As her eyes passed over the house a second time, her gaze caught the back door of the Carson house, and she could now see that the glass door dividing the porch from the kitchen was wide open, leaving only a closed beige curtain as the barrier.
Allie’s heart raced in a frantic patter, and this time she pulled her pistol and stepped toward the house, climbing the porch in three quick bursting steps. At the top, she closed her eyes and took a prayerful breath, and then she pushed aside the curtain.
Immediately, she saw the body of Luke Carson. His corpse was seated at the breakfast table, his mouth agape in a scream, his crisped head matching that of his father’s outside. He was unrecognizable; the only way Allie could distinguish Luke from his brother was by the metal nameplate on his chest.
Randy was in the kitchen as well, on his knees, his torso resting up against one of the kitchen cabinets, his right cheek pressed against the side paneling, just as black and destroyed as his brother’s.
“No!” Allie cried. “No, God!” Tears were streaming from her eyes now. “What in God’s name is happening?”
But Allie didn’t have time to figure it out; a scream exploded from somewhere in the distance, piercing the stale, rotted air of the kitchen. Allie turned and pulled the curtain wide and then ducked back out to the back porch, peering down the row of yards in the direction of the scream. She knew instantly, based on the pitch of the wail, the scream had come from the Suarez place.
Allie sprinted to the fence that divided the Carson yard from the one next door—a home that was currently vacant, having been abandoned by the Green family several months ago after going into foreclosure—and she climbed the low, chain-link fence and hopped down into the abandoned yard. She then jogged quickly to the opposite side where the fence bordered the Suarez yard and stood still beside the barrier, her chest just above the rail of the fence as she tilted her head toward the house, listening. She could hear crying now, the sound of twelve-year-old Maria Suarez, no doubt, and Allie quickly climbed the fence and dropped down onto the damp ground of the Suarez yard.
Allie stood watching the back of the house, instinctively sensing the magnitude of the danger inside, knowing that to give the scene a moment to develop was the proper action. She could still hear Maria, but the screams had turned to whimpers now, pleas, and as Allie began to move slowly toward the home, Maria finally appeared through the rear door that led from the kitchen, stepping backward out of her house and onto the patio.
As the girl backed her way outside, Allie studied her movements; Maria’s stare was locked on the interior of her home, and though Allie couldn’t see the girl’s eyes, she knew they were wide and terrified.
Allie moved another step closer, squinting to see into the Suarez house, but with the glare of the morning and her distance from the house, she couldn’t see a thing.
“Maria!” Allie called, low and stifling. “Maria, what’s going on?”
Maria’s head tilted slightly toward Allie’s voice, signaling that she had heard the call but couldn’t bring herself to turn in full, so enraptured was she by whatever was lurking inside her home.
Allie moved toward the patio now, slowly at first but then with purpose, feeling an increased sense of urgency with each step.
And then she stopped, frozen in stride by the sight in the doorway, hypnotized by the thing that had seized the mind and attention of Maria Suarez as well.
Emerging from the open back portal, thin black shafts twisted forward from the space like branches from a tree, six of them in all that Allie could see, each crooked and long, coming through the entrance in the form of floating snakes, chest-high through the doorway, slowly searching the air like frozen black serpents tracking their prey.
Allie attempted to move her legs, but they felt heavy now, as if sandbags had been strapped to her thighs. Instead, she brought her full attention to the shapes, her jaw hanging wide as she absorbed the sight, her mouth as dry as hardened clay. She had stopped breathing entirely now, and though Allie wanted desperately to run toward Maria and protect her, she was simply incapable of moving.
Seconds later, a larger form appeared, the form to which the black snakes were attached. It was as horrific and shocking a sight as Allie could have imagined, and yet it was a form that was recognizable, reconcilable with the forms of the snakes.
The creature displayed the general shape of a human, with definition at the neck and head, as well as at the shoulders and arms and throughout its torso. It was taller than the frame of the door—taller than most men Allie had ever seen—yet it was thin enough that another of the beasts could have stood beside it in the doorway. And Allie saw now that the thin snakes which had first appeared were, in fact, extensions of the creature’s arms. They were finger-like in shape, though there was nothing that could be called a hand to which they were attached; they were simply three long stems sprouting from the forearm of the creature like talons.
But there was some quality in the thing that made it not quite alive, and it was a feature Allie couldn’t get her mind to process. The figure seemed to be drifting in and out form, as if it were made of a thick black smoke, or perhaps a heavy ink that couldn’t quite hold its shape, blurring all semblance of definition beyond just the nature and color of the creature.
But as Allie’s mind was searching for answers to the thing’s form, her mind suddenly shifted, as if some frequency in her brain had been changed. In an instant, she was a small girl again on her family’s farm in South Dakota. Then in college—during her first and only semester—sleeping through the alarm, hungover from the night before.
And then on the boat in Mexico.
“No!” she shouted, and the outburst quickly shifted her attention back to the porch and Maria, just at the moment the figure’s outstretched hands reached forward for the girl. The appendages were so black against the bright morning as to be impossible in color, not reflecting a single drop of the sun’s rays, and as it stretched toward Maria with a crooked grip of death, with this imminent threat on the young girl’s life, Allie came fully back to life.
