Beast of the North Woods

Book 3: A Monster Hunter Mystery

by Annelise Ryan

Genres: General Fiction; Mystery; Traditional Mysteries; Female Sleuths

Synopsis

When a local fisherman is mauled to death, it seems like the only possible cause is a mythical creature in the latest puzzling entry in this USA Today bestselling series.

An ice fisherman is savagely mauled to death in Rhinelander, Wisconsin, and an eyewitness claims the man was attacked by a hodag. There's just one problem with that: it's well known that the creature is not real and was created by a local hoaxer. So how could an imaginary creature be chomping on local sportsmen? 

The suggestion that a hodag killed someone isn’t well received by the townsfolk because of its beloved ties to the town and the money it generates from tourist dollars. Due to this, people begin to suspect the witness is the real killer, especially when it’s discovered he has a tangled past with the victim. 

The witness to the attack happens to be the nephew of Morgan Carter’s bookstore employee, Rita Bosworth, who convinces the professional cryptozoologist to travel to Wisconsin to prove that a hodag not only exists but killed the victim. 

Clues may be hard to come by, but one thing's for sure: something killed that man, and that something now has its eyes focused on Morgan.

Release date: January 28, 2025

Publisher: Berkley

Print pages: 320

Sample

Prologue

Andy Bosworth slogged his way through a snowdrift sculpted between two large conifers, tugging his loaded sled behind him. His fishing equipment, including a tent, a gas heater, and an ice auger, made for a heavy haul, yet the sled they were on glided over the uneven snow with little more than a whisper. He, on the other hand, emitted loud whistling breaths and the occasional strenuous grunt as he made plodding progress through two-foot-high drifts skirting the deeper three-foot piles on the windward side of the trees. He'd gone only about a hundred yards from the cabin before he was winded and had to halt to catch his breath. He was rethinking his decision to forgo buying new snowshoes after his last pair had given up the ghost. He'd forgotten how taxing it could be trudging through deep snow, and it served as a reminder of his promise to himself to get back into the gym.

As he sucked frigid morning air into his lungs-air so cold it burned-his misery wasn't enough to detract from the beauty surrounding him. The sky overhead was the color of a fresh bruise, though it faded to a pale blue on the horizon and grew lighter with each passing minute. Branches on the surrounding trees-some of them iced bits of bare wood, others bowed down with the weight of snow piled on evergreen needles-glistened with crystalline whiteness. The snow sparkled and glittered in the rays of the morning sun like facets on a diamond. Aside from the sounds of Andy's own stertorous breathing, a sepulchral silence surrounded him. His breath created clouds of mist as he exhaled, and his beard bore tiny crystals of ice, making it look bejeweled in the morning light.

When he finally took off again, an eerie, creaking noise broke the silence. Andy recognized it as the sound the ice floes made in the partially frozen river as the sun warmed the surface and things began to move and rub together. He was well bundled and, aside from the sting he felt in his nose and throat with each breath, the cold was of little consequence to him. In fact, his exertions had him sweating slightly and he was considering undoing the zipper of the jacket he had on over his bibs when the morning's relative quiet was shattered by a short, bloodcurdling scream.

Andy froze in place, his brain scrambling to analyze the noise. It had sounded scarily human, but he knew the cries of eagles and hawks in the area could mimic a human scream. Plus, his own heavy breathing had layered itself over the sound, obscuring it just enough that he couldn't be sure of what he'd heard. Might it have come from a wild animal or bird? He tilted his head one way, then another, waiting to see if the sound would repeat.

Seconds later, it did, not as loud, yet somehow more desperate and definitely human. It imbued Andy with an urgent need to move, to act, but where? How? The sound had echoed through the trees and over the snow in a way that made it seem to come from multiple directions at once. Then he heard a grunting noise followed by odd, guttural sounds as if someone, or something, was struggling. He thought it was coming from the direction of the river. Had something fallen through the ice?

He dropped the rope attached to his sled and headed toward the sound, taking high, lurching steps through the snowdrifts. Though he tried to hurry, both the depth and the slipperiness of the snow made him nearly fall several times and, at one point, he went down on his knees. Winded, he stayed in this supplicating position for a moment, listening, belatedly realizing he should have grabbed the pack on his sled that held several tools, including a knife. And oh yeah, his frigging bear spray. What the hell was he going to do if he encountered someone being attacked by a bear? He mentally berated himself.

