WEBVTT

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I'd like to read two stories from
a book called Death Stalk's Moon Valley written

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by our favorite author D. A. Roberts. You can find this book

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on Amazon by searching d Dot A
Dot Roberts Death Stalk's Moon Valley. You

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can buy an electronic version or a
paperback version. Right now, I'm going

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to read you a couple of stories
from this It's a collection of short stories

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that I think anyone who likes the
scary type genre will like, so go

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check him out at Amazon. The
Beast of the Valley Osage River Valley,

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north of Lynn Creek, Missouri,
January twenty three, eighteen fifty three.

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Three days in a row, William
West had gone out in the morning to

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check his livestock and found at least
one animal dead. The frozen ground made

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it almost impossible to find the tracks
of the culprit, but William knew it

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had to be wolves. There was
nothing else anyone had seen in the Osage

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River Valley that could take down a
large steer like that, and then to

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see the sheer amount of damage it
had done to the poor animal. On

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the third morning, it had struck
and killed a heifer who was expecting her

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first calf. In a few weeks. Not only had the heifer been brutally

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killed, but the unborn calf had
been ripped from her stomach and mostly devoured

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on the spot. To make it
even worse, his best stock dog had

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tried to defend the heifer and met
a similar fate. The only difference was

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that it hadn't fed on the dog. It tore the dog to shreds and

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scattered the pieces around the area,
and from the amount of blood and the

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condition of the body, it was
clear that the dog had gone down fighting,

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not that it had done it any
good. With the losses growing expensive

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to the herd in William's pocket book, he decided it was time to do

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something about it. After he dragged
the biggest pieces of the carcasses down by

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the river bank and well away from
the rest of the herd, William quickly

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finished the morning chores and hurried back
to the house. He gathered up his

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hunting rifle, his powder horn,
and extra lead shot, and he slung

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them over his shoulder. Where are
you off to, William asked his young

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bride, Amelia. We had another
one of the cattle killed last night,

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he explained. They got the pregnant
heifer, and they killed the stock dog

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too. I've got to stop this
killing before we lose everything. So what

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are you doing right now, she
asked, nodding at his rifle. I'm

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going to ride down to the valley
to your brother's place and see if he'll

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help me track and kill this wolf
pack. Thomas is a better hunter than

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I am. In a crack shot
between the two of us, will kill

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enough of the pack that they won't
come back. Has he lost any of

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his hurt, she asked. Last
I spoke to him, he'd lost two

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calves and a few chickens. I'm
sure he'll want this pack put down as

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much as I do. I'll put
on a good supper for the evening,

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said Amelia. I expect Thomas to
bring at least one of his sons.

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I'll be ready to feed you all
before you go out hunting. William kissed

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his bride and went out and saddled
his mule. Once he was set,

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he headed down the river road.
It was only five miles to Thomas's farm,

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and they could return by early afternoon. That would give him time to

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try locating tracks or a possible den
before sunset. The sun was warm on

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his face despite the chill in the
air as he rode down the river road.

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It was a beautiful winter day,
and he felt confident they could end

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the threat to his livestock by mourning. That wouldn't mean every farmer along the

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River valley could sleep easier knowing his
livestock were safe. It might also put

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some much needed money in his pocket. If they could collect a few wolf

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pelts in good condition, they could
use the money to recoup the losses from

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the dead livestock, and maybe some
to spare. He'd had his eye on

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a new plow for a few months. Just after midday, William Thomas and

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his oldest son, Jonah, arrived
at the homestead. He could see the

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smoke rising from the chimney and smell
the fresh bread as he put his mule

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back into the barn. Thomas helped
put away the mules, while Jonah went

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inside to see his aunt Amelia.
Once they put away the mules, Thomas

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and William headed to the field to
search for tracks. They found indistinct impressions

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in the frozen ground, but nothing
they could identify or follow for any distance.

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The tracks they could locate were odd
and shape differently than they had ever

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seen before. It almost looked like
whatever it had been was walking on two

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legs. They both laughed when they
discussed that, knowing how preposterous that had

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to be. No men could do
the things that happened to these animals.

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They returned to the house by supper
and sat down for a meal of Amelia's

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famous chicken and dumplings with fresh baked
bread and apple pie. They laughed and

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caught up on the doings of both
families. It had been a few weeks

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since Thomas had visited, and Amelia
was excited to send back some fresh eggs

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and bread with him. When they
finished eating, the laughter seemed to fade

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away. Thomas and William got up
and started checking over their rifles and equipment.

