Return to Red Creek

by Nathan Hystad

  “Dad’s not answering his phone!” Taylor said.

  Tom grabbed his radio and reached out to Rich and Tyler. “Come in, Red Creek. This is Bartlett.”

  No response.

  “Come in, Red Creek. What’s the situation? We’re en route to the orchard. What’s the status?” Tom was about to try again when Rich’s youthful voice carried through.

  “Tom, we’re holding down the fort while the sheriff and Alenn nab Emma.” Rich sounded happy about it all.

  Tom checked their location and was relieved to see they were within miles of the condo. “We’ll be there in three minutes. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Over,” Tom said, and smiled at the Alenn girl in the passenger seat. She was obviously nervous, worried for her father. Tom didn’t blame her. All the shit that orchard had put her family through, it was no wonder they believed in monsters. He probably would too.

  As soon as they hit the gravel road that led directly to the orchard, Tom pressed the pedal down firmly, speeding up. Taylor gripped the handhold above her seat, and stared straight forward.

  _______________

  It all happened so fast, Paul didn’t have time to comprehend what was going on. He and Tyler were on the main level, about to head underground to the storage facility below the building, when the door pressed open, hitting Tyler in the hip with the handle. His gun went flying, and an older woman, who could only be Emma, ran from the building with a speed belying her age.

  Paul didn’t hesitate. His legs pumped forward, his hands pressed the glass door’s push bar, and he ran after her. She was moving quickly, faster than humanly possible, and Paul knew this was a race he couldn’t win. Still, he had to try.

  Rich was running after him now, but he was falling behind, even though he was twenty-something years Paul’s junior. Paul wanted to shout at Emma, to tell her to stop, but he knew she wouldn’t. For all he knew, she was running from something worse than the police.

  She was starting to slow, and Paul thought he might catch up as he passed through the gates and onto the gravel road that led out of the orchard and towards town. Headlights shone from a half mile away, and a distant part of Paul’s mind wondered if that was Taylor and the detective.

  Emma was shoulder-checking every few minutes, seeing how close he was, and Paul knew he almost had her. He kicked it into high gear as the car ahead cranked the wheel to skid horizontally across the road. It was a hundred yards away, and she kept moving for it.

  He saw the glint of a gun in her right hand, and she stopped finally, bringing it out in front of her.

  “Stop where you are!” Emma said in a threatening voice. It dripped with malice and hate.

  “Freeze! Gilden PD!” Tom Bartlett shouted from behind his car. Paul saw his daughter crawl out of the driver’s seat, and the other two in the back were ducking behind the vehicle at Tom’s behest.

  Paul glanced over at Emma, and even from twenty yards away, he could see her eyes darting around frantically as she considered her next move.

  Paul noticed it then. A blackness lifted from inside her, rolling away from her shadow cast by the passenger side headlights glow. It was coming toward him. Tendrils of darkness rolled and swam over the gravel, and Paul had the urge to run from it, but found his legs were planted firmly.

  As the last bit pushed out of Emma, he saw everything about her face change. Her jaw went slack, her rigid posture loosened. She moved her gun away from pointing it at Paul and turned it on herself. Everything slowed as Paul watched her and her shadow at the same time. The attachment to her had vacated her body, and now she was going to kill herself. It was so obvious, but Paul didn’t know how to stop it.

  “Don’t do it!” he shouted, as if a tiny part of him understood what would happen if she died.

  She twisted toward Paul, and mouthed two words. “I’m sorry.” The trigger was pulled, and her head jarred to the side as blood sprayed from the gunshot. Her limp body crumpled to the ground, and Taylor and Isabelle were screaming. Paul felt something drip down his lip, and he lifted a finger, wiping away the blood.

  All of this happened with a cold detachment, and the detective was moving toward the body with Paul’s daughter, her boyfriend, and her cousin close behind him. Taylor was shouting at him, but he couldn’t hear anything over the ringing in his ears. He saw her eyes meet his, and he’d never seen her so scared.

