"Hey, Hutch. Listen to this. It says here that there are at least one hundred

thousand zombies walking the streets of major cities in the U.S. The reporter believes that these zombies are controlled by some underground cult of renegade voodoo practitioners. Creepy."

Hutch looked up from the report that he had been working on and stared in amazement at his partner. Starsky was not only his partner but also his best friend and he trusted him with his life. But when it came to some subjects, such as the occult, Starsky constantly astonished him with his gullibility.

"Starsky, I can’t believe that you actually read that ‘paper’ let alone trust what is written in it."

"You just don’t have an open mind. Can you prove that there aren’t zombies walking around? I mean, how can you be sure?"

"Starsky…"

"Hey, stranger things have happened. Last week I was reading about how top government officials…"

Hutch turned his attention back to his report while Starsky continued to ramble on about aliens and the President. He was almost finished typing when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey Blondie, Dobey’s calling us." Hutch followed Starsky to the Captain's office.

Dobey scowled at the two detectives as they entered his office. "I’m glad that you could find time in your busy schedules for me," he stared pointedly at Starsky.

"Always have time for you, Cap’n." Starsky said as he dropped into a chair.

Dobey handed a file to Hutch as the blond took the chair next to his partner.

"Alfred Brassard," Hutch said as he opened the file.

"Better known as the Grim Reaper. One nasty customer," Starsky whistled.

Hutch nodded. "That's an understatement. Killed three people in a grocery store just because the clerk forgot to double bag. After he shot them he actually smiled at the surveillance camera. Kind of waved and bowed." Hutch shook his head in disgust. "He's also suspected in at least half a dozen other pretty grisly murders. Starsky and I worked on a multi-team task force but the leads petered out. It was suspected that he had left the state."

"Has the slime ball surfaced?" the dark-haired man asked.

Dobey nodded. "Yes, in a small town in upstate New York. A local cop tried to pull Brassard over for speeding. He resisted but officers were able to apprehended with no gunfire or bloodshed."

Starsky looked skeptical. "Just like that some local cops caught Brassard? What did they do, just pull him over and politely ask him to come with them?"

"They didn't have to, Starsky. It seems that as Brassard was fleeing from the police his car struck a moose."

"Excuse me," Hutch said. "Did you say a moose?"

"Is there something wrong with your hearing, Hutchinson?"

Starsky snorted. "A moose hit his car!? You mean like Bullwinkle? Was Rocky the Flying Squirrel there too?"

Dobey ignored the comment. "He was knocked unconscious by the impact and pinned behind the wheel of his car. While he was being treated at a local medical center they ran a check on him. It didn't take look before they discovered that they had hit the jackpot."

"So when are they sending him back?" Hutch asked.

"As soon as you to fly to New York and pick him up."

"But Cap…"

"Listen here Starsky. We are lucky to have gotten this break. The local police there are cooperating with us. All they ask is that we send someone out to get Brassard and you two are it. Your plane leaves at 5:45 tomorrow morning."

"It won't be that bad Starsk. We fly in, pick up Brassard and fly out. Besides, the fall foliage should be out."

"Just tell me that New York's answer to Mayberry has a hotel."

"Detectives Starsky and Hutchinson?" A uniformed officer walked towards the two detectives as they climbed out of a small plane.

The blond stuck his hand out. "I'm Ken Hutchinson and this is my partner Dave Starsky."

"Glad to meet you. I'm Rick Bechard. Welcome to Saranac Lake.

Officer Bechard led them away from the plane and towards a small hanger. "I guess this is not at all what the two of you are used to, eh?"

Starsky snorted but before he could say more Hutch elbowed him.

Hutch looked around. There wasn't much to the airport. Just a couple of hangers and several small planes parked nearby. They had arrived in Saranac Lake with Starsky complaining about small towns, "puddle jumpers" and the fact that they were stuck in the woods, his least favorite location.

"Actually", Hutch replied, "it's a nice change. It's just too bad that we don't have more time to spend here." Hutch gave his partner a warning look before he had a chance to make any comment.

