The Totem 1979 by David Morrell Page A

really made him go ahead with this. To catch it, bring it home, and train it as a pet. Then his Mom and Dad would surely know how big he was. But even as he thought of that, he knew that he was wrong. His parents wouldn’t let him keep it. They would just be mad at him. The thing to do was catch it and then let it go. Later when he’d grown a bit, he’d tell them what he did, and they’d be proud. For now, though, he would only hold it and then let it go. That would be almost the same as having it for a pet. Plus, he’d be out on his own at night, and thinking of that prospect, he was so excited that he started making preparations. All through supper, he’d been half-scared, half-eager, his heartbeat so loud he couldn’t believe that his parents didn’t hear it. After eating, he had tried to play a game of catch with his father, but he kept dropping almost every pitch his father threw him, fearful that his father would ask him why he was so nervous. He had fidgeted through several shows on television. Then at last the sun had gone down. His mother took him in to bed.
    Now, his sack of crackers in his hand, Warren walked among the dark, looming trees, sometimes coming on a silver strip of moonlight and then moving into darkness again. He felt more nervous than when he’d left the house. As much as he was used to coming here, the park at night was quite a different thing. Shapes that should be friendly he could hardly recognize. Others even scared him. That dark object over there. Was that something lurking for him? He didn’t think he’d ever seen it. What about that crouching shadow by that tree? Looking toward it, Warren bumped past the water fountain, stumbling back before he realized what he had hit. Then he looked to see the shadow, and it wasn’t there now, and he didn’t know which way to go. Sometimes he heard noises far behind him, and he turned to figure what they were. Other times the noises were quite close, and he was forced to run. Then he slowed. Then he ran again. And then he heard the trickling of the water, came around a clump of trees, and saw the silver pool of moonlight on the lake, and knew that he was too far to the left. Even so, he’d managed to get here, and the light was better, and he felt a little more at ease. He stopped to eat a cracker, but the brittle, biting noise he made unnerved him, and he dropped it. Then he took a breath and left the lake to walk along the stream’s edge, looking for the bend.
    There it was, directly ahead. He saw the wide curve in the stream, the reed tops sticking up from down there on the bank, and he was walking closer. The moon was gone a moment, off behind a cloud, making him stop. Then the moon was back, and he started walking again. He was almost there. He looked down at the reeds and hoped that he would see the animal, but he didn’t. He strained to notice some sign of movement, but there wasn’t any. Then he glanced around him, up and down the stream. There was just the silver-tinted water, shallow, rippling on the stones. For sure if the raccoon were here, he would have seen it. Then it must be hiding in the reeds.
    But how to go about this? First Warren walked a distance back and scrambled down the bank. The slope was steeper than it looked. He ended with one sneaker in the stream. The water shocked him, and he lurched back onto the shore. He had no socks on, and the water sloshed within his sneaker, cold and faintly greasy, draining out. He shook his foot, and then his skin adjusted, and he put the foot down on the shore. It sank into mud as had the other. He revolted, and the sneakers made a sucking noise as he stepped onto firmer ground. Now he’d really fixed things. He had mud upon his sneakers, and his mother couldn’t help but see that. Surely she would know. He almost panicked. Then he thought of water-he could wash them-and the image of that drinking fountain came to him, and he knew that he could wash them there. He began to feel