Argus rose up on all fours and the man cowered beneath him, expecting something large and heavy to fall on top of him. Argus wanted to tear the man apart limb by limb, but knew he couldn’t. As much as he felt an urge to break bones and rend flesh, Argus kept his instincts in check. Instead of hitting him again, Argus picked up the shotgun and pointed it at the logger.

The man shuddered as a large, wet stain slowly appeared in the crotch of his jeans.

Argus let out a snort, then took the gun barrel in his hands and bent it. The man was sobbing now. Satisfied there was one less logger to worry about, Argus tossed the gun aside and moved on to his next victim.

* * *

Tora leaped off the roof of a trailer, hitting the guard square in the left shoulder and knocking him face down on the road. She hovered over him as he lay on his stomach groaning in pain.

She was tempted to leave him there, but while she’d knocked him down and out, there was really nothing for the man to be afraid of. He didn’t know what had hit him, and since the whole purpose of this exercise was to instill fear in the loggers, she waited for the man to get up. When he didn’t, she grabbed the collar of his jacket and stood him up.

“Thanks,” he said, his back still to Tora. “One minute I’m standing there and the next thing I’m on the ground chewing on a mouthful of dirt.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what the hell hit me.”

Tora turned him around, lifted him off the ground and said, “I did.”

“Holy sh—”

Tora threw him down. He struggled to get to his feet, and when he was finally upright she gave him a good hard kick in the butt. He flew several feet through the air and hit the ground running …

And he kept running until he was far, far away.

* * *

Harlan was having some fun of his own.

His guy was facing the road by the edge of the camp, on guard against any blue-haired old ladies who might sneak up on him in the middle of the night to give him a hug.

Harlan crept up behind him without a sound. Then standing just inches away, he began to breathe on the logger’s neck.

He could hear the man’s breath getting ragged as he was slowly overcome by fear.

“Get out!” Harlan whispered into his ear. “We spirits are angry.”

The man was afraid, no doubt about it, but that wasn’t enough. He needed to be very afraid. So Harlan reached down inside the man’s pants and took hold of his underwear. Then with all the strength he could muster, Harlan pulled … and pulled.