“This is Mark, remember? He’s not evil.” Hexx perched himself beside her on the mattress. “His family’s in trouble. We need your help.”
She eyed her great grandson before acquiescing. “Come here,” she said, motioning for Mark to come closer.
He advanced to the bed. “He’s telling the truth. And you’re right, I live in the old Durley house. Something’s trying to kill us—all of us.”
Her lips parted and she wheezed. Then she reached for Mark’s arm, squeezing up and down it to make sure he was in solid form. “You need to get out. Now.”
“I can’t. My mom and me have nowhere to go.” It was more than that. Mark’s primal instincts to protect those he loved coursed within him. Plus, he wasn’t going to let the house win and accept defeat. It had already done too much. And what about the next owners? The entity would continue to wreak havoc on future victims. Then there were the tortured and trapped female souls.
It wasn’t until this moment he understood. Someone had to help them, too.
“No, get out now,” she said through tight teeth, shooing him away.
“Gran—” Hexx began, unsure of what to say.
That’s when Mark remembered what he’d brought with him. Unzipping his bag, his unsteady hand pulled out the legal pad. “Look at this.”
Hexx brought it to his grandmother, who studied the image. It was the second time Mark had seen her mocha face turn to ash.
“She’s in my basement. Please tell me what’s going on in my house.” Mark’s lip trembled.
“Please, Gran,” Hexx said.
“You have a skin-walker,” she said after a long pause.
“A what?” Mark asked.
“A skin-walker,” she repeated in a muted voice. “I cannot say more, or he comes here. Now leave. Hector, shame on you for bringing this trouble here, now get.” Shutting her eyes, she turned from the boys.
Once they stepped from the room, Mark huffed. “What the fuck is she talking about?”
“To even speak of them is dangerous. My grandfather told me about him one night after he drank seventeen Coors.” Hexx swallowed. “It’s a medicine man or woman who becomes this thing to inflict pain and suffering on others. They trade their human life for something animal—and vile. After committing some horrible deed to become one, they’re like immortal with all kinds of crazy powers. I once heard they can run two hundred miles in one night.”
“There’s gotta be a way to kill it? Or at least exterminate it?” Mark said, realizing he’d just compared it to a rodent.
“I don’t know. My grandfather died before I could get him to tell me any more. He was the only one who’d even speak about them with me. He knew all the old stuff.”
Mark wondered where Hexx’s parents were, but it wasn’t the time to ask. Instead, he pondered the problem at hand. “I think one of my mom’s books might have something.” After stuffing the pad into his backpack, he headed for the door. Turning around, he said, “You coming, or not?”
Hexx put on his shoes and laced them up. “I have a feeling I’m going to regret this.”
—
Mark’s gut twisted the closer the boys got to the house.
Once they neared the fountain, it drew Mark’s eyes as if it had been a stark naked girl. In fact, by draining the water, Mark had stripped the structure of its purpose, of its dignity. He recalled his mother mentioning an author who said women were afraid of men killing them, while men were afraid of women humiliating them. Now that Mark understood that the skin-walker was linked to the fountain, he wanted to leer at it, to gloat, to humiliate the fuck out of it.
Mark gawked.
The completely filled fountain sported an over-grown layer of moss and all.
His feet stalled.
When had it last rained?—about two weeks ago. I don’t believe it!
“What’s up, man?” Hexx asked.
Ignoring his friend, Mark advanced to his stone enemy. His limbs were shaky. Was stress lessening his grip on reality? Perhaps when he got closer the illusion would be over.
Is there a water source underneath?
He didn’t think so. Several minutes passed, yet nothing had changed. He bit his lip, hoping to wake from a dream. God knew he was having enough of those lately.
“How the fuck?” Did his mom come down and run the hose?
“What’re you talking about?” Hexx asked.
“I emptied it today.”
