Greta the Climate Goblin - Episode Two: The Beast in the Barn (The Barn)

Sunday Morning, 06 October 1985

The Josephson Property
Fairhaven, Illinois

     The sun had barely cleared the eastern horizon when Greta Whittaker pedaled her ten-speed bicycle along County Road 6.

     She hadn't gotten much sleep.

     Between finishing her show, helping Elliot put away the props, and thinking about Harold's mysterious telephone call, she'd finally gotten home well after midnight. But the possibility of an actual monster? That was worth getting up early for.

     The morning air was chilly. Mist hung over the low fields, and the roadside ditches were filled with fallen leaves. Greta wore her usual black denim jacket over a faded T-shirt, black shorts, green fishnet stockings, and a pair of battered sneakers. Her bright green hair was tied back in a ponytail. She had a backpack containing a flashlight, a notebook, a disposable camera, and a couple of granola bars.

     Just in case.

     The Josephson property lay several miles outside Fairhaven, where the cultivated fields gave way to patches of woodland and old farmsteads.

     Greta spotted the barn before she reached the driveway. It was enormous. The structure stood on a low rise beyond a weathered farmhouse, its faded red paint peeling away to expose gray wood beneath. One side of the roof sagged slightly, and the big double doors faced the gravel drive.

     Or, rather, what remained of them.

     Greta slowed her bicycle.

     One of the doors hung crookedly from its upper hinge. The other had been torn completely free and lay several yards away in the grass.

     "Whoa." She coasted to a stop.

     A blue sedan was parked near the barn.
Beside it stood Bob Mercer. The president of the Fairhaven Historical Society was wearing khaki trousers, a brown cardigan, and a light windbreaker. A camera hung around his neck, and he was examining the splintered remains of the barn door.
     He raised the camera and took another photograph.

Click.

     Greta wheeled her bicycle up the driveway. "Morning, Mr. Mercer!"

     Bob turned. For a moment, he looked surprised. Then he smiled. "Well, good morning, Gretchen!"

     Greta winced slightly. "Greta."

     "Of course. Greta. Sorry." He lowered his camera. "Goodness. What brings you all the way out here this early?"

     Greta gestured toward the ruined doors.
"Actually, that."

     Bob looked back at the barn and sighed.
"Yes. Quite a mess, isn't it?"

     "What happened?"

     "Sheriff's deputy says 'Vandals.'"

     Greta looked at the massive wooden door lying in the grass. "Vandals? Those must've been some pretty big vandals."

     Bob chuckled. "Well, teenagers can be surprisingly destructive when they put their minds to it."

     He raised his camera again and photographed a section of broken timber. "Unfortunately, we only finalized the purchase yesterday. And now this."

     "Wow. That's terrible."

     "It certainly is. The Historical Society doesn't have an unlimited budget, you know. Restoring this old place was going to be expensive enough without having to replace the doors."

     Greta approached the fallen door. The wood was thick. Heavy iron hinges still clung to one edge, surrounded by splintered timber. She crouched beside it.
"Did somebody hit it with a truck?"

     Bob looked over. "Possibly. That's one theory."

     Greta examined the damage. There were deep gouges in the wood. Not neat cuts or saw marks. Something had torn through the surface, leaving long, irregular grooves. She reached toward one of them.

     "Careful," Bob said. "You'll get a splinter."

     Greta withdrew her hand. "Right." She stood and looked toward the open doorway. "Was anything stolen?"

     "Not that we've discovered."

     "What's inside?"

     "Mostly old farm equipment. A few tools. Some lumber. Nothing terribly valuable."

     "Can I look?"

     Bob hesitated. "Well..."

     Greta gave him an encouraging smile. "Just a quick peek?"

     "I really shouldn't let anyone inside until we've had a chance to inspect the structure. It's an old building, and with this damage..."

     He gestured toward the broken doorway. "Safety first."

     Greta nodded. "Yeah. Makes sense."

     She stepped sideways, trying to see past him into the barn. The interior was dark. Old wooden beams crossed beneath the roof. Dust floated in the morning sunlight. Something large stood beneath a canvas sheet against the far wall. Greta couldn't tell what it was.