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Thomas loaded a rifle for Jonah and
set out extra lead balls and powder.

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We're putting you up on the barn
roof where the flat side meets the

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corral, said Thomas. From there
you should have a good view of the

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pasture. I take your time and
aim like I taught to you, and

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most importantly, though, don't shoot
me or your uncle. Jonah laughed.

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I won't, Papa, he assured
him. Well, at least don't shoot

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me, said William. Thomas isn't
as pretty as I am. That drew

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a round of LIFs. All right, said William. Let's head out to

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the field. Jonah wants you're in
position. I want you to make an

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owl call if you see anything moving
near the stock. Yes, sir,

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said Jonah. I'll be watching.
William grabbed his own powder, an extra

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lead ball shot, and headed for
the door. Amelia kissed him and put

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his hat on his head. Now
you be careful out there, she said,

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smiling. Don't let the wolves get
you. We'll be careful, William

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assured her. They headed out into
the darkness, and she watched as they

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helped Jonah onto the flat section of
the barn roof and then headed out into

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the field. She suddenly had a
strange feeling of impending danger. A full

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moon was in the sky and the
cattle were already acting nervous. Shutting the

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door, she placed the locking bar
and sat by the fireplace to pray for

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their safety. After a moment's thought, she started praying for them all.

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Moving away from the barn, Thomas
and Williams stopped at the edge of the

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field. William pointed at the far
side near the river, and he leaned

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close to Thomas. That's where they've
been coming into the fields, whispered William.

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I set up near those willow trees, whispered Thomas, you set up

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near the big trough. That way
we can shoot without getting in each other's

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way. William nodded and headed for
the trough. He watched as Thomas crept

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along the edge of the field,
disappearing into the shadows beneath the willows.

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The cattle were already nervous and starting
to group up near the center of the

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field. They circled a few calves
in the herb, protecting them from whatever

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threat they sensed. The cattle started
lowing with more intensity. William could tell

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from the higher pits that they were
sensing trouble coming closer. Although he had

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not seen anything, he started feeling
the tension himself. He saw a dark

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shadow flip from one bunch of the
bushes to another near the river. Whatever

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it was, it moved impossibly fast. It moved on all fours, so

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it had to be a wolf.
No bear moved that fast. Slowly,

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William caught back the hammer on his
rifle to avoid making too much noise.

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Even with these precautions, it seemed
deafeningly loud in the stillness of the night.

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The moon peeked intermittently through the scattered
clouds, casting its cold, silvery

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light on the field before them.
William got his first clear look at the

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creature when the beast stepped out from
behind the bushes to slip closer to the

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fence. It looked like a wolf, but it was far larger than any

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he had ever seen. It was
also the deep black that one only sees

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in a cave, or when the
clouds are thick enough to blot out even

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the light of the stars. He
could see it moving in the shadows as

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a darker shadow. Only the feral
yellow eyes seemed to glow with the light

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all their own, made all the
clearer by the cold, silvery blue of

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the moonlight. Raising his rifle,
he sighted on the beast, placing his

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sight squarely on the spot just behind
the front legs. He wanted to destroy

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the heart and drop the beast quickly. A wolf of that size could do

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considerable damage before it died. If
he merely wounded it, the east could

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turn on one of them, or
vanish into the night, only to die

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deep in the wilds, and if
that happened, he would never collect the

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pelt. He needed that money to
replace the livestock it had killed. Closing

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one eye, he was just easing
his breath to take up the slack on

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the trigger when the resounding boom of
a gunshot roared out through the darkness.

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William saw the muzzle flash and knew
it had been Thomas. At a range

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of less than fifty yards, there
was no way that Thomas had missed his

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target. William had seen him drop
a deer at twice the range with a

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single shot. William knew that Thomas
had struck his target from the beach's reaction,

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but instead of falling, the beasts
whirled around and headed directly at Thomas,

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taking careful aim. William knew he
had to drop the beast before it

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could reach Thomas, otherwise it would
likely tear out his throat before it died.

