The Beast that Haunts Me: Part Two

The year was 1986. A flower fan spun lazily in the wind along with the swaying wind chimes on the deck. It was a sunny Texas afternoon. I checked the address to be sure and approached the front door. I pulled back the screen door and knocked. The house was nice. No chipping paint. Lawn mowed. A woman opened the door. 

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“Hello, I’m Albert, I believed we—” I began.

“Oh it’s you, come on in,” she smiled, her Southern hospitality taking over.

“Did you tell him I was coming?” I asked as I entered.

“Nope, I thought it would be a nice surprise, he’s at the end of the hallway in the living room,” she whispered, gently touching my shoulder and nudging me down the hall.

I round the corner of the hallway into the living room. Watching TV in a recliner I recognized a familiar yet older shape…

“Henry?” I said. It felt strange to address him by his first name. 

He swung his head away from the TV. It was in fact, Henry Hopper, 16 years older than the last time I saw him.

“Oh my god, Al? Albert?” he asked as he stood.

My answer was holding out my arms for a hug. We embraced each other. It’s always good meeting up with old friends. I noticed he was already beginning to go bald, despite only being 34 at the time.

We sat down on the soft, worn couch. I noticed Henry’s leg, where he had sustained the injury 16 years ago, was still stiff. We spent until supper catching up on mundane things. His wife invited me to stay and eat, and I accepted. They seemed quite happy together.

It wasn’t until after dinner, when Henry and I retired to the front porch to have a beer, that I admitted what I was really doing there.

“Listen,” I said, leaning forward in the wicker chair. “I have to be honest. I’m not just here to catch up.”

Henry frowned. “Oh?”

I nodded. “I wanted to tell you the truth. About what happened. Do you remember when our squad got taken out? Around 1970?” I knew I didn’t need to mention the place. Henry would remember.

He nodded. He looked very serious now. “Nobody ever told me what happened,” he said. 

“That’s why I’m here,” I said. “I wanted you to know.”

I wasn’t sure how to begin, but I gave him as clear of an explanation as I could. 

When I was done, Henry sat back in his chair. He exhaled sharply. “I always knew there was something they were keeping from me. I know I was pretty out of it, because of my leg, but… It all had just felt so wrong.” His hand strayed to his thigh. He looked troubled.

I nodded. “They made me sign something saying I wouldn’t tell anyone. But it didn’t seem right to leave you out.”

“Thank you,” Henry said. “Really.”

I nodded, and took another swig of beer.

***

The year was now 2008, and I was 58 years old. It was sometime in May when I finally was able to make contact with Julie Berrycloth. She wasn’t hard to find. The name “Berrycloth” wasn’t exactly common.

After a brief phone call, explaining I had spent some time on the same base as her father, John Berrycloth, during the war, she was happy to provide me with his information, though not without a lighthearted warning: “My dad’s a bit sullen these days,” she’d said. “So don’t expect him to give you a warm welcome. I’m sure it’ll still mean a lot for him to see you, though,” she’d added hastily, as though worried she had offended me.

I doubted Berrycloth even remembered who I was anyway, so I knew it was unlikely for him to be excited. That didn’t matter. I was going to be visiting him with a proposition, not to have dinner.

I flew out to Northern California to visit him. I rented a car and drove the 2 hours to his home, my stomach in knots the whole way. 

It wasn’t like I was surprising him, I reminded myself. Julie had told him I would be visiting. I wondered why he had agreed to see me. Was it possible he remembered me? Maybe he had just remembered the failed mission we had both been a part of.

The house was more of a cabin. It was small, with a few plants out front. An old Toyota pickup sat in the dusty driveway. 

I parked my nondescript rental car behind it and approached the front door. 

Berrycloth opened it before I could knock. He must have been in his mid-60's by now, but he still stood tall and straight at his door. He wore a white T-shirt and blue jeans, that were a little too high-waisted for the fashion trends at the time. He still kept his hair military-short. “Albert?” he asked gruffly.

“Yes,” I said, still nervous. “Do you remember me? I don’t know how much your daughter mentioned, but—”

“Yes,” he said shortly. He opened his door wider, and let me inside. The cabin had only 3 rooms. A kitchen/living room, a bedroom, and a bathroom. It was actually quite cozy. The couch was well worn, and the coffee table that sat opposite it was cluttered with books. He did not have a TV.

“What can I do for you?” Berrycloth asked, still rather stiff. He walked into the kitchen, grabbed a glass, and filled it with water from the tap. He offered it to me. I took it. 

