To celebrate the 50th anniversary of Kolchak: The Night Stalker TV movie—which spawned the second film The Night Strangler and the subsequent TV series—I present my story, “Monster of the Mind’s Eye.”
After an abusive husband is decapitated by a grotesque creature in front of his wife, investigative reporter Carl Kolchak uncovers a clue that leads him to the true masterminds behind the killing.
“Kolchak: The Night Stalker – Monster of the Mind’s Eye”
Phil Giunta
Tuesday, October 14, 1975. 11:53PM. While driving through Mount Prospect on my way back to Chicago, my police scanner picked up a possible 187 on Gregory Street. That’s police code for homicide. After six hours on the road, all I wanted to do was go home and collapse, but sleep would have to wait.
Alan Greville, age 42, staggered into his apartment three sheets to the wind and not for the first time. He’d been smart enough to let someone else drive him home to his wife and kids. That someone had been his girlfriend. Alan should have slept it off at her place. At worst, he might’ve ended up divorced rather than dead…
After a few minutes of fumbling with his keyring, Alan unlocked the door and slammed it closed behind him. In the darkness, he slid a hand along the wall, groping for the light switch.
“Let me save you the trouble.” Pamela turned on the floor lamp. Under its dim glow, she sat back in the easy chair and glanced up at the clock. “Home before midnight. That’s a first. What happened, dear? Heather the Homewrecker kick you to the curb?”
“Shut up.”
“Or what, you’ll hit me again? Maybe if you kill me this time, the cops will finally arrest you instead of asking me what I did to set you off again.” She flinched as Alan’s keyring whipped past her head and clanged against the wall near the bedroom hallway.
“Exactly what you’re doin’ right now.” Balling his fists, he lurched forward until he towered over her. Pamela curled up in the chair. “Runnin’ your damn mouth.”
From the hallway, something shuffled in the shadows followed by the jingling of keys. “Patti? Paige? Get back to bed right now ‘fore I beat you again.”
Pamela sprang from her seat. “Leave them alone. You probably woke them when you—”
Jagged metal smashed into Alan’s face. He clutched his right eye and collapsed to his knees, screaming. “I’ll murder those goddamn kids!” He slid a bloody hand along the carpet and snatched up his keyring. “Which one of you threw it? Get out here!”
The only response was a deep, guttural growl that could not have come from either of the girls—or any other human being.
“What was that?” Pamela dashed across the room, switched on the other floor lamp—and shrieked as a black and gray beast roared past her from the hallway and tackled Alan to the floor.
She continued shrieking as the creature narrowed pupilless green eyes and buried a set of claws into his chest.
She shrieked as saliva dripped from a cavernous maw packed with dense rows of gnarled fangs.
She shrieked as the monster raised its other paw, flexed three black talons, and tore out her husband’s throat.
***
By the time I arrived at the fourth floor apartment, it was teeming with uniforms. The coroner had already removed the victim’s body—and head. The latter had been severed from the former, according to a neighbor who was giving her statement to Lieutenant Murray Bramberger of the Mount Prospect P.D. My previous two encounters with old “Browbeater” had been as pleasant as a root canal without Novocain, but the last occasion was well over a year ago. Maybe he’d forgotten about it by now.
Nevertheless, I stood a few feet behind him and held up my tape recorder.
“… I’d dozed off in front of the TV when I was jarred awake by a scream. At first, I thought it came from the movie that was playing, until I heard it again and realized it was coming from the Grevilles’ apartment. So, I rushed over here to check on them and…” She swallowed and pressed a hand to her stomach. “And found Mr. Greville’s head lying in a… in a pool of blood about three feet from his body.”
I inched a bit closer. “So, their door was open when you arrived?”
Bramberger whirled. I smiled. He glared. “Please ignore the man in the rumpled seersucker suit, Mrs. Wilhelm. Mr. Kolchak is a reporter, or a mediocre facsimile thereof. He will not ask any questions. He will stand there and keep his mouth shut.” The lieutenant nodded to Mrs. Wilhelm. “Please continue, ma’am.”