Rick nodded. "It is very nice. Even though I've been here all of my life, I still don't get tired of the mountains." Walking past the hangers, he directed them to a parked police cruiser.

"Brassard is being held in the Keene Valley jail, which is about a half-hour drive from here."

Once in the cruiser, Starsky spoke up. "I've gotta ask you something, Rick. Did Brassard really hit a moose or did you guys just make that up?"

The young officer laughed. "No Detective…"

"Starsky," the dark-haired detective interrupted.

"Excuse me?" Bechard asked.

"Just call me Starsky, not detective. And he's Hutch."

"Thanks. And no, we didn't make it up. He really hit a moose. It happens more often than you think, especially in the fall when the bull moose are on the move."

"And you live here, with moose and bears and who knows what all?"

"You'll have to excuse my partner," Hutch said, "his idea of a wilderness experiencing is picnicking in the park."

Rick laughed. "I'm not offended. I sometimes wonder how people live in large cities, with all of the noise and crime. I guess that there are plusses and minuses to every lifestyle."

The three road in silence for awhile, the two L.A. detectives content to sit back and take in the scenery. The local officer took them through "main street", where tourists moved in and out of the various shops. Whenever a pedestrian entered the crosswalk, the cars would stop to allow them to cross. Starsky shook his head unbelievingly at this.

Awhile after leaving Saranac Lake, the passed through the outskirts of Lake Placid.

"Didn’t the Olympics take place here once?" Hutch asked.

"Sure did. Back in 1932. And rumor has it that they'll be bidding for them again."

Yeah right, Starsky thought to himself. I just bet that they'll award the games to a town like this!

As they continued on, they were treated to panoramic views of the Adirondack Mountains. Even in the fading light, the view was still impressive. The mountains rose around them, dark masses against a darkening sky. Rick told them that while the Adirondacks were not as high and jagged as many of the Rocky Mountains, several of the high peaks did rise above tree line and already had snow on the summit. The men road on in silence, each lost in his own thoughts.

"I have to admit," Rick said, breaking the stillness, "I’ll be glad when you two take Brassard off of our hands. He is one very spooky guy."

Starsky nodded in agreement. "Yeah, anyone who gets off by killing like he does has to be."

"It’s more than that. It’s like he’s…" the young officer seemed at a loss for words.

"Like what?" Hutch prodded.

"This is going to sound weird but it’s like he’s not quite human. I mean, when I’m in the same room with I feel almost ill. And he has these dead eyes that kind of look through you but at the same time look deep into you." He chuckled self-consciously. "You probably think that I’m crazy."

Hutch smiled reassuringly. "No. He really is one bad guy. I don’t imagine that you get people like him through here very often. I remember the first time that I dealt with a serial killer. I had trouble sleeping for weeks. "

"Yeah, that’s probably it," Rick replied.

Starsky changed the subject. "So Rick, what can a couple of out-of towners do in, where are we going again?"

"Keene Valley. I’m afraid not much. The town pretty much closes up at sundown this time of year. We got you a room at the Trails End Inn and you can get a bite to eat at the Noonmark but other then that…" the officer’s voice trailed off apologetically.

"Can we go and check on Brassard?" Hutch asked.

"Sure. We’ll drop your bags off at the Inn and then go over to the jail."

It wasn’t long before the men found themselves entering what served as the Keene Valley Jail. The small brick building consisted of two rooms. The front room served as an office for the small police force employed by the town. It held two desks, a dispatch radio and gun cabinet. Topographical maps of the area covered one wall, giving the detectives a pretty good idea of the amount of backwoods area the town was nestled in.

An officer sat at one of the desks. "Starsky and Hutch, I’d like you to meet Donny Ormsby. Donny, these are the detectives who will be escorting Brassard back to Los Angeles."

