Yee-haw!

Clem Cattini’s ancient Buick sputters to a halt halfway across Baa Baa Bridge.

Joyce Jinks smacks him on the shoulder. “I told ya to get gas!”

“It’s three and a half bucks per gallon,” Clem replies. Stroking her rich blonde hair, he adds, “I’d rather spend it on you, darlin’.”

“Well, you won’t get the chance if we stay on this bridge. Let’s get walkin’.”

The pair pauses to look at the rushing water below and the twinkling stars.

Clem puts his arm around Joyce. “Kinda romantic right here, ain’t it?”

He moves to kiss her, freezing in mid-pucker when he hears the tortured bleating of a goat.

“You tryin’ to put a scare in me?” Joyce asks.

The goat’s bleating grows louder.

“I swear it ain’t me. Maybe we should get back in the car.”

Clem grabs Joyce by the wrist. Stuffing her in the car, he clings to her.

Joyce pushes him away. “Is this another trick to get me in the back seat? Guess your handsome looks and sweet tongue fooled me. Lemme go!”

A large figure jumps on the hood of the car. It bounces up and down, letting out a distressing, high-pitched bleat.

“What in heaven’s name is that thing?” Joyce squeals.

Their assailant, covered in white fur, has the upper body of a muscular man. It boasts a goat's furry hind legs and hooves from the waist down. Its face is hairless, with a prominent nose and wide-set eyes that glisten like marbles. Goat horns protrude from its head.

It vaults from the car. Clomping toward the back of the vehicle, it bangs its claw-like hands against the glass, bleating angrily.

The glass shatters. Screaming, Clem and Joyce frantically clutch at each other for protection.

***

Ken closes out the Tennessee Tasmanian Swamp Beast’s file. He picks up his empty Tupperware container and thermos and glances at the clock.

“Quitting time,” he murmurs happily.

Thirty-year-old file clerk Ken Hurt has set his sights on becoming an agent since joining the Extraordinary Bureau of Investigation (E.B.I.) three years ago. His splinter-thin build, uncontrollably bushy hair, long nose, buck teeth, and wall-eyed stare have doomed him to a supporting role.

Bart Braverman blocks the doorway. The Executive Director for Tennessee’s division of the E.B.I. (a covert organization that investigates paranormal activities), Braverman, has the brooding good looks of a cinema idol but possesses the fastidious work ethic of an efficiency expert.

“Come with me,” Braverman commands.

“…I was just about to leave for the weekend…”

“Do you want to be a desk jockey or an agent?”

Ken gleefully follows Braverman down a labyrinth of long corridors to his office.

Braverman’s office is stylishly crammed with mahogany bookcases, a bank of video screens, and a luxurious Italian-made Presidential Desk.

Braverman points at one of the tufted leather guest chairs. “Sit.”

Ken eases himself into the comfortable chair. He’s momentarily distracted by the sound of chirping, elfin voices. Following the sound, he sees a group of men at a desk in the corner of the room stuffing papers into files.

The men are two feet tall. They wear miners' hats and have pickaxes attached to their belts.

“They’re Tommyknockers,” Braverman says. “Okay, fellas, that’s enough. Have a good weekend. Remember, no stealing. And no drinking contests in bars. People have enough problems believing what they see, you don’t have to add alcohol to the mix.”

They salute Braverman. Saying, “Okay, boss,” in unison, they slide down the desk’s legs, scampering out the door.

Braverman presses an intercom button on his phone. “Agent Strong? Get in here.”

Seconds later, Senior Agent Berry Strong enters. Stocky, with a silver crewcut and a perpetual frown, the twenty-nine-year veteran is known for his devotion to ridding the planet of anything non-human.

His head snaps back at the sight of Ken.

“You interviewing aliens in your office now, boss?”

“He’s human. Agent Strong, this is Ken Hurt.”

Ken gives Berry a buck-toothed grin.

“His looks sure hurt.”

“Ken is your new partner.”

“WHAT? I have a year left before I retire. You can’t stick me with some freakshow. How can I track dangerous creatures if I’m with someone scarier than them?”

“You know we’re spread thin. I called headquarters. They don’t have anyone to spare.”

Closing his eyes, Berry balls up his fists, exhaling deeply.

“I’m a good driver,” Ken offers.

