Return to Red Creek

by Nathan Hystad

  The smell of rotting apples. It filled his nose, and he was drowning in it.

  “Paul, what the hell is wrong with you?” Darrel asked, shaking Paul by the shoulders. Paul blinked his eyes wide and saw his worried brother-in-law staring at him nervously.

  “Nothing,” Paul lied. He could get through this. There were too many memories and emotions tied up to this orchard, and his mind was just reliving the trauma. He needed to focus.

  “You’re bleeding,” Darrel said, and pulled a handkerchief from his pants pocket. Paul momentarily wondered if it was used before dabbing blood away from his dripping nose. Another nosebleed. After the last time he’d been in Red Creek, Terri had demanded he have an MRI. Nothing was out of the ordinary. There was no reason for the nosebleeds, and the doctor suggested it was the crisp fall air.

  Now, with dampness and humidity thick in the air, Paul knew it was something else, related to this property. He glanced towards his feet and saw only one had crossed over the gate’s boundary. He had the urge to step back onto the gravel road and to get into the truck to wait for Tyler.

  Darrel still looked worried, but he turned and started walking alongside the low wooden fence separating the land from the forest beside it. Up ahead, Paul saw a farmer’s field, the land that now belonged to the Karlssons, according to Detective Bartlett. Their son Fredrik had been taken, and Bartlett had followed the trail to this very land.

  Paul’s stomach growled as he followed Darrel along the fence line. His sister’s husband was walking cautiously, his rifle resting over his left forearm. They walked in silence for the first half mile, until they caught up to the farmer’s field, and Paul pointed to the Karlssons’ house, which was a tiny dot with all the lights on.

  “Was that even there before?” Paul asked.

  “I think so. I don’t think the entire field was this open back then. Actually, the fire probably destroyed part of the forest. Plus, with the tall fence and the orchard being full of mature apple trees, it would have been harder to see the farmhouse.” Darrel made good points.

  It was strange being there without the apple trees. The land felt dead, barren, and cold. At least the initial sensation Paul had been bombarded with had drifted away, leaving him feeling like himself for the most part.

  He hoped Taylor was safely in Gilden, and that she wouldn’t return until it was all over. Paul thought he could sense the entity nearby, but he wasn’t sure. He wanted Tyler to hurry the hell up and arrive so they could bash Emma’s door down and get some answers. He gripped his gun tightly and knew there was no way she was keeping secrets from them. He’d make sure of it.

  Paul shook the deadly thoughts from his mind. Who was this man taking over? But he knew at once. It was a father, a man who’d do anything to protect his family. Anything.

  They proceeded along the perimeter until they were across the property, on the north edge. There was no fence here now, just trees from the bordering forest. A few saplings had spread into the orchard, and Paul noticed some youngling spruce and birch trees poking up, thriving in the fertile land.

  Darrel stopped ahead and pointed to the right. “That’s where the barn used to be.” He cut in now, moving for the region where the barn had once stood for over eighty years. “We filled it in after they salvaged what little evidence was left. They were pissed you guys burned it to the ground. Well, Jason was blamed, but you know that.” Darrel stopped at the dirt patch, slight amounts of grass tufts sticking out from the ground. It was as if even nature didn’t want anything to do with what had gone on underground here.

  Paul stepped through where the barn’s exterior wall would have been and prepared for an onslaught on his senses, but there was no change. He was glad. Maybe his initial reaction to the orchard was nothing but repressed memories and post-traumatic stress.

  “This would be where the trap door was, right?” Paul asked as he took lengthy steps, stopping near the far end of the dirt patch.

  “I’d say you’re right on there. I can’t believe I shot Jason by accident. I remember seeing that shadow thing, screaming and firing. God, I’m surprised Jason even talked to me after that,” Darrel said.

  It was raining lightly, and a chill coursed through Paul as the breeze picked up. “Jason Benning was a good man. He stuck with us through it all and knew exactly what he was doing at the end. He wanted to take the bastard down for killing his kid. Isaac was the one thing in the world that loved him with no reservations. The shadow took that from him. The Smiths took it from him.” Regret filled Paul as he thought about his old friend. Maybe things would have been different if Paul had stayed in touch with the old gang after moving out at eighteen.