"Pleased to meet you." They shook hands all around. "Well I can’t say that I’ll be sorry to see him go. We really don’t have the staff to watch him round the clock. We tried to get the State Police to transfer him but since he was actually only going to be here a couple of days after he was released from the hospital, and it was our collar, they really didn’t want to bother with the paperwork." His displeasure was evident. "Besides, this guy gives me the creeps."

Rick nodded in agreement. "He’s in there if you want to see him." Rick gave no indication that he wanted to accompany the two detectives.

Starsky and Hutch walked through the doorway to where the jail’s two cells were. A dim light illuminated the room. The first cell was empty. On the cot in the second cell lay Brassard.

His eyes were closed and he did not appear to notice the entrance of the detectives.

"It’s him," Starsky murmured, as if only now, after seeing Brassard, could he believe that he had finally been caught. "The Grim Reaper."

The men stared at the figure on the cot. The dark, short cropped hair. Medium build. Unspectacular features. Nothing that would indicate the horrendous acts that the man was capable of.

They turned to leave and it was then that Alfred Brassard rose from the cot and moved to the cell front in one fluid motion.

Starsky was the first to turn back to the cell and his body instantly responded on a primal level to what he saw. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he felt his pulse begin to race. He wanted to run from the thing in the cell but at the same time he was rooted to the spot where he stood. His eyes were locked with Brassard's and he saw a maliciousness greater than he would have dreamed possible. What he felt emanating from those eyes was an almost palpable malevolence. David Michael Starsky believed that he was looking into the eyes of pure evil.

Hutch turned around a second after Starsky and felt a chill run up and down his spine. Without knowing why he moved in front of his friend, effectively breaking off the eye contact.

Brassard continued to gaze ahead, as if staring through Hutch. "In time, my friend, in time."

Before either detective could respond, Brassard had moved back to his cot and was again lying down, eyes closed.

Hutch turned towards his partner, who was shaking his head as if to clear it.

"Starsk?" Hutch asked quietly.

"Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Let’s just go, O.K.?"

Hutch wanted some answers but he knew that now was not the best time to question Starsky about what had just happened. Instead, the two men left Brassard and reentered the office.

"So what will it be?" Rick asked as the detectives came back into the room. "Dinner or would you rather go back to your rooms?"

"Dinner," Starsky answered quickly. He knew that Hutch was going to want to question him about had occurred in the other room but he wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. He wasn’t even sure that he could explain it to himself, let alone Hutch. No, better to let things settle a bit.

"Great. Let me just change outta my uniform and I’ll take you over to the Noonmark. They have great pot roast if you’re interested."

This perked Starsky up and he and his partner chatted with Donny as they waited for Rick to change.

The pot roast was every bit as good as Rick had claimed and they all enjoyed themselves. Starsky and Hutch found it easy to speak with him and the conversation drifted from one topic to another. It was almost midnight before Rick dropped the detectives off at the Trails End Inn and they said their goodnights.

As soon as the door to their room closed Hutch confronted his partner.

"So what was that all about back at the jail?"

Starsky feigned ignorance. "What?"

Hutch wasn’t fooled. "Come on, Starsky. You know exactly what I mean."

Starsky looked at Hutch with eyes that suddenly appeared very tired. "I’m not sure that I really know what happened." The dark haired man stared at his partner for another moment as if trying to come to a decision. "When I looked at Brassard it was as if I was looking at death itself."

"Starsk…"

"No, Hutch, don’t. I can’t explain it but that doesn’t change what I felt. There is something very wrong with Brassard."

The blond looked at his friend and thought back to the scene in the jail. When he had turned and looked at Starsky staring at Brassard, Hutch had seen a look on Starsky’s face that he had never seen there before. It was fear mixed with something that Hutch couldn’t quite read. And even after the eye contact had been broken and Brassard had made that odd statement Hutch had seen Starsky visibly tremble as they turned to leave the room.

Hutch didn’t know what to think. He would be the first to admit that his partner was prone to exaggeration and naïveté when it came to things that go bump in the night but this was something else. His friend had looked, for lack of a better word, terrified. And this was so uncharacteristic of him that Hutch couldn’t just write it off. And there was the fact that Hutch had felt something while in the room with Brassard. Nothing as intense as what Starsky was describing but something that felt not right.

