“Dad?” she asked again, when Paul didn’t reply.
“It has to be somewhere, right?” he asked.
“I was on that job site, and the old nest was filled in, Paul.” Darrel rested his rifle on his shoulder again, but seconds later, it was in his grip, aiming toward the door they’d broken in at.
Taylor spun around to see two men entering the barn, guns drawn.
Eighteen
Tom Bartlett had seen a lot of things in his days as a cop, but this was a new one. He’d been expecting a troubled man with a rifle – maybe a hostage or two, judging by the old man’s comments – but this was something else. There were five of them: two men and three teens, maybe in their early twenties. It was hard to tell, with everyone soaked to the bone.
“Hands where I can see them!” Tom shouted, and four of them obeyed without question. The guy holding the rifle kept it pointed toward Tom and the deputy. “I said, hands up!”
Rich stepped in beside Tom, his gun aimed for the cluster of people inside the barn. “Izzy?” he asked.
“Rich, put those guns away,” one of the girls shouted.
Tom didn’t take his eye off the gunman with the rifle. “You know these people?”
“Darrel, put the gun down. It’s me, Rich Stringer.” Rich was walking toward them, and the deputy was lowering his gun. Tom didn’t lower his.
Finally, the rifle aimed away, the barrel pointed at the ground, and Tom’s tight shoulders loosened slightly. He was miserable. It had been a long hour or so hiking in the mud looking for this group of people.
“What the hell are you doing out here? Waving guns around Wood Street and sending us on a wild goose chase.” Tom was pissed, and his voice showed it. His gun remained pointed at the one Rich had called Darrel. The man looked Red Creek through and through. Scruffy stubble, baseball cap with a plaid jacket, worn jeans to finish off the ensemble.
“We’re not doing anything, Officer. If we promise to go home, can we just go?” the second man asked.
He was harder to place, wearing a black jacket, but even with the wet hair, Tom could tell the man wasn’t from the area. The two guys were maybe a few years older than Tom, but neither of them was out of shape.
“I think we better talk this through,” Tom said, approaching them. Now he finally let his gun lower to his side, but he was watching them all, especially this Darrel guy.
“Rich, what are you doing here?” one of the girls asked.
“Isabelle, it’s my job to keep this town safe. We got a call about a group of people roaming the streets with guns,” Rich said. Tom saw the markings on the ground at the same time as Rich, but the deputy responded first. “What is that? What’s going on here?”
Seeing this pentagram felt so out of place, it took Tom a moment to even recognize what the symbol was. It was an ancient icon, but with the red paint and the unlit candles in the points’ corners, he knew what this one was for, and he didn’t like it one bit. Not after all the talk from Rich about demons and supernatural creatures.
“It was here when we arrived,” the unnamed man blurted out.
“I want some names. I’m Detective Tom Bartlett from Gilden Police Department.” Tom waited for someone to take the lead.
“Darrel Watson. This is my daughter Isabelle,” the local said gruffly.
Tom’s gaze moved to the young man standing with his arm around a girl. “I’m Brent Collins, sir. I’m here for spring break.”
Tom thought that was an odd thing to say, but he bit his tongue. “And you, miss?”
The girl was maybe around twenty years old, and she stepped forward with her hand out as if they were meeting for a job interview. “Taylor. Taylor Alenn. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Tom’s eyes went wide. They’d just been talking about the Alenns. “Does that mean you’re Paul Alenn’s daughter?” The question hadn’t even ended before he clued in. The man beside her was her dad. “Never mind. My brain’s a little waterlogged.” He stepped forward and shook the girl’s extended hand. He shook Paul’s hand too, and the man’s grip was firmer than expected.
“That’s me. I take it the young deputy here has told you about my history, then?” Paul asked, and Tom nodded, finding himself liking the man after only a brief interaction. Their presence in Red Creek while all of this was going on was somewhat unsettling. The pentagram behind the group wasn’t helping.
“Rich told me a little about it. What brings you to Red Creek?” Tom asked, and he instantly noticed all the people glancing at one another, as if trying to answer a non-vocalized query.
