by Bo Luellen
John whispered to Clay, “What is it?”
Wapashaw pulled out his suppressed Colt 1911 and thumbed the safety off. John did the same and took up a position beside the Dakota. The wind was at her back, which made picking up the scent of the approaching creature impossible, but her ears were still better than most dogs. The sound of a sharp crack of a breaking branch caused her adrenaline to spike, and she felt burning of her muscles as they grew in thickness.
Clay pointed towards the tree line just ahead of them and whispered, “Waŋyáŋkiŋ yetȟó.”
John craned his neck in the direction the man indicated, “Look at what? I don’t see anything on the thermal.”
As they crouched in the field, she saw a creature staring back at her through the distant trees. Slowly the animal backed away into the foliage and disappeared. She sidestepped up to John, but before she could alert him, the woods exploded with activity. Two dozen dogs mowed through the thick brush towards them. They streaked across the open pasture at speeds that rivaled a cheetah.
Clay unloaded his pistol on an enormous Australian Shepard that was in the lead. The charging animal took several hits without losing any momentum. The white-haired monster opened its mouth and let out a high pitched shriek. The entire pack followed suit and let out a banshee wail. The sounds were deafening and caused John and Clay to drop their weapons and cover their ears. She nearly felt herself pass out from the sonic assault. Still, Shoshannah’s adaptive survival adrenal gland quickly reconfigured her ears to filter out the upper bandwidth frequency.
John clutched the side of his head, “What are these things?”
The animals surrounded them, and the Australian Shepherd stopped five feet away from Clay. The dog’s jaw opened unnaturally and unhinged like a snake. Clay fumbled to pick up his gun as two slime-covered black tentacles wormed their way out of the dog’s mouth. The Dakota popped in a fresh clip and let loose. The first few bullets penetrated the skin on its face and body, causing the beast to momentarily stop its unearthly sounds. By the fourth shot, the bullets hit the hide with a dull thud, and the mashed slugs dropped to the ground.
A familiar voice rang out from the tree line, “Halt und enthalten!”
The wild sonic cries stopped and were replaced with low snarling and growling. The command caused the twenty mixed-breed dogs to encircle them while keeping 20 feet away. The animals maws dripped with fluid as their jaws snapped open, and snake-like tentacles wiggled out into the night air.
Shoshannah’s mouth went agape at the sight of Jagger Clerval stepping out from behind an oak. He was flanked by six armed men in black tactical garb and sporting a Crimson Brotherhood patch on their sleeves. They waded confidently through the pack of beasts and stopped just short of her. She eyed him with suspicion, noticing his stride and movement was less like her trusted assistant and adopted family member.
He pulled out a Taser and showed it to the dogs. From all around, the animals whined in unison, and their tails wagged expectantly. Jagger marched over to the wounded Australian Shepherd and held the device out in front of the animal-like it was a T-bone steak. The massive white-haired dog swallowed the tentacles back down its gullet and sat down obediently.
She took a step towards him, exciting a chorus of growls from the dogs, “Jagger?”
Her assistant ignored her and shoved the device into the shoulder of the animal. With a pull of the trigger, Jagger sent 50,000 volts into the blood-stained fur and flesh. The beast slowly raised up off the ground, as the electricity sparked mercilessly through its body. Shoshannah balled up her fist in anger as an all too familiar process of healing began. The bullets pushed out of its body, the wounds closed up, and the skin regenerated fully.
She balled up her fist in anger, as the pack howled in satisfaction. Jagger released the Taser and gave her a sly grin. She walked within a foot of Jagger and was immediately flanked by a giant Saint Bernard and a Doberman Pinscher. Their eyes blazed, and teeth flashed a warning.
Her eyes narrowed, “Jagger, what have you done?”
He handed the Taser to one of the guards, “Good evening Ms. Feinstein. I must ask you not to put that fury towards the good Mr. Clerval. He was quite an unwilling participant in our joint endeavor. In fact, he fought rather valiantly when the Pearce Brothers picked him and his family up before they could board their plane to Greece. Here I am forgetting my manners. Allow me…”
He waved his hands, and suddenly she could see someone else’s soul light inside Jagger, “Samuel? Is that you?”
