Sheep's Clothing Gary Lewis (best books to read in your 20s txt) 📖

them as they busted through the cheap wall. They tumbled over one another into the bathroom floor. As his father coughed in the floor Vance resisted the almost uncontrollable urge to begin pounding his face into the floor. Instead, he stood and marched into the kitchen. After slinging open the refrigerator, he grabbed a beer bottle before kicking the door shut.

His dad groaned from the bathroom. “Ima' kill you, son of a bitch." Vance rounded the corner and watched his father roll onto his side, attempting to get up. He stomped his shoulder back into the floor. With a twist of the cap, he started pouring the fizzing poison down onto his spitting face. He threw the empty bottle against the bathtub faucet, shattering dark brown shards of glass into the tub.

His dad looked up at him with wide eyes, wheezing from the floor as Vance pressed his foot back onto his shoulder and leaned down to face him. He pointed down at his father's face. "You use this shit as an excuse to give up." Vance shook his finger at him. "Think about that the next time you march around here calling me a pussy."

By the time Vance slammed the front door shut, toting duffel bags over his shoulder, his phone began to ring. Terry's name lit up on his screen as he tossed his luggage into the truck bed. Vance shook his head and started to slide it back into his pocket before pausing. "Ah. What the hell," he said, lifting it back to his face. "Hello?"

"Hey, where you been?" Terry's distorted voice crackled through Vance's single bar of signal.

"Long story," Vance said. He climbed into his truck and slammed the heavy, metal door. "I set up the gauntlet at the spot by the old well, behind the chicken farm."

"The gauntlet?" Terry asked.

There was no reason to answer as he cranked up the engine and reversed out the driveway.

"Listen," Terry's voice became slow and hesitant. "I was talking to Sarah and David."

"Bet you were," Vance said, putting him on speaker as he set the phone in the empty ashtray and sped down the dark street.

"Was there anything else about Brad? I mean, any connections we don't know about?" Terry asked.

"Damn right there is,” Vance said. “Hated the loser. I'm glad he's dead." Vance shifted gear and accelerated. "Got what he deserved."

"Did it have something to do with the fire at the old rec?" Terry's voice went silent as he undoubtedly waited for a response. "Listen, Vance. Brad is the first person we know of that was attacked by the werewolf. If we can figure out who might've wanted him dead-"

"You're wasting your time, Terry," Vance laughed. "Everyone wanted him dead."

Vance reached over and hung up before driving further through the poorly lit street surrounded by twisting tree limbs that stretched out from every side. He had no idea where he was going and for the first time, he liked it.

Chapter 16

In all his years of farming these lands, Willy Perkins never heard sounds quite like the ones that roused him from his slumber this particular night. He strained his aging eyes across the dim clearing as he slid his boots through the damp grass, lowering his shotgun to raise his field glasses. The clouds rolled, a milky white fluid that shined just below the moon, contrasting against the black earth where he scanned the horizon for movement.

"Can't see a damn thing," he said, freeing his eyes from their confines and beginning to march toward the south end of the pen.

The jagged silhouettes of his three cedars rose from the horizon as he ascended the long hill just beside the motionless pond, a mirror that shined with the pale sky.

"Nothing but a pool of cow shit and water here," he said, spitting a blob of tobacco laden saliva across the large round stones near the water’s edge. He circled the pond, considering whether to check on the herd before returning to home.

The galloping sound of something charging him came from close behind. Willy turned his aim around in an instant. With a loud boom, he sent the large figure to a slump in the tall grass. Stillness overcame whatever just happened as the scent of the blast faded into the midnight air.

"Jesus," he said, spitting out his remaining dip and wiping his face as he peered with hesitation. "Hey!" he shouted, still waiting for any sign of life through the dead of night. "Shit. I done kilt somebody."

He lowered the barrels and stepped cautiously closer to the divided blades of grass, split in an arrow that pointed right where the body fell. Tall strips of rustling movement jolted his heart as he leaned his head to the side, looking deep into the dark shades of green to no avail. "Hello?" he shouted before beginning to step forward again.

The moonlit sky shined behind the silhouette of grass from which a large ball of darkness began to rise. There was a shoulder and an arm. It kept inking its way taller, a black shadow arising from the tall vegetation. Long ears extended outward from the head that emerged.

Willy yelled as he raised the shotgun without a second thought. A powerful bang flashed through a wisp of white smoke. He popped the barrels open, quickly discarding the shells as he dug for more. The shadow that stood before him let out a roar that numbed his spine. His pockets were empty.

"Alright you sum' bitch," he said, readying the butt of his weapon toward the snarling abyss before him.

The black wind flew into him, a hairy beast that pounced from the night. The impact of the predator matched that of a grown bull. Willy's back splashed into the mud as ribs became snapping twigs under the creature's weight. His head plunged into the edge of the stagnant cow manure soup. Wrestling his nose out for air, he felt large teeth crack their way through his cheek bones. His face squished together. Cold, rancid water rushed