I handed a plate filled with turkey and mashed potatoes to the older gentleman standing in front of me, his nearly toothless grin taking up most of his face.
“Enjoy your meal, sir,” I said, for what I can estimate was the seven hundredth time that night.
He mumbled something indistinguishable, and strolled off into the street, oblivious to the vehicles narrowly avoiding a collision. The small table and food truck we had set up were bustling with activity, the annual free Thanksgiving feast on wheels was a major hit with our homeless population. I hadn’t been volunteering with St. Francis’s Kitchen for very long, but I’d fallen in love with the work the first time I saw the expression a kindly old veteran had when I handed him a hot meal.
It was a refreshing break from the usual grind, working all day long at retail could really annihilate your optimism. But coming out in the evenings and seeing how many people genuinely care about their fellow human beings always refreshed me for the next grueling workday.
Almost out of food now, going to pack up soon.
Parked at the intersection of Burnside and 10th Avenue, you could almost hear the river flowing in the distance, a perfect location for the volunteer work we do. A lot of the time, our indigent population stays close to the Willamette, as it provides something to drink from and bathe in. It was getting close to nine, and I shivered as the cold rain soaked through my jacket. A hand patted my shoulder, and I turned to see the rosy-cheeked, cheerful face of Deacon Elizabeth holding a large paper bag.
“No one saw Reggie tonight, he’s probably down under Steel Bridge again,” the pastor shrugged as she handed me the bag full of food and other essentials, “Would you and Tanner go take this down to him?”
“Of course,” I said with a smile, as I set off with the food.
Elizabeth always made sure to take a head count to ensure that all our regular customers had been accounted for. Even though this was a large city, she took the time to get to know them. I think it really lets them know that there are some people who see them as valuable. There have been quite a few missing this year. I didn’t know how to explain it, but everyone seemed jumpier than usual. Hushed conversations at corners, suspicious glances thrown over shoulders, it was like there was some unseen presence harassing the city.
I started strolling at a brisk pace to ward off the chilly breeze, Tanner trailing close behind me. Tanner is quite the character, a gruff retired lawyer from Las Vegas, always dressed slightly too formally for any occasion, yet always left his gray hair unkempt, like a small act of rebellion. He spent almost every day of the week either volunteering with the Saint Francis team or attending church at the local Lutheran parish. He always loudly complained that his wife pressured him into it, but you could tell when you looked in his thoughtful brown eyes that he really has a heart for the needy.
“Not sure why you need an escort Lucas,” Tanner grumbled with exaggerated frustration, “As if an old fart like me would be any good in a fight.”
I tried to suppress a chuckle at the façade, and said,
“Come on, you know that Reggie trusts you more than me, besides, I’m here to protect you.”
Reggie was a particularly heartbreaking case. He suffered immensely from paranoid schizophrenia and was rarely medicated since he was living on the streets. No one knew for sure if he had any family in the area, or even how he ended up here to begin with, but he would last a few weeks in the shelter every month or two before he would leave again. Everyone on the volunteer team knew him though, and we always made sure he was well fed as much as possible.
As we drew near to the bridge, I was struck by the odd smell that greeted us. It was what I can only describe as a mix of rotten meat and burnt plastic. Neither of us thought much of it, when you work in as many encampments as we do you become accustomed to strange smells. But more unusual was that the rain that had been falling moments earlier, was replaced by delicate flakes of snow.
“Great, now the turkey will be cold,” Tanner growled in his characteristic pessimism.
“Not if we hurry,” I replied, picking up the pace as Tanner sighed in protest behind me.
I ignored his complaining and carefully made our way toward the green tent Reggie normally stayed in. I’ll admit I was confused by the sudden temperature change, but at the moment I was more focused on delivering the food and getting back to the van to start cleaning up. I was running through the list of things I would need to take care of when I felt my foot crunch over something solid.
I glanced down in confusion, at the small reddish-brown stone. It looked almost like a piece of amber, and I couldn’t imagine what it was doing here. I was about to reach down and examine it when suddenly a scream tore through the night. It was coming from Reggie’s tent, and Tanner and I immediately jogged to see what was wrong.
We found him huddled up inside, moaning softly to himself.
“Hey buddy,” Tanner called out cautiously as we approached, “We brought you some dinner.”
“He’s gone, it took him,” he muttered, eyes darting around in terror.
