The Night of the Sciurus

by Linda Watkins

Genres: Occult & Supernatural; Short Stories; Horror; novella; horror; darkfiction; environmental horror; darkfantasy

Synopsis

"Reminiscent of Hitchcock's The Birds"

A cautionary tale about the consequences of environmental pollution...

They are part of our daily lives. We watch them from our kitchen windows and backyard decks as they scurry over the branches of our tall oak trees. We laugh at their antics as they furiously bury and unbury their precious acorns. Yes, they are part of our lives and, though, sometimes a nuisance, we generally enjoy and tolerate them.

>>>But what happens when something goes wrong?

What happens if some outside force causes their DNA to explode, creating a whole new species? What happens when that species begins to distrust and fear humans?

Brooke Davis, her daughter, Tessa, and their intrepid dog, Petey, are about to find out.

The Night of the Sciurus, A Western Michigan Tale of Terror is a story of environmental horror by multi-award-winning and USA Today bestselling author, Linda Watkins.

Release date: May 1, 2019

Publisher: Argon Press

Print pages: 113

Sample

THE NIGHT IT REALLY BEGAN

The little squirrel raced frantically through the streets. As he ran, a bolt of lightning split the sky, followed closely by the roar of thunder. Startled, he stopped, eyes darting this way and that – searching for refuge. He was on the curb of a wide street so close to the big lake that he could hear the waves pounding the shoreline. He wished he could go home, but the nest he lived in with his siblings and parents was no more. While he slept, the wind had ripped it from the branches of the old oak that stood beside the library and tossed it carelessly to the ground. Stunned by the impact, the little squirrel had panicked and now found himself far from his home and family.


A fat drop of rain landed on his head and he knew that if he didn’t find shelter soon, he might die. Throwing caution to the wind, he leapt into the street and dashed to the other side barely missing being hit by the wheels of a large M-DOT truck patrolling the neighborhood.

Safe on the opposite curb, the little squirrel surveyed his surroundings. Across the sidewalk from where he cowered was a large concrete building surrounded by a chain-link fence that seemed to go on forever. He blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to decide what to do.


The rain began to come down harder and, not seeing any alternative, the little squirrel dashed through an opening in the fence and hunkered down in the sheltered entryway to the abandoned factory. He sat quietly for a moment, checking the area around him for any predators. Finally convinced that, at least for the time being, he was safe, he took a moment to relax and shake the rain from his fur.


Once calm and dry, he began to look for food and water. The entryway where he crouched was full of debris – empty liquor bottles, aluminum soda cans, and paper bags that once held potato chips or popcorn. He searched through the litter gathering up a crumb or two, but not enough to fill his empty stomach. Frustrated, he ran around just outside the entryway looking for an acorn-bearing tree. But the only trees he found on this property were long-dead, their branches blackened and brittle.


Sustenance, he discovered, in this old mill, would be a problem. Nothing grew at this abandoned place – not even the hardiest of weeds.

Disappointed, the little squirrel put his hunger aside for the moment and, recognizing his great thirst, began to search for a source of water. This was less of a problem than food. The rain left puddles everywhere and, exhausted, the little squirrel stopped at one of them and began to drink.


However, fate was not kind to this little squirrel. Out of all of the puddles that littered the property, he chose the wrong one. The one he drank from was not left by the rain. No, this one was always there, water generated from an underground spring. Water that had once been clean and clear. But now, as it bubbled to the surface, it mixed with multiple pollutants and chemicals left behind when the old mill was shut down. As a result, by the time the water reached the surface, it was toxic.


And still, the young squirrel drank.

The microbes in the water didn’t kill him immediately. On the contrary, when he finished, he felt refreshed and ran off, away from the mill, to find his family or start a new one.


He traveled quite a distance for such a small creature and finally came upon a place that seemed like squirrel nirvana. It was a residential neighborhood, the homes surrounded by dozens of impossibly tall oaks – trees full of plump, juicy acorns and long branches just waiting for a new nest.


The little squirrel built his home in one of them, mated, and had litter after litter of other little squirrels - creatures completely unaware that somewhere inside of them the toxic water from the mill had caused a gene to mutate, not only once, but again and again. And, as they played in the branches, this family of squirrels was oblivious to what horror this mutation would eventually bring to them and, more importantly, to the unfortunate humans who shared their habitat.