Sons of Darkness

by Gail Z. Martin

  Brent nodded, turning again toward the window, so his expression wasn’t easily readable. “Yeah. Kind of a ‘be careful what you wish for’ thing, isn’t it? Dead husband shows up and kills hubby number two. Dead kid shows up and pushes mommy off the balcony.” He paused. “I thought you said that the zombies, like Jamie, didn’t have sentience and couldn’t remember who they were?”

  Travis bit his lip, trying to figure out how to put his impressions into words. “I know that Jamie didn’t have individual sentience. Could there be something like muscle memory, or like the ‘stone tape’ impressions of a repeater ghost? Maybe, but that isn’t the same as awareness. I said Last Rites just to be careful, but I didn’t sense a soul or a ghost, just like I didn’t sense one at the earlier killing. But borrowed sentience…I think that’s possible, and that it’s malicious.”

  “You mean, whatever power is raising the dead knows enough to send a kid back home to his father or a wife back to her husband?”

  Travis nodded. “Because it’s maximum emotional damage, and like those psi-vamps you fought, and the hell-maggots, these grief demons feed on pain.”

  “So why ghouls?”

  Travis shrugged. “Anything that desecrates the dead touches on very deep, primal reactions, even for people who didn’t know the deceased. It’s even considered an act of war. And I think that’s exactly what this entity wants—to make as many people into bundles of raw emotion as possible so it can feast.”

  “There’s your exit,” Brent pointed out. Travis had to swerve to make the ramp, although he knew this stretch of highway better than he wanted to admit.

  “Thanks,” he grated.

  Brent studied him. “Are you okay? You’ve been off since we left Cooper City. Is there something besides the obvious bugging you?”

  “I grew up around here,” Travis admitted. “So having the genius loci fucking with people in this area feels personal.”

  Thankfully, Brent left the topic alone. Travis hadn’t pressed him for details about the FBI or the PD, figuring Brent would say more when—or if—he felt like it. They’d loosened up around each other enough to share a few more details, but Travis wasn’t ready to talk about that part of his past, not yet, and maybe never.

  Travis hadn’t been back to Bellefonte in years, but not much had changed. On one hand, that meant the town’s good points were probably as he remembered them. On the other, so were the simmering tensions and small-town myopia. Change came slowly to second-tier cities like Pittsburgh, compared to major metropolises like New York or L.A., but out here, the shifts in thinking moved at glacial speed. Those who stayed liked it that way.

  “First up, another Silverado family,” Travis said, trying to get himself out of his thoughts. He pulled the Crown Vic up to the curb next to a small neighborhood greenway with a sign proclaiming: “Masulo Park .”

  “We’re meeting someone here?” Brent glanced around. The grassy area held a few picnic tables, a basketball court, and benches overlooking Spring Creek. A pickup game was in progress on the court. Several people fished from chairs near the creek bank, and some of the benches were taken by walkers content to stop for a moment and enjoy the view.

  “Ellie Durbin.” Travis nodded toward where a woman sat alone at one of the picnic tables. He headed toward her with Brent a step behind, and Ellie looked up as they approached.

  “Travis?” she asked, and he reached out to shake her hand.

  “Hello, Ellie. I’m Travis, and this is my research partner, Brent.” They took seats opposite the woman. “Thanks for meeting us.”

  Ellie looked flustered and smoothed her dark red hair back behind her ear. Travis figured her to be in her early thirties. “I wanted to come here because this is one of Rachael’s favorite places. I thought you might pick up more of her energy here than in the house.” Left unspoken was whether that connection would be with a vision or with Rachael’s ghost.

  “Tell us about what happened,” Brent urged, leaning forward with his best “good cop” manner. Travis let him take the lead and sat back, observing Ellie and reaching out with his Sight.

  “Rachael was coming back from an appointment in Milesburg,” Ellie said. “Normally she wouldn’t have driven I-80, but there’s a bridge out and some detours on the back route, so she took the highway instead. That’s what she texted before she left Milesburg. She never made it home.” Ellie looked down, nervously twisting the stack of metal bracelets on her wrist.