     Bob followed her gaze.

     "Old threshing equipment," he explained. "At least, that's what we believe. We haven't cataloged everything yet."

     "Cool."

     Bob smiled. "Your father tells me you're studying environmental science."

     "Environmental studies. At Blackwater College."

     "Ah, yes. Very good. Important work."

     "Thanks."

     "And you're doing broadcasting as well?"

     "Minor in broadcasting."

     "Wonderful. Your father must be delighted."

     Greta laughed. "Dad is. Mom's still working on it."

     Bob chuckled knowingly. "Well, parents worry."

     He lifted his camera. "Would you mind stepping aside for a moment? I'd like another photograph of the doorway."

     "Oh! Sure." Greta moved toward the corner of the barn.

     Bob raised the camera.

Click.

     As he lowered it, Greta noticed something in the dirt. She stopped. There, near the edge of the gravel, was a deep impression. It was roughly the size of a dinner plate. And it was shaped like a hoof. Greta crouched. "Mr. Mercer?"

     "Hmm?"

     "Do you have cows out here?"

     Bob turned."Cows?"

     "Yeah."

     "No. Not anymore. The Josephsons stopped raising livestock years ago."

     Greta looked at the impression. It was remarkably deep. She glanced toward the barn. Then back at the print. "That's weird."

     Bob approached. "What is?"

     She pointed. "That."

     He bent slightly to examine it. "Well, I'll be."

     Greta looked up. "Looks like a hoofprint, doesn't it?"

     "Yes. Yes, it does."

     "A really big hoofprint."

     Bob straightened. "Perhaps one of the neighboring farmers had an animal get loose."

     Greta looked around. "Do they have bulls?"

     "Some do, I imagine."

     She considered the explanation. Then she looked back toward the barn doors. "Would a bull knock down a door like that?"

     Bob rubbed his chin. "An angry one might."

     Greta nodded slowly. "Yeah. Maybe."

     She reached into her backpack and retrieved her notebook.

     Bob watched her. "Taking notes?"

     "Uh-huh."

     "Planning a story?"

     "Maybe."

     Bob smiled. "Well, if you do, I'd appreciate it if you mentioned that the Historical Society is trying to restore the property. We could certainly use the publicity."

     "Sure!"

     She wrote:

JOSEPHSON BARN
• Doors smashed.
• Possible animal damage?
• HUGE hoofprint.
• No livestock on property.
• Mr. Mercer says vandals.

     Then she looked up. "Hey, Mr. Mercer?"

     "Yes?"

     "Did anybody actually see the vandals?"

     "Not that I know of."

     Greta tapped her pencil against the notebook. "Huh."

     Bob checked his watch. "Well, I should probably finish these photographs. The insurance company will want documentation."

     Greta nodded. "Right. Insurance."

     She looked at the barn again. "Funny thing, though."

     "What's that?"

     "Somebody called the station last night. Said they saw a monster out here."

     Bob stopped. Then he laughed. "A monster?"

     "Yep."

     "Good heavens."

     "Big thing. Horns. Walked on two legs."

     Bob shook his head. "Well, that certainly sounds like something for your television program."

     Greta grinned. "That's what I thought!"

     Bob smiled back. "Perhaps you could make a movie about it."

     "Maybe I will." She closed her notebook.

     "You're welcome, Greta. And do tell your father I said hello."

     "Will do!"

     She started back toward her bicycle. Bob watched her go. Then he raised his camera and took another photograph of the damaged barn.

Click.

     Greta reached the edge of the driveway. She glanced back. Bob was still photographing the doors. The morning sunlight had finally reached the front of the barn, illuminating the broken timbers and the enormous opening.

     Greta looked down at her notebook.

HUGE hoofprint.

     She smiled. "Okay," she whispered. "That's definitely weird."

     And then she climbed onto her bicycle.

30 minutes later....

     Greta pulled into the parking lot at the sheriff's office. She headed inside. An older woman in a deputy's uniform, probably in her mid-40s, with curly blond hair sat behind the counter.

     "Hi! I'm Greta Whittaker, from KMEL-13."

     The Deputy leaned back in her seat, "Ahhh.... The green-haired girl with the bad movies."

