Jack sighed, “Sorry, boss. Give me them here.”
“It’s pissing down! And you’re already wet. Come get!”
With a sigh, Jack climbed back out of the vehicle into the rain and headed for the kitchen. The Pizzas were stacked high on the counter, just as he’d left them.
With a huff and an over-exaggerated roll of his eyes, the manager watched him grapple with the order before stalking off mumbling something under his breath about ‘pussy on the brain’. Jack couldn’t help but smile. Pete was an asshole, but he was often an amusing asshole, especially when enraged.
Let’s get this show on the road, he thought, as he hurried back to the shelter of the van, delivery in hand. Within less than a minute he was set off for the open road, and the fabled Athos House.
As he pulled out of the alleyway and took a left on Primrose Drive heading for the freeway, he was so lost in his youthful reverie that he failed to spot the tall figure - his face hidden in shadow and masked by the rain - that stood, still as stone, right across the street from the restaurant.
And whose eyes never left Jack as he drove off into the escalating storm.
***
The lights of lower Los Angeles faded in Jack’s rear-view mirror like dying stars as the van moved out of the metropolitan district, up toward the hills and into the seemingly endless dark of the Californian wild. Slowly, the whore-infested streets, all night off-license liquor stores, and endless parade of grubby bars and restaurants gave way to the majesty of the American night. The moon, round and full in the sky, fought and failed to illuminate the winding country roads, resentful of the storms power to snuff out its splendor.
Jack drove on through the black, unfathomable night, his van a tiny beacon of light and warmth amidst a sea of limitless dark. As he left the city and its ever-present blanket of smog below, he felt pure elation. Due to the scarcity of the traffic this far outside the city of angels he was making great time, and with any luck he’d be done with the delivery and back in Shelly’s arms by 11:30.
Things were looking up.
He sang quietly to himself as he travelled the long, lonely miles through woodlands and fields, all but hidden beneath the now furiously pouring rain and the darkness that carried it to earth.
Soon enough, the rolling hills obscured the city entirely and the traffic dwindled down to nil. He was all alone out here, and Jack was surprised that despite his optimistic mood he began to feel the first pangs of apprehension. Not fear, exactly, just a sense of misplacement, a human reaction, as he saw it, to being so cut off from the world he knew. He’d never driven country roads on his own, certainly not under such circumstances - with no company, no music, and only the lulling thrum of the van’s engine in his ears and the gentle vibration of its wheels under his feet. He could imagine some very bad things happening out here. The sort of things best not thought of when all alone in the middle of nowhere. Hard as he willed himself to ignore it, the impenetrable dark was beginning to take on a far more sinister façade in his mind. His musing slowly and surely turned to thoughts of murder, blood, death and depravity.
No one would ever find your body out here, if something happened.
The thought came from nowhere. Jack laughed aloud at his overactive imagination, more to soothe his nerves than out of any real humor for the situation. It was very unlike him to give sway to imaginings and scenarios best suited to cheap horror flicks and trashy novels. This road was like any other.
Any other in the deepest, darkest middle of nowhere, he thought.
Get a hold of yourself. You’re not going to the Overlook or Castle Dracula. You’re going to deliver some cold, shitty pizza to a rich guy. It’s cool.
Still, it didn’t feel cool. The night pushed in on the confines of his little oasis of light within the carriage while his mind crept off into dark corners where paranoia dwelt.
“I’m absolutely fine,” he stated aloud. The tremor he heard in his own voice was as disquieting to him as the act of speaking aloud had been.
Jack took a deep breath, tried to concentrate on the road ahead and on the evening he and Shelly would share when all this was over, and he was safely back in the land of the living.
If you make it back at all, his mind persisted.
Ok, the hell with this.
He would call Shelly, just to make a little conversation and shine a little light into his spook-infested mindscape. There was the risk she’d think him overbearing, calling again so soon, but he was willing to take that chance. The thought of her voice soothed him, and anyway, she’d never know he was calling because he was afraid of his own damn shadow.
He reached into his jacket pocket for his Android, felt the solid, smooth metallic casing of the phone, and drew it from his pocket. With nerves increasingly on edge, he pushed the ‘on’ button.
The familiar lock-screen image of his favorite band, ‘KISS’, remained absent. The screen stayed dark.
Jack could have sworn he charged the battery before he left for his shift at Antonio’s, and since starting work he’d only made the one call – the call to Shelly – and that had lasted only minutes.
Sighing with frustration, he pulled over to the side of the road and killed the engine. The night grew deathly silent as he quickly flicked on the mirror-lamp, filling the vans interior with a soft, muted light and chasing away the blackness that so daunted him.
Jesus, it’s so quiet out here. With horrid fascination, Jack peered out the window into the solid, seemingly living darkness, before quickly averted his eyes. He’d been deathly afraid of the dark when he was a child and thought himself a razor’s edge away from succumbing to the same fear that had haunted his childhood footsteps.
Let’s just find out what’s wrong with the phone and get the hell out of here, he told himself.
He looked down at his mobile. No cracks in the screen betraying any physical trauma that might have taken place. No tell-tale signs of water damage that was notorious for killing these things. No nothing.