Paul was the one to speak, and Tom could tell he was the leader of the pack. Darrel was likely the most dangerous, but they were looking to Paul for direction. That was a good piece of information. All Tom needed to do was get him talking, and the rest would follow. “Officer… sorry, Detective Bartlett, I came here because my daughter decided to visit Red Creek in secret. She was supposed to come home to the city, but lied to me, saying she had to stay at school for the week to work on a project.”
Tom shuffled from foot to foot as the numbness began to creep in from his rain-soaked pants. He was starting to see the picture here. The girl, Taylor, was the one from twelve years ago, when the Smiths were caught. How did it all tie together? “And you, what? Saw a missing girl and thought Conway Smith’s long-lost cousin came to finish what he started?” Tom asked this with a slight curl to his lip, as if he was attempting a joke.
Paul stole a glance to his daughter and slapped a hand to his face. “Son of a bitch! That’s it!”
Tom was confused, and said so. “What’s what? Mr. Alenn, you need to be more forthright with me if you want me to help with whatever this is.” He waved a hand around the barn and ended up pointing at the pentagram painted onto the hard dirt floor.
Taylor stepped out of her boyfriend’s grasp, toward her dad and Isabelle. “That’s what we’ve been forgetting about. The bond. Someone has to control it, help it, nurture it. Feed it.”
Tom shivered at her last two words. “Hold on there. What are you talking about? Help, nurture, and feed what?”
They all paused. Taylor looked at Rich before meeting Tom’s stare. “You’ve heard of it, right? I mean, you’re from Gilden, so you must have. It’s real. The monster is real, and it’s back.”
Tom wanted to laugh, to tell the girl that she was mistaken and that they’d caught the man responsible for the missing kids, but he couldn’t. Tom knew as well as Sheriff Tyler did that Carl wasn’t the guy. He might have been involved, but he wasn’t the ringleader. Otherwise, Tom wouldn’t be staking out the condo building when the man was in custody. He also wouldn’t be standing like a wet rat inside an old barn during a thunderstorm.
Rich was nodding, and Tom couldn’t find it in him to argue. “Tell me all about it,” he said.
He wasn’t prepared for what came next. Taylor and Paul went into a long tale, dating back as far as the early eighteen hundreds in Germany, ending at today. They claimed their ancestors had bargained with the creature when they’d stumbled upon its nest in northern Germany. It gave them something, though these two weren’t quite sure what that was. Protection, maybe, or long life, but they knew that was part of it.
Tom listened as Paul explained about his mom’s brother being killed by the monster, a family sacrifice in the fifties. He listened as the storyteller regaled Tom with his own sordid past with the Smiths, and Tom grinned as he heard the man recount Sheriff Cliff with so much admiration, it was seeping from the author.
Before him was a group of people that had been here for that night of legend in these parts. They were the epicenter of the Smiths’ eventual downfall, and Tom couldn’t believe it. They were tied to this orchard business, and he knew they had to work together. “I hate to bring you in on this, but maybe what Cliff did so long ago was the right move. I might need to deputize you two.” Tom pointed at the two men, and Darrel grimaced as if he found the idea unpalatable.
“We’re
not done,” Taylor said, sitting. “Let’s have a seat. We’re going to need to save our energy.”
The others started for the floor, some sitting with feet out front, others cross-legged. Tom was the last person standing in the barn, and he opted for knees up, wrapping his arms around them for balance as he leaned forward. “Tell me the rest. What do you think is happening now? I mean, if you guys torched the orchard, ruining its ‘nest,’ and Darrel says there was nothing left underground during construction, then why’s this going on again?”
"That’s a great question. I wasn’t sure at first. When Isabelle called me to tell me about Brittany going missing, I freaked out. I was so scared it was back, and that it was going to come for me. Then, when the initial shock wore off, I wanted to help.” Taylor was rocking side to side as she sat, refraining from eye contact with anyone. Tom could tell she had some issues, and he didn’t blame her. If he’d been through that at her young age, he’d be messed up too.