     "That's me!"

     "My daughter watches your show."

     "Really?"

     "Says you're funnier than the movies."

     "That's not a very high bar."

     "What can I do for you, miss?"

     "This guy called the TV station last night, saying a wild animal was on the loose. I was just wondering if you heard anything about it."

     The Deputy looked at Greta. "You know what, we did actually. Walter Hensley called about 11:45, saying he saw something...."

      A quick search of the phone book gives her an address to go with the name.

45 minutes later....

     By the time Greta reached the address she'd found in the telephone directory, her legs were beginning to complain. She'd already ridden several miles out to the Josephson property, back into Fairhaven to ask questions at the Sheriff's Office, and now out into the countryside again.

     At least the weather was nice.

     The address belonged to Walter Hensley, a farmer who lived on a narrow county road about three miles west of the Josephson property.

     His house was a modest white farmhouse with green shutters, a broad front porch, and a detached garage. A faded red pickup truck sat in the driveway. Beyond the house stretched several acres of cornfields, their stalks already brown and dry.

     Greta coasted up the gravel driveway and dismounted.

     A large black-and-white dog emerged from beneath the porch. It regarded her suspiciously.

     "Hi, puppy!"

     The dog barked. Greta stopped. "Okay. Not a puppy person."

     The front door opened. A man in his late fifties stepped onto the porch. He was broad-shouldered, with thinning gray hair, a weathered face, and a pair of suspenders holding up his work trousers.

     "What's all the racket?"

     He spotted Greta.

     The dog barked again.

     "Quiet, Duke."

     The dog immediately stopped.

     Walter looked at Greta's green hair, black clothing, and fishnet stockings. He blinked. "Can I help you, young lady?"

     Greta smiled. "Hi! Are you Mr. Hensley?"

     "That's right."

     "I'm Greta Whittaker. I work at KMEL-13."

     Walter's expression changed. "Wait a minute." He pointed at her. "You're that girl on the television!"

     Greta grinned. "Greta the Climate Goblin!"

     "Well, I'll be damned." He looked her up and down. "You look taller on TV."

     "Everybody does."

     Walter chuckled. "What brings you all the way out here?"

     "Actually, I think you called the station last night."

     His smile faded. "Oh."

     Greta nodded. "About something you saw near the Josephson barn?"

     Walter glanced toward the road. Then back at her. "Yeah. I called."

     "Could I ask you a few questions?"

     He hesitated. "Look, if you're here to make fun of me—"

     "I'm not!" Her answer came quickly enough to surprise him. Greta took a breath. "Sorry. I just... I went out to the barn this morning. I saw the damage."

     Walter studied her. "You did?"

     "Uh-huh. One of the doors was completely torn off. And there was this enormous hoofprint in the dirt."

     Walter's expression tightened. "You saw the tracks?"

     "One of them."

    He looked past her toward the road again. "Well, hell."

     He stepped aside. "Come on up. Wife's got coffee on."
- - - - -

     The Hensley kitchen smelled of fresh coffee and bacon. Walter's wife, Eleanor, was a pleasant woman in her mid-fifties who seemed considerably less impressed by Greta's television credentials than her husband. "You're the girl with the green hair?"

     "Yes, ma'am."

     Eleanor examined her. "Well, at least it's a nice shade."

     "Thank you!"

     "Coffee?"

     "Please."

     Eleanor poured her a cup. Walter sat at the kitchen table and folded his hands. "All right. What do you want to know?"

     Greta opened her notebook. "Everything."

     Walter sighed. "Well, I was coming home from my brother's place. Must've been around eleven, maybe eleven-thirty. Took County Road Six like I always do."

     "Was it dark?"

     "Of course it was dark."

     Greta looked up.

     Walter gave her a faint smile.

     "Sorry. That was a dumb question."

     Walter scratched his chin, "Moon was out, though. Not full, but enough to see the road."

     Greta wrote that down. "Go on."

     "I was coming around the bend near the Josephson place when I saw something moving by the barn."

     "Moving how?"

     "Walking."

     "On four legs?"

     Walter shook his head. "Two."

     Greta's pencil stopped. "You're sure?"

