They stepped cautiously through the open front door
and into the main room of the house. To Derek, it seemed much larger than he
would have thought from outside. He ran his light up the staircase to where it
formed a balcony on the far side, then back down to the walls and floor. There
was trash, broken glass, and pools of water everywhere. It was as if it had
been deserted for years instead of just a few days.
Mike pointed with his light toward the base of the
stairs. An empty doorway gaped beneath it, and Derek followed Mike as he
crossed the room. “This room’s something else. It’s demolished.” Mike shined
his light on the floor and walls to make his point. “I found the book here.
Make anything of it?” He nodded his head when Derek shook his. “Me neither,
unless they got careless with some kind of explosives in here. No, scratch
that; makes me sound stupid. Nobody plays with dynamite in their house.”
“Some people do some strange things, stranger than
blowing themselves up. And
something
happened here.”
They left that room and climbed the stairs, going
from room to room in much the same order as Mike had in his earlier search, but
there was nothing to find. The last room upstairs was near the top of the
staircase, one that Mike had only given a short glance. Derek felt his stomach
turn over violently when he entered.
Mike saw Derek flinch and stepped in behind him, his
hand on his gun. He didn’t see anything disturbing enough to cause a reaction.
“Just a bunch of books and stuff, Derek. What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. It’s just that I get a feeling
sometimes, and I just got one. A strong one.” There were books in the room, a
lot of them. A small desk sat at the far end, cluttered with papers, and an
old, heavy wooden chest was on the floor beside it. “Used to happen a lot a few
years back, usually when something bad was about to come down.”
“You mean ESP, or being able to see what is going to
happen before it does? That kind of thing?” The edges of Mike’s mouth twitched
upward. He read about that stuff, but it wasn’t real.
“Only if you happen to believe in it. Otherwise you
call it something else. Like hunches.” Derek ran his hand over the surface of
the desk. He didn’t go into detail with Mike about the way he felt; about the
invisible insects that crawled up his arms and legs and back, or the way his
scalp and neck muscles tightened into knots, or the way you feel when you’re
driving too fast and ignore the dip sign and your stomach tries to climb out of
your throat. It was not a fun feeling.
The chest by the desk had a lock built into it, but
it wasn’t locked. Derek lifted the lid.
“Mike, come take a look at this.” He lifted part of
the contents out of the chest and sat it on the desk. Mike crossed the room,
glanced in the chest, and stood regarding the things Derek had removed.
It was his imagination (
had to be!
) or some
trick of light. The objects seemed to absorb the light on them, as if the light
somehow couldn’t quite reach them; no matter how Mike moved his flashlight,
they seemed to stay in a shadow. A shadow that didn’t fall away from them, but
completely enveloped them, covering them with an atmosphere of darkness. There
were books, knives, and a roll of course cloth. On the cloth was a twisted geometric
shape, carved from some dull metal with a loop of chain attached. All in its
own shadow.
“What is it supposed to be? It looks weird, but I
don’t see…”
Derek lifted the medallion by the chain. It turned
slowly, hypnotically, twisting on an unfelt current of air. They both stared at
the dead metal that should have shined in the light but didn’t. Derek let it
drop silently back on the cloth.
“It’s odd, but for some reason that thing seems
familiar.” Derek rubbed his eyes; he was getting a headache. “You were talking
about the supernatural a few minutes ago. Well that’s what these things are
for, unless I’m way off. I think your Mr. Jarman had a well-developed hobby in
the occult.”
“Oh, that’s just great! Hot horse apple soup and
magic. It figures, too, why he never wanted anyone around. Shit, this whole
thing is getting way out of hand. But it does give me some ideas.”
“What kind of ideas, Mike?”
“Well, like…”
Like what? Like some character is
making with the ol’ black magic; stealing souls and the bodies that just happen
to fit the bill? More likely some obsessed maniac who thinks he has to…
“I
don’t know. Have to think about it. Come on, let’s finish looking this dump
over and get out of here.”
