Shades: Eight Tales of Terror (20 page)

Drenched to his skin within a second, Bernie got his bearings and lurched off toward the garage. The grass lay flat and slick, and he fell three different times trying to cross the distance in the wind. Each time he looked up with the gut wrenching fear that he would see what remained of Charlotte grinning back down at him. That reminded him that she stood right around the corner of the house from where he lay. Bernie pushed himself up and staggered onward, making for the dim outline of the garage.

The ’55 station wagon would be waiting within, topped off with gas. He hadn’t really wanted to buy the car but Millie demanded he drive her around town in something other than a farm truck. Since the car was newer than the old truck behind the tool shed, he figured it made the smarter choice of vehicles in this hurricane.

Bernie stumbled through the cascade falling in front of the open garage door and did a nervous scan of the interior. The rain slamming against the thin roof above drowned out his sigh of relief. N
othing shared the darkness with him but the car.

Wasting no time, he hurried around to the driver’s side of the vehicle. Another explosion of lightning lit up the dark and he heard Millie’s faint scream over the roar of the storm. If she still held the wraith with her gaze, it wouldn’t be for much longer. He swore in near panic as he tried to force his hand down into the pocket of his soggy Levi’s to get the keys. He knew with sick certainty that every passing second increased the odds of him hopping into the car only to discover a rotting passenger seated beside him.

Ripping the keys free, Bernie drove the right one into the lock on the first try and jerked the car door open. He did a quick survey of the interior to make sure Charlotte didn’t wait within, then dove inside. Slamming the door behind him, he jammed the key into the ignition and stomped on the accelerator.

The engine turned, but failed to catch.

Bernie swore and twisted the key once more. He didn’t have time for this. The engine turned again, faded, but then it caught and roared to life. Thank God!

With a near whimper of relief, Bernie dropped the car into gear and eased out into the storm. Rain slammed into the windshield, utterly obscuring his view. He hit the switch to the wipers but the downpour overwhelmed them.
Visibility was almost nil. Turning on the headlights, he struggled to make out the driveway ahead of him.

Oddly enough, because of the angle of the rain he could see out of his passenger side window better than the windshield. Still, he needed to move. Bernie gently rolled the car forward, struggling to see. He could just make out the dark shape of the house as he started to ease up beside it.

“Forget it,” he muttered to himself, “she’s gone. Keep going.” He knew that was precisely what she would do. Millie would feel awful about it later, but say she had been too frightened to think. Her frailties often became their own excuses.

But what about him? Could
he
do that?

He struggled over what to do…keep his word and risk himself further, or hit the accelerator and leave Millie behind. In the end, he compromised. Bernie continued onward at a slow crawl, honking the horn repeatedly. He had to give Millie a chance, but there was no way he could bring himself to stop the car.

Not with Charlotte lurking out there.

The dim outline of the house crept by in the deluge. Lightning flashed twice more…illuminating both the farmhouse and the storm assaulting it. The black windows stared back at him in mute accusation, revealing nothing of what transpired inside. The back door slammed back and forth in the wind, it’s banging faintly reaching his ears. Bernie held down the horn as he moved by. Nothing. By the time the car eased its way past the building, the gut sinking truth could no longer be denied…

Millie would not be coming out.

Bernie didn’t want to think about what could be happening in there so he forced himself to concentrate on the driveway ahead. What little of it there was to see. His windshield was a sheet of distorting water that his wipers only gave brief glimpses through. That, and the thunder of the rain on the cars roof, seemed to bury him in the bowels of the maelstrom. He only had the sounds of his own ragged breathing for company.

The next pass of his wipers gave a brief glimpse of asphalt in the headlights. That meant he had reached the end of the gravel drive, and the highway now crossed in front of him. If he turned left, the small town of Weyrich lay five miles down the road. Fifteen miles to his right, Hallisboro offered more in the way of civilization. Bernie only took a minute to decide to turn right.

First of all, that put the back of his car to the wind which should ease the torrent on his windshielf. Second, Weyrich was really just a wide spot in the road with little more than a couple of houses and a store that would be closed. Hallisboro would have emergency shelters waiting…and people. Wonderful crowds of people. He couldn’t avoid crossing the Brazos this way, but there hadn’t been enough time for the river to come up yet. He needed to hurry, though.

Fortunately, turning right did reduce the assault on his windshield and he could see better. Visibility remained poor, but at least he could see the road sixty feet in front of him. The storm now embraced the car, surrounding it with raging gray curtains that turned even nearby objects into dim outlines.

