Fade To Black (Into The Darkness Book 2)

by Doug Kelly

  John was ready for another drink from his hidden stash in the barn. His liquid courage was wearing off. He had begun to walk toward the barn when he smelled the meat. Changing his path, he walked silently on the gravel around the barn, and ended up right behind Dylan and Joel, unnoticed. He heard Dylan and Joel talking about the goat.

  “I’ll take it to her,” John volunteered. He wanted an excuse to enter the barn.

  Startled, Dylan quickly turned around with the bloody knife in his hand.

  “Oh, it’s you,” said Dylan.

  “You look disappointed,” stated John. “Who did you expect?”

  “I didn’t expect anybody.” He looked at the knife, but did not tell John that he had almost stabbed him. “She just went into the barn.” Dylan untied the goat’s long rope leash and handed it to John. “Tell Mary I’ll come get her when the venison is ready.”

  “Will do,” replied John. He walked away with the goat tromping its cloven hooves across the gravel surrounding the barn, and they both disappeared into it.

  Mary was inspecting the rear of the barn. The bleating of the fourth goat was indiscernible from the three already there, so she did not notice that John had entered the barn. With one cautious eye on Mary, he reached behind a square bale of hay and removed his jar of stiff liquor. He quickly took a mouthful of the clear liquid and swallowed hard and fast. The alcohol drained down into his empty stomach and began to course through his veins again. Bad thoughts began to swirl through his cloudy mind. Anger and self-pity gripped his consciousness. He stared at Mary, unbeknownst to her, and wondered why he could not get a woman like that. She was young and beautiful. He took another drink and hid the jar. “Why can’t I have someone like that?” whispered a little voice in the dark recesses of his mind. He sneered and emerged from behind a shadow in the barn. Mary was startled and took a step back.

  “I know you,” said Mary, squinting her eyes in an attempt to adjust to the dim light.

  “John Sisk, at your service,” he said, almost giggling as he did. Mary could see that his eyes were dilated and glassy.

  “Are you okay, John? How do you feel?”

  “With my fingers, pretty lady.” John snorted at his attempt at humor.

  Mary took a step back and looked out the open barn door. She was alone, and John had stepped between her and the exit.

  “Don’t mind me, pretty lady. I brought you a goat.”

  “My name is Mary. Stop calling me that!”

  “Suit yourself.” He kicked the goat gently in the rear, and it trotted forward toward Mary and the other goats.

  “I just thought I should help nature take its course.”

  “Nature doesn’t need your help.”

  “They need some privacy.” John started to push the door shut.

  “No!” exclaimed Mary.

  John mumbled, “Bitch,” under his breath.

  Mary became noticeably angry. “What did you say?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Just sit over there and leave me alone.” She pointed to a square bale of hay on the ground.

  John sulked to the bale and sat quietly. He raised his head after a few moments, and his eyes wandered over Mary’s body again. He was ready for another drink.

  The three male goats circled the female. With her back to John, Mary watched them as she leaned against a barn pole. The males began to butt heads to determine dominance. After a few confrontations, a leader emerged. The largest of the three males mounted the female.

  During the courtship, John had slowly crept toward Mary. She was unaware and thought he was still slouched on the square bale. When the male goat was firmly on top of the female, John whispered lecherously into Mary’s ear. “I sure wish I was doing that.”

  She felt John’s sick breath on her shoulder and felt trapped by the barn pole she was leaning on. Anger erupted from the depths of her soul, and it screamed for her to fight back. Mary turned her head, seductively, and replied, “So that’s what you want to do?” She gave a nod to the copulating animals. “I’d sure like to see that.”

  “Yeah, I bet you would.” John smiled, took a step back, and moved his eyes across the curves of Mary’s body again.

  “You want to do it in here, John, don’t you? Right now?”

  “I’m ready, pretty lady.”

  She leaned forward and whispered in his ear. “You better ask Tom first. It’s his goat.”

  The demons circling John’s mind moved his arm forward. He grabbed Mary by the arm and grunted, “You bitch!” as he raised his other hand.

