The Unwanted
They had been talking for more than an hour when the old woman finally mentioned the Goatman.
Detective Suskind had expected it might take that long, as the other people he interviewed seemed reticent to bring up such an absurd-sounding theory. And yet, every one of them eventually did — sometimes in a quiet voice, like they really believed it; other times in an apologetic way, as though they didn’t really believe it but thought he should know what other people were saying.
Suskind found both annoying. As best as he could tell, pretty much everyone in town knew about the legend. A beast with the head of a goat and the legs of a man, that prowled the woods near Crybaby Bridge, making a hideous high-pitched shriek when it went in for a kill. It was responsible for the string of dead bodies he was investigating, of that they all seemed sure, whether they would admit it to him or not.
It was all a waste of time, Suskind thought, when he could be getting the kinds of details that might help him find what he believed was a serial killer. But if he had to humor them about the Goatman to get those details, he was prepared to do it. Even if it meant sitting on this faded red sofa on a cold winter day, sipping lukewarm tea for an hour.
“Maybe you’ve heard the stories…” the woman said.
Suskind set down his notepad and took another sip. No need to write any of this down.
As the closest neighbor to the bridge, the woman knew quite a bit about all of the cases. The body ripped in half, one part on each side of the river. The one found in the middle of the road by a trucker who nearly died swerving out of the way. The abandoned car smeared with blood. She seemed unbothered by them all, although her tone suggested that she was aware of how disturbing the crime scenes were. Those poor officers, she said, the nightmares they must have.
It was getting close to dusk but the woman wondered if Suskind would take a walk with her to the bridge. There were some things she’d noticed that she wanted to show him and she’d like to stretch her legs a little before dinner anyway. He agreed, as he’d long ago found that people remember a lot more when they’re walking around than sitting in their living room.
On the way there, the woman brought up the Goatman again.
You know, detective, the stories about him go way back, even before my time. Her own grandmother used the stories to scare her away from going to dangerous places when she was young. Maybe that’s all they were, she admitted, just stories to keep the children in line.
“But the Goatman wouldn’t have come for me, anyway,” she said. The detective asked why.
“Because I was wanted. You see, the Goatman only comes for the unwanted. The streetwalkers, the runaways, the addicts. They’re the ones who end up on this road at the wrong time of night, and he only comes for them. At least, that’s what they say.”
The walk was rougher than Suskind expected, but the woman didn’t seem to notice so he didn’t mention it. To keep her talking, he decided to ask more about the stories. Why was it the Goatman targeted those people, he asked.
“Well, people have been living here a long time, you know. The story is that the Goatman used to come for everybody, but then they’d organize a big hunt to come after him. Not that they could catch him but he didn’t like that. So they struck a deal. If he would take only the unwanted, then they would leave him be.”
She stopped for a second and looked up at the darkening sky.
“In a way, we’re all the killers, aren’t we, detective? I mean, we’re the ones who decide who is unwanted. Every time we walk past a homeless man or turn away from an addict, we decide they are unwanted. We may not do the killing, but we pick the victims.”
The detective shrugged noncommittally. The victims may not be important to everyone, he said, but they were important to him. He was going to find out what happened because they were still people. They mattered to him.
“You know, detective, I appreciate that about you. You don’t give up, and you’re going to keep looking for answers. But there’s something you should know about this town.”
What’s that, he asked.
“You’re not wanted here.”
He turned his head, and she was gone. It was dark, and he was lost. In the distance, something shrieked.