  She looked to the ground at the same time as he did, to see the black mass attach to his own faint shadow. It expanded behind him, writhing and flickering on the ground, until Paul wasn’t aware of his own movements.

  He ran again, this time around the body and the people surrounding it. His legs carried him to the idling car, where he got in, hearing the faintest of shouts from the detective and his daughter, before any semblance of Paul Alenn was pushed out, and all that remained was a vessel.

  The car drove away, heading toward town.

  _______________

  “Dad!” Taylor shouted as he drove away. She fell to her knees on the rocks, and quickly scrambled away from the corpse beside her hand. “Dad!”

  Isabelle was screaming, and Brent’s hands were raised to his head, a blank stare across his face. “What do we do?” he asked, his voice unfamiliar to Taylor at that moment.

  She’d seen the shadow moving for her dad too late; she didn’t have time to warn him. Where was he going? Then it struck her. “He’s going for Mom and Stevie. He has to be!” Taylor shouted, and Brent was helping her to her feet.

  The detective hadn’t replied; he was staring at the dust and red taillights of his stolen car as they disappeared into the distance. Taylor was up, and she grabbed the man by the blazer collar. “Bartlett! Get it together. What do we do?”

  “Did you see that?” he asked, and Taylor nodded.

  “Now do you believe us?” she asked, and he grunted in affirmation.

  “Where’s he going?” Tom Bartlett asked, and Isabelle answered for them.

  “To my house. If this thing is controlling him, it’s going after Stevie. It wants the sacrifice, right, Taylor?” she asked in a squeaky voice.

  “That’s right. I have to call Mom.” Taylor checked for her phone, but her pockets came up empty. “My phone’s in the car! Damn it! Isabelle, check yours!”

  Brent spoke up, his eyes wide. “I have mine.” He pulled it out, and passed it to Taylor.

  “What’s the number?” she asked her cousin.

  Isabelle stood there, staring at the sky. “I don’t know! We don’t have a land line, because you know, no one does anymore. I have it programmed into my phone. I can’t remember her cell.”

  “Your dad will!” Taylor started running toward the condo, where her uncle Darrel would be.

  Detective Bartlett was cursing under his breath, and Taylor was the first to see the deputy. He was face-down on the ground, past the cast-iron gate leading to the old orchard.

  Bartlett was at his side in seconds. “Rich, are you okay?” He rolled the man over, and Taylor used Brent’s phone flashlight feature to shine light on him. His throat was cut, and fresh blood had pooled on the rocks below him. Tom let him go and stood up quickly. “Watch each other’s backs, you guys. Whatever did this might still be around.”

  Taylor didn’t think so. She’d seen it attach to her dad. Darrel’s truck was on the side of the road, and she shouted for her uncle. He ran toward them from the front of the building. Another form was getting up from the parking lot, and Taylor knew it had to be the big sheriff. “Uncle Tyler!” She was running for the man. He clutched his leg as she got close.

  “Where’s your dad? Did he catch her? I heard a gunshot.” Tyler’s leg was a bloody mess, and Taylor had to fight to keep her last meal down.

  She didn’t speak as she stared blankly at the sheriff’s torn calf and wondered how a shadow could cause so much damage. “The nest!” she yelled, and picked up the gun that had fallen free from Uncle Tyler’s grip as he’d been attacked.

  “Where’s your dad?�
�� Tyler asked, and Bartlett was there with Darrel, Brent, and Isabelle.

  “I’m going after him. Darrel, you stay here and look for this nest.” Tom’s voice was rushed, out of breath.

  “Keys are in the truck. Take my girl with you.” Darrel wrapped a protective arm around Isabelle and pulled her in, kissing her on the top of the head. “Honey, there’s a gun under my seat. Keep it close and stay in the truck when the detective gets to our house. Wait there. Got it?”

  Isabelle was crying, but she nodded her understanding. Taylor tried to give her a supportive smile but saw the lifeless form of the deputy forty yards away and couldn’t muster the strength.

  “Sheriff, you going to be okay to sit tight?” Tom Bartlett asked Tyler, and the big man said he would be.