Tanner and I shared a sorrow-filled look with each other. He was having a particularly severe episode.
“Who’s gone Reg?” I asked in as calming of a voice as possible.
“Kyle,” Reggie whispered and pointed to a blue plastic lean-to a few feet from the edge of the river.
I glanced over and had a moment’s pause as I surveyed the tent. The side seemed torn, and loosely flapped in the wind, yet I still couldn’t see inside. I shuddered and shook my head.
He probably just imagined it, the tent looks abandoned anyway.
I drove the sneaking dread from my mind, we came here to help him after all. We tried our best to comfort him, and left him the bag of food, but there is only so much you can do for someone so severely affected. As we were leaving the camp, I felt something crack under my feet again, and to my surprise there was another shard of that strange dark crystal I had seen earlier.
I stooped to pick it up, and felt the cold, nickel-sized object. As I rolled it around in my hand, my confusion turned to shock, as it left deep crimson stains on my palm.
“Tanner,” I said, fear and revulsion starting to creep into my voice.
He came over to look at my grim discovery, and I could faintly hear him swear under his breath as we came to the same realization. Somehow, I was holding a drop of frozen blood. I pulled out my phone and turned on the flashlight, looking at the grass around our feet. The light was met with hundreds of glittering droplets, stuck in the grass like morning dew.
“Lucas, look,” Tanner said, his voice quivering as he pointed towards a lean-to a few feet ahead of us.
To my horror, the droplets formed an almost perfect path to the blue tarp by the river, I felt my stomach churning with unease. Sure enough, the droplets grew in frequency as we stepped closer, forming a mirror-like frozen pool under the makeshift tent. We paused, considering the terrifying reality of our situation. With every cell in my body screaming in protest, I approached the tent and began to pull back the flap. Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw inside.
The skeletal form that lay before me glimmered with the same red ice, surrounded by bits of hair and cloth. It was as if the skeleton had been almost picked clean, only one arm seemed relatively intact. Around it, the grass was dead and covered in a thick layer of frost. When my eyes took in the grisly sight, a guttural scream tore out of my throat. I could hear Tanner vomiting behind me, and I then noticed that horrible smell from earlier begin to waft over me.
I closed the flap, and stood shell shocked, filled with numbness after the fear wore off. Tanner was on the phone now, practically yelling at some hapless 911 operator. Other residents of the camp had begun to congregate and shared similar expressions of fear, disgust, and anger as they saw the mutilated form. All the while, the cold flakes kept falling, like a twisted mockery of a snow globe. I turned away from the tent, unable to bear looking at the dreadful scene any longer.
Then in an instant, everything froze. I saw Tanner and the small crowd backing away slowly, a look of wild panic in their eyes. Their eyes fixed on something beyond the tent I was still petrified in front of. Slowly, dread knotting in my stomach, I began to turn, and saw a towering figure in the shadow of the bridge.
It was hard to make out in the darkness, but the form was bipedal, at least eight feet tall with harsh jagged-looking edges. I was frozen, fear gripping me, staring into a pair of beady red eyes. I’ll never forget the look in those eyes, not just the crazed look of a rabid animal, but behind it there lay a calculating, almost human intelligence. Suddenly, a pair of bony, massive, clawed hands reached out from the darkness and lifted the corpse out of the remains of the tent. It stood there motionless for a moment, then with almost leisurely steps, began to walk towards the river behind it. The sound of its footfalls was echoing like a sledgehammer, followed by a tremendous splash.
As if that was a signal, utter bedlam broke out. People began screaming, running in every direction save for that which led towards the Willamette River. I only realized I hadn’t moved at all since finding the body when Tanner grabbed my elbow and practically dragged me down the street. We headed back to the relative safety of Holy Cross Church and breathlessly told our story to the rest of the volunteers. By the time the police arrived on the scene, apparently, all the blood had melted, and they ruled it a homicide, suspecting the other residents of the camp. They claim that the “manhunt is ongoing”, saying the murderer dumped the body in the river.
Considering the grim yet unsurprised look all the officers gave when I told them my account, I can’t believe they don’t know what’s going on. I understand why the police would rule it a normal homicide instead of some river monster, but with so many witnesses how could they deny it? The whole thing seems weird to me, and I know what is saw. Whatever the hell is going on here, if you’re in Portland, be careful by the river. Especially if it suddenly seems colder than usual.