by C W Hawes
He brought up all of the mouse windows again to see if there were any more surprises the little cyborgs were finding. While he watched, he noticed the windows for mice nine and eleven go dark. Then, in rapid succession, the mice — all of the mice — were running helter-skelter, as though they were trying to get away from something.
Bardon messaged Dan Marche, the controller’s supervisor. The text read, “What’s going on?”
Three more windows went dead while Bardon typed. The phone on his desk rang.
“Bardon.”
“Dr Bardon, Dan Marche here. I have no idea what’s going on. The mice are in predator response mode.”
“Predator? What predator?”
“Don’t know, sir.”
“Well, find out. Pronto.”
“Yes, sir.”
Bardon cradled the receiver and watched as the windows went dark one by one. He noticed the screen for mouse number four. In front of it was a snake. A very large snake. Bardon didn’t recognize the species and suspected it had been genetically modified. The snake lunged and the window for mouse four went dark.
He leaned back in his chair. Somehow Van Dyne had learned of the mice and prepared a countermeasure. A very effective countermeasure.
Images blurred across the last remaining window. The mouse was literally running for its life.
“Go little mouse. Go!” Bardon whispered.
Then it stopped, and the screen went dark. Bardon sighed, got up, and walked to the sideboard situated between the statues of Cthulhu and Shub-Niggurath. He poured himself a glass of port, and returned to his chair.
He took a sip of wine and was about to shut down the video feed, when the screens all came alive. The scene was as though one was looking at fog. Then slowly, from out of the fog, a face became visible. It was the face of Valdis Damien van Dyne. His mouth began moving and Bardon enabled the audio.
“…you appreciated my little display tonight. It would behoove you, Dr Bardon, to stop interfering with the operations of my company. People more powerful than you can imagine are interested in my results. So go play somewhere else and leave me alone. If you don’t, you may wake up one morning and discover your little department no longer has any funds to operate. And you don’t want that, now, do you?”
The face faded away into the fog and then the windows went black.
Dr Bardon leaned back in his chair and sipped his wine. He knew van Dyne was well-connected. If his tentacles reached as far as he intimated, there could be problems. Big problems. Bardon finished his port and stood. Time to pay a visit to his secret library, hidden away in sub-basement four. It was time to fight fire with fire.
10
The drive to Pine Bluff was long. Thank goodness the scenery made up for the length of the trip.
Mostyn thought the view was much like what they’d seen driving to Heirloom, West Virginia about a year ago. Beautiful, with an underlying feeling of unease.
Baker sat up front next to Jones and was photographing the scenery. Being September, the trees were only beginning to show a bit of color. Baker had to content himself with photographing a lot of green. Jones, as usual, was humming the tune to some ‘80s song.
In the second row of seats were Mostyn, Dotty, and Helene. Mostyn was reading reports on his tablet. Dotty was sleeping, her head on Mostyn’s shoulder, and Helene was looking out the window, pointing at, and oohing and aahing over, everything.
Drs Penn and Gerstner, in the third row of seats, were discussing mythical creatures and the possibility of them having once existed. Agent Ramsey was seated next to Gerstner. Oblivious to the scenery and discussion, he was playing a video game on his phone.
Having flown into Pope Army Airfield late the previous night, Mostyn thought it best if everyone got some sleep. The team stayed overnight in a hotel in Fayetteville, and left for Pine Bluff early in the morning. Mostyn let a smile play on his lips. Herndon, the accounting wonk, would have a cow over the extra expense.
Between the town of Murphy and the unincorporated village of Marble, tucked into the hills, was the hamlet of Pine Bluff. Right in the middle of North Carolinian Appalachia. And the site of recent chupacabra sightings.
Helene interrupted his thoughts. “Oh, Mostyn Pierce, look at all the colors! And everything is so bright! K’n-yan is very, very dull compared to our world.”
He smiled at her. “It is. Nothing save that wretched blue light down there.”
“And here, we have the blue sky. It is so brilliant.” She sighed. “I could live forever…”
He touched her cheek. “Don’t think about it. Just live each day. Experience it to the max. A famous philosopher once said, ‘Life is like a story: what matters isn’t how long it is, but how good it is.’ Make life good, and it will be long enough.”
