Creatures of Want and Ruin

by Molly Tanzer

  All eyes swiveled toward the house, and Ellie cried out again at the sight of her brother. He was holding Gabriel’s old shotgun in his trembling hands.

  5

  “Go away,” said Lester, in his slight tenor. “Leave them be, or I shoot.”

  The man in the mask lowered his torch. “Put down that—”

  “Go away. Get off this property and go.”

  “Lester, go back inside!” Ellie was proud of her brother, but he didn’t know who they were dealing with.

  “Listen to your sister, young man,” said the man in the mask.

  Lester kept the gun trained on him. “Tell them to let Gabriel and my sister go, or I’ll shoot.”

  Ellie’s breath caught in her throat. Her brother had once asked her if fish felt pain when she caught them. He was a gentle soul who wanted to save lives, not take them. Seeing him like this broke her heart.

  “You won’t shoot me,” said the man in the mask. He did not call off his cohorts.

  A terrible stalemate descended. Ellie was trying to figure out what to do next when a pickup suddenly roared up the driveway, headlights blindingly bright against the raging orange of the flames.

  “Don’t be seen!” cried the leader, and Ellie was dropped unceremoniously to the earth by her jailers, who then ran for it into the woods along with the others. Officer Jones was out of his truck the moment it came to a stop, but he was too late—the masked men were gone, and their otherworldly flames with them. In the sudden blinding dark, no one seemed to think it was a good idea to follow them.

  No one except Cleo, who bounded out of the cab of Jones’s truck and raced off into the woods.

  “Cleo! Get back here!” shouted Jones, his service pistol still in his hand. “Cleo!”

  A long moment spent listening to rustling in the underbrush ended with the sound of a bark, followed by the report of a handgun, very loud in the darkness, and a sickening yelp.

  “Cleo!” Officer Jones rushed off into the woods in the direction of that awful sound.

  Ellie’s foremost concern was for Gabriel, who was fumbling with his glasses, trying to settle them on his face though the nosepiece was snapped and one lens was cracked.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, gently touching his side where they’d punched his ribs.

  “I’ll live,” he said, but he didn’t look at her. Ellie, nervous, started to talk to cover the awkwardness.

  “Me too. I’ll have some bruises. I was trying to get loose, but—”

  “I saw.” Gabriel seemed so distant, so hostile.

  “Ellie,” Lester called out.

  Her brother was standing over them now, still holding the shotgun. She followed his gaze and saw Jones returning, a small, limp body in his arms.

  The dog was dead; that was clear enough. Regardless, Ellie got to her feet and rushed over.

  “Bastards,” said Jones, his voice thick. The cab door of his truck was still open where he’d neglected to close it—he put Cleo inside, on the seat where she would have ridden had she still been alive, and then shut it gently, as if she might run away again.

  “How did you know?” asked Ellie, after a moment. “I mean, how did you know we were being . . . bothered?” she finished lamely.

  “I didn’t.” Jones pointed his thumb at the bed of his pickup. He had a tarp over it all, but she could tell her belongings and a few cases of liquor were hidden beneath it. “I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d drop these off.”

  “Well . . .” It seemed wrong, for some reason, to say she was grateful he’d showed up, given his loss, but she had to acknowledge his help. “Thank you. They were going to burn the house, and . . . and other things.”

  “Happy to help.”

  Ellie flinched. “Do you . . . I don’t know . . . want to come in? Have a coffee, or a drink? I don’t know what to say, honestly.”

  “No. Wait—yes.” He looked at her, and then looked to where Gabriel and Lester were standing. “Maybe. You sure?”

  Ellie wasn’t ready for Jones to depart for a number of reasons, including that she figured no matter how upset Gabriel was about . . . well, everything, he’d be loath to bring up the fact that his fiancée had murdered a man in front of a cop. Another few minutes when she wouldn’t have to talk about that with him seemed like grace.

  “It’s no problem,” she said, with more certainty than she felt. “But first we’d better get all the booze inside, at the very least, just in case . . . you know . . .”

  “What, afraid of an unexpected visit by the police?”

  Ellie was amazed at him, making jokes at a time like this. She was more than a little impressed by his toughness, and looked away, blushing, when he raised his eyebrow at her. She must have had a strange look on her face.

  “Let me just go tell Lester and Gabriel.” Ellie turned, and saw Lester trying to dab at Gabriel’s bruised and bloodied face with one hand as he held a lantern with the other. Why those fools didn’t just go inside she couldn’t guess, until she saw Gabriel glance over at where she was standing with Jones. His expression was not welcoming, and Ellie wasn’t the only one who noticed.

  Jones cleared his throat. With a start, Ellie realized she and Jones were the same height, or just about—standing face-to-face she looked him in the eye, not up at him, like she did with Gabriel. She’d never noticed it before, but that sudden spark of physical connection ignited a psychic one—she knew what he was going to say before he said it.

  “On second thought, maybe I should hit the road. I’d really rather just mix myself a strong one once I’m home. And speaking of . . .” He walked around the side of the truck and handed Ellie a crate full of Lester’s books. She set it down, receiving several more of these as well as a few other few items from her home, and then the moonshine.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “Just don’t resell any of the bad stuff, all right?”

