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

his eyes in agitation before saying, "Dawson,

Dawson sucked in his gut and modestly asked, "Just what exactly do you think

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 of

lined with coke and pot. It

"Perhaps," Wilson shrugged while still examining

down where the naked man was lying. "There's not a scratch

torn Levi blue jeans that was lying on the floor. He then dug into the back pocket

gazed at the photo on the driver's license

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

a single scratch on him. How then did his clothes end

holster and inspected the closet even closer. He saw nothing but jackets, shoeboxes and shards of long, black hair that was layered

take a look

Wilson stood back up and stepped over to where Dawson was standing. "What

he stooped down to pick

"What is

"I'm afraid not, Detective.

"Fur from what, for

"It's hard to say, given what it did to these

"Could it be

"In these parts, sir," Dawson smugly

"Don't stand there and beat around the bush, boy. It is likely that a bear, or something like a bear, got into this house, killed the three men and

"It was strong enough to tear a hole not only through the closet door, but also the front door as well." Dawson added. "But, Detective, I can assure you that