“How did you expect to help?” Tom asked.
“I don’t know,” Taylor said. “I assumed no one would think about the Schattenmann any longer. This town has a short memory, or at least they’re good at pushing mysterious things from their minds and pretending they didn’t happen. I knew that would be the case again, and that Brittany and any more children it preyed on deserved better than that.”
“Wait… what are you talking about?” Tom asked. “Schatanmon?”
“It’s German,” Taylor replied, as if this explained everything.
Rich looked away, as if embarrassed for the town, and of representing it. Tom sat somberly, considering all they’d told him. The story was ridiculous, but somehow real enough that he was almost buying in to it. Almost. One thing was clear. They believed it, and they were onto something. The Smiths’ connection. They were now thinking a Smith was back in town, doing what their family used to do: steal kids, kill them, eat them – hell, he didn’t know what exactly, but it was appalling.
“I’ve noticed that about this place,” Tom said, agreeing with her about the town’s ability to forget things. “It’s almost as if there’s a disturbance around Red Creek.”
Paul’s head snapped up, meeting his gaze with hard eyes. “We have to stop it.”
Tom nodded. “You were going to tell me your new hypothesis about what’s happening now, and why,” he urged.
Taylor’s lips were sealed, but after a barely noticeable nod from her dad, she spoke again. “I went to see Trevor Hayes.” She waited for Tom to respond as if the name would be familiar. It wasn’t.
“Who’s that?” Tom asked.
“He was a kid who lived in my dad’s childhood home. The one on Wood Street. It’s all boarded up, and only a block away from Brittany Tremblay’s house. I don’t think that’s a coincidence.” Taylor fidgeted with her hair, pulling it away from her face. Her boyfriend moved over to her side and held her hand. Tom noticed Paul glancing at the contact.
“You grew up in that house?” Tom asked. He’d just seen it, windows boarded up. It looked like hell.
“I did,” Paul answered. “I was helping my sister move my mom’s stuff out the last time I was here.”
“She was moving?” Tom asked.
Paul shook his head. “In a way, I guess. She had severe dementia and had already been admitted to Greenbriar. She was rarely lucid even in those days.”
Tom didn’t have to ask if she was alive. The man’s face said it all.
“What did this Trevor Hayes have to divulge?” Tom tried to get on topic. They were wasting valuable time here, but he needed any information he could get if he was going to solve this thing.
“He was scared. His room was full of lights all around the edges, so there weren’t any shadows,” Taylor said.
“So he was scared of the dark.” Tom could understand that fear, especially in a young kid.
“Not exactly,” Taylor answered. “He was scared of seeing shadows, one in particular. He was haunted by our friend for months. It watched him from the field, it watched him from the back yard. It stalked him as he rode his bike home from friends’ houses. He grew increasingly erratic, and one night, the shadow thing tried to grab him. To take him, but it couldn’t.”
“Why?” Tom was trying to get the full picture but wasn’t able to see it quite yet. There was something about the name that drew his attention. “Wait. You said Trevor Hayes, right? What was his mother’s name?”
“His mother? I don’t see how that’s relevant,” Paul said.
“Pamela, I think,” Isabelle answered for them. “Yes. It was Pamela Hayes.”
“Pamela Hayes.” Tom tapped his chin with a finger, trying to remember why the name was familiar. “The Gilden car dealership. Hot damn, another one!”
“What does the car dealership have to do with anything? Yeah, Trevor said his mom worked there. It was the only job she could get,” Taylor said.
“I’m not sure how or why, but all signs are pointing there.” Tom decided to walk them through his findings. The added brain power might help him. “The perp, Carl Peters, is a security guard there. Abigail Prescott’s parents own the dealership, and she lured Brittany out to the forest that night. She also has friends who dabble in the occult.” Tom nodded to the pentagram five feet beside them. “And now, Trevor Hayes is stalked by the thing, and his mother works there too. It can’t be a coincidence.”