     "Miss Whittaker, I know the difference between a cow and a man."

     "Right."

     "Except this thing looked like both."

     Greta leaned forward. "Tell me what it looked like."

     Walter stared at his coffee. "Big. Seven feet, maybe eight. Hard to tell. Had shoulders like a football player. Arms, hands, legs... but the head..."

     He shook his head. "Head like a bull. Big horns. And its legs weren't right."

     "Not right how?"

     "Bent funny. Like a cow's hind legs, except it was standing up."

     Greta began writing faster. "Was it wearing anything?"

     Walter considered. "Something around its waist. Looked like leather, maybe. Hard to tell."

     "Did it have a tail?"

     "Yeah."

     Greta looked up. "Really?"

     "Long one. Swishing back and forth."

     She underlined something in her notebook. MINOTAUR?

     Walter noticed. "What's that?"

     "Just a thought."

     He continued. "It came around the side of the barn and stepped into the road. I hit the brakes. Damn near put myself through the windshield."

     "How close were you?"

     "Thirty feet. Maybe less."

     "What happened then?"

     "It turned and looked right at me." Walter fell silent.

     Eleanor, who had been washing dishes, stopped and listened.

     Greta waited.

     "I've hunted deer all my life," Walter finally said. "You know how an animal looks at you? Trying to figure out if you're dangerous?"

     Greta nodded.

     "This wasn't like that."

     "What was it like?"

     Walter looked directly at her. "Like it was deciding whether to kill me."

     The kitchen was quiet.

     Then Eleanor spoke. "Walter. You didn't tell me that part."

     He shrugged. "Didn't see the point."

     Greta glanced between them. "What did you do?"

     "Nothing. Sat there with my foot on the brake."

     "And it?"

     "Just stared. Then it made this noise."

     "What kind of noise?" Walter frowned. "Like a bull bellowing, but deeper. Almost sounded like somebody trying to talk with a mouth full of gravel."

     Greta wrote that down. "Then what?"

     "It walked toward my truck."

     "Toward you?"

     "Yeah."

     "How close?"

     "Close enough I could see its eyes." He paused. "Yellow."

     Greta swallowed. "It had yellow eyes?"

     Walter nodded. "And then it hit the hood."

     Greta looked up sharply. "Hit it?"

     "With that thing it was carrying. Big piece of wood. Like a fence post."

     "Did it damage your truck?"

     Walter gave a humorless laugh. "Come see."
- - - - -
     The garage smelled of gasoline, motor oil, and old hay.

     Walter pulled the overhead door open.
Inside sat a battered 1978 Chevrolet C10 pickup. The hood was dented, badly. A long, deep depression ran diagonally across the metal, and the paint had cracked around the impact.

     Greta stared. "Whoa."

     Walter nodded. "Insurance man's gonna love that."

     She approached the truck. "Can I take a picture?"

     "Go ahead."

     Greta retrieved her camera and photographed the damage. Then she crouched to examine it. The indentation was nearly three feet long.

Whatever had struck the hood had been heavy. "Did it hit you more than once?"

     "Nope. Just once."

     "What happened after that?"

      "I threw it in reverse and got the hell out of there."

     "Did it chase you?"

     "Don't know. Wasn't looking."

     Greta stood.

     Walter folded his arms. "Look, I know how it sounds."

     She shook her head. "Mr. Hensley, I saw that barn."

     "Yeah, but you didn't see the thing."

     "No."

     He looked at the damaged hood. "Wish I hadn't."

     Greta hesitated. "Can I ask you something else?"

     "Shoot."

     "Did you tell the sheriff all this?"

     "Sure did."

     "What did they say?"

     Walter snorted. "Deputy Collins said I probably saw a bull that got loose from the Peterson farm."

     Greta glanced at the dented hood. "That's a pretty tall bull."

     "That's what I told him."

     "Did he come look at your truck?"

     "Yep."

     "And?"

     "Said somebody probably hit it with a fence post."

     Greta blinked. "Why would somebody do that?"

     Walter spread his hands. "Beats me."

     She looked at the truck again. Then at Walter. "Mr. Hensley?"

     "Yeah?"

     "Do you think it was a monster?"