Starsky interrupted his thoughts. "Don’t sweat over it Blondie," he said trying to lighten the mood. "It’s probably just my over active imagination kicking in. Too many Bella Lugosi movies!" Starsky grabbed the bedspread from the nearest bed and draped it over his shoulders to make a cape. He then did his best Transylvanian accent and the two men ended up laughing at themselves.

His performance had had its desired effect and Hutch didn’t question him anymore about what had happened earlier. He just kept reminding himself that by this time tomorrow night the Reaper would be locked up in a Los Angeles jail and he and Hutch would be home free.

"Hello," Hutch slurred into the receiver once he had recovered from the floor.

He listened for a minute and then said, "We’ll be ready in five minutes." The blond hung up the phone and got out of bed to search for his pants.

"Starsky, come on, wake up, we gotta go." When no response came from his partner he went over and shook him.

"What?" Starsky mumbled from under the covers.

"That was Rick on the phone. Somebody from one of the local camps just contacted him to say that their five-year-old daughter had wandered away. He wanted to know if we could help out. They’re down a man because of Brassard."

Starsky sat up and looked blearily at Hutch. "What time is it?"

"It’s about two."

Starsky groaned as he grabbed his own pants. "How come emergencies never happen at decent hours?"

Rick met the detectives outside of the Inn and they all drove over to the station. There were already a few volunteers there when they arrived.

"Here is where the camp is that the little girl was staying at," Donny said to the group as he pointed to a location on one of the maps. "There are a few other camps nearby but this time of year they are probably unoccupied."

"We’ll need the volunteers to search the area around the camp…" he continued on with the details of the search.

"Alright," Rick said as Donny finished. "Pair up and get ready. Donny, you’ll have to stay back and watch Brassard."

"Hey," Starsky interrupted, "why don’t I stay back? I have to admit that I’m not much good in the woods during the day and I night I’m useless."

"That would be a big help, Starsky. Donny is very familiar with that area and we could really use him."

Hutch turned to his partner and said quietly, "Starsk, are you sure?" He was remembering the events of earlier that evening.

Starsky nodded.

"O.K.," Rick said. "We can keep in contact by radio. If anybody finds anything, pass the information on. Hutch, why don’t you go with Donny?"

The volunteers checked their gear and headed out. Hutch gave one last glance at his partner and he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a bad idea.

Starsky watched as the others left and then sat down at one of the desks. He thought briefly of going in and checking on Brassard but decided against it. Instead, he picked a newspaper up off of the desk and turned to the crossword puzzle. He was halfway finished when he heard it.

At first he thought that he had imagined it. Starsky waited for the sound to repeat itself and when it didn’t he turned his attention back to his puzzle. He was trying to figure out a five-letter word for a Japanese dog when he heard it again, only this time it was a bit louder. There was no mistaking the sound and no fooling himself. He had heard enough cell doors unlocking to know exactly what the tumblers sounded like when the key tripped them.

Starsky stood up slowly, drawing his gun as he did. He willed himself to move cautiously to the room where Brassard was. At the doorway he paused, scanning the small room. From where he stood he could clearly see both cells as well as the rest of the room. He tried to squelch the panic that began to rise within him. The room was empty.

He stepped further into the room, sure that it was an illusion. Brassard had to be here, he told himself. There was only one way out of the building and that was the front door and no way could Brassard have made it past him. His mind latched onto that thought as he inched closer to Brassard’s cell. He stared unbelievingly into the empty cell.

Slowly he reached his hand out to check the door. His fingers curled around the cold metal bars, hesitated, and then pulled. The door swung free.

Starsky pulled his hand back as if it had touched something hot. His mind was still trying to register the impossible when he felt a chill run up and down his spine. For the second time that day he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"Oh god," he moaned out loud as he started to turn around.

"I’m afraid he can’t help you right now."