Mark kicked the ledge of the fountain as if it could feel pain. Instead, his foot smarted. The overgrown pool seemed to sneer back at him. There was no point arguing with something that wasn’t alive. He grumbled and waggled his injured foot to restore it to normal.
“I’m so tired of this shit,” Mark said. “Let’s get to work.”
Hexx scratched his head and shrugged.
Mark trekked to the rear of the house, climbing the few rickety planks to the rear door that led to the kitchen, Hexx straggling behind.
Mom had broken the seal on a new bottle of Smirnoff and twisted off the cap. Mark had only seen his mother drink the occasional champagne or hot toddy during the holidays. He surmised she turned to alcohol to avoid facing the facts of the house. Not metal music, not devils, but the fucking house.
Salem cowered under the table.
Probably just having gotten up from sleeping most of the day, Mom yawned. The new college semester and the first day of high school were only a couple days away, but she couldn’t have cared less.
“We visiting Dad and Tausha later?” Mark asked to see if she was responsive.
“Dad’s home, honey,” she said, slurring her words. “Came back a little while ago.”
Mark and Hexx looked at each other.
That was impossible. Dad was hooked up on machines and the doctors were waiting for some test results to come back before making a decision about his release.
“Um, no,” Mark said.
“He’s in the living room, smoking his pipe.”
Now he knew she was out of her mind. Holy shit. Or maybe it was the skin-walker.
Mark pulled out a chair at the table, easing his mother into it. Once he’d plucked a glass from the cupboard, he placed it next to the bottle. “Stay here, okay?”
She poured herself about four fingers and swirled it. With one hand, she gave him an exaggerated thumbs up.
Mark bent over to look Salem in the eyes. Watch over Mom, will you?
“Come on.” Mark yanked his friend’s shirt.
“But—” Hexx stammered.
The boys went into the living room. A strong odor of tobacco smoke filled the air, but the coast was clear. Mark leaned to read the book spines on the shelves, his fingers leading the way. There were countless volumes, everything from Greek to Chinese myths and legends. Not one on Native Americans, even though he’d seen her with some in her bedroom. Mom must’ve been using them all to plan one of the fall courses.
Hexx looked around to make sure nothing was beside him.
“I’ll be right back. Don’t move,” Mark said.
Hexx didn’t even nod.
—
“You have a license?” Hexx asked from the passenger seat.
“Not exactly.” Mark backed the car out of the driveway.
“Nice. So we’re going to jail then.”
“Relax. Like you’re an accessory to underage driving. I doubt that’s a big deal.”
“You don’t care about being locked up?”
“We have bigger fish to fry. Which direction’s the campus?” Mark recalled passing a sign on the initial ride into town, but that was about it.
“Head that way.”
Hexx barked directions until they rolled into the college lot. After they parked, Hexx took off down one of the walkways.
“You know where you’re going?” Mark asked, slamming the trunk and cramming a flashlight into his waistband.
Hexx’s finger pointed to a sign aimed at the library on one of the buildings.
&nb
sp; “Right.” Feeling like a dolt, Mark rolled his eyes. His first impulse was to try to break into his mother’s office, but who knew where that was? And he wasn’t sure if he had the right keys on the ring. Hexx’s plan was much better. For a change, Mark was happy to be one-upped.
Inside the library, the woman at the front desk whispered, “We’re about to close.”
Both Mark and Hexx gave her a double thumbs up. When they noticed they’d mirrored each other, Hexx said, “Jinx.”
Mark put his finger to his lips, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, jinx,” he mumbled.
With some sign reading and instinct, the boys found the right section and pulled several volumes from the shelves.
“Over here.” Dumping the books on the carpet, Hexx got under a corner table. He scooted out of sight, sliding the stack of books with him.
“Smart thinking, dude.” Mark got under there as well, and the two of them started examining indexes and flipping pages.
They ignored the sensible shoes walking by, probably searching for straggling readers still lingering among the bookshelves.
“Got anything yet?” Mark asked.