She put her hands on his cheeks. “You are so wise, Mostyn Pierce, is it any wonder I love you?”
Baker, in a loud whisper, said, “Hey Jones, pull over at the next motel. Those two need to get a bed.”
Jones laughed. “Sure thing. The Boss has—”
Mostyn interrupted. “Very funny, you two. Very funny.”
Helene pointed. “Look! There’s a motel in five miles.”
Laughter shook the SUV, woke up Dotty, and made Ramsey look up from his game.
“What’s going on?” Dotty asked.
“Nothing, Dot,” Mostyn answered.
Jones, however, wasn’t going to let Mostyn’s comment stand. “The horn toads want to stop at the motel coming up.”
Dotty gave Mostyn a look, said, “Shit”, and rested her head on the window.
Jones and Baker burst out laughing. Penn and Gerstner smiled. Ramsey went back to his game.
A puzzled Helene asked, “What’s a horn toad?”
Laughter once again shook the SUV.
***
Shortly before noon, the SUV pulled into Pine Bluff. Mostyn put away his tablet and looked at the cluster of buildings making up the tiny unincorporated hamlet.
“Where do you want to park, Boss?”
“Good question, Jones,” Mostyn replied.
Ramsey, looking up from his phone, said, “This is a town?”
“Park by the store,” Mostyn said.
Jones complied, and, when he shut off the engine, everyone got out.
“Is this it?” Dotty asked.
“Probably,” Baker said. “You have your convenience store, and a couple of gas pumps. A laundromat, three bars, two churches, and a bunch of houses.”
Ramsey let out a laugh. “Houses? These are trailers.”
“Mobile or prefab homes,” Baker corrected. “And don’t be so snooty. Do you live in a mansion?”
Ramsey gave Baker the finger and went back to his phone.
Baker, on the other hand, started taking pictures of the place.
Amazement and wonder was all over Helene’s face. “This is so—”
Dottie interrupted, “Yeah, we know. Exciting.” She turned to Mostyn. “Start by asking in the store?”
“Sure, Dot. You and Helene. Jones, I want you and Ramsey to take the bars. Penn, Gerstner, you guys see if there’s anyone at the Methodist church. Baker and I will check out the Baptist church. Meet back here when you’re done.”
Mostyn and Baker started for the church.
“So, Mostyn,” Baker began, “any idea why Bardon shuffled us off to this little bit of nowhere?”
“Nope. No idea whatsoever.”
“After all, wouldn’t there be more to find back in New Jersey?”
“One would think so, Willie Lee. One would think so.”
“It’s like that old hymn we sang when I was a kid. Bardon moves in mysterious ways, his wonders to perform.”
Mostyn let out a laugh. “Isn’t it supposed to be ‘God’?”
A smile tugged at the corners of Baker’s mouth. “Huh. I guess it is.”
Mostyn noticed the sign in front of the church. Christopher Hayes, Pastor, was in fairly big letters. Undernea
th the pastor’s name were the times for Sunday School and worship. Below that was “Going About As A Lion.” Mostyn guessed that was the sermon title.
The two men climbed the four steps to the porch and tried the double doors. The latch moved and the door on the left opened when Mostyn gave it a push. He and Baker entered, the latter calling out, “Hello! Anybody here?”
There was no narthex. The doors opened directly into the semicircular auditorium. The pulpit was on a bit of a thrust stage, allowing the preacher to be partially surrounded by his audience.
“I like this layout,” Baker said. “Kind of puts the pastor in the middle of his flock. Instead of the usual, he’s up there, we’re back here, and he preaches at us.”
“Huh. Hadn’t thought of that. Got a point, there, Willie Lee.”
Again they called out, “Hello”, and asked if anyone was around.
A door opened to the side of the pulpit area, where the organ was located. A man of average height and looks, much like Mostyn, emerged.
“Hello. How can I help you?”
“Are you the pastor?” Mostyn asked. “Reverend Hayes?”
