Disclaimers: Tyler belongs to L.J. Smith. I didn't want him in the first place. O_o
Notes: What in the name of hell possessed me to write fanfic about Tyler Smallwood?
An American Werewolf in Fell's Church
"It's damn strange, Sheriff Smallwood. I ain't seen nothing like it in all my years as a farmer," the old man pulled off a battered baseball cap and scratched at the thinning hair on his head.
Tyler eyed the mangled remains -- what little were left, anyway -- of one of Jim Turner's cows. If Tyler hadn't known it was a cow, he'd have been hard-pushed to identify it as one. Chunks of flesh and bone were littered over the bloody area, the carcass all but hollowed out. It had suffered, that was for sure. Probably been in tortured agony until it finally died. "Yeah, it's strange alright," he drawled, affecting an air of concern as he leaned back against a fencepost.
"It's like there's a wild beast on the loose out there," Jim said, wringing his hat in his hands. "Starving wolf, or a rabid dog, maybe?"
"That'd have to be one big dog," Clancy, Jim's farm hand muttered darkly, staring speculatively into the woods at the edge of the field. "I've heard talk during hunting season, about deer and other big game that have been gutted and torn to shreds like this. Downright spooky, if you ask me." That one would bear watching, Tyler decided. He was brighter than most, and the bright ones were normally more trouble than they were worth. It wouldn't do for him to find out more than he ought. Could prove dangerous for all concerned.
Tyler schooled his expression into one of mild scorn. "Now then, Jim, you know that we haven't had wolves around these parts in decades. 'Sides, cattle's a bit big for a wolf. Or a dog for that matter. More likely to be a bear with a sore head."
"Eh, well, something has to be done about it, whatever the hell it is!" Jim groused. "Dave Stoltz lost a couple of sheep last week, and two weeks before that John Honeycutt lost a pig. With the economy as it is, we can't afford these losses in livestock!"
"Jim, buddy, I feel you here. But we ain't seen hide nor hair of whatever it is. Doesn't seem to have any kind of regular pattern for us to even fathom what it is, let alone where it could be. Until we get some kind of solid lead..." Tyler sighed, spreading his hands hopelessly, his face the picture of helplessness. "I can get the Department of Game and Inland Fisheries out, if you want...?"
"Don't seem like much point," Clancy grimaced. "They were no damned use when old Sheriff Mossberg called 'em out a couple of years back. Doubt they'd be any more use now."
"True, true," Jim agreed. "They get younger and wetter behind the ears as the years pass by... no offence, Sheriff. You may be young, but you do your job just fine."
"None taken, old timer," Tyler grinned at him. He pushed himself away from the post, glancing at the notes he'd taken. If you could count doodles as notes, at any rate. "Well, I should head off, gentlemen. Got some vandalism to look into up at the high school before I have to get some paperwork done back at the office. I'll keep looking into this, and you be sure to let me know if you hear anything useful, right?" Both men nodded as Tyler flipped his notebook shut and sauntered off in the direction of his car.
Behind the wheel, he stared into space for a few minutes probing at something caught in his teeth with his tongue. He finally rummaged in the dashboard for a toothpick and used it to prise out whatever it was that had been bothering him for the past ten minutes. He peered at the lump dubiously before tossing it out of the window. Damn cow hide. Always got stuck in his teeth, no matter how careful he was.
Well, that had been interesting, at any rate. Fell's Church was surrounded by farmland, crops being its chief industry, with many farmers having a side line in dairy cattle. Animal mutilation wasn't all that common, and there wasn't enough livestock being killed for people to really be concerned about. But the old-timers did like to fret about something. If it wasn't animals being eaten, it was the price of feed for the cattle, or that rain might ruin the harvest for the year. Still, he was going to have to be a bit more careful than he had been, venture further out into the woods to avoid hunters as best as possible and steer clear of the farms for a few weeks at least.
Still, in his humble opinion, a few animals was a small price for the townsfolk to pay given that he kept trouble -- in town and out, human or... otherwise -- away from Fell's Church. Things would be a lot more problematic without him around to keep the peace, that was for sure.
Ripping the page in his notebook out, he crumpled it up and tossed it in the back of the car with the rest of the trash. He had no intention of wasting his time on this beyond idly asking other farmers if they'd seen anything for the sake of appearances. After all, what was the point in being the Sheriff of Fell's Church if he didn't get to cover up the evidence of his nocturnal feeding habits?
Fin.