Chalk Man

by Tony Faggioli

  “She’s gotta be high on something,” Klink whispered. “I can’t tell from here, but I bet her pupils are huge.”

  Parker was stunned. Pupils? Who would say such a thing when someone’s eyes were blazing red like that? The answer was obvious: because they weren’t seeing those eyes for what they were. They didn’t know the things Parker knew now. That people being influenced by, or still struggling with, evil had normal eyes. Possessed people, those in the process of transitioning to hell? They had eyes that looked like black orbs. But red eyes? Red eyes meant a real, live demon. Red eyes meant big, big trouble.

  To Klink and Solomon, she was just a young woman acting the fool. Without the gift of Nap’s aura, or whatever it was, they couldn’t see the real threat before them.

  “One time more I say . . . leave. This place is for the dead and dying. You? Living.” She smiled and stared hard at Klink. “You? Barely. But still living.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Klink said as he twisted his face in confusion.

  Solomon unbuttoned his holster. “Ma’am, you need to put your hands in the air. Now.”

  “Leave now! I say it clear! Leave!” she screamed.

  That was that. They all drew their weapons.

  The woman smiled and the smile held in place, like a frozen doll.

  “Shit,” Solomon said through gritted teeth. “You see? I told you this place gave me the heebie-jeebies.”

  Two doors down, on the left, a deadbolt disengaged and the door opened just a crack before whoever was inside saw the three of them with their guns out. The door slammed shut immediately.

  “Man, Parker, I don’t like this,” Klink said, his voice drenched with unease.

  “Yeah.” It was all Parker could manage, because he was dumbfounded again by what he was seeing. And he knew he shouldn’t be seeing this. He didn’t want to be seeing this.

  He’d seen Nap in ghost form, seen an angel by the side of the road one day, seen The Gray Man in all his glory, not once, but twice. But . . . and this was the key . . . this was only the second time he’d seen evil like this, up close and personal.

  Again, Napoleon’s voice, farther away this time but far more urgent. Parker! You’re out of your depth. Get out of there. Now!

  “What the f—” Parker began to say before he lost his voice in the face of what was happening next.

  The woman unfolded her hands, balled up her tiny fists, and charged them.

  “Stop!” Klink yelled.

  Solomon got off the first shot, missing wide right. His second shot also missed right, but barely so. Klink unleashed three shots. Two missed, but one struck the woman’s left thigh. She barely noticed as her feet thumped on the hallway carpet and she still advanced, full speed ahead.

  Again. Training. They all knew that a suspect high on LSD, or crack cocaine, often demonstrated five-to-ten times their natural body strength. More than a few cops had been sent to the ER or the morgue for underestimating this fact.

  But Parker knew that wasn’t what this was. It was obvious. Because, really, in a hallway this narrow, at this distance, what were the odds that four out of five shots would have missed this woman? Still, he went through the motions, as much to prove to himself what was really going on than to prove it to anyone else. Be it with a handgun or a long gun, he was a damned good shot. A deadly one at that. And yet, as he pulled the trigger on his gun four times, he could actually see the bullets, all dead on for her core, actually being altered in their course, bending away from the woman as they got to within four feet of her, each time.

  She plowed through the three of them, fully grown men who were all at least twice her weight, like a bowling ball. Klink was slammed into the door of Alex Roland’s room—if he was asleep in there in some booze-induced coma, that was sure to wake him up—while Parker was knocked on his backside, his left temple bouncing off the wall near him. But Solomon? Solomon was given the full treatment. Catching the brunt of her force, he was struck just below the waist as, incredibly, she lifted him and launched him directly up into the ceiling, the flat of his back hitting so hard and his legs following suit that the heels of his dress shoes left gouges near one of the light fixtures. He fell to the floor, his gun bouncing down the hall, and gasped for air, his wheezing a sound Parker knew all too well from his days of playing football. He’d had the wind knocked completely out of him.