“Their door wasn’t open, but it was unlocked. Anyway, I found Pamela huddled in the bedroom hallway with her daughters. The poor dears were weeping and trembling. She looked up at me and asked if it was gone.”
“If what was gone?” Bramberger and I said in unison.
“The monster.”
“Monster?” I leaned in. “What kind of monster? What did it look like?”
Bramberger nudged my tape recorder away with a finger, which he then thrust in my face. “You have a hearing problem, Kolchak? I said shut your pie hole. Now, Mrs. Wilhelm, did you see this so-called monster?”
“No. After I phoned the police, I asked Pamela about it, but she was still in shock. She described it as a grotesque gray beast with black claws like giant hooks. She said it leapt out of the shadows, killed her husband, then vanished.”
I couldn’t help myself. “Where’s Mrs. Greville now?”
Bramberger thanked Mrs. Wilhelm for her time and allowed her to return to her apartment across the hall. Once her door was closed, his scowl told me that I, too, might lose my head if I kept running my mouth.
“To answer your question, Kolchak, Mrs. Greville is with her daughters and four of my officers in her apartment and no, you can’t speak with her. You will not step foot in there.” Bramberger threw a beefy arm around my shoulders and spun me like a rag doll toward the elevators. “You know, Kolchak, every time I see that hideous pork pie hat of yours, I want to smash it with a billy club—while you’re wearing it! Now, how the hell did you get up here so fast from Chicago?”
“I wasn’t in Chicago. I was on my way back from an assignment. I happened to be driving through when I heard about this on my police band.”
“Then get back in your car and keep driving.”
“I have a right to be here, Lieutenant. This is news.”
Bramberger’s finger was in my face again. “This is a crime scene, Kolchak. While you’re here, I tell you what your rights are. Show up for the press briefing at police headquarters tomorrow afternoon and you’ll find out everything you need to know. Until then, get out of my sight.”
I lifted my hat and beat a hasty retreat. “See you then, Browbeater!”
***
I found a cheap motel for the night and called my editor, Tony Vincenzo, the next morning to explain the situation. Although he grumbled about the expense, he agreed that the story was worth pursuing. I then made some calls to see what I could learn about Alan Greville, which wasn’t much. Large in stature but short in temper, Alan had earned a reputation for hitting the booze hard and his wife harder. The police knew him well.
That afternoon found me seated in the second row of the press briefing led by Bramberger. After summarizing the situation, he opened the floor to questions. A reporter from the Chicago Tribune threw her hand up first. “I understand Alan Greville was a known wife beater. Is there any evidence to indicate she killed him in self-defense?”
“At this time, Mrs. Greville is not a suspect,” Bramberger replied. “While she did have bruises on her arms and back, they were from a previous incident. Mrs. Greville also had no blood on her when her neighbor arrived on the scene and investigators have not located a murder weapon in the apartment.”
I raised my pen. “What about Mrs. Greville’s claim that her husband was attacked by a large gray monster with, how did she put it, black claws like giant hooks?”
The outburst among my fellow reporters earned me another scowl from Bramberger. “Everyone calm down. Once Mrs. Greville recovered from her shock, she described it as a large gray animal, possibly a dog or a wolf.”
“A dog or wolf? That could decapitate a guy six foot three, two hundred and twenty pounds? I did my research, too, Lieutenant. Alan Greville was almost as big as you.” That got a few laughs around the room, to Bramberger’s chagrin. “And tell us how an animal that large could find its way into and out of a fourth floor apartment unnoticed?”
“To answer your first question, Kolchak, Alan Greville was intoxicated when he was attacked, impairing his ability to defend himself. Secondly, wolves are sometimes kept illegally as exotic pets. It’s possible that it belonged to another tenant or somebody else in town. It could have gotten loose and wandered into the building through a door that was propped open by someone moving in or out. We’re investigating all possibilities. When we know more, we’ll hold another briefing. That’s it for now, everyone. Thank you.”