     He considered the question for a long moment. Then he answered quietly. "I don't know what it was, young lady."

     He looked toward the open garage door. "But I know what I saw."
- - - - -
     Greta wheeled her bicycle down the driveway a little while later. Eleanor had insisted she take a couple of homemade oatmeal cookies for the road.

     Walter stood on the porch watching her. "Miss Whittaker?"

     She turned. "Yeah?"

     "If you find out what that thing was..." He hesitated. "Would you let me know?"

     Greta smiled. "Sure."

     He nodded. "Be careful."

     "I will!" She climbed onto her bicycle.

     As she pedaled toward the road, she looked down at her notebook.

JOSEPHSON BARN
• Doors smashed.
• Huge hoofprint.
• Creature approximately 7–8 feet tall.
• Bull's head, horns, tail.
• Walks upright.
• Carries large wooden club.
• Yellow eyes.
• Attacked Walter Hensley's truck.
• Witness appears genuinely frightened.
• Photographs of damage.
     At the bottom of the page, she'd written one word. MINOTAUR.

     She circled it twice.

     Then she looked toward Fairhaven. There were people at KMEL who might know something about this. Professor Avery would want to examine the physical evidence. Madame Celestine might recognize something from mythology.

     And Dusty... Well, Dusty would probably want to know why somebody was swinging a fence post at a pickup truck.

     Greta pedaled a little faster.

     By the time Greta reached the television station, she was tired, hungry, and more convinced than ever that something extraordinary was happening at the Josephson property.

     She parked her ten-speed beside the building, locked it to the bicycle rack, and hurried inside. The station was quieter than usual on Sunday mornings. Most of the administrative staff had the day off, and the only sounds coming from the hallway were the hum of fluorescent lights and the distant chatter of a television.

     Greta found Dusty Ray in the break room. He was sitting at the table with his feet propped on an empty chair, reading a newspaper. A cigarette smoldered in the ashtray beside him. His long gray hair was tied back, and he wore a faded Grateful Dead T-shirt beneath his denim jacket.
Chet Caldwell stood at the counter, pouring himself a cup of coffee. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts, and sneakers.
Elliot McKenna was crouched beside the refrigerator with a screwdriver in his hand.

     "Guys!"

     Dusty looked up. "Mornin', Green Bean."

     "I need your help."

     Dusty lowered his newspaper. "Uh-oh."

     Chet turned around. "Morning, Greta. What's going on?"

     "I found a monster!"

     Nobody said anything.

     Elliot continued working on the refrigerator.

     Dusty took a drag from his cigarette. "Another one?"

     "Yes!"

     Chet frowned. "Where?"

     "Out at the Josephson barn!"

     Dusty looked at Chet. Chet looked at Dusty.

     Elliot stopped turning his screwdriver. "The Josephson barn?" he asked.

     "Yes! The one Bob Mercer was talking about yesterday!"

     Dusty folded his newspaper. "Okay, kid. Start at the beginning."

     Greta dropped her backpack onto the table and pulled out her notebook. "Last night somebody called the station and told Harold he'd seen a monster near the barn. So this morning I rode out there—"

     "You did what?" Chet interrupted.

     "I rode out there."

     "By yourself?"

     "Well, yeah."

     Dusty slowly removed his feet from the chair. "Keep talking."

     "So I found Bob Mercer taking pictures of the damage. One of the barn doors was ripped right off its hinges, and there was this enormous hoofprint in the dirt!"

     Chet set down his coffee.

     Greta spread her hands. "Like this!"

     Chet studied the distance between them. "That's a pretty big hoof."

     "Exactly!"

     Dusty scratched his beard. "Could've been a bull."

     "That's what everybody keeps saying!"

     "Well, bulls have hooves."

     "I know bulls have hooves, Dusty!"

     "Just checking."

     Greta flipped through her notebook. "Anyway, I went to the Sheriff's Office, found out who called the station, looked up his address, and rode out to talk to him."

     Dusty stared at her. "You've been busy."

     "It's called investigating."

     "It's called not knowing when to leave well enough alone."

     Greta ignored that. "His name is Walter Hensley. He says he saw something seven or eight feet tall, walking on two legs, with a bull's head and horns!"