  “When did you call the police?” Brent nudged.

  “I got worried when she was an hour late and didn’t call,” Ellie replied. “I texted her and didn’t get an answer. Then I called. Nothing. After two hours, I got in the car and drove the route, thinking maybe she’d had car trouble and her phone died. So I drove to the truck stop, and that’s where I found her car, but Rachael was gone.” Her voice tightened, but she squared her shoulders and lifted her head defiantly.

  “Did you ask around at the truck stop?”

  Ellie looked at Brent as if he were stupid. “Of course. I talked to every clerk, every trucker, every person in the restaurant. They remembered seeing her talking to someone in a black pickup, but no one saw her after that.”

  “What about the driver of the truck? Any luck getting a description?”

  Ellie shook her head. “The truck had dark windows, and apparently the driver was on the side facing away from the building. People remembered Rachael because her hair is so red. Reminds them of that actress from Dr. Who .” She slid her phone across the table with a photo of a woman in her early twenties with long red hair and bright green eyes. The combination was definitely memorable, and Travis felt certain that anyone who saw Rachael would have remembered her.

  “I don’t know if you can read anything from objects,” Ellie said, “but her phone was still in her car.” She pulled a cell phone out of her purse and handed it to Travis.

  Travis let the conversation fade as he opened up his Gift. Later, he and Brent would go to the truck stop and see what psychic residue he could lift from the scene. Now, he stretched out his awareness, trying to pick up any kind of vibe about Rachael, holding his breath and hoping that he didn’t find her ghost.

  He focused on Rachael’s picture, then extended his focus to her phone. His gift wasn’t psychometry—the ability to read an object’s history or magic via touch—but he could usually pick up impressions about the energy of the person who owned a frequently-used item.

  The energy he sensed seemed normal. A little tension, but if Rachael had been running late, that would make sense. Nothing about the vibe made Travis think that Rachael was afraid for her life, or was fleeing a pursuer. He pushed his Gift further, to include this park she loved so much. Now that he knew what Rachael’s energy felt like, he could pick up traces of it near one of the benches, and here at the table.

  “She likes to come here and sit and watch the water,” Ellie said as if she could guess his thoughts, or perhaps his shifting gaze gave him away. “Rachael comes and borrows my dog to walk him since she doesn’t have a pet of her own. Sometimes I pick up dinner, and we eat here, like a mini-picnic. It’s kinda been our thing for a while.”

  The energy Travis picked up from the park felt contented and safe. Rachael hadn’t left behind traces of turmoil, and nothing suggested any kind of tension between the two sisters. What he sought was a feel for Rachael’s personality, and the hints he absorbed raised questions. Dimly, he was aware that Brent and Ellie had started talking while he tranced.

  “Rachael seems like she’s very sensible—good head on her shoulders,” Travis said, interrupting whatever Ellie and Brent were talking about. Both of them turned to look at him, and he realized that to them, his remark came out of the blue.

  Ellie nodded. “She’s always been grounded. Even though she’s two years younger than me. Sometimes it felt like she was the big sister because she was always planning, always thinking about what might go wrong and how to fix it if it did.”

  Trav
is pursed his lips for a second, needing to phrase his question right so he didn’t lead the witness. “What about her personal life? Any enemies? Angry exes? Envious co-workers?”

  “Rachael’s a good kid,” Ellie replied. “It’s not like she was homecoming queen or anything, but she gets along well with people—even the flaming assholes. She hadn’t dated anyone in a while, and the last relationship broke up pretty amicably.”

  Travis nodded, getting the answer he expected. “And I’m guessing the black truck murders have been in the news here.”

  “Oh, yeah. Can’t turn on the TV without hearing about it.”

  “So why would someone as sensible as Rachael stop to talk to a stranger in a black pickup, even at a busy place like the truck stop?”

  Ellie met his gaze. “She wouldn’t have—that’s what didn’t make any sense to me. Rachael was a little freaked out about the whole disappearances thing. I was surprised that she decided to drive I-80 because of that, and a little shocked that she’d gone to a truck stop.”