***
The following morning, I returned to the scene of the crime on the off chance that I might get into the Grevilles’ apartment. Fortunately, there were no cops around, but the rental manager refused to let me in—until I slipped her a fifty. Vincenzo would be thrilled when he got my expense report.
After peeling away enough crime scene tape to make a hole for me, she unlocked the door and pushed it open. “My neck is on the line so you got ten minutes. The police lieutenant who was here last night said more officers would be stopping by today. He didn’t say when.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
After she lumbered off, I closed the door to avoid the prying eyes of Mrs. Wilhelm across the hall. With my trusty Rollei 16mm, I snapped a few shots of the blood-stained carpet complete with the white tape the police had used to outline the body, and head, of Alan Greville.
On the end table beside the sofa, framed family photos depicted happier times for Alan, Pamela, and their twin daughters, who’d obviously inherited their strawberry blonde hair and dimples from their mother.
With nothing else of note in the living room, I made a cursory inspection of the bedrooms down the hall. The daughters each had their own room and both appeared to be phenomenal sketch artists, if the illustrations taped to the walls were any indication. They’d drawn everything from portraits to wild animals to landscapes and each was signed by either Patti McDevitt or Paige McDevitt. Perhaps Alan had been their stepfather?
On my way out of Patti’s room, I slipped on a sketchbook sticking out from beneath her bed. I flipped through it, expecting more of the same, but the artwork that filled these pages was far more imaginative—and sinister—than what adorned the walls. Dozens of fearsome beasts, hybrids of wild animals and otherworldly creatures, were embellished with massive fangs, bloody claws, or talons. Hard to believe they were drawn by the same freckle-faced teens from the family photos. Yet, these illustrations had been signed just like the others.
I tore out the pages and folded them to fit into my jacket’s inside pocket. According to the alarm clock, my ten minutes were nearly up. Standing to one side of the window, I parted the curtains just as a patrol car rolled into the parking lot. Rushing out of the room, I kicked over a wastebasket. A crumpled page from the sketchbook rolled out. After setting the wastebasket upright, I unfurled the paper on my way to the front door. Another monster. This one with gray fur, green eyes, and black claws like giant hooks. The sketch had not only been balled up, but torn in half. I shoved the pieces into my pocket and stepped out into the hallway, locking the door behind me. I replaced the crime scene tape and was halfway to the elevators when I heard a click.
“Mr. Kolchak, is it?”
Damn. I spun and flashed a smile. “Mrs. Wilhelm, is it?”
“I’m surprised to see you here. The police lieutenant didn’t seem too happy with you last night.”
I waved off her comment. “Old Bramberger and I go back a long way. He’s always cantankerous with reporters.” I pulled my badge from my pocket. “I’m with INS, Independent News Service. How well did you know the Grevilles?”
“Long enough to know that Pamela should’ve taken those girls and left him months ago. Alan was a miserable drunk. Can’t say I’m sorry to see him gone.”
“Not so loud, Mrs. Wilhelm. The walls might have ears. Am I right to assume that Patti and Paige were Alan’s stepdaughters?”
Mrs. Wilhelm nodded. “Pamela was married before, but her husband died of cancer.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Her daughters are in their early teens?”
“Sophomores at Prospect High School. Smart kids, too. So polite and respectful. They deserved better than Alan.”
“Kolchak, what the hell are you doing here?”
I thanked Mrs. Wilhelm before she faded into her apartment. Bramberger and another officer of considerable bulk stood side by side in the hall, preventing my escape.
The lieutenant aimed a thumb at the Grevilles’ door. “Were you in that apartment?”
“Of course not. You saw me. I was interviewing Mrs. Wilhelm here. May I remind you, sir, I’m an investigative reporter.”