Derek followed Mike out of the room to the landing.
The main room lay below. Somewhere in the house, a shutter or door banged with
a slow, inconsistent rhythm. The wooden staircase creaked softly beneath their
feet. It was the wind of nightmares, a wind to be hidden from, a wind that
stirs the fears that lie at the bottom of a man’s soul.
But what made it worse, made it horrible, was the
silence. The silence that made everything unreal and far away, the silence that
was
still
louder than the sound of the wind.
Derek reached to touch Mike’s shoulder, but it was so
far away. He seemed to reach through miles of time and space.
He’s leaving
me! He’s leaving me here for them! No!
When his hand touched Mike’s
shoulder, he didn’t feel it. His hand past through his jacket and shirt and
flesh and bone…
Mike spun around, almost stumbling. “Goddam, don’t do
that! I almost pissed my pants! Hey, what’s the matter?”
Derek’s hand twisted into Mike’s jacket, his face
white and pinched. His other hand fumbled at something unseen at his side, then
clutched at his chest. He moaned, his face falling to an expression of extreme
sadness.
“Derek, for God’s sake
what’s wrong
?!”
What’s wrong? This man asks what’s wrong? I lay
here dying in blood… he could see his men still fighting… but why was it so
dark? They were strongest then… this man was not fitted for battle… my war axe…
“Where is my axe? I must…”
“Derek, what is it? What’s wrong?” Mike’s stomach
felt full of ice.
That isn’t his voice, it’s too deep, too… and oh God, what
language was that?
My men… Where are my men? It’s so dark… I should
hear them… this man… Mike? Where…? The black sky was gone, the stone fields…
Mike was bending over him.
“Mike?” Derek shook his head and blinked.
What was
he doing on the floor?
“I’m okay, give me a minute. What happened?”
“I don’t know. I thought you were having a fit or
something. Scared me enough to shit peach pits, so don’t go doing it again.”
Mike dug a handkerchief from his pants pocket and mopped his face. “You okay
now?”
“Yeah, I think so.” Derek fumbled his cigarettes out
of his pocket and spilled three onto the floor. He retrieved one and lit it
with a shaking hand, drawing the smoke into his lungs as far as he could.
Mike joined him with a cigarette of his own, and the
two sat on the top step of the stairs and smoked; each turning his thoughts
over privately and slowly, examining the rough edges and parts that didn’t
connect. The wind had not subsided but the effect it had on the house, the
creaking and sighing and shifting, had.
Derek’s brain felt thick, his thoughts sluggish and
uncooperative. He remembered something about a field.
A battle field with a
barren skyline and men fighting with swords and axes and he was there, fighting
with them. No, he was wounded
… His hand wandered across his chest near his
birthmark. Nothing. It was like a dream, near but far away; unreal, but too
real.
What a hell of a time to be dreaming!
But at least his mind seemed
to be clearing, and he was starting to feel like himself.
“You ready?” Mike asked.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
The bottom half of the house was divided into several
large rooms off from the main room. They went slowly through each, picking
their way through the strewn litter and overturned furniture. Much of the furnishings
were expensive pieces, rosewood and velvet chairs, glass and brass lamps,
mahogany cases, though the combination was in questionable taste. It didn’t
really matter much anyway now, because most of it was ruined from water or
broken.
The dining room was, if anything, worse than the
rest. A heavy, eight-place dining room table had been reduced to little more
than kindling and pushed to one side, the chairs methodically smashed and
thrown on top. There was a trail of mud across the carpet. Mike traced his
flashlight over it in both directions.
“That’s funny. I didn’t notice this before.” He
dropped to his haunches for a closer inspection. The muddy path led from the
front door passed them into the kitchen.
Derek used his own light. “Something’s been tromping
through here, that’s for sure. But what?”
Their eyes locked for an instant, then Mike shook his
head. It couldn’t be what they had seen the night before. That would be no
good. No good at all.