She clipped open her holster and pulled the Smith & Wesson with agility, purpose, and before she could utter a word of warning to either Maria or the creature, she fired off four rounds into various parts of the beast’s shape.
No sound came from the monster, but its reaction was one that indicated distress, pain, and the creature immediately dropped its long arms to its body, the thin branches bleeding into the rest of the form, configuring it into something less than human now. No blood appeared, nothing that would indicate injury or trauma, but there was no question the shots had affected it in some way.
“Maria, run!” Allie called.
Maria didn’t react at first, instead continuing to stare at the creature like a rodent frozen by the sway of a cobra; but then, after a pause of five seconds or so, she turned to Allie, her eyes desperate, unsure.
Allie lowered her voice now, trying to sound calm, her eyes staying fixed on the black form that was now lingering in place, standing straight and still, the smoky outline of the creature continuing to blur in and out of focus.
“Listen to me, Maria. My car is parked on the street next door, in front of Luke and Randy’s house. Get to it; get inside and wait for me.”
Maria stared at Allie as if the officer were speaking gibberish, slowly shaking her head in uncertainty.
“Maria!”
Maria blinked to awareness.
“Go! Now!”
Maria nodded and broke into the sprint of a greyhound, off the patio and around to the front of the house.
Allie was now alone with the murky monster, her breaths like those of a winded bison; she was approaching the point of hyperventilation. Her eyes were static on the form, waiting for it to act before making a countermove. “What the fuck are you?” she asked rhetorically.
The beast appeared to lift its chin and turn slightly, and now appeared to be facing Allie; but she could only see the blur of
a form, a countenance of spent charcoal.
Then something in the creature began to change, and the shady mug of black at the top of its body began to show something that resembled definition. At first, Allie didn’t know if it was simply her eyes adjusting to the figure, or if it was the figure morphing into something recognizable, but the blank blackness at the bottom of its face became a large empty mouth, gaping wide and hungry, and above it appeared tiny circles of yellow, five or more, which Allie could only assume were eyes.
“Jesus,” Allie whispered. “What in the creation of Our Father...?”
The creature, which had dropped its arms after Allie’s shots, lifted them once again, this time with bent elbows, the snaky fingers pointing toward Allie like a wizard casting a spell.
Allie immediately saw the boat in her mind again, bobbing on the calm waters of the Baja peninsula like a duck on a pond, Cassidy Mayes lying naked on one of the deck chairs, save for her bikini bottom and a pair of Wayfarers, her blonde hair draping perfectly across the back of the chaise like honey over wheat toast.
Allie was terrified by the vividness of the memory, and the timing of its resurgence, but she shook it off again and raised the nine once more and fired off three more rounds, each as pure as the first four.
The creature still produced no sound of pain or surprise, but this time it dropped to the ground in a heap, as if it had suddenly been turned to a pile of sand, leaving a wispy residue that lingered in the air for several seconds before dissipating.
But the creature wasn’t gone, nor was it dead, and Allie let out a shriek as the thing scampered away, low and shuffling, like a scattering insect, off the patio and toward the Suarez’s neighbor’s house to the left, away from the Carson residence.
She watched the creature disappear behind the side of the house and waited, and when she was confident it was gone for good, she stood in the middle of the Suarez yard for several beats, her hand covering her mouth in a pose of astonishment, her mind fighting to make sense of what had just occurred.
Allie dropped her hand now and it brushed against the two-way radio on her hip. She responded to the tactile trigger and brought the radio to her mouth.
“Sheriff?” Allie’s voice came out cracked and dry. She cleared her throat and spoke again. “Sheriff, it’s Allie. You there?”
“I’m here. Why aren’t you,” Ramon replied.
“I’m...I’m on my way now. Luke and Randy are dead. So is their father. I saw it. I saw the thing that killed them. Over.”
There was a pause of several seconds, and Allie knew Ramon was digesting the news of his deputies’ deaths. She could almost see the expression of grief on his face. Finally, the radio clattered to life. “What you saw, did it look like something straight from the depths of Hell?”
Allie hadn’t considered that, but it was exactly right. “I think you nailed it, Sheriff. What...what could it...” She couldn’t manage the question, and she knew Ramon had no answers anyway. “I’m on my way now, Sheriff. I’ll have Maria Suarez with me. Not sure about her parents, but I’m assuming they’re dead too.” She waited, measuring whether or not to add the rest of what she was thinking. She decided to go with it. “And by the end of the day, maybe everyone in Garmella will be too.”
There was another long pause on Sheriff Thomas’ end, and Allie quickly regretted the add-on statement.
“Sheriff?”
“Listen, Allie, I don’t know what’s happening, but let’s not give up before we’ve even started.”
Allie nodded to herself. “Yes, sir.”
“Change of plans also. Meet me back at the station. With what you’ve told me about Luke and Randy, I need to see about Gloria. And I...I’d rather try to figure this out from somewhere safe.”
“Roger that.”
“And let Maria know I’ve got Josh Carter with me, so at least she’ll have some company.”