He never felt lonelier in his life.
Just him and the storm,  with his vengeful dead wife somewhere behind him.

Swallowing hard, Bernie tried to get comfortable in his soggy clothes and focused forward. Gently touching the accelerator, he allowed the car to start rolling down the hill. He used low gear to keep it slow because brakes could be a catastrophic choice in these conditions, even at normal speed. As it turned out, it was just as well he did because circumstances forced him to stop when he reached the bottom of the hill.

Fifty feet ahead, the phantom waited in his headlights.

Bernie’s air left him like he’d been punched in the chest. He could clearly see the ghastly revenant through the water distortion of his windshield. It waited in silence, a motionless shape in a sodden white dress. The only sounds came from the raindrops thundering on the roof of his car, and the rhythmic thump of the wipers. Bernie gripped the steering wheel, his eyes like those of a cornered animal. He only had one choice left.

He couldn’t go back because the road was too narrow to turn around. The ditches on each side now cascaded with  water. He couldn’t just sit here staring at the specter either. The river would rise soon, and he now sat in its flood plain. This whole area would soon be underwater, and the bridge ahead would be impassable even sooner. He needed to go.

Now.

Bernie squared his jaw and narrowed his eyes at the dim figure ahead. Then he stomped on the gas. The car’s tires spun, found purchase, and the station wagon shot forward in the storm. The horrific figure ahead grew quickly and filled his headlights. At the very last instant, just as the root webbed visage became clear in his high beams, he threw up an arm in reflex, flinching from the upcoming impact.

It never came.

For one glorious moment, elation filled him as he realized he was past and now drove unimpeded toward the river. But then he understood his fatal mistake as the smell of rot and black earth filled the car.

He had taken his eyes off of her when he shielded his face at that last second.

Bernie screamed as two deathly cold arms embraced him from the back seat, and he reflexively twisted the steering wheel to the side.

“Happy anniversary, baby,” Charlotte’s dirt choked voice rattled in his ear. “Let’s go home.

.

***

Hurricane Carla smashed through the state of Texas in early September of 1961, causing massive damage to property and infrastructure alike. Fortunately, due to new warning systems and evacuation procedures, the death toll only reached the surprisingly low total of 31.

Millie Jackson was not numbered amongst the casualties since her death was ruled a homicide. Her body was found, strangled and wrapped in an old rotted sheet, in the bedroom of a small farmhouse owned by Bernie Morlin. Authorities assume Morlin killed her then fled out into the storm, only to slide off the road at the Old Weyrich Bridge nearby. County police found his car at the bottom of the bridge.

His body was never found.

A Singularity of Purpose

Russell Cokeland swung himself off the school bus
and onto the shoulder of the country highway.

“C’mon, you two!
” he hollered back into vehicle. “Let’s go! The show is going be on in nine minutes!”

“You don’t listen much, do you Russell.”

Andy Keller, and his little brother Mack descended the steps and walked clear of the bus. The tow-headed pair could have been twins, despite the year of difference in their ages. They even stood together, both in the same stance with their hands in their pockets as they watched the bus pull away and leave them on the dusty shoulder.

“What do you mean, Andy?” Russell had a feeling he wasn’t going to like the answer.

“I told you, we promised to have the garage cleaned out for my dad before he comes home this evening. That way he can work on the car in there.”

“Can’t you guys do that after the show?”

“Not if we want to be done.” Andy frowned at him. “Jeez, Russell! There are things in life more important than TV. You’re welcome to come help us, you know. My mom’s going to order in pizza and drinks while we work.”

“Uh, no thanks.
” Russell held up his hands as if warding off something distasteful. “I’ll let you two mama’s boys get on with your business. I’ll just mosey on home.”

“Whatever.
” Andy shrugged and scuffed his toe in the roadside pebbles. He didn’t look terribly surprised. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Russell grumbled and headed for the brushy corner where a gravel road intersected with the highway. The fifteen-year-old reached over the rusty barbed wired fence and retrieved his bicycle. He hid it there every morning before the bus picked him up. Now he hauled it up to the gravel road and pointed it down the lane’s tree-covered depths. Then he looked back at the pair of boys getting ready to cross the highway to their house.

“Don’t you two strain nothing while doing your good deeds.”

Andy didn’t respond, but his little brother couldn’t help taking a parting shot of his own.

“
We won’t,” Mac replied cheerily. “Don’t let Purvis eat you.”

“Pshaw! That old wreck can’t catch me!  And if he ever does I’ll beat his ass down with a stick!”

“Like you did last time?” the younger boy giggled.