  She screamed just as a dozen louder screams came from outside the barn. John came back to reality and let go of her arm. Mary sprinted outside and turned the corner of the barn to see a horrific sight unfold before her eyes.

  A stray dog had been scavenging through the meadow. The smell of meat permeated the air, and the dog had followed the scent to the deer’s blood trail. It followed the trail to the clearing where the children played. It was a Rottweiler that had hidden in the tall grass, lying in wait for its prey. It had lost a lot of weight, but all its muscle remained and so did its killer instinct, fueled by hunger. The dog, trained for protection, possessed an evil temperament. Its former owners had placed a leather collar, studded with stainless steel spikes, around its neck to make it look more intimidating. The dog lay stealthily in the tall grass, tongue hanging out the side of its jowls and dripping with saliva over its large, crushing teeth. It was ready to lunge forward when its murderous predisposition commanded it to do so.

  Dylan heard the children scream and quickly turned to look. Then the adults screamed and rushed toward the children. Reflexively, they stopped and formed a semicircle around the clearing in the grass, feeling helpless against the beast. The dog lunged forward and clamped its large jaws on the neck of a young boy. It was shaking the child and dragging the limp body backward into the field. The adults panicked, frozen with fear. Everyone begged the other to do something. When Dylan saw the animal, he instantly sprinted toward the dog, knife already in hand. His legs pushed against the ground beneath his shoes, as if they were compressed steel springs. He ran as fast as he could, screaming in rage at the black creature. The crowd quickly parted, and Dylan continued to charge forward. He was at the clearing, raising his knife, ready to attack. The dog met his challenge, dropping the child, and raising its muscular body to lunge again. Dylan raised his left arm protectively, and the dog clamped down on his forearm. The weight of the animal knocked him backward, but when the dog had leapt to bite Dylan’s forearm, it had stretched its body and exposed its soft underbelly. Dylan eviscerated the animal before they landed on the ground. Dylan thrust his blade into the dog’s ribs until he felt the animal’s jaws release. It was dead. He pushed the dog off him and turned to look at the mangled child. The Rottweiler had broken his neck and ripped apart his throat.

  The boy’s mother and father collapsed beside their only child. The mother bent forward and tried to hug his lifeless body. Her long hair dangled down in front of her face, dragging across the child’s open wounds, and cloaking the young boy like a death veil. She hugged the corpse with a mother’s eternal love while her hair was soaked with blood and tears. The father’s face was expressionless, as if he was in a trance. He gently placed one hand on his wife’s back. Then his hand dropped to his side, and his eyes cast to the ground before he suddenly stood up. He picked up a metal pipe from the junk pile by the barn, went to the dog’s body, and began to beat the dead animal relentlessly. He smashed it with the rage that permeated every fiber of his being. The flesh splattered all around, and the carcass turned to a bloody pulp. He began to cry out in rage, “Why me? Why me?” as he continued to swing the pipe. The circle of people slowly dissipated as the adults took their children away from the carnage.

  Dylan wiped his blade on the grass, and sat there, looking for wounds on his body. He noticed that his left forearm was bleeding. He tested his fingers. They all moved. His feet found their way under his
body. He stood, covered in blood, and still tightly gripping the knife, he saw the well across the yard and began to walk toward it to wash the blood off his wounds and clothes. The silent crowd parted, as he moved forward, and then closed behind him. They stared with wide eyes as he stoically limped past them.

  Dylan pumped the handle to the well, and the cold water poured out. The water poured over his arm and washed away the blood. Multiple puncture wounds from the sharp canine teeth had marked his arm. Then he poured water over the blade of his knife before it went back into its sheath. He took his shirt off and put it under the stream of water. The clear water turned red as it washed the bloodstains away, but the stain on his memory was as permanent as the scars on his arm.

  Joel nervously approached Dylan. “Are you okay?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “You should come back to my house. Let me clean you up. I have a first-aid kit.”

  “Yeah.” Dylan nodded softly. “I’ll do that.”