“Well, I was hoping to get your help with something,” I said, still feeling awkward.

Berrycloth turned and leaned on the counter, facing me, his arms crossed. “And what’s that?” he asked. He seemed slightly impatient. 

“Do you recall the mission in Cambodia, around 1970, that involved transporting a storage container?” I asked. 

Berrycloth nodded curtly. 

“And do you recall what was in that container?” I said. My palms were becoming sweaty, and the water glass felt slippery in my hands. 

Berrycloth narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“I know it wasn’t normal,” I said. “What it did to my squad, and to the Viet Cong…. I know there is no regular creature that could have done that.”

Berrycloth sighed. “They made me sign an agreement saying I wouldn’t speak of this,” he said warily. 

“Me too,” I said, almost eager now. “But the reason I’m here, talking to you, is that… I want to kill it.”

“What?” Berrycloth looked incredulous. He uncrossed his arms. He looked almost angry. 

I stepped back involuntarily. “I know you and another man are the ones who had it first,” I hastily explained.

“‘Had it first?’ We fucking captured the thing,” Berrycloth said. “It’s not something I’d like to revisit.”

“But we need to,” I pressed. I had felt sort of desperate at that point. “I’ve already spoken to Henry Hopper—the only other surviving member of my squad—and he agrees—”

Berrycloth shook his head. “You’ll be killed. Better to stay clear of it all.”

Frustrated, I set my drink firmly on his counter. For me, that was brazen. “It’s our fault it’s loose,” I said. “Who knows what it’s done? I’ve seen articles about villages being decimated in Thailand, Vietnam, Cambodia… And no one knows what it is. What do you think it is, Berrycloth?”

He didn’t respond. He had his eyes fixed on the wooden floor. I didn’t know what he was thinking about.

“We need to stop it,” I said. “Henry is on board. How about you?” 

Berrycloth continued to stare at the floor for a moment. Finally, he looked up and met my eyes. “Okay. I’ll do it. But we’ll need some information first.”

He brushed past me and into his living room. He began to move books around on the coffee table, apparently searching for something. 

“Can I help you…?” I began, but he ignored me. 

He turned to a small desk in the corner, and began to go through the drawers. Finally, he withdrew a scrap of paper. 

“What—” I said, before being cut off by Berrycloth.

“We need information from the only other man who knows about it,” he said grimly. “Thankfully for you, I still have his phone number.”

I smiled, in spite of the situation. 

I stood in Berrycloth’s kitchen when he made the phone call, sipping the tepid water. 

Berrycloth didn’t speak much, but I could hear the man’s voice on the other end. He sat at his desk, scribbling down the man’s words. 

After several minutes, Berrycloth hung up. “There were some technicalities I couldn’t remember,” he explained. “Sam Borstein was the other man you remember seeing. He’s a zoologist.”

I nodded. “And he was helpful?” I asked hopefully.

Berrycloth nodded. “Yes. You see, I wasn’t given much information either. But Sam knew some, or at least more than I did. Please, sit down,” Berrycloth added. He motioned to the couch. I sat down on the edge of the cushion, angled to face him at his desk, still gripping the water glass.

“It was a cave-dwelling animal,” Berrycloth began. “Very strong. And...testy. We weren’t told much, but we were warned it was easily angered. As far as Sam knew, the thing pretty much ate anything. It didn’t discriminate between animals or people. We went in the dead of night, and brought a cow. I guess that was to lure it out. We left it by the opening of this huge cave, deep in the jungle. I felt sorry for the poor bastard.” Berrycloth shifted in his seat. He looked uncomfortable. “We took up a spot in the bushes not far away. It didn’t take long for that thing to come out. We trank’d it as quick as we could, as soon as it started on the cow. I don’t know what we used, I wasn’t told, and Sam couldn’t recall. But we used 1000 MG’s, and the thing froze. I can’t really describe it. How it looked, rather. I probably blocked it out. We secured it, and called in our backup to load it into that container. We did a sweep of the cave. It wasn’t all that noteworthy, but it was very deep. Sam said he didn’t think the creature had been there for long. Anyway, backup left us there, and we were stuck driving the truck to the pickup point. After that, it was just the two of us, and, well, you know the rest.” 

I nodded. I realized my mouth was slightly ajar. I closed it quickly. Berrycloth wasn’t Shakespeare, but he seemed to have a way with words. I had been transfixed. 

Berrycloth stood. “So there you go. That’s all we know. Think we can take it?”