Wondering if he truly was losing his shit, he flipped the phone over and pried open its back casing, the plastic popping off easily in his hand. It took him a few seconds to grasp what he was seeing.
He’d been right. The battery hadn’t run out.
The battery wasn’t there, at all.
Someone had removed it.
Jack peered out at the darkened woods that engulfed him and felt a chill run down his spine, paranoia and dread seeped slowly yet inexorably into his psyche as he replayed the night’s events. In his mind’s eye, the woods out there were filled with horrors, watchful eyes, demonic intent, and murderous hearts.
Think this thing through. He allowed himself to travel back to the events of the evening.
Okay, he ruminated, I called Shelly, we had a chat, and the next thing I know Pete was hollering in my ear about this damn delivery...
What next?
I grabbed the delivery, took it to the van.
Think! When could someone do this? I had my phone on me all the time, except...
Except when I forgot the Pizza’s and left my jacket in the van.
Oh shit...
Someone must have gotten to his phone in the short time it took him to return to the kitchen, grab the delivery and haul his butt back to the van. That was how long? A minute or two at most? But who would have taken his battery, and why? There was no one else in the restaurant other than himself, Pete and their chef, and Jack hadn’t seen a single soul prowling the alley. Not even one of the bums that often frequented the garbage bins looking for scraps.
Had someone been spying on him? Watching his every move and waiting for a chance to get into his jacket and steal his battery. It just didn’t seem feasible. Surely a thief would steal the phone itself, battery and all.
Unless the mysterious thief wanted him to believe his phone was safe and secure.
Unless they wanted him out here in the dark, alone and with no way to reach anyone back home.
No, he thought, that's crazy. Why would anyone want to hurt me? It’s got to be a joke. Probably one of the assholes from school doing their best to make my every living moment a misery. Only now they’re taking their game outside the confines of the classroom.
Had to happen eventually, he mused. The evolution of bullying.
Yet as badly as he wanted to believe this explanation, he just couldn’t.
Taking a deep breath, he replaced the phone’s plastic outer casing, shoved it into his pocket, and was just about to start the engine and get the hell out of dodge when through his rear-view mirror he caught movement coming up the road he’d just travelled.
Not movement, exactly, but the very distinctive play of light that could only be headlight beams moving through the trees.
There were shards of light passing through the dense woodland, cutting swathes of illumination in the pitch back forest. As the light danced and glimmered amidst the trees, Jack heard the first low rumbling of an engine.
A car was coming around the bend. It would be on him in no more than a minute.
His heart hammered in his chest, and for the first time in his adult life, Jack felt the vice-like grip of real terror enclose around his being. Something was very wrong here. He could feel it. A tangible dread that was every bit as convincing and palpable as any feeling he’d ever experienced. Call it instinct, call it cowardice, hell, call it good old-fashioned paranoid delusion, but this whole situation felt terribly wrong.
With shaking hands, he reached down and started the ignition, never taking his eyes off the rear-view mirror. Now the vehicle was rolling over the hill, not fifty yards behind him. He could make out the silhouette of a car, large by the looks of it. He figured it was perhaps a Cadillac.
Or a hearse.
He wasn’t going to hang around to find out.
As the headlights of the oncoming vehicle lit up the interior of the van’s rear, and the hum of its engine was eclipsed by the pounding of his heart, Jack started his own vehicle and pulled out of there as fast as possible.
***
The miles rolled on in a kind of nightmarish unreality that was all their own, free of time and of logic, as Jack’s fears overtook him while the mysterious vehicle that followed stayed close behind. The rational part of his mind rebelled against his darker musings, and he tried as hard as he could to grab onto that precious fraction of his thinking, but no matter how hard he tried the car behind him had become a canvas on which his fears painted themselves in vivid detail. Fears that Jack had thought were the sole domain of children, those of hidden evils - bogeymen, hungry monsters under the bed, and demons in the closet just waiting to whisk you away to a bloody and terrifying oblivion. His inherent rationality was quick to retort that these were the musings of an overactive imagination but, real threat or not, it was freaking him out badly.
Sure, he mused, it could be a stranger making their way home through the dark with nothing on their mind but supper and a glass of red wine. It could even be some of the bastard jocks from school, making good of the situation to inject some more misery into my life. It’s not like they haven’t made a mildly successful career out of tormenting me whenever the opportunity arises.
It could be.
But it’s not.
It’s a man in a plain white mask, emotionless, soulless. He’s got a hatchet the size of my arm sat in the passenger seat and he can’t wait to carve himself a slice of Jackson Francis, maybe take me home and feed me to his rabid dogs.
The night seemed to stretch on endlessly. Jack glanced at his watch. He was almost at the turnoff for Athos House. He could imagine nothing more welcoming than the warm glow of its lights as they chased off the darkness. He pushed the van to its capacity, never taking his eyes off the vehicle in his rear mirror for more than a few seconds at a time.
Not far now, Jack. You’re almost there.