     Chet frowned. "Two legs?"

     "Yes!"

     "Are you sure he wasn't pulling your leg?"

     He showed me his truck!" Greta pulled the photographs from her backpack and spread them across the table. "Look!"

     Dusty leaned forward. Chet picked up one of the photographs. Elliot stood and came over.

     The photograph showed a deep indentation across the hood of Walter Hensley's Chevrolet pickup.

     Chet studied it. "Well, something hit that truck pretty hard."

     "With a club!" Greta said triumphantly.

     Dusty looked up. "You got a picture of the club?"

     "No."

     "Picture of the monster?"

     "No."

     "Picture of the hoofprint?"

     Greta hesitated. "...No."

     Dusty nodded. "Uh-huh."

     "But I saw it!"

     "The hoofprint."

     "Yes!"

     "Not the monster."

     Greta folded her arms. "You're being difficult."

     "Been told that."

     Elliot picked up another photograph. "Did Mr. Hensley say what the creature did after striking his truck?"

     "He backed away and drove off."

     "Did it pursue him?"

     "He doesn't know."

     Elliot examined the photograph a moment longer before setting it down.

     Chet looked at Greta. "Did the sheriff investigate?"

     "Yes."

     "And?"

     "They think it was a bull."

     "Well, that's not unreasonable."

     Greta threw up her hands. "A bull that walks on two legs and carries a club?"

     Chet considered that. "Okay. That part's a little unusual."

     "A little?"

     Dusty reached into his jacket pocket and produced a Tootsie Roll. "All right, Green Bean. What exactly do you want from us?"

     Greta smiled. "I want you guys to come out to the barn with me."

     "No," Dusty said.

     Her smile vanished. "What?"

     "Nope."

     "Why not?"

     "Because it's Sunday morning, I haven't finished my coffee, and I don't particularly feel like wandering around an old barn looking for the Cowardly Lion's ugly cousin."

     "Minotaur."

     "What?"

     "It's called a minotaur."

     "Whatever."

     Chet shook his head. "Greta, even if there is some kind of dangerous animal out there, that's a job for the sheriff or animal control."

     "But they don't believe there's anything out there!"

     Then let them know what you found." "I already did!"

     Elliot folded his arms. "Greta, there's another consideration. The Historical Society owns that property now. You can't simply wander into the barn without permission."

     "I know. Bob wouldn't let me inside."

     "Then you should respect that."

     Greta looked from one man to another. "Come on, guys!"

     Dusty shook his head. "No."

     "But you were in the Marines!"

     "Yep."

     And Chet hunts!"

     "Sometimes," Chet said.

     "And Elliot..."

     She looked at the young-looking maintenance technician. "Well, after that thing in the cornfield, I know you're a lot stronger than you look!"

     Elliot's expression remained neutral. "That doesn't mean investigating an abandoned barn is a good idea."

     Greta planted her hands on her hips. "Fine."

     Dusty narrowed his eyes. "Fine?"

     "Fine." She began gathering her photographs.

     Chet watched her. "What are you doing?"

     "Putting my stuff away."

     "Why?"

     "Because you guys won't help."

     Dusty slowly leaned back. "Greta."

     "What?"

     "You're going back out there, aren't you?"

     She stopped. There was a moment of silence. "...Maybe."

     Dusty sighed. "Kid."

     "What?"

     "You got seven miles of stubborn packed into five feet of girl."

     "Five foot four."

     "Whatever." He rubbed his forehead. "Let me get this straight. You rode out there this morning, saw the damage, rode back into town, went to the sheriff, rode out to talk to this farmer, then rode all the way back here?"

     "Yes."

     "And now you want to go back?"

     "Yes!"

     "Why?"

     Greta looked at him as though the answer were obvious. "Because there's a monster, Dusty!"

     He stared at her.

     For a moment, nobody spoke. Then Dusty began laughing. Not loudly. Just a tired, resigned chuckle. "Jesus Christ."
He shook his head. "You're not gonna let this go, are you?"

     Greta smiled hopefully. "Nope."

     Dusty looked toward the ceiling. "Why do I always end up babysitting the crazy ones?"

