnson was found torn apart by the big billboard for that PG accident Lawyer, on Hwy 16. Rance figured Saul was resting off a few drinks before heading back to his room at the Motor Inn where he’d been living since his wife kicked him out. Hunting Werewolves was a dying art form and he Rance was pretty sure none of the modern day Irregulars had ever seen one, let alone been in a fight. Sitting in a Hunter’s Tree-seat on the North side of Francois Lake he waited; with his Dad’s Webley in hand full with silver bullets, a 1L Disani bottle of Holy Water, and a Chevron coffee, feeling the fool waiting for myth to appear on a warm June evening. It wouldn't be until after midnight when the scent trail he'd made from the pot roast brought what he wanted to call a giant dog, under his perch. He fired the Mark IV and missed. Moments later Sheriff Rance Gallagher, who originally went to school to become a botanist, learned that Werewolves could climb trees.

James C.