“That was almost two years ago! And he got lucky and surprised me. Besides, I was a little snot back then…like you are now!”

“Oh, suuurrrreeee! Did you replace those pants because of the hole Purvis tore in the leg or the load you left in the seat?”

Russell just glared in response, then hunched his shoulders and faced back
toward the gravel road.

Despite being angry over the needling, the teen chose to drop it and let the other two leave with the last word. He couldn’t win this anyways. They were the only
kids in the area his age. Getting them pissed would leave him with nobody to hang out with. He had few enough friends as it was.

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” he growled and climbed on his bike.

His home sat about a mile up the road. If he kept a good pace he could get there in time to catch his show after the opening credits and commercials. He hated the crummy little TV at his house, especially compared to the big one the Kellers owned. The fact it sported rabbit ears humiliated the hell out of him. But it did get a signal, albeit fuzzy, and he could watch his shows between bouts of his mother nagging him to clean up this, that, or the other thing.

The gravel crunched beneath the tires of his bike as he moved forward into the leafy tunnel of the road. This early in the autumn, the leaves were still green and locusts buzzed in the lazy heat. The way Russell looked at it, this still counted as summer
—only with school to screw up the day for him. In truth he could only think of one thing he hated worse than school…

A
nd that one thing lived only a couple of hundred yards ahead.

Russell slowed his bike momentarily as he approached a small bridge that ran over a tiny, unnamed creek. The creek marked
this edge of Purvis’s territory. Fortunately, the German shepherd only ventured out this far when chasing Russell from the other direction. The odds of running into the dog this far out while coming from the highway was remote. Besides, nowadays the big dog posed less of a threat than he used to due to advancing age. He was still mean as hell, but Russell knew he could easily outrun him on his bike.

Not like the one time—
when it had been
that
close, and the dog ripped a tear down the side of his pants. The large German shepherd had ambushed him from the side of the road, far past where he usually attacked, and caught him loafing. Russell barely got away and wanted his mom to go down and raise hell with Clifton Bollard about the evil mutt.

But Farmer Bollard was also their landlord, which his mom apparently decided meant more than his good health. She just said the same thing Bollard did…he ought to go straight down his road to where the bus was supposed to pick him up, instead of turning off on Bollard
’s road so he could hang out with the Keller kids.

But that would
mean sharing the morning with the bunch of snot nosed elementary kids who used that particular stop, not to mention being seen with them by the girls who rode the bus. So he simply chose not to hear it.

Therefore Russell ran the daily gauntlet, pedaling for his life with the snarling dog hot on his wheels. But these days he discovered he would be further and further ahead of the animal by the time he re
ached the bridge every morning. Lately he even stopped to pick up a few rocks and fire back in retaliation. The last couple of times, the mutt gave up the chase before reaching the end of its territory.

So after his initial pause, Russell accele
rated over the bridge and concentrated on building up speed by the time he reached the Bollard driveway. He bent over the handlebars, legs pumping like a machine, as he accelerated. If he had a good enough head of steam by the time he got there, the race wouldn’t even be close. He’d blow the doors off the damn dog and be home in time to see the end of the opening credits of his show.

He flew past the driveway faster than ever before.

Russell didn’t dare turn his head to look for the dog at this speed, but didn’t see the animal out of the corner of his eye like so many other times. It still didn’t mean the creature wasn’t back there, and the boy took no chances. Besides, he had been ambushed down the road once before. That wouldn’t happen again, if he could help it.

Russell kept his attention focused tightly forward, his one concern maintaining balance and speed. Gravel hissed under his wheels as he shot onwards. The road existed only as a rushing green tunnel for him, the bright sunny exit where it intersected with the lane to his house being the focal point of his entire being. 

Nothing else mattered—which is why he almost missed the significance of the dark lump laying at the edge of the ditch as he rocketed past.

It took a couple of se
conds for the sight to register. But when it did, Russel locked down his brakes and slid the bike to a stop. He gaped back up the roadway in shock, refusing to believe what he had just seen. The size had been right…the color had been right as well.

Could it be?

Could it really be?

Russell hesitated for a moment, weighing the risks. Going back meant losing al
l advantage of surprise. He would lose his head start as well. Yet there the form lay, and no other sign of the hated dog could be seen. By now Purvis should have attacked, even if he had been waiting in ambush. But a quick look up and down the tree lined road revealed nothing.

Nothing but the furry lump near the ditch.