  “Man down!” Parker yelled to Klink, who was already going for his radio when the girl spun and grabbed him by the wrist. Then, Parker watched in complete terror as she whipped Klink back and forth, into one wall of the hallway and then another, like a stuffed toy. The radio went flying in one direction and Klink’s gun went flying in the other.

  Parker was not used to the feeling of panic. It was a feeling to be avoided, at all times, because it only led to no good. But when his face went sweaty and his palms clammy, he knew he was on the verge of it. Immediately, he tried to dilute it in his mind, to water it down, somehow, to just fear. In the right circumstances, fear was a good thing. Fear you could get to work for you. Slowly, he did so. Enough, at least, to get to his feet. He, too, had dropped his gun. It was close by but there wasn’t enough time. Instead, lowering his shoulder, he tackled the woman, hard, from behind, forcing her to let go of Klink as she fell forwards.

  But now he had a different problem. Being on her back, struggling to hold her down, was like wrestling a boar. She whipsawed her legs inhumanely fast beneath him, pushing up at the floor with her hands, trying to gain leverage on him. Parker fought with all his might, but it was not going to be enough, he could tell, and he was just beginning to lose his grip when he felt a second body pile on top of them.

  “You . . . little . . . bitch!” Klink said as he grunted to help Parker hold her down.

  For a while, it looked like they had her. But then she turned her head just enough to look at Parker out of the corner of her eye and her red lava-like gaze . . . burned him . . . on the inside. As if she were burning . . . his soul.

  Parker screamed and struggled to both turn away and, for Klink’s sake, keep his grip on her. But it was no use. He’d lost his leverage and being the one pinning her closest to the floor, it was all she needed. Then, a woman who should have had trouble wrestling with a golden retriever, she simply rolled to one side and easily threw both of them against the wall. This time the back of Parker’s head was caught flush on a piece of wood paneling and, for a few seconds, he saw stars. Klink was groaning and cursing like a sailor nearby. Parker looked over and saw that Solomon, perhaps by sheer adrenaline alone, had some of his breath back and had gotten to his knees. His eyes were wide and it was obvious that he’d just seen what had happened.

  The woman bared her teeth at him and then made biting motions with her mouth. “Tasty. You’ll be tasty!” she screamed.

  Solomon had also evidently seen enough. “Fuck this!” he shouted, stumbling to his feet. “I’m outta here.”

  But there was a problem with this idea. The woman was between them and the elevators. Solomon went for it anyway.

  “No!” Parker yelled.

  The woman was on him immediately, jumping onto his chest and locking her fingers around his throat. They struggled with each other and fell against the far wall. Parker looked around and saw his gun on the carpet. There was no reason to think it would do them any more good than it already had, but something told him to go for it. He crawled on his hands and knees, over Klink and to the gun, in what he knew was a mad scramble at survival. Not just for Solomon, but for all of them. Because once she was done with Solomon, she’d work her way through him and Klink, one at a time.

  They’d never get out of there.

  They’d be just another story in the lore of The Hotel Clarke.

  Just a trio of ghosts wandering the halls there, trapped forever.

  Solomon and the girl were locked solid against the wall, their struggle frozen in place. Grabbing the gun, Parker squeezed three shots into the woman’s side. They struc
k home.

  It worked. She obviously couldn’t bend bullets that she didn’t see coming.

  She shrieked in agony and fell to the ground, writhing in pain. In the process, she’d let go of Solomon, who wasted no time in this opportunity. He immediately took off again in a bolt to the elevators. Parker helped Klink to his feet and they ran, fast, right after him as behind them the woman screamed at them in rage. “You’re not out of here yet!”

  And Parker had to agree.

  They weren’t.

  Not by a long shot.

  Chapter 15

  Parker blinked his eyes against the reality of the situation. Because it was hard to believe. No radio, and down two guns—it was amazing how this place had just reduced three authority figures used to having control of a situation into just three common men struggling to stay alive, all within a matter of minutes.

  He glanced over his shoulder and saw the woman stumbling, injured, to the end of the hall and back into her room. The door opened and closed, but not before a cascade of roars and screams erupted from its depths.