“You’ll be investigating the inside of a jail cell if I see you again. Final warning, Kolchak. Go home.”
“You must be psychic, Lieutenant Browbeat—uh, Bramberger.” I pointed toward the elevators. “I was just on my way out.”
Neither cop budged.
“I’ll take the stairs.”
***
Back at the INS office in Chicago the next day, I examined the illustrations I’d torn out of the sketchbook—until a chubby hand reached down and swiped one from my desk.
Tony Vincenzo raised an eyebrow. “Impressive artwork, Carl, if a little bizarre. Didn’t know you were so talented.”
“I can’t take credit, Tony. These are from the sketchbook of Paige and Patti McDevitt, the twin stepdaughters of Alan Greville.”
“The guy who was murdered in Mount Prospect by the wild animal?”
“The jury’s still out on that, but yes.”
“How did you end up with his daughters’ sketchbook?”
“Stepdaughters. I went to the Grevilles’ apartment yesterday.”
“Didn’t the police seal it off as a crime scene?”
“They did, but the property manager was kind enough to let me in.”
Vincenzo’s shoulders slumped. “After a little financial incentive, no doubt.” He tossed the paper onto my desk. “You are unbelievable, Kolchak, and don’t even think about including that on your expense report. I’m done reimbursing you for all your little bribes.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Of course not, Tony. Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“So what do these girls’ sketches have to do with the murder of their father?”
“Stepfather. I’m not sure yet, but it can’t be coincidence that their mother, having no criminal record and no history of mental illness, claims a grotesque monster with claws like giant hooks killed her husband while her daughters have a sketchbook full of nothing but monsters.”
“Let me guess where this is going. You think one of these things leapt off the page and killed Alan Greville.”
“It’s just a theory based on his wife’s statement. You see, Tony, kids have wild imaginations and twins often have a psychic bond between them. What if Paige and Patti McDevitt developed a psychic ability so powerful that anything they imagine can take physical form?”
“Stop right there.” Vincenzo held up a hand. “I don’t want to hear any more, Kolchak. And you say kids have wild imaginations. Why can it never be a simple murder case with you? For once, just once, will you please get me a story that doesn’t sound like something from The Twilight Zone or The Outer Limits? You give me nothing but agita, Kolchak. Agita!” He stalked away to his office and slammed the door.
“Agita?”
Two desks away, my co-worker—the mustachioed, manicured, and generally mediocre journalist Ron Updyke—made a show of pretending to stifle his laughter.
“What are you cackling about, Uptight?”
“Updyke! Agita means indigestion, Kolchak. Heartburn.” He sauntered over and sat against the adjacent desk, currently empty while our advice columnist, Miss Emily, was away at a doctor’s appointment. “In other words, you aggravate, frustrate, and annoy him… as usual.”
“Believe me, Ron, I know the feeling.”
“I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation.” Updyke gestured toward the sketches. “May I?”
“Be my guest.”
He picked out two of them. “Those kids have talent, that’s for sure. You honestly believe one of these creatures killed their stepfather?”
“As I said, it’s just a theory.”
“Ever heard of a tulpa?”
“Tulpa? No, what’s that?”
“Similar to what you described earlier. An entity that manifests from people’s thoughts or beliefs. I had a crazy aunt who claimed she was a tulpamancer. The family used to tell wild stories about all the characters and creatures she dreamed up, some of which took on a life of their own and had to be destroyed. Mind you, I never witnessed any of it. She died when I was little.”
“Did anyone happen to say how your aunt destroyed these tulpas?”
“If they did, I don’t recall. Then again, I found the whole idea preposterous, just like thinking a monster from a kid’s sketchbook came to life and committed murder.” Updyke chuckled and shook his head. “Only you, Kolchak.”
“Thanks for your help, Ron.” I yanked the sketches from his hand and gathered up the others along with my hat and jacket. As I made a beeline for the door, with Updyke snickering in my wake, Vincenzo emerged from his office.