Paul looked deep in thought. “I think it can be, Detective.”
“How so?” Rich asked, finally joining the conversation.
“Because there aren’t many jobs in this area. Have you seen the state of this town? It’s deplorable. It was crappy when I was a kid, and twelve years ago, it was even worse. Now these people are lucky to find work anywhere. You know as well as I do that Gilden doesn’t have much more to offer, other than the strip mall stores or hospitality. People would work for the dealership because it’s probably one of the only thriving businesses in the entire area,” Paul said.
Tom wasn’t sold. “What else, Taylor? You guys were thinking someone was back in town. Who?”
Taylor’s eyes widened. “I don’t know if this is of any use, but I remembered something. Trevor Hayes said an old lady was on the sidewalk watching as the shadow attacked him on his doorstep. If it wasn’t for the pizza delivery boy showing up, Trevor thought he was a goner. If the shadow was too weak, someone had to help it feed. Oh my God, Dad,” Taylor said, looking at Paul.
Paul leaned toward his daughter. “What is it, Taylor?”
“That’s it. The bond the Schmidts made with the creature never ended. Someone came to Red Creek after Katherine Smith killed herself in prison. There’s no doubt in my mind. It’s back. And it’s hungry.”
Taylor’s words sent shivers up Tom’s spine. “Wait, did you say an old lady?” he asked too loudly.
“Yes. That’s what Trevor told me,” Taylor answered.
Tom thought about the witness’s description from the night Brittany had gone missing. Stewart had told him there was a woman walking in the fields, wearing a white jacket. When the lightning flashed, he’d seen a dark shape. Maybe there was something to the insane story. Tom didn’t believe for a second that a shadow was doing it, but he was sure they were onto something about the Smiths. It was either family or a copycat, and he intended to catch them before the night was through.
“What is it? What about the old lady?” Paul asked.
Tom started to get up, his knees popping and cracking as he did so. “We have to go.”
“Where?” Paul asked. “The orchard?”
“No. To Gilden. We search this dealership before anything. My gut’s telling me it’s involved.” Tom could see they didn’t agree, but they were willing to play along.
Rich’s radio beeped, and the deputy answered it. “Rich here.”
“Where the hell have you been?” It was the sheriff, and he sounded pissed.
“We were tracking the weapons call. What is it?” Rich asked.
Tom
was standing right beside Rich, invading his personal space, anxious to hear news from the sheriff. The deputy noticed and stepped a foot away, turning slightly away from him.
“We got a call. Another kid’s been taken. A bike was left in the middle of the street.” He gave an address, and Darrel Watson perked up.
“That’s right beside my house!” he shouted, and Tom didn’t think it was a coincidence.
He wasn’t sure what they were dealing with, but the five strangers in the barn with him were connected like the roots of a tree in the ground.
They started for the door, and Paul’s cell phone went off as soon as they left the safety of the barn.
“Honey, what is it? Sorry, I didn’t notice there was no service.”
Tom listened nervously.
“Is Stevie okay?” he asked, his voice a yell against the wind and thunder. “Thank God. Stay put. We’re with the local enforcement now. Yes, we told them everything.”
They had a lot of ground to make up, and Tom tapped his foot impatiently as they stood there in the rain. Brent had his arm around Taylor, and Darrel was holding his rifle in his hands, like a shadow might jump them from behind a tree.
Tom Bartlett hadn’t expected his day to go like this.
Nineteen
Emma dragged the girl now, and when she opened the doorway to the cavern, she was hit with a terrible scent. It smelled like mold mixed with decaying bodies, and her gorge threatened to rise, spewing out the meager food she’d eaten earlier in the day. Her head was already pounding, the creature’s ceaseless demands constantly pressing against her internal awareness.
It was dark within the space, but she knew it well enough to avoid tripping on anything. She stood with the limp girl in her grasp and waited while her eyesight acclimated to the darkness. It was inside with her. She could feel it, even if she couldn’t see it. Emma took a deep breath, against her better judgment, and picked up the fleshy scent of the real Provider.
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