“There’re no tracks. Not here anyway. Looks more like
something was dragged. See?” Mike pointed to where the mud was smeared into
long furrows. The nap of the carpet was caked with mud and flattened… towards
the kitchen. “It goes in there. Let’s take a look.”
The kitchen floor was old and peeling vinyl smeared
with wet mud. Derek tried to breathe with his mouth alone; the rotten odor that
permeated the entire house was worse in here. An overused sewer filled with
decaying rats would have been a kind comparison. He had to fight to keep the
contents of his stomach from coming up in one big rush. The counter tops were
bare, the kitchen basically empty. Across from the counters were an old Gibson
refrigerator, a four burner gas stove, and a big corrugated tin trashcan half
full of molding garbage. On the opposite side of the kitchen was a small
walk-in pantry with empty shelves. At the far end, between the shelving, was a
doorway.
A doorway with no door, only a gaping black hole like
the maw of some horrible hungry waiting monster. They stood at the entrance of
the pantry, unable to go nearer but unable to leave.
Derek could feel the draft that flowed from the
doorway around his ankles and legs, strong and cold and wet.
Slimy, sticky,
it wound twist past your legs and curled around your back to pull you screaming
in and it would feed and feed
…
Mike took one hesitant step closer, trying to see
inside with his light. He jiggled the flashing in his hand when the beam of
light seemed to falter. “Damn, batteries must be giving up. Let me try yours.”
Switching lights made no difference; it really didn’t dim, it just didn’t
penetrate the darkness for more than a few feet.
“Mike, I don’t know. I’ve got another one, a feeling
like before, only worse.”
“You’re not going to go pitching a fit or whatever
again, are you?”
“No.” Derek shook his head and tried to grin, but he
couldn’t get it to fit on his face right, so he gave up. “But I think we’d
better be damn careful. Can you see anything?”
“Stairs. Must be a cellar, but I can’t get enough
light to see to the bottom. Hand me your light again for a minute.”
Mike held the two lights in one hand and started
slowly, oh so slowly down the stairs. Derek was right behind him, but could see
nothing around Mike’s big outline. Mike took another step.
“I……SHIT!!! OHH SHIITT!!! Mike’s scream and flying
body sent Derek sprawling across the kitchen floor. He felt something heavy
land on his legs and it moved, trying to get to his throat! He felt his own
scream tear out of his lungs and he kicked desperately with his feet.
Where’s the light, Mike, oh goddam where’s the
light?!
Until he was free. He clutched at the air and his
hand found the edge of the stove. Pulling himself up, he dug his hand into his
pocket and came up with his lighter. It caught on something and fell from his
hand. He caught it blind in mid-air and spun the wheel.
It flamed on the first try, the fire leaping in the
wind from the doorway. It wasn’t much light, but it was enough to see that
there was no one,
nothing,
in the kitchen but he and Mike. Mike sat on
the floor, his legs spread out and his back against one of the counters. His
face was pure white, his eyes wide.
“Mike, where are the flashlights?”
“I dropped them down there. I… let’s get the fuck out
of here!”
They both ran.
They clutched at each other’s jackets, tripping and
slamming into walls until they burst through the front door. They raced across
the gravel to the Scout, panting. Mike groaned and threw up.
Mike’s hands were shaking so bad that Derek had to
put the key in the ignition switch for him. Once rolling, Mike held the scout
at a breakneck speed, ignoring the mud and potholes until they were almost back
in town. He stopped, opened his door, and vomited on the road.
“What was it you saw back there?” Mike didn’t seem to
hear him, so he asked again.
“Oh, God.” Mike blinked; Derek could see tears in the
sheriff’s eyes reflecting the dash lights. “It was people! Naked, torn apart,
chewed
apart
, arms and legs and insides. All over the floor. There were pieces of
people all over the Goddamn floor!”