Some great first responder you are.

He briefly considered going back, but then a meager cry of "Help me" triggered a new sense of urgency. He got to his feet and plunged ahead. As he rounded a large tree trunk, he halted in his tracks, momentarily stunned by what he saw.

Beneath a quartet of trees about twenty feet away, a man's body lay sprawled on the ground, his arms crossed over his torso where his jacket had been ripped open, the white stuffing inside the garment spilling out and stained red. The man's feet were clad in a pair of worn snowshoes and a walking pole lay half buried in the snow beside him. Though the man's face was largely hidden beneath a dark ski mask speckled with gore, the bit of facial skin Andy could see beneath the mask was as white as the snow. The man's eyes stared skyward, unseeing.

The snow around the body was stained dark and red and a coppery, meaty smell in the air made Andy gag and nearly toss up the eggs and bacon he'd had for breakfast. He saw one leg of the man's snow pants was torn along the thigh and there was a long, ragged gash in the flesh beneath the material. From that wound a tiny fountain of blood spewed out, spattering the snow pants and running down into the snow. Andy knew instantly the bleed must have been bigger before he'd arrived because the snow all around the man was a spreading red halo of death.

Andy pulled off his gloves with his teeth, stuffing them into his pockets as he knelt beside the man. He grabbed a handful of the leaked stuffing from the torn parka, wincing when he caught a glimpse of glistening viscera beneath, and pushed it into the leg wound hard to try to stem the arterial flow.

"I gotcha, pal," he said. But there was no reply, no movement, not even a wince as Andy pushed hard into the leg wound.

With his other hand, Andy reached in under the lower part of the ski mask near a tear, exposing a thick, wiry beard. He dug his fingers into the man's neck to try to find a pulse but what he found instead was yet another gash. No, wait, not a gash but rather a hole where that tear in the mask had been.

Instinctively, Andy pulled away, shaking off the blood and gore clinging to his hand. Just then the guy gasped, and Andy felt a fine spray hit his face, making him lean back.

Change of plans, he thought. No need to check for a pulse. The leg wound had been spurting, meaning the guy had a heartbeat. Except the operative word there was "had," because even as Andy thought this, he realized the slight pulsation he'd initially felt beneath the stuffing on the leg wound had now disappeared. Lifting the wad, he saw there was no more fountain of blood, just a slow, oozing trickle with bits of the fibrous stuffing sticking to it. Andy thought he might need to do CPR but knew he had to get help first; otherwise this guy was a goner.

He's a goner anyway, Andy thought as he fished his phone out of his pocket and held it aloft, not surprised to see he had no service. Cursing to himself, he stood and turned in a circle, holding the phone as high as he could.

There was a rustling sound behind him, and he whirled around, eyes wide with panic. Inanely, a childhood ditty he'd learned raced through his mind:

If the bear is brown, lie down. If the bear is black, fight back.

Andy looked around frantically-which was it, black or brown? In these parts, most likely black. The rising sun cast the trunks of the trees in long, gray shadows, shadows that appeared to move at times when a wind gust blew the powdery surface snow around. A reflective glint caught his eye on the other side of the man's prostrate body.

A knife!

It was bloodied and lying on the snow not far from the victim's right hand, suggesting the man had been trying to defend himself against-

Against what, exactly? Black or brown?

Andy trudged around the dead man's feet to get to the knife, but his boot caught on something, sending him sprawling into blood-soaked snow. When he sat up and looked, he saw a second ski pole partially buried beneath the man's body, the business end of it sticking out just beyond his snowshoes. Andy scrambled onto his hands and knees and crawled over to the knife, snatching it up and holding it at the ready. He scanned the shadows again, but all had grown quiet. The lack of sound was somehow scarier than the desperate noises he'd heard earlier.

Andy knew cell reception would be better by the river and it was closer than his cabin, so he got to his feet and headed in that direction, stopping every few steps to check for service. Minutes later he broke out of the trees and onto the steep, narrow banks of the river. He saw two bars on his phone and started to dial but then froze when he heard something crashing through the underbrush to his right, heading toward him at a rapid pace with heaving, grunting breaths.

Black or brown?