The possessed Jagger gave a slight bow, “A pleasure to see you again so soon. It’s a shame you didn’t return to New York. When I was done with Mr. Jagger, I would have returned him to you, but now things are more complicated.”
Hamilton turned his gun towards the possessed body of Jagger, “Mister, I’m not sure what these things are or why she is calling you Samuel, but I’m gonna give you three seconds to call them off before I put a slug in you.”
Samuel raised his eyebrows towards Shoshannah, “He seems earnest enough. I’ve learned to pay attention to a Texan with a gun Ms. Feinstein. Since I have no intention of depriving my dogs of a meal, we should expect young Mr. Jagger’s body to be shot dead in the next few seconds.”
She stepped in front of Hamilton, “Put the gun down, John.”
Clay pulled out his buck knife as John yelled out, “Shoshannah, step out of the way so I can shoot the nice cultist in the head, please!”
With blinding speed, she snatched the gun out of John’s hand and asked Samuel, “What if we surrender?”
The possessing spirit tilted his head, “Well then, Jagger would live. You, and one of your companions, would accompany me to some less than comfortable accommodations while we decide what to do. The Hounds… Well, the Hounds are bound to Cthulhu through my magic. They will have to eat tonight as a sacrifice to Cthulhu. As a courtesy, I’ll let you pick, my dear.”
John and Clay looked at each other, then the Texan pleaded, “No, Shoshannah! What are you doing?”
Shoshannah tossed John’s 1911 over her shoulder and pointed at Clay, “I’m saving your life. I’m sorry, Clay.”
Samuel pointed his finger at the Dakota, “Töten!”
Fur and fangs streaked past John and Shoshannah as Clay swung wildly with his knife at the onslaught. A short-haired white Terrier ripped the Dakota’s right hand off at the wrist joint. The Native American’s warm blood splashed across John’s chest, as the Saint Bernard latched onto the severed arm and thrashed side-to-side. The Doberman Pinscher dived its long teeth into his stomach and tentacles wrapped around Clay’s lower intestine. With a sharp pull, long lengths of entrails flowed out from his belly. The man gurgled in pain. The animal ran with a mouthful of intestines and slung it from side-to-side. Clay stopped screaming, as the dog ran with the guts until they reached the end of their tether. The organ snapped in two, spewing bile into the air and causing the man to pitch forward. The rest of the nightmare creatures tore into their prize and bit off large sections of meat.
The guards relieved John of his weapons, as he asked Shoshannah, “My, God! What the hell are those things?”
A tranquilizer dart erupted from a pistol and stabbed into John’s leg, as she replied, “My worst fear.”
Chapter 13: Edward I
Tulsa, Oklahoma – Wednesday, November 14th, 2018 – 11:55 p.m. CST
The grey tombstone had read simply, “Juste Theriot.”
The marker was split into two pieces and spray painted with the words “Murderer,” “Cultist,” and the symbol of the Crimson Brotherhood. Instead of flowers, there were pictures of those killed in the Preserve over the years, the dead police officers, and victims of the recent terrorist attacks on Tulsa. A grouping of flowers that said, “Beloved Son,” had been torn to pieces and dowsed with pig’s blood.
Edward Tallman watched from behind a tree, as Dallas Webb buried her hands in her blue pea coat and kicked away some of the pictures until she had a clear p
lace to stand. He stayed silent and unknown to her, as she whistled a beautiful rendition of “Winds of Change” by the Scorpions towards the broken headstone. He watched her visit Juste’s grave at the same time each night since his birth.
Dallas heard his black oxford shoes crunching in the dried leaves as he decided it was time to greet her. Her tear-stained face was red with a rush of anger as she spun around to confront him. She pulled out a knife from her back pocket and flicked it to life.
He kept to the shadows as she demanded, “Who’s out there?”