  “The past doesn’t exist, neither does tomorrow. Only the now is here,” he whispered to himself, repeating the mantra from one of his old self-help books.

  “What’s that?” Darrel said.

  “Nothing. Let’s keep moving.” Paul zipped his jacket up tighter, and they proceeded towards the condo building. He could see the right edge of the parking lot in the distance, and one of the building’s lower-level units’ porch lights were on. Paul thought he saw a dark form pass in front of the exterior light, but couldn’t be sure. “Darrel, we need to be careful. We ran into this head-first last time because we weren’t any wiser. Now we know what we’re up against. It’s going to be dangerous.”

  Darrel laughed nervously. “You think we know what we’re up against? We still don’t know shit. But we do know that fire doesn’t work, and that it’s connected to your family, so we sever the tie. This Emma woman has to be related, right?”

  “The name isn’t familiar. Probably a pseudonym. Where did they say she was from? Florida?” Paul had a faint recognition of a conversation from a long time ago. “I swear Katherine Smith told me her mom left a long time ago. That she and her father lived in Florida. It’s got to be her.” The realization struck him like a punch to the gut. The woman would be a cousin to his mother, or something along those lines. They were definitely related. Why had she returned?

  “You think killing her will be enough?” Darrel asked, and Paul grabbed the man by the arm, tugging him so they were face-to-face.

  “Darrel, we can’t go around killing people!” Paul shouted this and his voice rang out, carrying through the orchard.

  “What do you think we’re doing here? We have guns… we’re not here for a parade, are we?” Darrel asked, and pulled his cap lower on his forehead. He did that when he was angry, and Paul could read the signs a mile away.

  “These are just in case,” Paul said, but even he didn’t believe his own words.

  “Yeah. In case we see Emma Jeanne, or whoever she really is. If she’s helping this monster, she deserves to die, Paul. And from what we’re hearing, she’s been the one nabbing the kids. With her own two hands. Do you think she deserves any other fate?” Darrel asked, his voice low against the wind.

  Paul shook his head, because he did believe she should die. But Paul also wanted to make sure this curse, this horrifying monster, was killed in the process. They couldn’t kill Emma until they knew everything about it. “We have to make sure this Schattenmann is finished after tonight. We don’t kill her until we know. Deal?” Paul switched his grip on the gun to his left hand and stuck his right out.

  Darrel spat on the ground and shook it. “Fine. We’ll do it your way, but if that doesn’t work, we do it mine.”

  Paul could live with that. As long as Taylor, Terri, and Stevie weren’t nearby, he was going to be as content as possible.

  They kept walking, and Paul paused as they neared the location of the derelict house that had once stood a half mile away from the main manor. That was where Cliff had found him in the basement when he was a kid. The same thing had been done here. It was torn down, which wouldn’t have been hard after the last time Paul had been here. A stiff breeze could have knocked the walls over.

  Paul noticed the grass and other vegetation had stayed clear of the house’s footprint as well, a
nd it sent a shiver through his body. This was evil. It was soaked into the earth beneath the orchard, and Paul wasn’t sure it would ever be exorcised, even if the entity was destroyed. It was likely tainted forever.

  A pair of headlights lit up the parking lot, and Paul saw the sheriff’s car’s red and blues flash once before shutting off, as if signaling to them across the open grounds.

  “We’d better go. I don’t see anything out here, do you?” Darrel asked, and Paul shook his head. There could be a hole somewhere, but having the nest access out in the open seemed to go against what the Smiths had done before. Paul eyeballed the condo building and knew that if a nest was anywhere, it was underneath the complex.

  _______________

  “Did you hear what Tyler said? We need to go now,” Taylor said, watching as the detective strode toward the drunks outside the bar.

  Brent was jumping out of the backseat, and he was gone before Taylor could tell him to stop. “Looks like your boyfriend’s trying to get himself killed,” Isabelle said.