  Kevin ran over to Dylan, and close behind, Mary ran, with Dylan’s children, to her husband’s side.

  “Go with Joel, let him check you out,” Mary told Dylan. “We’ll get your children back home.” Mary hugged her husband tightly.

  “He already offered.” Dylan reached out and grabbed his children, using his good arm. “You stay with Kevin and Mary. I’ll come back after the doctor fixes me.”

  “Daddy, are you broken?” asked Jennifer, with the inquisitive, innocent voice of a child.

  “No, Honey, I’ll be okay. I’m not broken.” He wiggled his fingers and poked her in the side to tickle her. He ruffled his son’s hair. Then he got his rifle and walked away with Joel.

  Mary whispered into Kevin’s ear what had happened with John inside the barn.

  Kevin’s face turned red, and he exploded in a furious rage.

  “What?”

  “Don’t do anything rash, Kevin.”

  There was a broken axe handle near the well. Kevin picked it up and said, “I’m going to have a talk with that son of a bitch!”

  “Please, Kevin, I don’t want you to do anything rash. Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

  “When I’m finished, it won’t be me that regrets anything.”

  Kevin gripped the handle tightly with one hand and repeatedly smacked the weathered hickory on the palm of his other hand as he walked to the barn.

  In the barn, John sat on a bale of hay, leaning forward with an empty jar on the ground in front of him. He looked up to see Kevin marching toward him.

  “Hey, buddy,” said John, with a muddled smile. “What do you want?”

  “To knock your teeth out.”

  A clumsy hand reached down for the glass jar. “I’ll drink to that.” He tipped his head back and then realized that the jar was empty. “Oh, well, ran out of hooch.” The smell of alcohol overpowered the smell of the musty barn.

  Kevin leaned close to John’s face and said, “You’re drunk.”

  John lifted a finger and proclaimed, “I’m not as think you drunk I am.”

  Kevin pushed the axe handle into John’s chest. He fell backward, hit his head on the ground, and passed out. Kevin dragged his body to the well, pumped cold water on him to wake him, and dragged him to the crowd for everyone to see the leader they had elected.

  Kevin whispered into his wife’s ear, “Why couldn’t the dog have gotten that sorry sack of shit instead?”

  “Everything happens for a reason,” she replied, and kissed her husband tenderly on the cheek.

  Chapter Fifteen

  From inside his house, Dylan entered the garage. He strapped his knife’s sheath to his right thigh. Taking the bow in his left hand, his other hand was ready to hold a fistful of arrows. The wounds from the dog bite had healed nicely. He tested the grip of his left hand by making a tight fist and squeezing the bow handle to watch the muscles in his forearm flex.

  Kim Hales and Mary were already in Dylan’s garage, waiting for the others to arrive and begin grinding the harvested corn into flour. Kim held the grain mill steady on the edge of Dylan’s workbench while Mary clamped its base securely to the table. At the table’s edge, Mary placed a chair under the mill and then sat a bucket on the chair. They positioned the bucket to catch the flour as it fell from the mill. A tarp with mounds of shelled corn covered the floor of the third garage bay. Jim had transported the grain from Tom’s field with his wheelbarrow.

  “Good morning,” said Dylan.

  Both women returned the greeting simultaneously.

  “Have you seen the kids?” Dylan asked.

  Mary stopped working and went to the threshold of the open garage door. She bent at the waist, looked side to side, and noticed that a ball they had been playing with near the garage was gone. “They must be in the backyard.”

  “I’m going to ask Brad if he wants to hunt with me.” Dylan gestured toward his bow.

  “Joel will be over here soon. He might want to go.” Kim paused for a second, looking upward as she thought, and then continued speaking. “And David Taylor, too. His wife, Amy, said he is going to bring buckets of corn over for them and Linda Foster.”

  “Okay, I’ll wait for them. I’m in the back if anybody wants to know.” Dylan placed his arrows on a shelf, exited the garage, and went directly to the backyard.