“Where are you going, Kolchak?”
“Getting out of here before Uptight gives me agita.”
“Updyke!”
***
Monday, October 20. 12:33PM. There were no further reports of animal attacks in the Mount Prospect area last week and I was reasonably certain why. No doubt the tulpamancing twins were keeping a low profile after their father’s funeral and settling into their temporary home, wherever that was. I wanted to talk to them about their sketches, so I decided to pay a visit to Prospect High School. It was a long shot, but the only one I had. My timing couldn’t have been better…
“Looks like the McDoofus sisters are back.”
“Here we go again,” Paige muttered.
Seated on the bleachers beside the football field, she and Patti glanced up from their sketchbooks as a gang of seniors sauntered over led by the school’s most infamous bully, a loudmouthed amazon named Maureen “Moe” Peretti. Few students crossed Moe and walked away in one piece.
“Heard your stepdaddy lost his head. So sad.” Moe dropped onto the bench beside Paige and snatched the sketchbook out of her hand as the other goons laughed.
“Why do you keep bothering us?” Paige said.
“Because we can.” Moe flipped through the book. “Looks like we got a couple of talented dweebs here. Buildings and landscapes are kinda boring though. Why don’t you both draw us a picture of your stepdaddy after he got his head chopped off and we’ll judge which one’s better?”
Ignoring the hoots and hollers, Paige rose to her feet. “Give me back the sketchbook.”
Moe followed suit, towering over her. “You want this back, dork? Let’s take it on the field.”
Paige stepped forward, fists balled, until Patti clutched her arm. “Wait. There’s a better way.”
***
The principal’s secretary, Mrs. Rath according to the sign on her desk, glared at me over the top of her horn-rimmed glasses without missing a beat on her typewriter. “Can I help you, sir?”
“Good afternoon, ma’am. My name’s Carl Kolchak.” I held up my ID. “I’m with INS, Independent News Service. A few months ago, my newspaper ran a high school journalism contest. Two of the winners in the sketch artist category were sophomores here, Patti and Paige McDevitt. Do you know them?”
“Of course.”
“Well, we haven’t been able to get in touch with them for the past week, so my editor sent me up to see if I could interview them here at the school.”
“I see. You could have called first. Why don’t you leave your card and I’ll have them contact you as soon as—”
“Mrs. Rath!” A plump, middle-aged man in a short sleeve dress shirt and plaid tie dashed into the office wide-eyed and gasping. “Call the police. There’s a… large animal on the loose. It’s chasing kids around… the football field. It looks like a… like a tall rhinoceros with straggly black fur and long jagged tusks. I’ve never seen anything like it!”
As the secretary stopped typing and started dialing, I stuffed my badge into my pocket. “Which way?”
He pointed down the hall to a set of double doors. “What do you think you’re gonna do,” he called after me. “Stop it with your bare hands?”
“I’m gonna rip it apart!”
***
The teacher’s description of the creature was accurate—a hirsute rhino with the legs of a horse and an oversized mouth from which protruded two narrow tusks with serrated edges. The beast was charging toward me from the middle of the field, a gaggle of screaming teenagers scattering in all directions ahead of it.
I dashed onto the grass, stopping to take a few pictures, when I noticed two girls with strawberry blond hair cowering behind the bleachers to my right. Gotcha.
“Which one of you is Paige?”
As I dropped to my knees beside them, the closest of the twins tore her gaze from the melee and fingered her glasses back into place. “I am. Who are you?”
I pointed to the other one. “Then you must be Patti. My name’s Carl and I need you girls to stop that creature.”
“Why us?” Paige asked.
I unfolded the crumpled, torn sketch from the wastebasket. “Because you created it. Just like you created the one that killed your stepfather.”
The twins exchanged a startled glance before Patti snatched one of the pieces from my hand. “Where did you get this?”