  “I’m calling for backup,” Tyler said, reaching for his radio. “Gilden will be thirty minutes out. I’ll have them send some cars to the Watsons’ too.”

  And just like that, the detective was running with Isabelle behind him, toward Darrel’s truck.

  Tyler called it in. Officer down. Another in need of medical assistance. “They’ll be here soon. We have to wait this out.”

  Taylor was shaking her head. “No. The nest is here. If that thing’s with my dad, then the nest is open. We have to go in there. The kids might be alive.” When no one replied, she shouted. “We have to go now!”

  Darrel pulled a gun from the back of his truck and passed it to Brent. “Know how to use this?”

  Brent gave a forced smile. “Point and shoot?”

  Darrel pressed the safety off and shrugged. “Pretty much.”

  “I think you should wait.” Tyler was on his butt, legs stretched onto the gravel.

  “What happened?” Taylor didn’t have to explain she meant the injury.

  “I don’t know. I was running and was attacked. I felt something gash at my leg, and I fell face-first. I looked up and a big cloud was over Rich, and then he collapsed.” Tyler’s eyes filled with tears. “How am I going to tell his mother?”

  “Give me the keys,” Darrel said, and Tyler passed them over while Taylor’s uncle was sprinting to the condo building. Residents were outside now, drawn by the gunshot and people lingering under the parking lot lights.

  Taylor ignored their questions as she and Brent gained access to the building through the front entrance. After being out in the dark, the fluorescent lights were overwhelming, and she squinted until her eyes acclimated to the brightness. They burned with redness, and the dried tears on her cheeks pinched her skin tight.

  “We don’t have to do this, Tay. We can wait for the cops to get here.” Brent grabbed her by the shoulders, turning her to face him. He pulled her close, and she smelled his musk, momentarily finding it overbearing.

  She broke free from his embrace. “We can’t wait. If it’s gone with my dad, we have to find the nest. The children…”

  “Are dead. They’re all dead. You saw what it did to Rich and the sheriff out there!” Brent was shouting, and Darrel came between them, giving Brent a slight shove to the chest.

  “Settle down, son. Stay here if you want, but we’re going.” The door was unlocked, and Darrel took Taylor by the arm, moving past Brent. He watched them, as if considering his options, and hesitantly joined them in the stairwell. Taylor suddenly wanted him gone, away from here. She didn’t want the added pressure of having to look out for Brent and worry about his safety.

  She wanted to tell him to go to the car and wait with the sheriff. Instead, she stepped onto the concrete stairs leading to the basement.

  Twenty-One

  Paul Alenn was no longer able to control his body. He was trapped in a compartment, able to see what was happening, to think and reason, but not do anything about it. The voice of the Anbieter didn’t quite speak to him, but he could hear its thoughts; he knew its history as surely as if he’d lived its life.

  He saw its true form, so weak and fragile. Paul would have laughed if his situation wasn’t so dire. The being sensed his judgment, and he was flooded with the truth, and Paul was sure he’d never laugh again.

  Paul Alenn was the vessel it had been waiting for. Conway was already aging when Paul had been taken as a child. The Provider had chosen Paul to act as its bond, and when Conway had denied the transaction, the Schattenmann took it upon itself. The Smiths were pissed when they found out, but they couldn’t do anything to stop the creature, not by the rules of the original agreement – one signed in the blood of the first sacrifice back in Germany.

  Paul could feel the Anbieter’s wrath when Cliff had come for him so long ago, wrapping him in a blanket and secreting him home safe. Conway had offered it another child, his granddaughter, and the bargain was made.

  He saw through the creature’s eyes as it tried to press into Paul that first day as he’d visited Red Creek twelve years ago. When he stood looking at the path at the end of the street in front of his mom’s old house and his nose bled, that was the monster seeking solace inside him. When he woke in the forest, it had drawn him there. All those years. He saw it watching him in the alley after he left the bar in college. That was the inspiration for his first novel, The Underneath.

  Paul suddenly understood what the monster was: something akin to a demon, but not quite. It was of this earth, but ancient beyond his understanding. It lived by trading flesh and souls for wealth and sustenance. Conway had paid the eventual price, his cancer given by the monster inside him. Paul saw the creature watching him through a window at a book signing, his first one.