Mike dropped Derek off at the hotel after asking him not to say
anything to anyone yet about what they had found. Most of the lights in the
lobby were off, but Mrs. Jameson was still awake; light from her room
illuminated the short hallway leading to it.
Derek mounted the stairs, step by tired step, then
walked down the hall to his room. He unlocked the door and twisted the knob,
only faintly realizing a tingling sensation in his hand, and stopped with the
door half open. There was a light on somewhere in the room. But they had all
been off when he had left… It was dim, but he could make out the outline of his
window and the cheap lithograph mountain scene on the far wall. It was coming
from somewhere near the bed. He let the door swing open slowly, keeping his
muscles tense, ready to leap through the ceiling if anything moved.
It took him a moment to realize the light was coming
from the nightstand. Not from the lamp, but somewhere lower, on the surface of
the stand. It was coming from the piece of metal laying there. The axe bit.
It was about as bright as one of those nightlights
mothers buy for their children, the ones with the cartoon characters. Not
bright, but enough to keep imaginary monsters at bay until the morning light
would drive them back into the dark closets and basements to await nightfall
once more.
Only this pulsed softly with blue light, compelling.
He found himself standing over it and staring at it, fascinated, not even
remembering crossing the room. Soothing, calming, reassuring, it seemed to call
to him from far away, to tug gently at his mind from another time and place. He
touched it carefully, expecting a shock, but there was none. Instead, a current
of warmth flowed up his arm in waves. From far away he could hear voices,
strange, powerful voices that called to him by name but it was another’s name…
“Derek?”
No, not that name, another…
“Derek, are you alright?” Mrs. Jameson stood in the
rectangle of light shining from the hallway, the worry in her face framed by
her curlers.
Derek shook his head and smiled. “Everybody seems to
be asking me that tonight. I’m okay. Tired.” He glanced down to where his hand
rested on the piece of metal. There was no blue light. Nothing but a lingering
warmth.
“I heard someone come in, thought it was you.” Her
face relaxed and she smiled. “Ann asked me to give you a message for her, if I
was still up when you came in. I don’t know why, but she seemed awfully worried
about something.”
What he and Mike had been through not long before
flashed through his mind; he got a strangle hold on the thought and shoved it
back. “What did she say?”
“Oh. She said to tell you that she was going to
Parker’s store, and to come over if you weren’t busy.”
“I think I will. Thank you.” His eyes took in her
curlers and print robe. She looked tired. “I hope you didn’t stay up just to
give me Ann’s message.”
“No, I was sitting up reading a book, one of those
gothic romance things, but this weather makes it seem more scary than anything
else. Think I’ll just put it away and go to bed.” She started to leave, and
then hesitated. “Maybe I’m just a foolish old woman, but I’m worried. Things
just aren’t right anymore in this town, with Tony and the Doc dying and all.
People around here can feel something’s wrong. You tell Ann to be careful. And
you be careful, too.”
“Don’t worry, I will be. And I’ll do my best with
Ann.”
“Well, goodnight, Derek. Take care.”
“You too, Mrs. Jameson.”
Derek watched her until she was out of sight, her
bedroom slippers making soft slapping sounds against her heels. When the sound
had faded to silence he shut his door, and for some reason he felt lonely, as
if he had shut out the world. He turned on the lamp on the nightstand and
examined the piece of axe blade, but now it was just metal, not light, nothing
magical or compelling like before.
His clothes were soaked. He debated whether to change
them or not; they’d just get soaked again when he went to see Ann. But being
dry, if even for a few minutes, was too tempting. He toweled his hair and
changed into dry clothes.
The gun Mike had given him was tucked into the top of
his pants, uncomfortable but reassuring against the muscles of his stomach. He
thought it looked a touch too dramatic with the grip jutting out from his
jacket, but what the hell. It made him feel better.