Seconds later a beast burst out of some nearby bushes, startling Andy so badly he jumped and instinctively turned away. His feet slipped on the wet snow and he pinwheeled his arms in an effort to stay upright, but gravity won out. The snow cushioned his fall, but his phone disappeared into a drift and the hand holding the knife slid down the handle and over the blade, slicing into his fingers and palm. He yelped in pain and yanked his hand back, causing the knife to fly out onto the breaking ice of the river, where it skittered across the surface and dropped into the water through an open area.

Andy spun himself around on his butt, knowing he was vulnerable as he sat in the snow without a weapon, but prepared to defend himself the best he could. He was stunned to see the creature standing and staring at him a mere twenty feet away, its sides heaving, its heavy grunting exhalations creating tiny clouds of mist in the air. Andy stared back and blinked hard, not sure he could trust his own eyes.

Seconds later, the creature turned and ran down the riverbank onto an area of solid, shaded ice, navigating the frozen surface with surprising ease. When it reached the other side, it scrambled onto shore and melted into the thick woods.

Andy stared stunned and disbelieving at the spot where he'd last seen the creature, afraid it might reemerge and come back across the river. He shook his head as his logical mind struggled to accept what he had clearly seen: the spiny ridge along the back; the red eyes in a frog-like face that was spattered with blood; two nasty-looking horns above long, tusklike teeth; and clawed feet.

A Hodag. Holy mother of God, it was a freaking Hodag!

Andy shook his head again, refusing to give in to the idea.

It couldn't be. They don't exist. They aren't real.

If only he could've snapped a picture with his phone.

Damn! My phone.

Andy tore his eyes from the spot across the river and examined the snowdrift where he'd dropped his phone. He spotted a small opening and started digging through the snow until he found the device, wet but still turned on and showing-thank God!-two bars of service.

The wind picked up as he dialed 911 and fat flakes began drifting down from the sky. He explained his dilemma to the operator who answered, providing the location of the injured man-though not committing to declaring the victim dead-and instructions on the best way for first responders to get to him. Prompted by the operator to explain what had happened to the injured man, Andy hesitated for a few seconds, reluctant to say what his eyes had clearly seen, afraid they'd think his call was a hoax. In the end, he told her the victim had apparently been attacked by an animal.

The call ended following Andy's explanation of the meager cell service he had available to him in the woods, and he took a moment to ponder the situation. He needed to prepare himself for the arrival of the authorities. What was he going to tell them? Had the Hodag killed the man? Andy couldn't say for sure, because he hadn't seen the attack happen, but his gut said yes. The creature had had blood on it, though he supposed it could have been sniffing around the victim after some other animal, like a bear, had attacked and left.

Andy headed back toward the victim, but instead of following his own trail-a series of deep footprint holes in the snow-he spotted the more tamped-down and trampled trail the creature had been on, a trail speckled with drops of blood. He followed it, thinking it might get him back to the victim quicker. The blood droplets increased in both number and size the farther Andy went, and the trail ended where the man's body still lay at the base of the tree. There was no other bloody trail leading away from the victim, no other areas of disturbed snow. In fact, the expanse beyond the tree at the man's head was pristine.

A brief glance at the exposed portion of the man's face told Andy there would be no point in doing CPR. The eyes looked upward, dead and lifeless. The marble whiteness of the surrounding skin beneath the specks of gore made Andy shudder. He turned his gaze to the trees instead, alert and watching for any movement. The silence that had seemed so magical and wondrous to him earlier now felt ominous.

He feared the animal might return. Would it be ramped up with bloodlust? Would it gore him to death the way it had this poor man? No sooner had this terrifying possibility crossed Andy's mind than he heard a snort from off to his left . . . or was it? The combination of snow, wind, and trees made sound bounce around him crazily. A horrifying thought came to him. Could there be more than one of those things in the woods? The possibility scared the bejesus out of him, and he prayed the first responders would hurry up and get there.

Every nerve in his body was telling him to get the hell out of there, to head back to the cabin, where there was warmth and safety. But as uncomfortable as he was, he didn't want to leave the dead man alone. His right hand throbbed and when he looked down he realized his own blood was now staining the snow from where the knife had sliced into his palm. Both of his hands were freezing and when he reached into his pockets, he realized he'd lost his gloves somewhere. He looked around and saw them half buried in the snow near the feet of the dead man. They'd be frozen, he realized, and he jammed his hands into his pockets to warm them instead.