  “We think the black truck is part of a bigger problem,” Travis said. Even with Doug and others doing their best to keep a lid on the details, Travis knew rumors spread quickly in small towns, and that Ellie had likely heard the gossip.

  “I heard someone say they thought a Satanist cult was behind all the weird stuff,” Ellie said tentatively. “You know, like they used to say about gamers.”

  Brent rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well. Role-playing games don’t really summon evil spirits. And I don’t think Satanists have anything to do with this. We’re trying to figure out what does.”

  Ellie drummed her fingers as she thought. “People have told stories about the area around Milesburg and Cooper City for a long time. They say the game lands are haunted, and that there are old mines full of dead miners whose bodies were never recovered and so their ghosts can’t rest. You know, campfire stories. But they aren’t new—my mom and grandma heard a lot of them all their lives.”

  Travis read enough of Ellie’s energy to know she was open to the idea of ghosts and the unseen. He hoped she was an ally, and at this point, they needed a win badly enough that Travis was willing to risk trusting her, at least a little.

  “When we leave town, we’re going to go over to the truck stop and see what we can find out that the cops might have missed. But I can’t shake the feeling that the spooky stories you mentioned might hold a clue. Do you think you could get people talking about the old tales and tell us what you find out? It could be important.” He gave her his most trustworthy smile. “Sometimes, true things get hidden in fairytales.”

  “You’re some kind of psychic, aren’t you?” Ellie asked. She glanced at Brent. “And you’re his bodyguard?”

  “Close enough,” Brent replied.

  “I’m a medium, and sometimes I see things before they happen,” Travis admitted.

  Ellie’s eyes went wide. “Oh, God. Is Rachael dead? Did you see her ghost?”

  Travis reached out to touch her hand. “No. I expected to, but I didn’t. Which might mean she’s still alive. Let’s keep believing that until we find proof otherwise.”

  Ellie sagged with relief. “Okay. All right. I can do that. And if I think about it for a bit, I can probably write up most of the stories from memory, but I’ll ask around, without letting people know why,” she added.

  “Thank you,” Travis said, standing. “It might give us the missing piece. We’re going to do everything we can to find Rachael and bring her home.” He hated that he couldn’t add “alive,” but that was too much to promise.

  “I have your number,” Ellie said. “I’ll text you when I’ve gotten the stories together, and you call me if you find out anything. Deal?”

  “Deal,” Brent assured her as he stood.

  “If there are ghouls, why isn’t every TV news van already circling Bellefonte for the story of the year?” Brent asked as Travis headed through town and out the other side.

  Compared to many of the other small towns in the area, Bellefonte was doing well. The downtown boasted a number of well-maintained Victorian homes and city buildings, and the main street had a selection of local shops and restaurants. Being close enough to Penn State to pick up overflow hotel guests on football weekends certainly helped the local economy, and many people in town either worked for the university, in the nearby town of State College, or at Rockview, the Pennsylvania State Correctional Institution less than a mile out of town.

  “Because Jason’s kept things bottled up, but he called me to come get a look since it’s our kind of thing.”

  “He’s one of your Night Vigil people?”

  Travis nodded. “Yeah. Jason’s got…talent.”

  “What? Telepath? Another clairvoyant? Bend spoons with his mind?” Brent asked. “Help me out—all I know about psychics I learned from Stephen King and Long Island Medium.”

  Travis chuckled. “Then you’re in luck. Jason is a fire starter.”

  Brent’s eyes widened. “Seriously? Like the book?”

  “Like the legends—and quite a few books and old tales,” Travis corrected. “It’s a rare ability, and a dangerous one, but it’s real.”

  “Shit. So he can light things on fire with his mind, and it’s not magic?”

  Travis shrugged. “If you define magic as hocus pocus, some power you harness from outside and channel to do your will, then no, it’s not magic. If you define it as something extrasensory, supernatural, or a paranormal ability, then yes. I’m sure it would have been enough to get him killed as a witch in a past century.”

  “What does he do for a living?”

  “He’s a volunteer firefighter.”

  “Really?”