“Nope. You?”
“Nah.”
All the lights went out.
Hexx chewed his lip. “Maybe we should’ve just stolen one of these instead.”
“Yeah, like which one?” Mark’s hand gestured to the pile. “It’s not like we can stash these in our shorts.”
“Now I can’t even see, genius.”
Mark sighed and pulled out the flashlight, switching it on and positioning it so they both benefited from the beam. “Zip it and get back to work.”
“Don’t be so testy,” Hexx said, thumbing through one of the volumes.
While they read, the front doors clanked shut and locked.
“What’ve you got?” Mark asked. “This one says fire sometimes works, or decapitation, or piercing one in the heart with silver. Doesn’t say if the silver has to be a bullet or my mom’s fancy cutlery, though.”
“Not sure how happy your parents would be with you if you burnt this place to a crisp. Do you have a machete lying around?”
Mark narrowed his eyes.
Licking a finger, Hexx turned the page. “Here, it talks about capturing it, broadcasting the news. After a year, it’s supposed to die.”
“Um, no.” Mark kept scanning the information in front of him.
“If you have any ashes of a newborn lying around, we can rub that on some bullets.”
“Gimme that,” Mark said, ripping the book from Hexx’s hands. “Do you have Britannica or something? What kind of shit is that?” Tossing the book aside, he handed his friend a different one.
“This says if you can get it to talk when it’s in animal form, it’ll die.”
“Oh, that sounds easy.”
“Here, here. This is good,” Hexx said, slapping the page.
Mark leaned in, eyes wide.
“Hold your horses. Let me read it.”
“Are you the slowest reader on the planet?”
Hexx socked Mark’s shoulder. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”
A blaring light brightened the area near the boys. “Who’s in there?” a man’s voice asked. Knocking banged the window. “What’re you doing in there?” He pressed his nose to the glass, cupping his hands around his face.
“Grab that and let’s get outta here,” Mark said.
Hexx obeyed and pursued Mark to the front door. The man’s shadow rounded the building, heading their way. Keys jingling got louder.
Mark’s eyes darted every which way, not sure of what they should do next. Veins engorged at his temples and neck.
“Come on!” Hexx back tracked to the window and shoved at it. Grunting, he still hadn’t gotten it to budge.
Mark added his might to the efforts, pushing as hard as he could.
The window whined and eked bit by bit.
Keys unlocked the entrance and some of the bulbs flickered to life above.
“Okay, one, two—” Mark said. On the beat of “three” they gave one final heave and the pane gave way. It appeared wide enough for them to squeeze through.
Hexx got one leg out and rolled outside. His hand reached in, waiting for Mark to pass him the book. Without that, this mission was a complete bust.
As Mark doubled over to pick up the encyclopedia, something hard poked his ribs.
“Hold it right there, sonny boy.” The middle-aged man in uniform jabbed the baton deeper into Mark’s side. “You, get your ass back in here.” His thumb motioned for Hexx to come in the way he’d escaped.
Hexx’s eyes roved and Mark saw his friend considered making a run for it.
Mark nodded for him to come inside.
Once Hexx squeezed back through the window, the security officer said, “Come along,” waving the boys in front of him with the baton. With his other hand, he held the encyclopedia.
“Did you read what we need?” Mark whispered to Hexx while eyeing the book.
The boy bore his teeth and shook his head.
While the boys obeyed their walking instructions, Mark plotted their next move.
“In here,” the man said, keying into an office. “Have a seat.” He holstered the baton and placed the book on the desk before sitting behind it. Jerking a file folder from the drawer, he extracted a sheet and then began to write.
“Sir, we’re sorry. We know stealing is wrong,” Mark said, crumpling a fistful of his shorts.
“Yeah, please just let us go,” Hexx said. “We won’t ever do it again.”
The officer studied their faces. “This is serious. You see this stamp?”
The boys nodded in unison.