The moonlight dropped pinholes of light through the tree limbs onto his smooth hawk-like features. He circled out from the cover of darkness and revealed himself. He was wearing a dark red swallowtail suit coat, with black slacks and a dark silk shirt. His long black hair hugged his shoulders, and five silver bands held together small braids. The deep blue of his eyes twinkled against the lunar light, and he stopped directly over the grave of Juste’s neighbor in the cemetery.
He sat down on a marble marker, “Never whistle in a graveyard Dallas, you might summon the Devil.”
She held out the knife in front of her, “Who are you? How in the hell do you know my name? Are you one of those sickos who gets off on visiting the graves of serial killers? A reporter looking for a story?”
He pulled off his black leather gloves, “My name is Edward Tallman, and I have a message for you, Dallas Webb.”
Her forehead wrinkled as she demanded, “A message? What kind of a message? Are you one of those Brotherhood assholes Juste was mixed up with? I swear I’ll gut you and then call the cops!”
Edward opened his pale hand towards the surrounding vandalism, “It really is a disrespectful mess out here. Juste deserved much better.”
She shifted closer to him, “Why! Because he worshipped Cthulhu and led murderers into Tulsa? He was a liar! I don’t even know who he was or where he was really from!”
He got up and walked over the broken-off piece of granite. Edward examined the rock for a moment and then wiped off some of the mud. Dallas gasped as he snatched the two hundred pound rock off the ground and walked it back to its home. Carefully, and with no effort, he fit it back into place.
He took a step back to admire his work, “The body of Juste Theriot saw many evil things, but his soul was no worshipper of Cthulhu. Your anger has merit, and I do adore your passion. Let it be in the right place, and not at Juste Theriot. The hate required to be in the service of Cthulhu could not have lived in the same heart that loved you so deeply.”
Dallas’s gritted her teeth, “Shut up! You don’t know either of us!”
Edward closed the folds of his coat and returned to his seat, “That isn’t entirely true, but then again, an argument could be made that it is. You see, Dallas, bringing you some peace of mind will help give a part of some degree of closure. I can tell you, honestly and truly, what role Juste Theriot played in the Crimson Brotherhood. I can do that for you if you wish?”
She shook her head, “No, thanks, psycho! I’m calling the cops!”
As she pulled out her phone, he continued, “Do you remember the night that you drove Henry Jekyll home in your yellow VW Bug? How about showing up for Dungeons and Dragons at Todd’s house to fill in for Lewis Turner after he died? How about when Maisy slept with Juste, and he thought she raped him?”
Dallas’s nose flared, and she stopped dialing, “I hold keys that open all kinds of delicious mysteries. Shall I turn one that will prove his innocence?”
She put down her phone, “You’re Henry Jekyll?”
He took a slight bow, “Not an entirely incorrect statement.”
In a rage, she ran at him with the knife held overhead. Streaking across Juste’s grave, Dallas screamed so loud that it filled the graveyard with the sounds of bloodlust. She grabbed the crushed red velvet of his coat and sailed the knife down towards his shoulder.
Edward grabbed her arm with his left hand and made a quick symbol with his other, “Lassitudinem.”
Her arms went limp at her side, and she lazily dropped the knife. The blade hit the rock marker and bounced away. Edward got up from his granite chair and took her arms. Carefully, he picked up her lethargic body and sat her down on Juste’s tombstone. He stepped back to make sure the spell wasn’t too strong as she looked up at him in a daze. While she swayed slowly, trying to keep upright, Edward turned to the grave of Juste Theriot. He pulled out a can of Morton Salt and poured it out on the ground, as he walked around the Cajun’s plot three times. On the third time, he put away the salt and drove his hand into the cold earth. His fingers easily penetrated the frozen topsoil and retrieved a handful of the clay.
He crushed it in his hand, and let it crumble to the ground, as he cast, “Spiritum Evocare.”
Dallas held her head, “Wha… What just happened? Did you drug me?”
Edward slapped his hands together to rid himself of the remaining dirt, “You are under the effects of a spell designed to make you less capable of hostility.”
Dallas forced herself to her feet, “You… what?”
He pulled out a silver pocket watch from his coat by a chain, “I was simply trying to avoid an argument.”