  Travis nodded. “Yep. I kid you not. He can’t put out fires with his mind, but he figured that he’d be in the safest place if he ever had a problem controlling his gift.”

  “Is that a possibility?”

  “Apparently it’s come up now and again. People got hurt, and Jason hasn’t forgiven himself, so running into burning buildings is how he atones.”

  “Could the fire hurt him? I mean, maybe he’s immune.”

  “I don’t know. But I hope he’s never in a situation to find out.”

  Travis drove out to Bliss Memorial Gardens, a newer cemetery at the edge of town. It was the kind of place he always thought of as a “mow-over” graveyard, where everyone had flat markers instead of headstones. While the grounds were planted with trees and flowering bushes and were well-maintained, Memorial Gardens never gave Travis the sense of peacefulness and remembrance that he felt in a traditional cemetery with monuments and gravestones.

  “So where are the ghouls?”

  Travis took the fork in the road that led to a large, modern mausoleum. “In there.”

  Rose marble slabs covered the outside of the mausoleum, which had two long slanted sides and two narrower, upright ends. From a distance, the entire building looked like a huge headstone, three stories tall. A blue Dodge pickup was parked by the main entrance, but no other cars were nearby.

  “Jason’s brother-in-law, Lyle, is the cemetery watchman. He saw ‘strange creatures’ lurking around the new graves and called Jason, thinking the two of them would go out and scare them away. They got more than they bargained for.”

  Brent frowned. “Fuck, why didn’t we come here first?”

  “Jason swore he had it under control. Said he kept one on ice for us to see, and he took care of the others. Lyle closed down the mausoleum to other visitors—said it was an electrical issue.”

  They parked and headed for the glass doors. Inside, the slanted walls and high ceiling gave the mausoleum a temple-like appearance. The floor was pink marble, while the etched nameplates were on gleaming white stone that glistened in the light of the frosted-glass wall sconces. Four drawers were stacked atop each other, rising twelve feet into the air, then a balcony encircled the building and another balcony above it. At the top, in the ridge of the ceiling, a stained glass window wit
h an abstract pattern sent down multicolored rays of light.

  It would have been beautiful, except for all the damn ghouls.

  “Jason’s good at what he does,” Brent observed, stepping carefully to avoid charred bodies. At first glance, the corpses looked human, but a second look revealed longer-than-normal arms with elongated fingers. An oversized skull and clawed feet confirmed that the torched remains were not, and never had been, people.

  “Thanks for coming.”

  Travis startled at the voice. He and Brent looked up to see a muscular man in his mid-thirties looking down at them from the second-floor balcony. Jason’s brown hair was buzzed short on the sides, longer on the top, and his face and arms were streaked with soot.

  “Looks like you had a hot time on the ol’ town,” Travis said.

  “Funny. Not. I saved one for you. Come on up. Stairs are in the middle.”

  Brent pulled his gun, and so did Travis—just in case. Two cindered corpses sprawled on the wide marble stairs, and three more were ashy heaps at the top of the steps. A sudden growl and the snap of teeth made Travis and Brent take a step back.

  “Shut the hell up.” Jason raised a hand, and a bolt of fire streamed from his palm, quickly heating the handcuffs on the captured creature’s wrists to red hot. The ghoul shrieked and then fell silent.

  “We have an understanding,” Jason remarked, never taking his eyes off the ghoul.

  “That thing’s even uglier with its skin on than it was fried to a crackly crunch,” Brent remarked, keeping his gun in hand.

  “How many, total?” Travis asked, glancing down the long corridor.

  “Twelve,” Jason said. “Gave me a real workout. Any more and I would have needed a flamethrower. Takes a lot out of me.” Up close, he looked drained and weary, as if he’d worked hard and been up all night.

  “Thanks for saving me a party favor,” Travis said with a smirk and turned his attention on the remaining ghoul. Gray, leathery skin pulled tight across the enlarged skull. Black lips framed a mouth of sharp teeth. Bat-like ears, red eyes, and a tuft of scraggly gray hair on its otherwise bald head gave the ghoul a nightmarish appearance.