“Well, that’s something, son,” Berry replies.

***

Ken steers the SUV up a narrow mountain pass, heading toward the rural town of Bitter End, Tennessee.

“You really are handy behind the wheel,” Berry comments. “You’ve climbed these hills like a mountain goat. Speaking of which, that’s why we’re here. We’re here to trap the Goatman.”

“I heard he was a local tall tale,” Ken replies.

“Same could be said of just about every creature we chase. The Goatman was once Dr. Merrill Messina, one of our most promising researchers. He was working on ways to merge human and animal DNA. His wife, Mercy, got cancer. He was desperate to save her, so he ratcheted up his work in gene splicing. The E.B.I. wouldn’t authorize his trying it out on a human subject, so Dr. Messina experimented on himself.”

“I take it that it didn’t go so well…”

“Bingo. She died before he could help her. He became sullen, then violent, so he was locked down. He escaped, hiding in the woods near a small bridge outside Bitter End. He’s existed on squirrels, possums, and pets for the past year. A few days ago, a couple ran out of gas while crossing the bridge. We found the car, but we haven’t found them. We did find blood spatter and a woman’s bracelet.”

“So, he’s escalating, moving onto humans,” Ken concludes.

“And we can’t let that happen.”

“Why would he start killing now?” Ken asks. “There’s got to be a trigger, a birthday…”

“An anniversary,” Berry says. “His wife died a year ago.”

***

Berry smirks at the sign reading, “Baa Baa Bridge, 4 mi.”

“The bridge got its name from the local goat farmers who crossed it,” Berry says. “Ironically, we’re hunting a goat who used to be a man.”

“Can I ask you a question? What happened to your partner?”

“He got soft. He fell in love with a mermaid and quit. You want some advice, son? Don’t fall in love with our assignments.”

***

Berry and Ken prop a female android up on Baa Baa Bridge. Fair-skinned with blue eyes, the android exudes beauty and class.

Berry activates the android.

Looking at Ken, the android raises her hands, ready to fight.

“Hold! That’s not the target. He’s just…”

“Facially challenged,” Ken says.

“Right. You’re to stand here. Self-defense mode only. Do not attack the Goatman, understand?”

The female android nods affirmatively.

Berry and Ken hide in the woods near the bridge.

“She sure is pretty,” Ken comments.

“Remember what I said about falling in love with our assignments? Same goes for our equipment.”

***

“We’ve been here for three hours. Do you mind if I find a tree?” Ken asks.

The bushes at the end of the bridge rustle.

“…Baaah…”

“Forget it. I don’t have to go anymore,” Ken says.

The Goatman stands at the end of the bridge, inspecting the android.

Leaning nonchalantly against the railing, the android gives the Goatman a playful wink and an inviting smile.

“…Baah… Mercy…”

The Goatman’s hooves shuffle across the bridge. It stops short of Mercy the android, bursting into tears.

“…Mercy…”

“Why is he crying?” Ken asks.

“Merrill thinks the android is his wife.”

“Was she constructed that way on purpose?”

“We have to use every available angle,” Berry replies. “All he has to do is move a few more feet, and we’ll have him. C’mon, Mercy, do your thing.”

Mercy winks at the Goatman. Crooking her finger, she beckons him to come to her.

“This is so sad, so cruel,” Ken remarks.

“Would you prefer one-on-one combat?”

The Goatman’s hooves scrape across the bridge’s metal floor. He holds out his furry arms.

“…Mercy…”

Berry presses a button on his remote-control device. A net drops from the tree above the bridge, trapping the Goatman.

Berry and Ken rush across the bridge as the Goatman struggles to his feet.

“BAAH! Mercy! Please let me touch her again!”

“Sorry, Merrill.”

The Goatman struggles under the weighted net.

“Don’t get too close, son,” Berry warns.

Lowering its head, the Goatman bucks Ken, knocking him off his feet.

Ken rubs his stomach. “Ow! I didn’t sign up for this.”

Berry tightens the net around the Goatman. “Calm down, Dr. Messina.”

“…Please…Baaah…Let me hold her again…”

“Your wife is dead. This is an android.”

Dr. Merrill Messina’s tears tap against the metal floor of the bridge.

“I know… But I still love her anyway.”