If someone had been in Derek’s darkened room only a
few minutes after he had gone, they would have seen the axe blade on the
nightstand begin to glow, a soft muted glow that was reflected in the base of
the lame. The blue light grew slightly brighter, reaching to the walls and the
dark corners of the room as if searching for someone or something that wasn’t
there. After a moment it seemed to flicker in disappointment, gradually losing
light until the room was left in darkness once more.
* * *
Derek found Ann and Parker playing cards
apathetically in the back room of the store. Ann stood on tiptoes to give him a
kiss. “I thought you’d be back sooner. I was afraid something might have
happened.” She stopped searching his face as the tension slipped across it.
“Something did happen, didn’t it?”
“Yes and no.” Derek frowned and sat on the couch. Ann
and Parker exchanged worried expressions. “Mike asked me not to say anything,
but you’ll probably find out soon, anyway. He and I ended up at the Jarman
place, looking for whatever there might be to find. We found this trail of mud
leading from the front door to the kitchen, and there was a cellar… Mike found
bodies in it.”
“You mean the missing people?” Parker whispered.
“Yeah, I guess so. I didn’t see them myself, and Mike
didn’t feel like elaborating on it. I suppose some of them were friends of
his.”
“Any ideas who did it?”
“We didn’t stick around to find out, but if Mike has
any ideas, he didn’t tell me. At least we’re closer than we were.”
“Those poor people.” Ann blinked back tears. “One
reason I wanted to see you, Derek, is because I’m worried about Dr. Wittakin.
I’d really like for us to go out there and check on him. I keep thinking of him
living all alone and hardly able to get around, with his legs the way they are.
With the phones being dead he can’t even call.”
“We could try to get him to move into town until this
is over,” Derek said.
“Yes, something like that. He’s such a nice old man,
and if anything were to happen…”
“He’s nice, alright- like an old buzzard,” Parker
snorted. “I’d worry more about anything that tried to bother him.”
“You’re mean. I know you like him even if you won’t
say so.”
“I like…? Shit. But if we’re going to go, let’s get
it over with. I got lots of better ways to spend my time than wet-nursing that
old fool.”
* * *
Miraculously, they made it to Wittakin’s house
without getting Parker’s muddy station wagon stuck badly enough to have to dig
their way out. If any form of magic could be attributed to four letter words
and dire epitaphs, Parker had used enough to guarantee safe passage through
three states.
Dr. Wittakin was glad to see them. The living room
was bathed with a ruby glow from the fire. The atmosphere was comfortable, warm
and cheerful; it made the horrors of the last few days seem further away,
almost unreal. Almost.
The old man sat by the fire with his pipe in his
hand, looking at Ann. “I’m glad you came by with your friends, girl. Frankly,
I’ve been rather worried about you.”
“
You’ve
been worried about
me
? With everything
going on around here, and you being all alone, you worry about me.” Ann shook
her head, smiling.
Wittakin’s eyebrows shot up with interest and he
straightened up in his chair. “Going on? You mean there have been further
happenings since you were here last?”
“Some. Nobody knows who’s doing it yet, but Derek and
Mike found bodies out at the Jarman’s place. There’s been some more people come
up missing, and old lady Sims may have seen something. She had a nervous
breakdown or something, and…”
Ann looked around, confused. “Derek, why don’t you
tell him about it? You’ve been working with Mike, so you’d know more than the
rest of us.”
Wittakin nodded. “I agree with Ann. You probably are
more informed than the rest of us, and I would like to hear anything you have
to say.”
Derek grimaced and shrugged. “Mike will probably
flatten me, but I think it should be talked about. Who knows, we might be able
to come up with something that’ll help.” He began slowly, starting from the
moment he had found the young boy’s body. Ann made a little shocked sound when
he told of the creature that damaged Mike’s hood, and Parker vented a
halfhearted snort of disbelief. Wittakin frowned thoughtfully.
He went on, telling them what Mike had told him and
how he and Mike had gone from house to house and building to building looking
for anything they could find. He ended with the exploration of the Jarman
house, of finding the occult paraphernalia in the room above, and of finding
the cellar where the bodies had been hidden. He told about the strange feelings
he had had, but didn’t mention the hallucination.