After a few more seconds of indecision, Russell swallowed hard and pedaled slowly back toward the object. Every nerve stood at alert. He watched the approaching form with suspicion, ready to turn and flee in a heartbeat. Any second, he expected to hear a warning snarl from one side of the road or the other. Yet nothing but the trill of afternoon birds reached his ears. Only as he closed the last thirty feet did he start to become sure of what lay on the ground ahead.

Purvis was down,
and it looked like he wouldn’t be getting back up.

“Oooooohhhhh yyyeeaaahhhhhh….” Russell stepped off his bike about
ten feet from the stricken dog. “Helllloooooo roadkill!”

A smile spread across his features as he tip-toed
toward the fallen animal. His delight at this unexpected turn of events overshadowed all thoughts of TV.

“O
ohhhhhh Puuuurrrvissssss… yooohooooo….  what’s the matter little poochy, poochy, poochy…”

The dog jerked and Russell reacted in an instant. His heart in his throat, he fled back to his bike and yanked it off the ground. He had his leg thrown over the seat and ready to fly before realizi
ng the German shepherd remained in the spot where he left it. It still lay on the gravel, unmoving. The boy watched the animal like a hawk as he brought his breathing back under control. Then a frown crossed his face.

“So you’re still with us, huh
, dog?”

The furry mound didn’t respond, but Russell could now detect the faint movement of breathing.

“Oho! So you
are
still in there!” He sneered as he lay the bike down again. “Not dead yet, eh Purvis?”

Once again Russell approached the stricken canine. T
his time he only flinched when it twitched at the sound of his approach. He understood now, the dog couldn’t get up. Still, the boy moved with caution. He eased forward, ready to retreat on a second’s notice, until he finally found himself looking down on his adversary of the past three years.

Purvis still lived, barely, but he wouldn’t be getting up again.

The dog lay crumpled on his side, with a thin stream of blood running from his open mouth. His fur appeared matted and stiff, and at this close range Russell could see how old the dog really was. Grey hairs peppered its snout and its ribs showed under its coat. It seemed somehow smaller than he remembered it as well. He could also tell it didn’t matter whether the dog had been hit by a car, or some suffered kind of attack or seizure. The end result would be the same.

“You don’t look so good, dog,” the teen l
aughed and walked around the animal. “You don’t look good at all. As a matter of fact, I think your bike chasing days are over.”

The dog fixed his eyes on Russell with feverish
intensity. It trembled slightly and continued its shallow pants.

“Yep,” the boy continued with vicious glee, “over and done with. And other than that one close call, you never actually managed to catch me, did you. Oh, you got close a few times but….well, you know, horseshoes and hand grenades…right?”

Russell leaned in close. The dogs eyes remained focused on him like a laser.

“But you never actually caught me. For almost three years,” he taunted, “I made it through your territory and you couldn’t stop me. And you know what that makes you?”

An ugly thrill of triumph washed through him, and he almost danced a jig in front of the stricken canine. The dog didn’t move, just continued staring at him with fixed intensity.

“That makes you a
bad
dog!” Russell laughed. “You failed bucko! I was in your base, and blowing your doors off…day after day after day…. And you know what? They don’t let loser dogs like you into Doggie Heaven! Oh no! Doggie Heaven’s for Rin Tin Tin and Benji, not some loser mutt who does nothing but
lose
every day. Nope, not you. I’m afraid it’s Doggie Hell for you!”

Russell laughed at his own joke, and gloried in the feeling of standing over the animal with impunity. This was better than any TV show. This was sweet.

“Yep…Doggie Hell,” he gloated. “Where loser dogs go to spend the rest of forever in eternal shame. Ain’t no doggie treats there, pal! You blew it! You hear me, Purvis? I win! I am the champeeeen…and you are a fuzzy turd beside the road. I’m standing in your territory! See!” He capered in front of the injured dog like a monkey. “What are you going to do about it? Huh? Where’s that big growl now? Hey, you still with me, Purvis?”

He leaned over the dog again to take a closer look.

“Purvis?”

Russell noticed
its chest had ceased its shallow movement, and the thin stream of blood stopped running from the animal’s mouth. It was over…Purvis was dead. The dog’s eyes glazed over as he watched, but even in death they seemed to remain fixed on him.

“Wel
l crap, Purvis,” Russell jeered. “You gonna just leave me here talking to myself? I guess this is goodbye then. Aloha! Sayonara! Adios! ”

The teen grinned and gave the dog a s
alute. Then he flipped it the bird before strolling back toward his bike. He added a little swagger to his walk, but only went about five steps before coming to a stop. His eyes returned to the still form of the dog laying on the road and narrowed.