by R. D. Tarver
“I gotta get the fuck out of here,” he muttered. “I got a buddy that lives in the city, said I can crash in his garage whenever I needed.”
Jesse felt his mind splintering under the weight of what he had just witnessed. No longer capable of letting his innermost thoughts fester privately in his mind, he decided to come clean.
“I have to tell you guys something,” he started. “And it’s going to sound insane—or at least it would have before tonight—but I just really need all of you to hear me out.”
His companions returned a blank stare.
As Jesse addressed the group, he noticed for the first time he could recall that Mazes was no longer smiling. “It’s about Mal. It might explain all of this.”
The room fell silent.
Jesse relayed the events surrounding the photographs he and Kara had found on Mal’s camera. He told them again how they were supposed to meet after the Prisoners of Flesh show, and everything that had happened since. “What happened that night in the mine is somehow connected to everything that is going on in this town—the missing people, the animal attacks, the shit that happened tonight at the church. All of it.”
“Connected how?” asked Rick. “Through lsd in the water supply?”
Jesse rummaged through his backpack and presented the stack of photographs that Kara had developed from Mal’s camera.
The group crowded around the small circular table in the trailer’s kitchenette and watched as Jesse fanned out the photographs.
“Is anybody else sick of trying to pretend what we saw down there in the mine was normal?” He watched as their weary faces scanned the photographs. “There’s something happening in this town and it’s about time we face up to it.”
Rick picked up one of the photographs. He stared at the image that depicted the shadowy figure rising out from the abyss of the vertical mineshaft.
“This is it,” Rick said.
“Finally.” Jesse breathed a sigh of relief. “Are you starting to get it now?”
Rick held the photo up to the light. “This is the fucking album cover for our first record.”
Jesse plucked the photo from Rick’s hand and threw it back on the table. “These are the last images on Mal’s camera. That camera was her life—she wouldn’t have left it behind. She saw something down there, and then she was taken, just like the others tonight at the church.”
Mazes leaned in next to Jesse and clasped him firmly on the shoulder. “I would like to name the architect behind the nefarious plot to pillage the fair township of Macomb Springs as witnessed tonight.”
“I’ve told you everything I know,” Jesse sighed, falling into one of the chairs around the kitchen table. “Agostino said that he would have answers when he gets back.”
“You’re putting a lot of stock in the words of a high school guidance counselor,” said Rick.
The screen door to the trailer opened.
All eyes followed the sound of the booming voice that preceded the wild shock of dense black hair and heavy beard that erupted from the top of the tweed overcoat.
“Actually, I prefer to think of myself as an ethnomusicologist,” Agostino said as he let himself in the trailer.
“Mr. Agostino!” Jesse jumped to help him inside. Agostino was carrying a rolled map and a briefcase under his arm.
“Speak of the devil,” Rick said.
“Nice to see you again, Professor Venom,” said Rust. “The town really went to shit while you were away.”
Agostino nodded politely to the group as he entered. “I heard the radio chatter on the police scanner and came as quickly as I could.”
Rick looked quizzically at the new arrival. “How did you know where to find us?”
“I took the liberty of locating your home address from Jesse’s school records—I hope you don’t mind the breach of privacy, given the circumstances.” He sat his briefcase on the table with a hefty thud. “I saw the light on in the trailer on my way over, and here we are.” Agostino took a breath as he surveyed his audience. “Did you brief the others?”
“We were just getting into it,” Jesse replied.
Agostino set to work by removing his overcoat and wiping the table clean of ashtrays and empty beer cans. He unfurled his map. “How many were there at the church?”
“How many what?” asked Rick.
“Demons, devils, denizens of the netherworld—all misnomers of course. I actually prefer the term visitors, or the more technical sonopods.”
“Sonopods?” scoffed Rick. “Has everyone gone insane?”
“Lay off, man. He’s here to help,” said Jesse.
“Maybe like fifteen or twenty hell hounds, a half-dozen of the zombie lurkers, and one main boss,” Rust said.
Agostino shook his head and appeared deep in thought as he muttered under his breath. “Sentinels, drones, and a Rift Lord,” Agostino continued to speak to himself as he undid the brass hasps on his briefcase. “No doubt preparing for the passage of an entire hive legion.”
“Can we back up here just a minute, Professor?” Rick asked.
Agostino unrolled the sepia-colored map, placing a half-empty beer can on each corner to hold it in place. Various geographical regions were circled in red, including Mesopotamia, Western Europe, and the Northeastern United States. Scribbled annotations and strange, arcane symbols littered the map.
“Hey, that’s us.” Rust pointed to the large red circle plotted on the southern center of the North American continent. “Why the hell is Macomb Springs circled on this map?”