By the time he had finished, the fire had reduced
itself to coals, and Parker replenished it from the woodbox. No one said
anything for a few minutes. Wittakin stared into the fire and fondled the bowl
of his pipe.
“It seems simple enough,” Wittakin said, leaning back
in his chair. “If you’re willing to accept it.”
Derek didn’t have to ask, but he did anyway. The idea
was crazy and insane, but so was the situation. “The supernatural?”
Wittakin smiled at Derek’s tone. “I’m an old man, and
I’ve lived long enough to see a lot of strange things. Many of them were
difficult to accept, but they were true nevertheless.”
“Surly not this difficult, though,” Ann said.
“Perhaps, but you must examine the evidence. If you
will recall the words of the legendary Englishman; ‘When you have eliminated
the impossible, whatever remains, however improbably, must be the truth.’ Much
is obvious, but…”
“My guess is that Mike believed that there’s someone
insane behind all of this,” Derek said. Parker nodded agreement. “I don’t think
he thinks there’s much connection between that thing we saw and those people
being killed. At least he didn’t seem to.”
“Our sheriff is an agnostic man, so I doubt if he
would be willing to accept anything removed from daily experience. Unless, of
course, there were no alternative. That attitude makes for an excellent police
officer, but is lacking in imagination.”
“So what do you think it might be?” Ann asked.
Wittakin sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t know,
child. The sheriff may be right and we have an insane killer on our hands, or
even some animal using the basement of that old house for its den. Or… an even
worse nightmare. Look at the obvious. The boy is found dead, cause unknown. He
is taken to the doctor’s. The doctor dies from some form of violent physical
attack, and the boy’s body is missing. During this time the Jarmans, probably
Richard, is dealing with the occult for reasons unknown, and they also join the
ranks of the missing. Which seems to be growing quite quickly.
“Some time later, Derek and Mike inadvertently run
into something quite unusual and frightening, which, by the way, is probably
the same thing seen by Mrs. Sims. There may be a killer out there, but I feel
that any theory we come up with is going to have to include this creature that
was seen.”
“You mean it might be something like a vampire or
werewolf?” Ann shuddered. “Could something like that really exist?”
“Those are legendary creatures, but there are some
responsible people who believe those legends are based on fact, in one form or
another. Cannibalism is the reoccurring theme in most cases. We think of ghouls
as being grave robbers, but in Asia as well as many other places in the world
legend, it is believed that
living
flesh is preferred. Celtic legends
are filled with giants and demons that eat humans, and in Cornwall, England,
they even told about a large group of them living in a castle. They took
humans, including women and children, there to feast on them. What we have
could very well be something like that.
“But where could something like that come from?
Unless this creature is the only one of its kind in years, people would know
about them. How could they exist without being found?”
“People die all of the time all over the world. A lot
of those people disappear without anyone even knowing it, and many
disappearances are never explained. Think about it. The world is big, and if
these creatures were careful, no one who saw them would live to tell about
them. And those who did wouldn’t be believed.”
“Okay, but where could it have come from?”
“Evocation of demons by rituals is an old pastime,
though I doubt if many ever worked. But, there are some that probably did. Just
suppose, for a moment, that some demons or life forces, call them what you
will, were caught in some type of
between
state. Add the right
circumstances, mix in some fanatical would-be wizard, and presto. They find a
gateway to this side. Then if they wanted to, they could hijack the nearest
human body and do with it what they wished. Who’s to stop them?”
“Possession,” Derek said, nodding. “But in aces. It
would be rough work for an exorcist.”
“I think so, seeing that the original inhabitance of
the bodies would have been destroyed. They would probably laugh at a crucifix.
But even that isn’t the worst.”
“What could be worse?”
“The possibility that they could switch bodies at
will. In other words, if you were attacked, they could kill you and take over
your body.”