  Taylor didn’t respond to her cousin’s comment. Instead, she got out of the car and followed Brent, running to catch up to him. “What are you doing?” she asked him.

  He glanced back with dark eyes. “Helping Tom.”

  Taylor grabbed at his arm, but he jerked it free. “Stay with us,” Taylor said, worried he’d get hurt by the goons smoking near the door. It was too late; they were already at the bar entrance, and Detective Bartlett had stopped a few feet short of the men. There were only two of them now; the rest had scurried away like cockroaches after a light was turned on.

  Bartlett impressed Taylor with his calm demeanor. She liked the guy, even though he didn’t seem to believe their stories of the monster in Red Creek. She actually appreciated him more because he didn’t instantly give in to their wild tales. If he had, she would have questioned his position even more. Taylor felt he’d know the truth soon enough, if they managed to get the tire fixed and make it to the orchard.

  She wanted to call her dad and see what was happening, but she was drawn to the impending altercation playing out before her eyes.

  “Something funny, gentlemen?” the detective asked them.

  Taylor took a good look at the drunk men and wished they’d stayed in the car. One of them was well over six feet and had to weigh two hundred and fifty pounds. His fashion was terrible: gray sweat pants and a green plaid shirt under an orange vest. His hair spiked up in random directions. The other one gave off the appearance of someone a little more normal, but the way he was swaying side to side, she knew he was three sheets to the wind. He was around forty, but didn’t want to accept it: tight jeans and a button-down long-sleeve shirt that was one exhale away from letting out his beer gut.

  They were snickering back and forth when Bartlett asked them again, “I said, is something funny?”

  “You popped a tire,” the big one said, and his friend laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world.

  Bartlett stepped a foot closer and Taylor had to listen closely to catch his words. “You wouldn’t know how that happened, would you?” He flashed a badge at them.

  The smaller of the two spoke now for the first time. “There was broken glass. You drove over it, and the tire was punctured.”

  “Punctured. That’s a larger word than I expected you to use. How perplexing,” Tom goaded them.

  “What the hell did you just say?” The big man stepped forward until he and the detective were a yard apart.

  “I wouldn’t want to hurt your tiny brain explaining. I have somewhere to be, but when I get back, I want all this glass cleaned up,” Bartlett said, not giving an inch to the imposing drunk man. Taylor was awestruck by his composure.

  The guy’s buddy grabbed his arm, pulling him away, and said, “No problem, Officer. We’ll get right on it.” He snickered and they left, entering the bar, loud country music carrying out the door.

  “Come on, Brent. You look like a capable young man. Give me a hand with this tire.” Tom Bartlett was already walking to the car, where he popped the trunk and pulled out the spare, passing Brent the tire iron. Minutes later, they were set, and Taylor gave a last look toward the bar as the detective started the engine up.

  “Are you really coming back to see if those idiots cleaned up the glass?” Taylor asked as they pulled out of the parking lot, shooting gravel behind them.

  “Nope.”

  Taylor was glad the detour was done with. She wanted to get to her dad, and quickly.

  Twenty

  Tyler pulled behind Emma Jeanne’s car, boxing it in, and Rich emerged from the passenger seat. The big man nodded at Paul, and they shook hands like old coworkers rather than friends. The situation was too tense for a hug or anything but a businesslike approach.

  “What’s the plan?” Paul asked Tyler, letting him take the lead.

  “We go upstairs and detain her. Darrel, you stay here with Rich and cover the exits. Paul, you come with me. This could go south quickly, so we have to move fast. If she knows we’re here, we don’t know what she’ll do. Then we question her and find the kids. Or what’s left of them.”

  “What about…” Rich started, and Tyler dismissed the question with a wave of his hand.

  “We deal with that when we have to. Everyone good?” Tyler asked, and the three men nodded. Paul was glad to be going with the sheriff. He wanted to see the look on Katherine Smith’s mother’s face when she learned she’d finally been had.

  Darrel started away, to head to the front of the building, and Rich stayed firm at the main entrance that was off the parking lot. Paul stopped his brother-in-law. “Be careful. I don’t want to bring Beth any bad news tonight.”