All eyes watched as Agostino traced his index finger over the map. “Throughout history, certain cultural phenomena marked by localized mass hysteria—typically of religious origin—have coincided with reports of demonic visitation and satanic influence.” He absently took a drink from one of the open beer cans on the table as he continued. “The Maqlu rituals of ancient Mesopotamia, various European Inquisitions, the Salem witch trials, and the current rise of ‘Satanic Panic’ throughout the United States are but a few of the more infamous examples.”
“Look, man, in case you hadn’t noticed, we’re not exactly the church-going crowd,” said Rick. “So you can save the Armageddon fearmongering for the squares over at the mini-mall.”
“On the contrary,” Agostino said, “my interest in the end of the world is purely academic.”
“Did you find out anything from your adviser?” asked Jesse.
Agostino nodded. “Perhaps we should start at the beginning. You should first know that Macomb Springs is not the only populace to encounter such events.” Jesse noticed a faraway look in the guidance counselor’s eyes as he continued. “And secondly, it might help you to prepare for what is to come if you opened your minds to the possibility that Hell, as referenced in the Judeo-Christian religious tradition, is indeed a real place—though not exactly as it was described.”
“No issue there,” said Rust.
“All right, you’re starting to freak everybody out,” Jesse said. “Just tell us what’s going on, please.”
“It is part of our working theory that the entities you witnessed tonight, these so-called demonic forces, are attracted to certain bio-chemical resonating frequencies which manifest in humans as the fear response.”
“Our theory?” asked Rick. “What are you, some kind of Fortean witch doctor?”
“I belong to a specialized research group who have been monitoring similar events throughout human history,” Agostino shrugged. “I suppose you could call it a family tradition.” He looked to his watch and raised a thick, black eyebrow. “Unfortunately, that is a conversation for another time.”
“We can trust him.” Jesse nodded to his brother. “He majored in Black Sabbath.”
Rust raised his beer in solidarity.
Jesse attempted to steer the conversation back to its plotted course. “So you’re saying that what we saw tonight were actual demons? From Hell?”
Rick belched an interjection. “I’ve been
to anti-Halloween fright nights with twice the production budgets of that bullshit.” He continued to belch periodically as he spoke. “It’s all smoke and mirrors paid for by the collection plate to scare young people into the arms of God.”
Agostino gestured to Jesse. “To answer your question: yes and no.” He rummaged through his briefcase and presented several diagrams depicting a menagerie of fantastic-looking creatures. “As depicted in the Ars Goetia of the Lesser Key of Solomon, the physical characteristics of demons—horns, barbed tails, chimeras with heads of beasts, and so on—were described long ago by ancient scribes and preserved in what would later become humanity’s most prominent religious texts.” He passed around the diagrams as he continued. “Little did the future stewards of these texts know that what had been preserved were actual, first-hand accounts of extraterrestrial contact—warnings veiled in scripture that described these visitors who had come to our world to feed.”
“World eaters from the Nine Hells of Baator,” said Mazes.
A low grumble resounded through the kitchenette.
“Sorry.” Rust grabbed his stomach. “I know this is bad timing, but I’m freakin’ starving.” Rust elbowed Jesse. “You got anything to eat in here?”
Jesse nodded towards the pantry from beneath a furrowed brow.
Agostino pulled a copy of the American Psychiatric Association’s dsm-iv from his briefcase. “There are no biological organisms on Earth that are capable of generating as much fear and anxiety as human beings.” He fanned the pages of the weighty tome beneath his thumb as he continued. “In this manner, we are more or less self-contained, high-octane, psychosexual batteries, outputting unprecedented levels of biochemical energy that is somehow observable to these sonopods—emitting like a sonic beacon, or perhaps more aptly, a dinner bell. Especially when—”
“Especially when we get freaked the fuck out,” finished Rust. The wiry frontman spoke over his shoulder as he foraged through the sparse pantry. The loud crinkling of a pastry wrapper brought all eyes upon him. “So people are basically, like, anxiety-filled Twinkies to these alien-demon things?”
Agostino ran his hand through his beard, presumably calculating the proposed scenario. “I suppose that is one way to look at it.”
“So when that douchebag, Pastor Roberts, was up there at the pulpit preachin’ hellfire and brimstone, he was really talkin’ about these visitors?”
“Unwittingly.”
“Well, there’s no shortage of hysteria around here,” Jesse said. He smoothed out a crumpled up Community Cleansing flyer from his jacket pocket and dropped it on the table. “That dinner bell is ringing loud and clear right about now.”
“Which brings me to the bad news,” said Agostino.
“Wait. Bad news?” asked Rust.
“Yeah, so all that stuff before about us being snack cakes for some interdimensional assholes…that was the good news?” asked Rick.
The guidance counselor rifled through a stack of newspaper clippings and magazines in his briefcase. “Due to the advent of modern media, namely television, what might have once been geographically isolated outbreaks of social hysteria are now readily experienced by an entire nation—and in real time.”