A two-foot circle of soft blue light shimmered like a pool of glimmering water at the center of Juste Theriot’s grave, as Edward remarked, “Well, that didn’t take long at all.”
The flickers of light reflected upon Dallas’s face, and Edward took a step out of the circle of salt. The ghost of the young Cajun slowly drifted upwards out the magical portal and glowed with a soft white light. He was wearing the same white robe he had on in The Preserve at the moment of his death. His hair and chest were still matted with blood from the affair. The symbol of the Crimson Brotherhood on his sleeve pulsed with energy. The woman’s eyes beamed with astonishment as her dead love was once again face-to-face with her.
Edward beamed at his accomplishment and regarded Dallas, “Well, there is no need for this anymore.”
He touched her shoulder and cast, “Nullam Magicae.”
She stood up straight and had a look as if she had just woke from a deep sleep. Edward took a step back as Dallas stumbled backward at the sight of her lost lover. Juste moved to the edge of the salt ring and stopped.
Edward stroked his own chin, “No, no, this will not do. You’re not dressed for the occasion.”
He waved his hands in a pattern and cast, “Procidat Deceptioneum.”
A blue wave flowed behind Edwards’s hand as it drifted out over Juste’s ghostly visage. The magical energy dissolved away the robes of the Crimson Brotherhood and replaced it with more mundane apparel. When the spell was complete, the Cajun was wearing the last thing Henry Jekyll had seen him in. Juste was adorned in stonewashed jeans, a Metallica t-shirt, and a dirty pair of white sneakers, with no hint of the bullet holes or blood.
The ghost looked at his body and then at the surrounding graveyard, “How is this possible? I was in a dark cave, running from a thing made of slime and acid. It had been chasing me for… for.. I can’t remember.”
Edward put away his pocket watch, “You were in the home realm of Cthulhu. A place of untold wonders and unspeakable horrors. Your spirit was taken there to be tortured for all eternity.”
Dallas balled up her fist, “It’s what you deserve, you bastard! I can’t believe I loved you! You worshipped some awful god and killed all those homeless people. You killed our friend Lewis. You and your buddy Henry are both murderers, and you can rot in that hell!”
Edward strolled over to a headstone and sat down, “I admire your spirit, but I think you will find your vengeance is ill-placed.”
He looked over at Juste. “As Dante would say, ‘The path to paradise begins in hell.’ I know you’ve been through a level of hell that mortals cannot fathom. Still, I’m providing you an opportunity for closure before you return to it. I cannot hold you in this world for very long, so let’s not dawdle. I believe Dallas is under a false assumption. Let’s start there.
”
Juste opened up his hands and pleaded, “Cher, I’m no murderer, and I’m not a follower of Cthulhu. When I moved from Louisiana to Tulsa, I went to work at the sandwich shop. An Angel known as Miniel possessed me to spy on a demon named Hyde, who had done the same to Lewis.”
Dallas’s head popped back in surprise, as Edward raised his hand, “It’s true. A romantic squabble between angels turned messy.”
The ghost continued, “While I slept, she used my possessed body and assumed control of the Cthulhu cult and became the leader of the Tulsa Sect of the Crimson Brotherhood. I never knew what was going on until that night at the Preserve. I woke up, filled with bullet holes, and realized I had been a puppet. My soul was banished into the dark realm of Cthulhu’s home, to suffer for all eternity.”
Dallas shook her head, “Why would an Angel want to get in league with an evil god?”
Edward chimed in, “Every divine being has its own mind, and things are much different than you read about in your holy books. Celestials are just as capable of insanity, and Miniel has twisted her love for me into a murderous obsession. Before you dismiss his story as too fantastical, please note you are speaking to a ghost and a half-angel. Perhaps a little wider perspective and an open mind might be in order. Considering the evidence of the supernatural in front of you, perhaps you should hear him out.”
She grabbed her head and paced, “This is all so surreal. Wait, did you and Henry Jekyll kill Lewis Turner?”
Juste looked at her pensively, replying, “Miniel did, in my body. Henry didn’t kill anyone.”