     He reached for his cigarettes. "All right."

     Greta blinked. "All right?"

     "Yeah. I'll go."

     "Really?!"

     "On one condition."

     "Anything!"

     "We're not going monster hunting."

     Greta opened her mouth.

     Dusty raised a finger. "We're going to look at a damaged barn. That's it. We look around, take some pictures, and if there's anything dangerous, we leave and call the sheriff."

     Greta nodded rapidly. "Okay!"

     "And you do what I tell you."

     "Okay!"

     "And you don't go wandering off."

     "Okay!"

     "And if I say we're leaving, we're leaving."

     "Okay!"

     Dusty looked at her suspiciously. "You're agreeing awfully fast."

     "I'm very agreeable."

     "Uh-huh."

     He turned toward Chet. "You coming?"

     Chet looked at Greta. Then at Dusty. Then at the photographs. "Well..."

     He sighed. "I suppose somebody ought to know what animal tracks look like."

     Greta beamed. "Thanks, Chet!"

     "But we're not going inside that barn without permission."

     "Okay!"

     Chet looked at Dusty. "She's doing it again."

     "Yep."

     Elliot picked up his screwdriver. "Well, have fun."

     Greta turned toward him. "You're coming too."

     Elliot looked up. "Am I?"

     "Yes!"

     "I don't recall agreeing to that."

     "But Dusty and Chet are coming!"

     "That doesn't obligate me."

     Greta gave him her most winning smile.

     Elliot regarded her. "No."

     She kept smiling.

     "Greta."

     She smiled harder.

     Dusty chuckled. "Give it up, son. She's got her hooks in you."

     Elliot glanced toward him.

     Dusty shrugged. "Look, if there really is something big enough to tear a barn door off its hinges, I wouldn't mind having another pair of hands."

     Chet nodded. "Besides, you know a thing or two about old buildings. You might be able to tell whether that damage is structural."

     Elliot looked at the three of them. Then he looked toward the refrigerator. He still had the screwdriver in his hand. "I was in the middle of repairing this."

     Dusty waved dismissively. "Fridge has been acting up for three weeks. Another couple hours won't kill anybody."

     Elliot considered that. "Possibly."

     Greta clasped her hands together. "Pleeeeease?"

     Elliot sighed. "Very well."

     "YES!"

     "But I'm driving my own car."

     Greta blinked. "Why?"

     "Because if this turns out to be as foolish as I suspect, I'd like the option of leaving."

     Dusty laughed. "Smart man."

     Greta grabbed her backpack. "Okay! Let's go!"

     "Hold on," Dusty said.

     She stopped. "What?"

     He pointed at her. "First, you're gonna sit down."

     "Why?"

     "Because you've been riding that bicycle all over creation since sunrise, and I'm betting you haven't eaten anything."

     "I had two cookies."

     Dusty stared at her. "Two cookies."

     "Homemade!"

     Chet shook his head. "Sit down, Greta."

     "But—"

     "Sit."

     She sat. Chet opened the refrigerator and began looking through its contents.

     Dusty stood, stretched, and retrieved his keys. "Besides," he said, "I gotta swing by the house first."

     Greta perked up. "Why?"

     Dusty looked at her. "Greta, Before we do this, I'm going to go home and get some sleep. After I finished my show, I clocked in on the radio side and Patti was late this morning. And if there's something out there that can knock a barn door off its hinges, I ain't going armed with a bag of Tootsie Rolls."

     Greta's eyes widened. "You're bringing a gun?"

     Dusty looked at her. "Kid, I said I'd keep you out of trouble."

     He headed toward the door. "Didn't say I was gonna do it empty-handed. Be back here at 6:00. Then, we'll go look for your monster."

     Elliot watched him leave. Then he looked at Greta. "You understand that carrying a rifle onto private property could complicate matters considerably?"

     Greta shrugged. "That's why we're bringing Chet."

     Chet looked up from the refrigerator. "Why me?"

     "Because everybody likes you!"

     Chet considered that. "Well..."

     Elliot closed his eyes briefly. "This is going to be a very long day."

     Greta grinned. "Isn't this exciting?"

     Elliot looked at her. "No." But there was the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

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