“Fuckin’ Geraldo,” said Rust.
Agostino placed his fingertips together as he spoke. “Reports of Satanic Panic throughout the country over the past few years indicate that we are currently witnessing one of the most widespread episodes of mass hysteria ever recorded in human history. And so we have an observation.” He pulled his fingers apart and looked through them. “The hypothesis…Macomb Springs appears to be the staging ground for the next sonopod feeding. A feeding on the grandest scale that humanity has ever witnessed.”
“Great. That’s just fuckin’ great,” said Rust. “Just when we were about to blow up.”
Jesse turned towards Agostino and met his eyes. “Okay, so now that we’re all caught up, what the hell do we do about it?” asked Jesse. “Mal is still missing.”
“There is cause for concern, I’m afraid.”
“Please,” begged Jesse. “If there’s still a chance…I have to find her.”
Agostino pointed to the red circle at the center of the map. “I believe I have discovered the location of the nexus between worlds—a gateway that connects our world and theirs.”
“The gateway to the Nine Hells,” whispered Mazes.
“More aptly known as the Spring Creek Mine,” Agostino corrected. “Ultrasonic and seismographic readings conducted over the last few months confirm the existence of a natural cave system beneath the mine. Perhaps one of the largest uncharted cave systems discovered in recent history. Somewhere within that cave system, a point of entry into our world is being torn out of the fabric of space and time from the other side.”
“The other side of what?” asked Rick.
“That much remains unclear.” Agostino shrugged. “A parallel universe? Or a dimensional axis we have yet to discover? Possibly an intergalactic civilization that has evolved the ability to travel vast distances seemingly without the use of technology—at least one that we would recognize.”
Rick whistled and looked to his watch. “Okay, that’s it for me.” He stifled a yawn. “Call me when the movie comes out, I’m going to pass the fuck out.”
“Hold on, let’s hear him out,” said Jesse. He looked to Agostino. “It’s been a long day. Please, go ahead.”
“It may sound far-fetched, but nature has set a precedent for similar adaptations. For example, bats, as well as many species of marine mammals, utilize sound waves—echolocation—to navigate their habitats in order find food.”
“Far-fetched is a good start,” said Rick.
“By our best estimates the universe is a hearty fourteen billion years old. In contrast, Earth has only existed for 4.6 billion years of that time.” Agostino’s voice became more emphatic as he explained. “Imagine how many planetary civilizations have come and gone during this differential, not to mention what kinds of novel adaptive traits and social orders have evolved among them, elsewhere in the universe—things we have never even conceived of.”
“This isn’t Star Trek or The Twilight Zone, man. This is Macomb Springs. You can’t even get mtv out here. This kind of shit just doesn’t happen in places like this,” said Rick. “Jess, I’m sorry, man, but this is beyond the pale.”
“Just let him finish,” Jesse growled.
Agostino shrugged. “While the mechanism remains uncertain, it is possible to imagine an organism that, over vast eons of time, has evolved a sophisticated adaptation to sound—an adaptation which conferred the ability to attenuate or overload the resonating frequency of matter, which has somehow allowed them to gain access to the very fabric of space and time. An adaptation that enables the passage to other worlds, thereby increasing the chance of survival beyond the confines of their native habitat.”
“He’s right,” Jesse said. “All objects have their own unique resonating frequency—like the wine glass experiment.”
“Precisely,” Agostino said.
“But instead of some parlor trick, they’re using subatomic vibrations to somehow crack open a door between worlds.” Jesse repeated Agostino’s synopsis aloud as he reasoned through the logic. “But if they can open a door to our world, there has to be a way to close the door from our side, right?”
Rick repositioned his glasses over his nose as he directed an inquiry to Agostino. “Okay, say I were to buy into this cockamamie story—why Earth? What’s so special about this planet?”
“In a word, sustenance.” Agostino gestured towards Rust who was working through his second Twinkie. “We are potentially looking at a cyclical subsistence strategy that likely began as soon as anatomically modern humans, i.e., Twinkies, evolved on this planet.”
“If this has been going on for that long, why haven’t we heard about it before now?” asked Rick.
“Maybe we have. As a wise man once said, ‘Hell was a warning.’ The very con
cept of shadowy denizens escaping from the underworld to wreak havoc on unsuspecting humans is as old as time itself.”
Jesse’s mind was reeling from the information overload. “The ones we saw tonight…they just came out of nowhere, nabbed a couple dozen Bible thumpers, and vanished into thin air. Where are they taking them?”
“What you witnessed tonight was just the beginning. A scouting party sent to siphon energy from the citizens of Macomb Springs in order to build a bridge from the visitor’s home world. Since the nexus is not yet powerful enough to sustain their passage in substantial numbers, the sonopods will likely begin harvesting the energy of the townsfolk in close proximity to the point of entry to our world.”
“The mine,” Jesse said.