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The boom of Tom's pistol roared in
the darkness, and the creature stumbled,

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but it didn't fall. William fired
and saw the creature twist and hit

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the ground, rolling to a stop
a few yards short of where Thomas sat

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hidden in the willows. To William's
surprise, the beast got up and leaped

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into the willows, and that's when
the screaming started. Getting to his feet,

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William sprinted toward the willows, drawing
his pistol as he ran. In

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the head he could see the black
liquid that seemed to coat the ground in

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the willow leaves, but there was
no sign of Thomas or the beast.

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The screaming sounded once more, only
this time it gurgled and ceased with a

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wet, crunching sound. The beast
had dragged Thomas down the embankment near the

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river. Just before William reached the
embankment's edge, the creature jumped up before

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him, and the beast's fur listened
and oily black in the moonlight. But

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William knew it had to be Thomas's
blood. Raising his pistol, he shot

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the beast it almost point blank,
ranged directly in the head. He heard

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the grunt of pain as the beast
fell to the ground, and stepping around

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the beast, William looked down at
the river bank and he saw Thomas.

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The beast had torn his head from
his shoulders and ripped one arm off at

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the elbow behind him, he heard
a strange popping sound, almost like when

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you rung a chicken's neck. Dear
God, William cried. He started to

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head down the embankment when he felt
hot breath on the back of his neck

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and the ramsid smell of blood and
rotten meat enveloped him, and his stomach

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almost emptied its contents. Oh no, he whispered. He expected to fill

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the sharp teeth of the beast sinking
to his skin, but was shocked when

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a pair of massive hands gripped his
neck and lifted him from the ground as

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if he didn't weigh an ounce.
As the beast turned him around, William

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could see directly into the creature's hellish
yellow eyes, and new at his feet

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were dangling over two feet off the
ground below him. Merciful God, he

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gasped, He can't save you,
rumbled the beast's voice, deep and menacing.

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The beast spoke, and that thought
was terrifying, beyond words. He

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felt his bladder release as he stared
into the beast's eyes. It was leaning

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closer, as if to bite his
face off. When William heard the gunshot.

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Jonah had fired his rifle. William
heard the creature grunt softly, but

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seemed to make no other reaction.
It was as if the bullets had done

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no real damage. William was sure
that he was staring into the eyes of

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the devil himself, and with a
crunch of bone, the beast tossed William

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against the embankment. It had broken
his neck and he couldn't move, but

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he wasn't dead yet. He knew
that was only a matter of time.

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He watched in horror as the beast
turned around and ran on two legs directly

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at Jonah. He tried to scream
for Jonah to run, but his voice

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wouldn't work. Only a soft moan
escaped from his lips. He saw Jonah

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get to his feet and look for
a place to run, but the beast

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was too fast. It was on
the barn's roof, bearing Jonah to the

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ground in a single leap. William
was grateful that he was far enough away

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that he couldn't hear the breaking of
the boy's neck. And there was a

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short scream of pain, and then
the beast stood up holding Jonah's head.

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It looked into the eyes momentarily before
tossing the head aside like it no longer

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mattered, and then William saw the
beast slowly turn its gaze to the small

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farmhouse. It was going after his
beloved Amelia. He tried to scream,

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but no words came out. He
tried to force his body to move,

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but it would not listen. His
vision began fading as he saw the front

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door smash open with one massive blow
of the beast's fist. That was the

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last thing he saw in this world, And as the light faded away,

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the last sound he heard was his
wife screaming, and then all sensation was

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gone. Days later, when neighbors
came to check on the farm because some

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of their stock had gotten out and
wandered over to the other farms, they

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were greeted with a gruesome sight.
The house was completely ransacked and there was

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blood everywhere. There was more blood
on the side of the barn and the

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roof of the barn, and in
the field and near the river, but

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there were no bodies. There was
no trace of the four missing settlers.

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The stories traveled up and down the
river valley. The beast had claimed more

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victim. The beast of the valley
was once more stalking the night, and

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no one was safe Beast of Lake
of the Ozarks from the Journal of Deacon

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MacCready, dated December twelve, twenty
sixteen. Long before the days when they

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built Begled Dam, farms and homes
lined the valley formed by the edge of

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the Osage River. Our family had
formed that river valley since before Missouri was

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even a state. My great great
grandfather Ara MacCready settled this farmstead in eighteen

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sixteen. By the sweat of his
brow and the blood in his veins,

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my family formed that parcel of land
until the government took it from us when

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the construction of the dam began in
nineteen thirty one. Now I'm old,

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but I still remember the days of
running along that river when I was a

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boy, fishing and hunting and play
games with my brothers. My memory isn't

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what it once was, but I
remember clearly the tales my grandfather told me

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by the fire, when the winter
wind would howl through the valley and shake

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the thin panes of glass in our
little farmhouse, when the icy grip of

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old man winter would bite into your
flesh like a ravenous jaws of the beast

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of the valley. Well, what's
that? What's the beast of the valley.

