The Beast of 1977 (Book 1)

Circa 1977, twas a year I recall...with a lovely fondness.

The Unknown...

Foreword

November, 26th 1976

"Don't forget the man's arm. It's lying over there."

Detective Wilson pointed while surveying the living room from a distant corner with a queasy appearance attached to his dark, middle-aged face.

Wrapped in his black London Fog winter coat, the stocky Wilson meticulously scratched his heavy mustache as though he were entangled in some sort of deep thought.The mangled and tattered front door was still hanging wide open to allow his fellow officers to enter and exit at will.

The bitter cold morning wind swept its way into the foul smelling house where four motionless bodies laid on the floor.Some officers, as they entered, would pause to watch the detective stand in his safe corner as though he were trying to avoid work.

Truth be told, it was the ungodly stench of the house that kept the veteran lawman in place. The odor was that of both bloody bodies and marijuana hanging profusely in the air.From left to right on the carpeted floor laid a menagerie of carnage. Three horribly mutilated black males and their appendages and intestines strewn all over the floor, and one other person, who appeared to still be intact, sprawled out in all his skinny nakedness.

Wilson watched in somber angst as the coroners lifted arms, severed heads and legs into black Hefty bags as though they were scooping up leaves from off the ground.

"Hey, Wilson," a young, white police officer called out from the front door. "The captain wants an update on the situation!"

Detective Wilson slightly shifted his eyes away from the macabre scene on the floor to look at the officer as he approached him.

"Situation," Wilson questioned with a grunt in his dry throat. "Tell 'em to come down here. I've got a situation for him."

The young officer stepped up beside the detective and peered down at the floor where Wilson was staring. From where Wilson was standing it was hard for his eyes to take in everything all at once. So much blood and mayhem contained in one area. The smell was overwhelming to the degree that his breathing had become stifled.

you ever seen

Wilson rolled his eyes in agitation before

and modestly

Gingerly, Wilson turned his pudgy body around to a destroyed closet door and said, "Well, it looks as though our Jamaican friends that were all over the floor a while ago may have had some kind

"Poor," Dawson asked with a grimace. "Detective, look at the table, it's lined

"Perhaps," Wilson shrugged while still examining

"And what about this one," Dawson pointed down where the naked man was lying. "There's not a scratch on

of torn Levi blue jeans that was lying on the floor. He

at the photo on the driver's license and said, "That

"But what about his face," Dawson inquired. "Looks like

scratch on him. How then did

his holster and inspected the closet even closer. He saw nothing but jackets, shoeboxes and shards

"Detective, take

stood back up and stepped over to where Dawson was standing. "What is it,

he

"What is it, a

not,

"Fur from what, for God's

"It's hard to say,

"Could it be

these parts, sir,"

got into this house, killed the three men and then escaped out the front door. And if it's escaped this house, then this city has a helluva problem on its hands; something a whole lot worse than some

strong enough to tear a hole not only through the closet door, but also the front door as well."