  Darrel nodded. “You too, buddy. Go get her, and let’s find out where this bastard is buried.” Darrel turned and walked away, leaving Paul standing alone under a streetlight. Shadows cast out from his position, and he thought he saw an arm raised, black mist pouring from it, but when he looked straight on, it was only his own shadow stretched out on the ground.

  Paul jogged to the entrance where Tyler was waiting, and they entered the building’s foyer. Paul didn’t know how the sheriff had the keys, but he did, and Paul didn’t press him on it.

  “Up a flight,” Tyler said, holding the door with a stairs sign on it open for Paul, who ran the steps two at a time. He returned the favor, holding the next door open and letting the sheriff go first. He was trained for these kinds of situations, whereas Paul was not. Paul was an author, and the one thing he was good at was writing scary stories or running in Central Park. He hoped neither of those skills was going to be called on tonight.

  They walked quietly down the hall, and the sheriff stopped at the center suite. He didn’t wait. He banged on the door with a meaty paw and shouted, “Open up, Emma Jeanne. It’s the sheriff.”

  There was no answer from within, and Paul had a bad feeling. “Maybe she’s not here,” he suggested.

  “Her car’s here. She was spotted using it two hours ago to nab that girl. She’s here.” Tyler banged on the door again, and a bleary-eyed neighbor stepped into the hall. His hair was flat and greasy; a smoke hung from his gray lips.

  “Have you seen Emma?” Paul asked the man.

  “Nope. Not since earlier. She was real shaken up about Carl. Did she have to testify or something?” the man asked, and Tyler shook his head.

  “Sir, when exactly did you see her last?” the sheriff asked. Paul’s heart rate was picking up as if it knew something he didn’t, a fight or flight response in the making.

  “Haven’t seen her in a few hours, but I heard her all right. She’s usually so quiet, but she was banging around inside her place maybe two or three hours ago. Sounded frustrated. I even knocked on the door to check on her, but she didn’t answer,” the man said, and Paul was sorry for judging the man by his appearance. He was just another of Red Creek’s sad people, and he was concerned for a neighbor like any good person.

  “Is that so? Thank you
for your help, sir.” Tyler banged on the door one last time and gave Paul a look. It was like the ones he’d used in high school when he was about to do something stupid. Tyler didn’t have many things he wouldn’t do, and he’d loved to be the center of attention, especially back then. He lifted his leg up and kicked forward, shattering the door frame around the lock and sending the slab swinging into the unit. It bounced away, unable to latch, and Tyler stepped in.

  Paul had his gun firmly in his grip now, and he walked into the apartment behind the larger sheriff. Tyler was calling for Emma to come out, but there was no answer.

  “Stay here, Paul. I’ll sweep the place. She comes out, stop her.” Tyler made it sound so easy. She was a seventy-year-old woman, but if she was bonded to the Schattenmann, who knew what kind of advantage she might have?

  Paul stood nervously by while Tyler entered the bedroom, then the bathroom. He checked the closets and returned empty-handed. “She’s not here.”

  “Damn it,” Paul said.

  They entered the hall, where the neighbor was still standing, a fresh smoke lit in his mouth. “Is there anywhere else she could be in this building?” Paul asked the man, who was leaning against the wall as if gravity was too much for his frail body to bear.

  The man thought for a moment, squinting his eyes so hard, Paul thought he might pull something, then he nodded. Slowly at first, then with a finality Paul felt in his gut. “The storage unit. She’s always going into it. God knows what she does in there, but she does have a lot of stuff. I told her to sell her crap, help make ends meet.”

  Paul met Tyler’s gaze, and they grinned. They might have found the nest, and they both knew it.

  _______________

  Tom raced down the highway. God, how had he been so stupid? The woman, Emma. It all seemed so obvious, but there was a saying about hindsight, one he couldn’t recall at that moment. His wife used to always say it, and as a result, he’d pushed it from his memory. The only things he wanted to remember about her were the good times. She didn’t take up much space in his brain’s file cabinet.