  Solomon was punching the elevator button repeatedly and so hard that Parker thought his index finger would break. Finally, the doors opened slowly and the three of them piled into the elevator. Klink punched “G” and Parker held his gun with a steady aim at the hallway. The last thing any of them needed was to get charged by something else that could corner them in that stupid elevator. There was no way they’d survive it. No way. And he’d lost track of the man with the decapitated head, what if—

  The doors shuttered then finally creaked shut, and the elevator began its descent, but even that was a bit disconcerting. Parker had a bizarre fear spring into his mind: what if they reached the ground floor and the elevator just kept going? To the place made of the stuff that was burning in that woman’s horrid red eyes? That place that legend said was meant for the damned. For those that sinned. For those that killed.

  Or shot teenagers in the back from a thousand meters in the name of a godforsaken war.

  Don’t, Parker. Napoleon was back. Don’t start thinking of your sins. Not here. Not now. It’ll be like blood in the water. They’ll zero in on you for sure.

  Parker instead decided to get angry. “Hey, partner. Thanks for that!” he thought. “What the hell is going on? How did you not know this place was full of demons?”

  It’s not, Parker. Ghosts and spirits, yes. But that one is the only demon . . . I think.

  “What?” Parker thought incredulously. “You think?!”

  Yeah. I mean, I’m almost positive. That one was hidden . . . deep in that place. I told you that I couldn’t enter, but from the outside I can usually sense evil within a place. I can usually number it, too. I think this woman is all there is, but there’s some sort of interference going on.

  “Interference?”

  Yeah. Shielding that demon from my perception, for sure. Trust me, had I known that she was there? I never would’ve let you go in at all. And what’s worse, I think it’s still blocking me, this time from sensing something outside of the hotel as well.

  “How?”

  I wish I knew. My best guess? This is just further proof that we’re up against something stronger than me.

  Around them, the walls of the elevator began to run with white foam. The sickly-sweet smell was instantly recognizable as decaying flesh and before long the white foam began to turn into long, thick drips of puss.

  Klink and Solomon were, again, oblivious to it all. Both were leaning against those same walls, with puss running over their hands and shoulders, and they had no idea.

  “You gotta get us out of here, Nap,” Parker said, his head still ringing a bit.

  Instead of an answer from Napoleon, though, the elevator silence of the three shocked men was broken by Solomon. “I told you,” he said.

  “Told us what?” Klink snapped.

  “That this place gave me the heebie-jeebies,” Solomon answered.

  “Heebie-jeebies, my ass,” Klink said in a shock-soaked voice. “She’ll be dead within the hour, if not from Parker’s bullets then from the amount of whatever the hell drug she’s taken.”

  Solomon shook his head and said something remarkably accurate. “Naw. That strength wasn’t from no drugs, man.”

  “Then what then?” Klink snapped back sarcastically.

  “That was something else entirely, man. Something. Else. Entirely.”

  Klink’s face twisted with contempt. “Oh, bullshit, Solomon. Man. You been watching too many horror movies. What? You think that was some sorta Blair Witch up there? Gimme a break.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Solomon yelled. “Then what was it, smart guy?”

  “I dunno. But we gotta get out front, get some reinforcements, go back up there and arrest her ass.”

  Solomon was incredulous. “My ass I’m going back up there.”

  Parker was stunned, too. Still, he tried to defuse the situation. “Hey. Just chill. Both of you. Let’s get outta here first, okay?”

  It seemed to work, as both men broke their attention on each other and looked at Parker. A few moments of awkward silence followed.

  “So much for catching this boyfriend guy off guard, then,” Solomon said, changing the subject.

  Parker nodded and tried desperately not to notice that the arms and reaching hands were back, clawing through the walls and ceiling. A long, slender set of fingers ran themselves through the hair that had fallen over Solomon’s forehead. He swiped them vigorously away and looked around. “Great! Now we got damned flies up in here?”

  He couldn’t see the hands. Neither could Klink.