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That's an old tail from even older
days, full of death and misery,

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that dates to when settlers first came
here. I used to think it

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was a tall tail to scare us
children at night around the fireplace. But

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I could see the haunted look in
my grandfather's eyes when the wind would rattle

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the door, and I knew that
it wasn't just a tail. And in

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the dark past of generations long gone, the beast once walked this valley.

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I could tell from the look on
his face that not only was the creature

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real, but he had seen it
for himself. You don't get that haunted

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look from a secondhand story. There
were tales of animals found torn to pieces,

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dogs going missing, and the occasional
traveler called out after dark. My

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grandfather even told me a story of
a homestead found with the door smashed in

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and blood everywhere inside, but no
other sign of the family that had lived

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there. And then the dirt outside
were massive tracks that looked like they belonged

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to a gigantic wolf, a wolf
walking on two legs. I didn't believe

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him until I found some of those
tracks in the fresh mud along the bank

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of our pond not fifty feet from
my bedroom window. Then there were the

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nights in the fall of the year
when my grandfather and father would build large

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bonfires near the house, and they
would keep them burning all night. Sometimes

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members of the local Osage Indian tribe
would come to our home and help with

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the fires. They also brought a
plant my father called aconite to plant around

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the house for protection. They cautioned
us not to touch it or let the

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animals eat it. I didn't know
until years later that the common name for

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aconite is wolf Spain. It was
even said that during the dam construction,

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several workers vanished while walking home late
at night from the job site. It

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got so bad that the work crew
started walking to and from work in groups

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and they carried guns. Many quit
their job and never returned to work.

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And then when the dam neared completion
and the water started to rise, the

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attacks suddenly stopped. I thought that
once they had finished building the dam,

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we would hear the last of the
beast. But with the creation of the

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Lake of the Ozarks, they buried
those farms beneath the dark water of the

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lake. There were no more attacks
on people in livestock, No strange howls

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in the night that sounded eerily like
a wolf, but not exactly, a

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howl that had an almost human quality
to it, a quality that would turn

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the blood in your veins to ice. Once they finished the dam, it

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all stopped. It wasn't long after
more and more the older generation either passed

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away or left the area that the
Beast of the Valley became a fading memory.

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It was all but forgotten by almost
everyone. After my brothers died in

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World War II and my sister died
in childbirth, I alone was left to

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remember the tales. I even began
to doubt them as age and time took

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their toll on me. And that
was until the winter of twenty and sixteen,

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when everything changed. I was rapidly
approaching my one hundredth birthday. I

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still lived in my little house near
Lynn Creek, Missouri. It was less

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than five miles from where our farm
had been. My granddaughter lived with me,

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partially to care for me and partially
because she had nowhere else to go.

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It worked out well for me because
it kept my two sons from putting

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me in a nursing home. The
winter hadn't been all that harsh, but

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the coal still crept into my old
bones. That first night in December,

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the wind howled in from across the
lake, shaking the windows on my old

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home, and that night I heard
that blood curdling howl drifting on the wind.

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My blood seemed to freeze, and
for a moment I thought I was

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having a heart attack. The pain
subsided, but an icy grip that went

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to my core replaced it. I
don't know what had changed, but the

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beast was back. I told my
granddaughter to make sure that all the windows

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and doors were securely locked. She
laughed at me and told me I was

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just being paranoid. She said it
was just the wind, but I knew

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better. I refused to calm down
until she had double checked the doors,

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and she scoffed at me, saying
that I was working myself up over an

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old wives tale. She even laughed
when I told her the story my grandfather

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had told me many years before.
She stopped laughing when we saw the hellish

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red eyes in the darkness and heard
the heavy footsteps on the wooden porch,

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footsteps that ended with a rasping scrape
of claws against the wood. I could

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see the terror on her face as
She slid the heavy desk in front of

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the door, and I knew from
the old tales that if the beast wanted

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in, that desk wasn't gonna stop
it. It's just an animal, she

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whispered as we hid near the stairs. We both knew that was a lie.

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Animals don't try the door handle.
M