“I’ll do that.” Maria hesitated and then said, “And Sheriff, not sure if you know this or not, but that thing, I think it can be hurt. I shot it. Several times. I didn’t kill it, but it definitely is no fan of bullets.”
“That’s good to know, Allie. Thought I might’ve hit it too. Definitely scared it. I’ll see you at the station in ten. And Allie?”
“Yeah, Sheriff?”
“No more stops.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Six months before the rain
“DO YOU BELIEVE IN PERDITION, Mr. Bell?”
Winston let the question linger in the air for a moment as he studied the elderly woman’s face, searching for some faint, playful smile to appear which would signal a lack of earnestness in her question. But the woman gave only a polite smile in return, an expression consistent with the one she’d displayed thus far during the conversation.
Winston glanced to the clock on the wall, which, amazingly, indicated the visitors had been in his study for almost a half hour now, a span of time which seemed impossibly long to him. It felt like it had been only a minute or two since he’d watched them step from the truck, their eyes scanning his property with great care as they walked towards his door.
He couldn’t say for sure why he had let the group in; they had said very little from their positions on his front stoop, making only the most basic of introductions before asking if they might enter and speak with him for a moment. He’d agreed—they had arrived in one of the Grieg’s audit trucks, after all, which gave them a certain authority—but the look of them was off, out of place in the environment in which they’d almost magically appeared.
Yet, despite Winston’s intellectual suspicions, he had felt a certain paralysis come over him in that moment, a hypnosis even, some latent fear that told him he had no real choice in the matter but to allow them entry. And once inside, he had led them robotically through the foyer of his large estate, past the parlor room where he had received uninvited guests years ago, during a time of his life when such events still occurred on occasion. Without once looking back, Winston had continued through the main living area and past the kitchen until he reached his study, a room he had used quite a bit until four or five years ago when he had finally retired for good. That was where they met now.
“Perdition?” Winston repeated. “To mean Hell? As in, the place where evil people go when they die?” Winston recited the definition using a certain spooky lilt to his voice, wiggling his outstretched fingers as he did.
The woman shrugged and nodded, as if that wasn’t quite her definition but would suffice for the time being.
Winston wrinkled his brow, his smile fading slightly, realizing the question had been asked sincerely. “I...I don’t know. I’ve never been much of a religious man, but I suppose I’d like to think people are punished for their cruelty at some point. Somewhere. What is this about anyway?”
“The question is not one of gradation or desire; it is one of belief. Do you believe in Perdition? Hell, as you say?”
Winston paused, searching his true feelings on the subject. “I guess I’m agnostic on the subject then. Of both Heaven and Hell.”
“Then you don’t believe.”
Winston shrugged, slightly annoyed at the re-phrasing of his position. “I’m agnostic, as I said. I’ve no proof, no reason to believe in it. Again, what are these questions ab—"
“Agnosticism is non-belief, Mr. Bell. There is no difference.”
Winston was growing more annoyed by the second, but he decided to play along. “Is that so? And what does that mean exactly?”
“It means that if you need proof of something’s existence to believe in it, then you don’t. That is the basis of faith. I’m sure if I asked if you believed in the Loch Ness Monster or Bigfoot, you would tell me you do not. Is that right?”
Winston snickered and nodded, adding a mocking of-course-I-don’t smile.
“Yet if either suddenly appeared on the Six O’clock News, with videos and witnesses and commentary by leading scientists about the authenticity of the creatures, you would rethink
this non-belief. And after a while, when everything was confirmed, you would believe in full.”
Winston shrugged. “I suppose that’s right.” There was a lull. “Okay then, no. Based on that definition, I suppose my answer is no, I don’t believe in Hell.”
The woman nodded and looked to the two other people with whom she’d arrived before settling back on Winston.
“And yet it exists.”
This time it was one of the two men who spoke, the elder male who looked to be even older than the woman. He wore the same complexion as she, dark and weathered, and it was obvious there was Native American blood in them, though it had certainly been diluted over the years.
“Or at least a place like it,” he continued, “the place from which the myth of Hell was born.”
The woman turned to her associate as he spoke, and Winston detected a hint of annoyance at his interjection, perhaps irked that he had stolen her reveal.
“Though perhaps not in the way you’ve come to think of it,” he continued, “a place where only ‘evil people go’, I believe you said.”
Winston stared at the older pair of the trio for several beats, studying their motives, trying to understand why Grieg auditors were currently in his study asking about his beliefs in the afterlife. “What is this about? Why are you telling me any of this?”
The man ignored the question. “But there is a place beneath this world, a place where the bodies and souls of men are taken, its passageway accessible here on Earth. It is a place known to man since the birth of civilization, mentioned on the oldest of the Sumerians’ cuneiform tablets and likely known about well before the earliest times of recorded history.”
Winston let the words linger in the room as he stared into the old man’s face, hoping now to locate the significance of this lecture somewhere in his eyes, while also searching his own mind for what he may have been missing by this inquiry. Had they not arrived in an audit truck, he would have assumed them to be Jehovah’s Witnesses or Mormons, or some other door-knocking converters of the Christian faith.
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