“If you did before, what’s the difference now?” I asked. 

“We don’t know how that creature works,” Berrycloth said darkly. “It’s been loose for years, and eating all it pleases. For all we know, the thing we were dealing with was a juvenile.”

I shuddered at the thought. 

Berrycloth paced back and forth. “So it’s you, me, and Henry Hopper?”

I nodded. 

“I hope that’s good enough,” he said. “Do you have a plan?”

I felt embarrassed. “Nothing air-tight,” I admitted. “But we have plans to fly to Thailand. Henry has some old connections there. For weapons, and… such.”

Berrycloth sighed. “Alright.”

***

 We arrived in Thailand in early June. Henry took charge of the trip, and we paid a visit to his friend. We were provided with guns and a few grenades. He also slipped us a canister of a mysterious liquid. Berrycloth inspected it, and confirmed it would do. I didn’t ask, but I knew it must be the tranquilizer. I wondered how legal it all was, but decided not to worry about it. 

We made our way through the country over the following days, and eventually ended up in Cambodia. 

When we were arriving, Berrycloth pointed out all the helicopters in the air. Henry had pondered if it could be due to the creature we hunted. I hoped it hadn’t become that serious, but based on what I had witnessed so many years ago, it hadn’t seemed out of the question. We had decided it would be best to start where the media had been reporting on villages being destroyed, and work from there. 

We rented a vehicle and made our way Southeast.

The farther we got into Cambodia, the more clear it became that something was wrong. At nearly every village and town, we noticed American and Cambodian military outposts. Helicopters became more and more frequent. 

“What the hell is going on?” Henry had exclaimed, after we had passed a tank driving through a small village.  

Berrycloth and I didn’t answer. We didn’t have answers.

A few hours into our journey, we were stopped at a checkpoint. 

The officer was American, but I recognized Cambodian military uniforms as well. 

“I’m sorry, you can’t go any further,” the man said firmly.

“Why not?” Berrycloth asked. 

“There’s a forest fire, you’re going to have to go back to the nearest town,” the man had said. I remember he looked worried.

Reluctantly, we turned back. 

“What now?” Henry asked. 

Berrycloth grunted. “It's a cover-up. What else could be going on here?”

I sighed. “Well, they probably have checkpoints everywhere. And I bet you that’s where we’re trying to go.”

“What about the river?” Henry said. “It runs right by that town, but maybe we can be more discreet that way.”

I glanced at Berrycloth. He shrugged. “Why not? We got the funds for a boat?” 

I nodded. “I think so.” 

We had to drive farther South to find anyone selling a boat, and it probably cost us a day overall. But eventually, we did get our hands on one. It was an old beat-up speedboat. The roof was made out of tin, and had several holes in it. We towed it to the river, and set off from there, bringing only our weapons and some food. Berrycloth had purchased a leg of beef from a market, insisting we needed something as bait. He’d said he didn’t have money for a whole cow. 

The river proved to be a good method. We didn’t cross paths with anyone. The jungle on either side was unyielding, and occasionally we heard animals. Every now and then, a helicopter passed by overhead. 

“What are we looking for?” Henry had asked, about a half-hour into our journey.

“We need to find a village,” Berrycloth said. He sat at the stern of the boat, steering. “You can bet the locals will know something.”

After several hours, we got lucky. Sunburnt and tired, we finally came upon a small village on the bank of the river, just as the sun dipped below the treeline. 

We docked, and disembarked, carrying our supplies awkwardly.

A few villagers approached us, simply out of curiosity. My Vietnamese was pitiful, and I didn’t speak Khmer. Luckily, Berrycloth did, though he was rusty.

He spoke with a woman briefly. I could see her face fall halfway through his sentence. She shook her head emphatically and rushed away from us, mumbling something indistinctly. 

Berrycloth looks confused. “I just asked if she knew about the helicopters,” he said. 

We continued on, and Berrycloth approached an old man, who was sitting outside one of the houses. He asked him a question. The old man shook his head. “Do you speak English?” Berrycloth asked. He shook his head again. 

We made our way to the center of the village, asking questions along the way. Nobody seemed to want to talk about what was going on. Several even ran away from us. I suppose we were an unwelcome sight; three Americans coming through with weapons. I could hear a radio playing music somewhere nearby. The song sounded vaguely familiar.

Eventually, we heard someone clear their throat behind us. It was the old man we had attempted to speak to before. He yanked on Berrycloth’s arm, almost causing him to drop the beef. 