  He knew, then, that his success came from the monster. It was linked to him and always had been. Since that moment he was chosen as a boy, part of the demon had lived inside him. His best-seller lists, awards, and money in the bank suddenly made him want to throw up.

  He watched now as the car pulled onto his sister’s street. He knew what it wanted. The Anbieter had been injured almost beyond repair in the fire. It lost its vessels, two in a couple of weeks, and it had lain suffering outside its nest in the cold forest as snow fell around it. It had convinced Emma Smith to come home to fulfill her family’s bargain.

  She finally gave in and began feeding it. Brittany Tremblay, Fredrik Karlsson, and another girl tonight. Now it wanted Stevie. Paul was the bonded Schmidt descendant, and Stevie was the sacrifice. He felt the need from the monster coursing through his veins. With the sacrifice, it would be whole again. It would be strong. It would thrive, not just survive.

  Paul could tell it was going to move on, finally strong enough to venture away from Red Creek to where no one knew of it. It was going to make Paul go along, never ceasing control over Paul’s body again. Once it had Stevie, it could do anything.

  The cop’s car stopped with skidding tires as Paul’s foot stomped on the brake. The door opened, and Paul felt motion sickness as he rode inside his body as a witness, not a participant.

  The curtains opened, and Paul saw his wife, holding Stevie in front of her. She was crying, and Beth was running for the front door. It flew open, and Paul wanted to shout for them to run, to get out of there, but he was unable to make any sound. He was trapped. His shadow dragged beside him, carrying from the streetlights, adjusting angles with every step he took closer to the house.

  “Paul! What happened! Why are you here?” Beth asked in a flurry.

  A calm, familiar voice answered, “Bring me my family,” it said, sounding exactly like Paul.

  “What? They’re right here.” Beth stepped to the side, and Paul felt his cheeks go wide in a sadistic smile.

  “Son, come here,” he said, and Stevie considered his mom, a confused look on his face.

  It was time. The shadow stretched forward, lifting off the ground, and Paul screamed inside his own mind, watching as it reached for his son, but unable to stop it.

  _______________

  Tom raced for town in the pickup truck. He was going twice the speed limit, the wipers intermittently swiping across the windshield, scrubbing away the light rain drops.r />
  “Which way?” Tom asked as they entered the main hub of town. There weren’t many options.

  “Right, then the next left,” Isabelle said. They hadn’t talked much, and Tom knew they were both in a little shock from the whirlwind of events within hours of one another. His priority was making sure Isabelle’s family stayed safe. He couldn’t believe it was all true. Tom had seen the thing pour off Emma. He’d seen the look of abject terror cross her face, and the relief when it was all over, the gun pointed at her head.

  Then there was Rich Stringer, and the injured sheriff. Tom Bartlett would mourn the lost officer when it was over, but for now, he was pushing all the emotions into a box inside him, and wasn’t going to let them out.

  He made the turns, the truck cruising along in the early hours of the morning. No one was on the streets at this hour, and it made him drive faster, knowing they were against the clock on this one. Whatever had entered Paul Alenn wasn’t friendly.

  Isabelle had her dad’s cell phone in her hand, and she was hitting redial, which kept going to her mom’s voicemail. “Damn it, Mom, pick up!”

  “We’re almost there, right?” Tom asked, and she pointed to the left.

  “Turn there, fourth house on the left.”

  Tom did, and instantly found his car pulled onto the side of the road. The front end was parked on the sidewalk, and Paul Alenn was walking toward the front door of the house. Tom shouted out his open window, “Get away from him! He’s not Paul!”

  The woman’s eyes darted toward him, and Tom didn’t hesitate. He was already out of the car, gun in hand, moving down the sidewalk.

  “What do you mean, this isn’t Paul?” a woman inside the doorway asked.

  “Don’t listen to him, Terri,” Not-Paul said, his voice monotone, but clearly that of Paul Alenn. Tom didn’t know what to do.