“It’s a rare reference book.” His hand picked up the rotary phone’s receiver.
Mark stood, hanging up the line with his two fingers. “Please, sir. Can you call my mom? She works here. And she’ll kick my ass all the way to China.” He swallowed. “You’ll never see us again, I swear.”
“Yeah, calling her is worse than any punishment. We’re toast,” Hexx said.
“Okay, if that’s the way you want it. We’ll start there. What’s the number?”
Mark rattled off some digits.
A faint smile crossed Hexx’s lips as he realized the last number was incorrect.
“Hello?” the officer said to whoever answered on the other end.
That was their chance. Hexx slid the book from the desk as the two boys bolted for the door.
“Hey, get back here!” the man cried out. His shoes slapped the walkway in pursuit.
But Mark and Hexx had already leapt through the shrubbery, cutting a straight line back to the parking lot.
The two-way communication over the security walkie-talkie died out as the boys jumped into the car. Muffled yelling came from the edge of the lot, and Mark hoped they’d driven away fast enough for the license plate to escape detection.
“Dude, we almost went to jail for real,” Hexx said, pounding the dashboard.
“That was the library police, moron.” Trying not to think about what was waiting for them back the house, Mark blew out some air. He tapped the stolen loot. “Crack open that damn book, will you?”
February 1862
The shaman’s lifeless body lay in the puddling snow, tainted with red. A portion of the yard completely thawed from the maelstrom of energy expended during the ritual.
The abandoned pipe stuck up from the dead grass.
An aftertaste of smoked blood clung to the inside of Jonathan’s mouth.
He stood ankle deep in sludge, checking his arms and legs for any change, since he’d started to sense a transformation. A stirring of his bodily fluids undulated beneath his skin, looking as if his whole body was coming to a boil. His hands enlarged to quadruple the size, and his nails lengthened to pointy tips. His spine elongated, the vertebrae cracking, sounding like a huge mollusk bursting from its shell. The rest of him expanded, ripping his clothing at the seams. Suddenl
y his feet split through his boots. Thick, dark hair sprouted along his flesh.
A black as night entity invaded Jonathan’s soul. His insides were seared with hatred, rage, and a defiance against anything remotely human. The wickedness permeated him, pushing his identifying characteristics out of its way. It took extreme concentration to remember something as simple as his name.
What had he agreed to?
Zyanya’s decayed and mangled form appeared, blackened and rotten hunks of tissue hanging from her skeleton. Her hair slipped from her skull and her face distorted, eyes coming loose from their sockets. Once her feet splashed into the pool of thawed snow, her body began to change. New living tissue grew over her bones. Muscles connected, pink and red fluids sucked backwards, rebuilding her like some primitive animation of the first woman. An epidermis formed automatically, covering the raw tissue. Her skin shimmered with dewy luminescence. A healthy flush painted her bronze face. Hair spilled in an ebony cascade over her shoulders. In the blink of an eye, she donned her beaded dress, the rainbow-colored fringe swinging with her stride, jingling like music.
Her gaze flamed a fiery red.
Within Jonathan, the invited guest that he now wished he hadn’t summoned, devoured his memories, thoughts, feelings, the aspects he deemed his core essence. Regret pinged his gut, but the intensifying primal need rising from the deepest core of his being took over—the need to howl as loudly as his lung capacity allowed.
The air vibrated with the declaration of his alpha status.
This sequence had flashed through Emma’s consciousness, jarring her from an already confused state. What kind of terrors had she glimpsed? Why had it been so authentic—like an intimate dip into Jonathan’s consciousness? That was farcical. They’d come together like planets orbiting into perfect alignment, but that had only been a metaphor compared to this.
She forced herself to stand, touching her throat and feeling a woozy lightness akin to having sipped too much champagne. How strange not to be able to sense the solid ground beneath her feet.
Summer 1988
A strong tobacco smell accosted the boys as they entered the house.
Fountain Dead Page 20