  As he walked, Dylan looked down and plucked at the string of his bow. The string appeared to be fraying at the looped ends and that had captured his attention. He was already in his backyard by the time he looked up. Dylan froze in place. He saw his children seated on the ground under the large walnut tree in his backyard. Brad and Jennifer sat next to each other with their backs to Dylan. A stranger was in front of them. The man was facing Dylan and had already begun to stand when he saw their father. Dylan’s first reaction was to grab for an arrow, but he instantly remembered that he had left them on a shelf in the garage. He quickly dropped the bow. In the same moment, his hand went to his knife’s handle, and he marched forward toward his children.

  “Come to me!” exclaimed Dylan.

  His children turned, smiled at him, and obeyed. They did not seem concerned about stranger. They continued to smile at their father as they approached him, even though they saw the look of fear and concern on his face.

  “Go to the garage now and stay there. Hurry.”

  Brad and Jennifer began to run for the garage. Then Brad realized that he had left their ball by the tree and turned back for it. Dylan pointed to the driveway and said, in a commanding voice, “Go!” His son turned back and disappeared around the corner of the house.

  Dylan walked toward the man while anxiously gripping his knife, just in case he needed to unsheathe it quickly. The man was tall and skinny, with dark curly hair. He had a large head and sharp facial features. His eyes were set unusually far apart, giving his face a strange appearance. He was thin, but his clothes seemed to fit him as if he always had been thin. His belt did not have any extra length hanging from the buckle like so many other belts that Dylan had seen on ever-shrinking waistlines. To his relief, Dylan did not notice any weapons on the tall stranger.

  “Who are you?” Dylan demanded.

  “Salvation.”

  “Salvation?”

  The man crossed his arms defiantly and widened his stance.

  “Stay away from my children and stay away from here. We don’t need your salvation.”

  The man smirked. “Your children are the innocent ones. They’re caught up in your negative energy.” His sneer widened. “You have an empty soul, Dylan.”

  There was a long pause. Dylan was shocked that the stranger knew his name. He stared into the unfamiliar eyes for what seemed like an eternity, trying to recognize the man. “Don’t mention my children again.” Dylan tilted his head forward and seethed with anger.

  “I can help your children, and fill your soul.”

  “I do have an empty soul,” Dylan growled through clenched teeth. “And it can only be filled with blood and vengeance.”


  Even before the tip of Dylan’s knife cleared its sheath, the stranger had reacted. The man’s eyes grew wide. He stepped back and turned to run. His long legs propelled him quickly, but Dylan began to close the gap. By the time the pursuit went into the tall field of grass, Dylan was only a few feet away from the strange man. Although Dylan was that close, he decided to stop the chase for fear of stepping into a rabbit hole and breaking his ankle. He took a few quick, deep breaths and, after sheathing his knife, cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled, “Don’t come back.”

  The stranger heard Dylan, sensed the distance of his voice, and stopped at the edge of the forest. In reply, he cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled, “You will die for your sins.”

  Dylan began to walk angrily toward the stranger, but the man quickly disappeared behind the endless bushes and tree trunks. Dylan went to where the man had stood before he disappeared, and looked into the woods. He did not see anything suspicious, so he closed his eyes and listened for the crackle of dry leaves or the call of forest animals maddened by the intruder. He was gone.

  Dylan walked into the thicket and looked about once more. The gentle breeze moved the tree branches, and the colorful leaves rustled in the wind. A red maple leaf drifted from above and landed near his feet. Autumn had arrived, and the falling deciduous leaves formed a colorful palette on the ground. He walked across the leaf litter and felt nodules under his feet. He kicked the leaves away and noticed walnuts, acorns, and pecans had fallen with the leaves. He decided he should get the other men and collect the fallen tree nuts. The hunt would have to wait. He looked hard into the thicket once more before he turned around and went home.

  Brad and Jennifer were in their front yard. Countless footsteps had bent down most of the tall grass on which his children sat. Brad was sitting on his soccer ball, and Jennifer was sitting next to her brother. She was carefully observing the anatomy of a tall blade of fescue that had a full head of seeds on the end of its stem. She was plucking the seeds away and flicking them with her small fingers.