Sanctuary
A few minutes passed, feeling much longer than they had any right to feel, and then, there it was, like a lighthouse in an ocean storm. The sign by the side of the road was lit by a small overhead lamp and the sign read - in the most eloquent and classy looking font he’d ever seen – ‘Athos House.’
And below that – ‘Turn Right.’
He’d made it. After what felt like an eternity in the faceless, featureless dark, he’d reached his destination.
The turn-off was signaled by a streetlamp that appeared to be Victorian in design, two pearl-like bulbs pulsed light from within identical floral glass coverings that, even in passing, were clearly boasting of exquisite attention to detail. In the middle of all this emptiness it looked incredibly surreal, but as far as Jack was concerned, it was water in a scorched desert.
He slowed, turned onto the narrow driveway that cut through the dense woodland, and began the drive towards the house.
Taking a deep breath, he once again searched the mirror for his quarry. His heart drummed in his chest as the dark car approached the turn-off. Time slowed to a maddening crawl. He could feel his testicles shrivel as though attempting to crawl back inside his body.
The car kept going.
The mysterious vehicle onto which he’d projected so much doubt and fear simply bypassed the turn-off and continued on its way until all its luminance was swallowed at last by the ancient redwoods.
Catching his own reflection, Jack was surprised to find he was grinning.
All that worrying for nothing. If Shelly could see you now, she might not be so quick to invite you round for a horror movie marathon. She’d probably be scared you’d wet yourself or have yourself a nervous breakdown.
He drove on, pushing his way through the woods at a much more sedate pace, his heart slowing in time with his vehicle. After perhaps five or so minutes of pensive driving on the somewhat treacherous one-lane road, the trees opened onto a large clearing. At last the moonlight was finally winning its battle with the storm, and its cold blue radiance reflected off a beautiful lake that covered most of the open space. Atop a hill overlooking the lake stood the most beautiful house he’d ever laid eyes on - an enormous gothic marvel whose countless lighted windows beckoned Jack onwards with welcoming warmth and the promise of safety from the terrors of the American night.
Athos House.
***
The jet-black Cadillac pulled over by the side of the road and came to a slow stop under the massive branches of a redwood. Its lights shut off. And from its pitch-black interior, the tiny flame of a gas lighter cast dancing shadows on the face of the driver. He lit a Marlboro, and took a long, luxurious draw, savoring the taste.
He peered out into the gloom, watching as the beams of light that shone from the boy’s van passed over a hillock where they became lost from view.
Exhaling with something approaching blissful satisfaction, he reached into the pocket of his overcoat, removed his phone, and began to dial.
A voice answered on the first ring.
“Yes?” the voice asked.
“He’s on his way. You’ll have him within ten minutes.”
With nothing more said, the line went dead. The man took another long drag on his cigarette, leaned back, and closed his eyes.
***
Jack had to tilt his head back to look into the man’s eyes.
He’s more a giant than a man. Where did they find this guy? The circus!?
The huge wooden door had been ominous enough, with its oversized wolf’s-head knocker that seemed to leer at him balefully with teeth bared as though ready to pounce, but the gargantuan figure that pulled the door open immediately after his first knock of the brass monstrosity was simply terrifying. Jack was met with the towering silhouette of a man who would look more at home waiting under bridges for unsuspecting goats than welcoming guests into the opulent manor that climbed into the night before him. The man was enormous.
With no small effort, he locked eyes with the monstrous doorman and somehow found the voice to stammer, “I’m here with the delivery for Mr. Athos.”
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“Come right in, sir,” replied the human tower. He had a strong French accent which, coupled with the surprisingly high pitch of his voice, stood in stark contrast to his daunting physical stature. One would assume a man of this height and weight – Jack figured he stood at least six-foot-five, and he was built like a pro-footballer – would have a vocal tenor to rival Darth Vader, but this guy sounded almost effeminate. This night was becoming more and more surreal as it went on. To exacerbate the fearful yet ridiculous impression the giant doorman invited, he was adorned in a razor-straight black waistcoat, pressed black trousers and a white shirt. The whole outfit was topped off with a bowtie.
Is this guy the Athos family’s butler? Jack wondered, bemused. Not the most welcoming guy to have greet your guests. His expression was that of unmovable granite, and his height would instill apprehension in any man, at the very least until he opened his mouth.
Jack was reminded of an old movie he and Shelly had watched a few years back one winter evening.
Shelly’s dad had a huge collection of horror films, and she put them to good use as often as she could. A night over at Shell’s place meant cheese-flavored popcorn, Kool-Aid and a spooky movie. Jack always cherished the predictability of the thing. There was something comforting about the repetition.
The movie that this massive butler brought to his mind was a very, very old one. He couldn’t remember the name offhand, but it had starred Boris Karloff – one of Shelly’s favorite actors – and was set in an old dark house. Karloff played the butler and supplied a huge portion of the film’s frights. Horror icon Karloff may be, but he was nowhere near as frightening as this butler.
With a wave of his arm, the giant welcomed Jack across the threshold. His nightmarish freak-out on the back-roads was all but forgotten as the warmth and light of the house filled his senses and he set his eyes on the mansion’s great hall.
It was magnificent.
Consumed- The Complete Works Page 2