  Parker became nauseous. This was too much. What was he was seeing? It was better to be blind to it all . . . your whole life. If for no other reason than to maintain his sanity amid the swaying arms, dancing hands and clutching fingers all around them, Parker forced himself to look away and pretend that none of it was happening. But his denial was short-lived. He backed up a step and bumped into something just over his right shoulder; it was the hanging body of Corporal Lance Billings again, back now and no longer swaying.

  Instead, he was speaking. “Hey, you there. Hey, Mr. Man!” he said to Parker.

  Parker stifled a scream. He dared not look back. He’d go mad. Instead, he looked at the elevator, still dropping painfully slowly. On floor six now, then five. Almost. Almost there.

  “It’s rude to ignore people. You know that, right?” the man said. When Parker still had no reply, he continued anyway. “Whatever. I just want you to know . . . I mean, I just want someone to know . . . that this wasn’t my end, okay? This pitiful end wasn’t all that went down, you see.”

  Parker kept his head forward and nodded slightly, hoping that this would shut him up.

  It didn’t.

  “You see, Mr. Man. Here’s the bit. My girl, Sarah? It started when she dumped me for that butcher’s son back home . . . while I was fighting in Korea, by the way . . . I mean, that whore was banging another man while I was in a foxhole writing her love letters! Can you imagine that shit?”

  Parker shook his head. They were at floor four now.

  “Anyways. I came home on leave and found out. My heart got all busted up, so I checked in here, got drunk and did this. Found the electrical cable in the janitor’s closet, which was conveniently unlocked, ya know? Cause . . . well . . . this place cares. ’Cause without that cord? Well, I couldn’t have done what I did. That’s why we all call it home here. ’Cause it helps ya do what ya normally couldn’t or wouldn’t do on your own, ya see. So . . . anyway . . .”

  Floor three. Parker held his breath.

  “I die and the devil, he was right there. I mean . . . the man was right there waiting for me. No horns. No tail or hooves. Just a dude in a black robe that wanted to have a little chat. And I begged . . . I did . . . for my soul back. For a second chance. But? Nope. So, I was all sad and stuff, until the devil promised me something better. Wanna know what it was?”

  Parker shoo
k his head. He didn’t want to know. He really didn’t. He bit at his lip as Klink rubbed his forehead and Solomon pivoted his weight forward, to the balls of his feet, as if he were going to bolt out the elevator doors as soon as they opened.

  If they opened.

  “Revenge!” the man said, ignoring Parker’s protest. “That’s right. I got to haunt that bitch and her new man for the next fifteen years. Helped her to a few miscarriages. Helped him to accidentally catch his arm in a bone saw at the butcher’s shop. Maaaaan, it was gorgeous!”

  Floor two.

  “Aaalll that bitterness and blood. He ended up hating her for giving him no kids. She ended up loathing him for being a useless cripple. And I’m thinking the whole time? This is fun! This is what you get, you cheating little bitch. I mean . . . right? And all the while, I gotta deal with guys like your little friend.”

  The air in the elevator went ice cold and everything grew still. Was he referring to Napoleon? Parker couldn’t help it. He glanced up at the mad eyes of the sadistic creature glaring mockingly down at him. “Oh, yeah. I am referring to him. And others of his kind. What does it all matter? I mean. Ain’t that the rub, my brother?” he said with a smile. “God kept sending his stupid little angels to help my ex and her man and I did my thing and . . . man, oh man . . . had they just listened a little to the other side a little bit, ya know? Maybe let go of some stuff. Maybe moved past the things they kept putting in their own way. But no. They actually chose to live a life of pure misery like that.”

  The button for floor one lit bright out of the corner of Parker’s eye.

  “Too bad, so sad,” the man said with a smile that was as bent as his strangulated neck. His skin was greenish-gray and weirdly smooth, except for areas on his neck near the electrical cord where decades-old blood had coagulated beneath his skin and formed dark rings. “But I made a mistake, ya know. I felt sorry for them. Too late to really help them, but I did. And that’s what got me put back here, in this elevator, swaying every day as I feel the maggots eating away at me on the inside, one nibble at a time.”