***

Berry studies Ken’s forlorn expression.

“You’ve hardly said a word for the past two hours... And slow down. It’ll be embarrassing for the Bureau if two of its agents get a speeding ticket from some hillbilly cop from the town of Winsome.”

Ken tightens his grip on the SUV’s steering wheel. “What we did to that poor creature was horrible. He’s going to be imprisoned back at the very laboratory where he conducted his experiments. Now he’s going to be one. He’ll die from a broken heart.”

“We did our job, son. You want to be an agent, don’t you?”

“Let me repeat what I said before. I didn’t sign up for this… I was thinking… Maybe we could recommend that Dr. Messina gets to see Mercy every so often.”

“Goes against the Bureau’s rules…”

“So does torture, which you and I both know will happen to Dr. Messina. Our researchers will pick, probe, and operate on him to try and produce another Goatman.”

“No doubt,” Berry replies.

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

“Not after what I’ve seen. Nankipoo, a small town near these hills, signed a peace agreement with a Bonfire Dragon. It incinerated the entire village before the ink was dry. At our headquarters in Washington, I saw a supposedly sedated Guillotine Bear hold up the heads of the two men who tried to sneak into its cage to leave it some food. Most of the creatures we hunt aren’t noble aliens like Klaatu, or friendly furballs like Tribbles. They’re dangerous. This job has made me a skeptic regarding creatures’ behavior and turned me into a realist when it comes to their fates. You’ll feel the same way when we get to Winsome.”

“What’s there?”

“The Placenta Witch. It searches for pregnant women and their unborn children. One was sighted lurking outside the Hope Clinic in Winsome. The local Sheriff managed to scare it off. I hope we’re not too late to help.”

***

Silas Stewart dabs a wet rag across his wife’s forehead. The kerosene lamp flickers, illuminating her features, which are etched in pain.

“The doc’s on his way, Raelynn. Be strong.”

Raelynn groans. “It’s fifteen miles from town to here. He’d best hurry. I feel like I’m ‘bout to give birth to an elephant.”

“It’ll be all right. This is our new beginnin’, just like we talked about… We’re not gonna be them two wild hill folk people laugh about anymore. My lumber business is takin’ off. Now that we’re startin’ our family, we can move outta this cabin into Winsome.”

Raelynn winces as another labor pain strikes. “Speakin’a lumber. I’m feelin’ a chill. How ‘bout some more wood for the fire?”

“Sure. Don’t you go havin’ our son while I’m gone,” Silas says.

Raelynn closes her eyes, trying to ride through the pain.

The fetid smell of death opens her eyes.

A rotting hand covers her mouth, muffling her scream. A hideous, grey-skinned hag with black eyes, bristly grey hair, a long, hawk-like nose, and jagged, brown teeth cackles at her terror.

It pulls back the covers protecting Raelynn’s protruding belly.

Quietly, cackling, the witch lowers its head.

“…Ah, dinner…”

Tearing at Raelynn’s stomach, it rips her baby from her womb.

***

Returning to the cabin, Silas notices the door is open.

His eyes follow the trail of blood leading to Raelynn’s bed.

He drops the stack of logs he’s holding, wailing his wife’s name.

***

Sheriff Waylon Walker spits a stream of tobacco juice into the bushes outside the Hope Clinic.

“When Silas came bustin’ into town, he was out of his mind with grief,” Waylon remembers. “His cabin was an unholy mess.”

“I wish we’d gotten here sooner,” Berry replies. “But we’re here this morning, and mark my words, no one else in Winsome is going to die.”

“You gonna try to scare her to death?” Waylon asks Ken.

“Because I’m so ugly?”

“I’m sorry, boy. I’m at my wits’ end.”

Waylon watches Ken fill two buckets with salt as Berry spreads it around the entrance to the clinic. He squirms uneasily, spraying tobacco juice in the bushes like rain.

“I didn’t sign up for this. I ain’t comfortable with black magic.”

“It’s science. Just think of it as fighting fire with fire,” Ken replies.

“You saw the witch,” Berry says. “You shot at it. The bullets had no effect. You know conventional methods won’t work.”

“What’s that stuff do?”

“It's salt mixed with garlic. It’ll act as protection. The witch can’t cross any area protected by salt or garlic.”