Berrycloth, frustrated, asked him in Khmer what was going on. 

In broken English, the man said, “You must leave.” 

“What?” Henry said. I remember he looked scared. 

“Leave. Go. Take with you,” he said, motioning to the leg that Berrycloth had slung over his shoulder. 

I could hear the music from the radio begin to sound garbled, and the sound of static grew loud. I glanced around. I noticed several people duck inside their homes. 

Henry seemed to have noticed it too. It was horribly familiar. 

“Go, leave!” The old man shouted. 

The static on the radio was becoming louder. 

“Oh shit,” Berrycloth said. He had recognized it as well. 

“What do we do?” Henry said. I could hear panic in his voice. 

“We need to move away from the town,” Berrycloth said. “We can’t—”

Before he could finish his sentence, something tore through a hut right next to us. I was thrown backwards, and felt the breath leave my lungs. 

When I got up, I couldn’t see Berrycloth or Henry anywhere. Dust was floating in the dim air. I could hear people scream, and I saw that most of the houses had been flattened. A tree was launched through the air.

“Henry! Berrycloth!” I shouted, coughing. I stumbled over the remnants of the hut in front of me. 

In an attempt to find them, I followed the screams. All around me was chaos. I could hear wood being shattered, and people shouting. And there it was. That ungodly sound I had heard 38 years ago. I still don’t know how to describe it. 

“Henry!” I called again. I held my gun tightly. I felt as though I was back in that grassy field. But this time, I decided, I was not going to hide.

I ran through the destruction, dodging stray pieces of wood. The commotion moved to the opposite side of the village. I could hear screams and light gun fire. I kept running through the village. Was I running towards it or away? I had, and still have, no clue. 

I slowed to view the wreckage, when I heard coughing. Under the remnants of a small home laid a young woman. I glanced around to make sure it was safe and started to help her. I dug her out. The more I dug, the worse it was. A bone was sticking out of her broken arm. A piece of bamboo had pierced through her kidney area. I was focused on her. Much like on a battlefield, the surrounding chaos faded and blurred. 

I was setting her arm when I froze. I could sense something behind me. It felt...big. 

I turned slowly. 

And there it was. It stood not ten feet away from me. 

It was neither beast nor phantom, rather, some odd monster in between. I could see through its upper body, and its long joint-less arms swayed by its side, as if in a breeze. It had a dark maw for a mouth that opened when it saw me, creating that horrifying sound I had now become acquainted with. I don’t know if I screamed, or tried to run. I can just remember its deep black eyes bearing into my own. It was probably nearly 15 feet tall, but it’s size seemed to fluctuate a bit. It reached out one of its pale thin arms towards me. It ended in some sort of claw or hook. I was almost transfixed. 

I don’t know what would have happened if Henry hadn’t arrived at that moment. He ran towards me, shouting incoherently. I tore my eyes from the beast, and saw him. I wish I could have told him to stop. To run away. 

He fired several rounds into the thing’s body. It whipped it’s head to face him. It opened its mouth again, and, as quickly as a bullet leaves a gun, it hooked one of its claws into Henry’s body. Henry cried out in pain, but managed to unhook a grenade from his belt. He pulled the pin and lobbed it at the beast’s face. 

The beast made another horrible shrieking sound, and flung Henry. It rapidly retreated into the jungle. 

I rushed to Henry’s side. 

Henry didn’t look well. He was very pale, and he was bleeding profusely from his chest where the creature had pierced him. 

“Al,” he said, struggling to sit up.

“Stay where you are,” I said sternly. I remember automatically reaching for my pack, and my first aid kit, before remembering I didn’t have it. I’d used the only supplies I’d brought on the injured woman. I removed my over shirt and pressed it onto Henry’s chest, but I knew it was probably pointless.

“Thank God you showed up,” I said. 

Henry laughed, then clutched his stomach in pain. “Yeah… I wouldn’t have been here to do that if it weren’t for you."

I nodded. 

“I was happy to do it, Al,” Henry assured me. He smiled faintly. “I know you would have done the same for me.”

I didn’t know what to say. I could feel tears forming in my eyes.

“Berrycloth is okay, too,” Henry added anxiously. “You two are okay, you can keep on going.”

“Okay,” I whispered. 

Henry smiled. I saved Henry Hopper once before but I was unable to this time. His body went limp. And just like that, it was over.

I stood. The village had been completely leveled to the ground. Smoke rose in tendrils. I could hear Berrycloth’s voice, somewhere far away. He was shouting something at me. I didn’t answer.