“I’m Christopher Hayes. How may I help you gentlemen?”
Mostyn and Baker walked up to him and shook hands. Mostyn continued, “We’re looking for information about the recent attacks. The chupacabra?”
Hayes looked puzzled. “What did you call it?”
Baker repeated, “Chupacabra.”
Mostyn took a picture out of his coat pocket and handed it over to the minister.
Hayes looked at it. “The locals have run across a few of these creatures. Thought they were some kind of unknown bear species. In fact, Jethro Kemp shot one a week ago. Roasted it on a spit. Invited the whole town to his place for a potluck picnic. I was a bit leery at first, but the eating wasn’t bad. Kind of tasted like chicken. Jethro said it was quite mean and the hide was very tough. Managed to shoot it in the eye. That’s the shot that finally stopped it.”
Mostyn and Baker looked at each other, then back at Hayes. Mostyn spoke. “We’ve had reports of several attacks by these creatures.”
“I think someone somewhere got something confused. Why don’t you come to my office, and we can talk there.”
Mostyn and Baker followed Reverend Hayes to a room behind the auditorium. The pastor indicated chairs where they could sit. Hayes sat on the sofa situated between the chairs.
“Your names are?”
“Sorry. I’m Pierce Mostyn and this is Willie Lee Baker. We’re with the Interior Department.” Mostyn reached inside his coat for his ID, but Hayes held up his hand and shook his head.
“The creature I think you are probably more interested in, Mr Mostyn, is what we call the Lessing Vampire.”
“Lessing Vampire?” Baker said.
“Yes. The Lessing Vampire has plagued this area for generations. This chupawhatever is a new comer. The locals aren’t too concerned about it.”
Mostyn’s eyebrows reached for his hairline. “Really?”
Hayes nodded.
Mostyn shook his head and shrugged. “Okay. So where does this Lessing Vampire come from?” Mostyn asked.
“Goes back to before the Revolutionary War,” Hayes said. “Several families moved out to this area to settle it. Wilderness back then. Not even many Native Americans were around here. The families were Catholic and wanted to escape the persecution they were suffering at the hands of their Protestant neighbors.”
“Some things never change,” Baker said.
“No, they don’t,” Hayes replied. “Humanity’s intolerance for anything different seems to be one of our defining traits.”
“So it seems,” Mostyn said.
Hayes nodded, and continued with his story. “As things so often happen, a young man, Richard Argeneau, fell in love with an older, married woman. Mary Channing. They were caught ‘in the very act of adultery’, as one record puts it, and were tried, found guilty, and sentenced to death by the priest, Father Lessing.”
“Lovely,” Mostyn said.
“Intolerance was more brutal then, Mr Mostyn,” Hayes said. “It still exists, of course. It’s just that we’re more subtle now. More genteel.”
Mostyn and Baker nodded.
The minister continued. “Mary Channing was branded with the letter ‘A’, strangled, and then burned at the stake for being a witch. She was strangled as an act of mercy because her husband was a man of some importance.”
“And the young man?” Baker asked.
“Instead of repenting and asking forgiveness for his sin, as Mary had, he cursed the church and renounced his faith. Father Lessing cursed Argeneau in return, asking God to give him a restless soul. Then, in an attempt to get Argeneau to recant his rejection of the church, he was tortured by pressing. The reports say Argeneau cursed God with his last breath.”
“He must’ve really loved her,” Baker said.
Hayes shrugged. “I suppose.”
“And that’s it?” Mostyn asked.
“Oh no,” Hayes replied. “Ten days later, Mary Channing’s husband died. Supposedly there was a bite mark on his neck and his body was drained of blood. Argeneau’s grave was dug up and it was empty.”
“Interesting,” Mostyn said.
Hayes nodded. “The legend of Father Lessing’s Vampire persists to this day. The recent attacks have given it new life.”
“So you’ve had recent attacks by the chupacabra and this Lessing Vampire?” Mostyn asked.
“We had a couple by the…,” Hayes paused, then went on, “chupacabra. Some reporter must’ve picked up on them. However, we haven’t had any since Jethro shot that one. But the recent attacks by the Lessing Vampire have been vicious.”