“I’m just worried ‘bout the girls inside. There’s three mothers to be in there, not to mention their husbands, their kin, and the staff lookin’ after them.”

Waylon’s eyebrows shoot upward. “You smell that? That’s the same rancid stink that nearly made me chuck chow when the witch appeared.”

Ken points across the street at the Placenta Witch.

“Yeah, that’d be her.”

“You go inside and protect your people, Sheriff,” Berry says. “We got this.”

Cackling, the witch glides across the street.

Looking down at the carpet of salt, it stops, hissing angrily.

Berry and Ken pick up their buckets.

“I smell blood inside,” the witch cackles. “I need blood.”

“Uh-uh. What you need is a little salt and garlic,” Berry says.

Berry and Ken toss their concoction at the witch. It shrieks, bursting into flames.

In a matter of seconds, all that remains of the Placenta Witch is a charred spot on the sidewalk.

“Good riddance,” Ken says.

“I think you’re getting the hang of things, son,” Berry replies.

***

Ken raises his binoculars, surveying Lake Marrowbone.

“It sounds like an oarfish. They can reach thirty feet in length. But there’s no more merit to this creature than the Loch Ness Sea Monster.

“Well, something’s out there,” Berry replies. “There’ve been a dozen sightings in the past five days. One fisherman said something overturned his boat.”

“Why’d you volunteer us for this detail?”

“You’re stressed, son. You need an easy assignment. Besides, I’ve always been in love with the sea. I used to build model ships when I was a kid. I was a lifeguard as a teenager and loved water skiing. And my Dad, my brothers, and I used to go deep-sea fishing. I once caught a five-hundred-pound swordfish. Took me two hours.”

“Oh, no.”

“What’s the matter?”

Ken points at the horizon. “I thought all water traffic was cancelled during our investigation. There’s a tourist boat out there.”

“Probably sails out of one of the other towns. That’s why they didn’t get the word.”

A large, snake-like head rears out of the water, opening its fierce jaws.

“That serpent? It’s real all right,” Ken says. “Gotta be sixty feet.”

Berry takes the binoculars.

“A Dragon Serpent. They have them in East Asia, but they’re not native to Tennessee. It’s impossible.”

“The people screaming on that boat might disagree.”

The serpent’s head clamps down on the boat's bow, shaking it from side to side. Diving beneath the boat, the monster rises behind it, swatting at the craft’s stern. Planks, chairs, and awnings soar in the air, splashing down in the lake.

The serpent turns its massive head, watching the boat chug away, sagging by its stern.

“The boat’s damaged, but it looks like it’ll make it to port,” Ken observes. “I bet it’s the last time those people ever go anywhere near the water.”

“It's curious. The creature could have destroyed that boat, but it chose not to. It’s aggressive, but it hasn’t killed anybody. I bet it’s guarding its home.”

“Great. So, how do we get it to relocate?”

***

Berry operates the controls of a twenty-foot crane. At the end of a long, strong test line is a hundred-pound Tuna on a sharp hook for bait.

“Don’t worry,” Berry says, swinging the hook into the water. “This’ll be like the deep-sea fishing I did as a kid.”

“You’re not a kid anymore. You sure you don’t want me to help?”

“You didn’t sign up for this. I got it under control.”

Berry cheerfully yells, “YEE-HAW!” when the creature takes the bait. The line jerks, then unravels as the dragon pulls it across the lake.

Berry pulls back the levers controlling the fishing line. The crane slowly begins to win the tug of war with the creature, pulling it toward the shore.

The next moment, the serpent speeds away, yanking the line toward the middle of the lake.

The crane groans. Smoke rises from the straining fishing line. The line snaps, the crane topples over, and Berry is propelled into the lake.

Ken runs for a life preserver, stopping when he sees Berry disappear underwater.

Seconds later, the dragon's huge head rises from the lake. Berry is hanging on its back.

Berry lets out a jubilant, “YEE-HAW!” as the serpent plunges underwater.

***

“You okay?” Bart Braverman asks Ken.

“…Agent Strong went out like a champ… He looked happy playing rodeo rider on the back of that dragon…”

“Maybe your next assignment will cheer you up. The dragon serpent has returned to Lake Marrowbone and is causing mayhem again. There’s a man riding on it yelling, “YEE-HAW!”