“Same place I got these.” From my inside pocket, I produced the rest of the illustrations I’d taken from the apartment. “That creature out there looks familiar. Unless you drew it today.”
“No. We had to think fast.” Patti frowned as I laid out the sketches on the grass. “We each thought of a monster from the sketchbook that was under my—you went through my room? You pervo!”
I held up two of the illustrations and peeked through the gap in the bleachers. “It’s neither of those.” In the center of the field, the rhino-horse slid to a halt and whirled to face me. It lowered its head and narrowed furious eyes of cobalt blue. “Uh-oh. It knows I’m trying to stop it because you know. Can’t you just think it out of existence?”
“Nope,” Paige said. “You gotta tear up the sketch, but I don’t think I drew that one. Patti, is that one of yours?”
I rifled through the sketches as the beast hurled itself onto the bleachers. Both girls screamed while hooves and tusks pummeled the metal above us until it lost its footing and tumbled to the ground with a thud. It thrashed and bellowed until it found its legs. “Now we’ve made it angry. Come on, girls, help me out here. Which one is it?”
Patti snatched up one of the sketches. “I think it’s a combination of this…”
“And this one!” Paige grabbed another as the monster rounded the bleachers and charged at us.
“Rip them both up!” I threw my arms over my head and dove forward to shield the twins from certain death, fearing that Vincenzo would assign Updyke to write my obituary. Strange are the thoughts that cross one’s mind near the end. But when no tusks impaled me and no hooves crushed me, I risked a glance over my shoulder. The girls held up the torn sketches while sirens screeched in the distance.
“We’re sorry,” Patti said. “We only meant to scare off Moe and her gang. They harass us every day, always pushing us around and threatening to beat us up.”
I scooped up the rest of the sketches from the grass. “How do you do it? How do you summon these creatures you draw?”
“It started with innocent stuff,” Paige replied. “You know, cats, dogs, bunnies. The monsters came later when our stepdad got violent. But the older we get, the harder it is to bring the sketches to life. Now, it only happens when we’re afraid or angry.”
“Maybe you’re outgrowing the ability?”
Paige shrugged. “I guess.”
“Does your mother know you can do this?”
“No. You’re not gonna tell her are you?” With tears streaking her face, Paige rolled up the sleeves of her blouse to reveal arms mottled in a palette of black, blue, and yellow bruises. “We’ve been through so much already.”
“So I see.” The reporter in me wanted to reach for my camera. The human being in me made sure I didn’t. “Your stepfather do that to you?”
Paige nodded and wiped her eyes as Patty lifted her sweater just enough to expose a patchwork of contusions that wrapped around her side and lower back. I have to admit, I got misty-eyed, too. “We never meant to kill him. All we wanted to do was defend ourselves and our mom. She took the brunt of his anger a lot while trying to protect us.”
“We’ve been too afraid to tell anyone.” Paige straightened her sleeves. “Until now.”
“So you conjured up one monster to stop another.” Even if I told anyone, how could I prove it? I peeked through the bleachers to see Bramberger leading the cavalry onto the field. “Listen, I won’t tell your mom about the sketches if you don’t let the cops know I was here. They’re on the lookout for an exotic animal and I’m willing to let it rest there because no one’s going to see it or any other strange creatures from your sketchbook ever again, are they?”
The twins agreed to the deal. I wished them well and slipped off campus undetected knowing I was leaving behind a remarkable story. But it was worth it. Instead, I’d have to turn in something mundane, something prosaic, something that would spare Tony Vincenzo agita…this time.
***
Monday, October 20. 6:14PM. No one on campus was injured by the creature and Mount Prospect police are now searching for two wild animals. Time will tell if Patti and Paige are outgrowing their ability to create these tulpas. Until then, bullies and brazen boyfriends beware.
Back at my desk, I leafed through the last of the McDevitt’s monsters with the intention of filing them away, but I dropped them into the shredder instead—just in case.