“Has anyone seen this vampire?” Mostyn asked. “Because we haven’t heard of it at all.”
“A few claim to have seen it,” Hayes replied.
“What does it look like?” Baker asked.
“Depends on who you talk to. It looks something like Bela Lugosi’s portrayal of Dracula all the way to a sort of wolf-like creature that mostly walks on two legs.”
“A bit of a difference there,” Mostyn said.
Hayes smiled. “That there is. The old women seem to see Bela Lugosi.”
Mostyn chuckled. “Interesting. You said the attacks were vicious. How so?”
A mild shudder took hold of the minister. “Bodies ripped apart. Some partially eaten. However, most just had the blood sucked out of them.”
Mostyn made a mental note to pass this information on to Bardon as soon as possible.
“How come we haven’t heard about these attacks?” Baker asked.
Hayes smiled. “The locals are very superstitious. They also don’t care much for outsiders.” Hayes let out a chuckle. “One might say, what happens in Pine Bluff stays in Pine Bluff.”
Baker laughed and a smile touched Mostyn’s lips.
“Anything else, gentlemen?”
“Are there any research facilities around here, or factories?” Mostyn asked.
Hayes shook his head. “No one’s much interested in development here. And the tourism people and conservationists aren’t interested in any development getting a start either. Nor the locals.”
Mostyn continued. “Any businesses owned by outside interests?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” Hayes said. “There is, though, the Vautier place.”
“Tell me about it,” Mostyn said.
“Old Rowland Vautier died some twenty years ago. He was a hundred and one and had no heirs. The house, mansion actually, stood empty for five years. And then someone bought it. A fellow named Jarvis Worthly. No one’s ever seen him. Although there have been comings and goings from the place in the fifteen years he’s owned it. But no one can get close to the property. There are armed guards, patrols, an invisible fence, and a physical one.”
“Doesn’t that strike you as odd?” Baker asked.
“Oh, very much so. The Vautier place is the subject of
much gossip. But no one can find out anything as to what’s going on there. Although three years ago, five boys from the junior high found a way into the place. A cave that apparently connects to the cellars.”
“What did they discover?” Mostyn asked.
“Nothing. Some monsters scared them and they left. So they said, anyway.”
“Interesting,” Mostyn replied, putting on his best poker face. “Do you know who the kids were?”
“Billy Vicks, I think, was one. You could ask the store owner, Lester Rabren. He knows most everything that goes on around here.”
Mostyn stood. Baker and Hayes followed. “You’ve been very helpful, Reverend,” Mostyn said, extending his hand to the pastor.
Hayes shook hands with him. “Glad to. Hope you find what you’re looking for.”
Mostyn and Baker left the way they’d entered. On the way out, Baker said, “You think Jarvis Worthly is a front for Van Dyne?”
“Do bats fly at night?”
11
The big black SUV bounced down the rutted and potholed gravel road. Jones skillfully negotiating to minimize the impacts of the jolts. Mostyn and Baker were in the back seat, doing their best to hang on.
“What the hell do they spend their taxes on?” Baker asked.
“Not on roads out in the country,” Jones said.
From Lester Rabren, Mostyn had gotten the names of the boys who’d been out to the Vautier place, as well as directions to the old mansion. He also managed to talk to two of the boys, but neither one was willing to go anywhere near the place. No matter the inducement Mostyn offered them.
“I don’t never want to see one o’ them monsters ever again,” one of the boys declared.
He was, however, more than glad to tell Mostyn how to get to the cave in exchange for the twenty bucks Mostyn offered him.
Armed with both pieces of information, Mostyn decided he, Baker, and Jones would check out the Vautier estate while the rest of the team canvased the houses in the village for information. He also tasked Dotty with booking reservations for the night at the casino-hotel just outside of Murphy.
Jones guided the SUV around a pothole and slowly rolled into and out of a pair of ruts. Fifteen feet further on a clearing occurred in the wall of trees and undergrowth. The sign announced the drive was private and that visitors were not welcome. Jones stopped.