  Normally Ellie would have said something smart back at him, but she just replied, “Okay.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Hey . . . Hector . . .”

  He’d been eyeing the door to his truck. “Hmm?”

  “The men here tonight . . . they called me ‘daughter of the island.’” She wanted to tell him what she had experienced in regards to their ability to change reality, but she couldn’t muster the nerve—really, she couldn’t take being doubted, not right now.

  Jones rubbed his stubbly chin. “Huh.”

  “Anyway, let’s . . . let’s talk about it. Later, all right? They’re gone, you need to go home, and I need to go . . .” She glanced at Gabriel.

  “Right. Yes. We’ll talk about it . . . later.”

  Jones had kept it together so well through it all, but his voice broke on that last word. Ellie gave him a quick hug and then turned away, guessing as well that he would rather be alone than see her pitying him for his loss.

  Lester shook his head as she walked up to them, a case of booze cradled in her arms. “Poor man, why didn’t you invite him in for a drink?”

  “I did; he wouldn’t come. And speaking of, what are you two still doing out here?” She heard Jones’s pickup fire up. “Come along inside with me so I can set this down and you can tend to Gabriel in the light.”

  “Yes ma’am!”

  Ellie guessed Lester hadn’t heard what the man in the mask had disclosed—he was too light, too easy with her. As to whether he’d noticed the odd masks, the strange way the fires had all gone out at once . . . She didn’t even know how to ask that question.

  The molasses-like silence between herself and Gabriel was much different.

  “Go on in, Lester,” said Gabriel. “I’m all right.”

  “I want to see if you need stitches, and take a look at that side of yours tonight, so just don’t be too long.”

  “So . . . want to help me with the booze and the stuff?” asked Ellie, after Lester shut the door.

  “Ellie.”

  “Yes?”

  “Wh
at they said . . . Was it true?”

  He already knew, but she confirmed it. “I should have told you.”

  “Was it the night you came back all bloody?” He waited for a moment, but when she kept silent he sighed. “I knew it. I didn’t want to say anything, but I knew it.”

  “You knew I’d killed someone?”

  “Of course not. I knew you were lying to me, but I couldn’t figure out why you would . . . and I wanted to believe you.”

  “I tried to help him,” said Ellie desperately. “It was Walter Greene—”

  “Walter! Oh God.”

  “Did you know him?”

  “Not really. But I didn’t realize he’d been killed. They said he’d stolen his cousin’s boat and cracked his head open, drunk. He’d been dead a few days when they found him.”

  “‘They’? You mean the police?”

  Gabriel nodded.

  “When I found him he was still alive, but in bad shape. His craft was adrift, and it seemed like he’d hurt himself somehow. I wanted to get him to shore. He thought I was attacking him, I guess, and we tussled. He tried to choke me, I pushed him off, he slipped and cracked his head hard enough to . . .” She trailed off, pushing away the memories of the details she wasn’t sharing. “As for the stealing, yes I did. I’m not proud, but I was sore at him for attacking me when I only meant to help, and I figured I could use the profit to help get Lester to school.”

  Gabriel relaxed somewhat as she spoke, which made her wonder what he’d thought the story had been—had he really imagined some scenario where she’d killed Greene in cold blood?

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Ellie’s words sounded feeble even to her own ears. “I didn’t want you to worry—”

  “Ellie West!”

  She raised her voice to match his. “Fine!” she snapped. “The truth is, I didn’t want you to look at me as you are right now.” She bit her lip after shouting this last, embarrassed to have lost her temper. “I was already upset, and terrified and hurt and confused and, and I . . . I didn’t want things to change between us, and I was worried you’d see me differently knowing what I’d done. And since nothing came of it . . . at least, nothing seemed to, until tonight, I just . . . tried to forget it ever happened. I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.”

  There was so much she hadn’t said, so much she couldn’t explain, but that was enough for now.

  “Oh, Ellie,” he said. “I’m so sorry. And I’m sorry you had to bear it alone.”

  “That was my choice,” she said sheepishly, feeling the weight of her fears—at least those related to Gabriel—lifted from her shoulders. “I should have known I could have just told you about it.”

  “I wish you had.” He hesitated. “I have to ask . . . Is there anything else I should know?”

  Ellie considered and then rejected the idea of mentioning her belief that some sort of supernatural something was at work, and instead just said, “I sold our wedding booze to those people, the rich ones . . . SJ’s ‘private reserve.’ To help make sure Lester could get to school.”

  Ellie was surprised to see how hurt Gabriel looked, but all he said was “Well . . . all right. Maybe some of it’s left in what Jones brought us? Let’s shift it inside and see, and maybe have a drink while Lester looks me over.”

  They did just that, and though none of it was the good stuff, the booze did its job. After he was done with Gabriel, Lester had a stiff one too, though he did not usually partake.

  After her brother went to bed Ellie and Gabriel finished what they’d started on the porch in the darkness of their bedroom. He was banged up and she wasn’t in the best way either, but he came to her with an urgency she understood. She’d felt it after she’d killed Greene.

  It was such a relief to let her body think for her, and yet at the same time the familiar act also made all the strange goings-on that night, like the masks and the fires, seem highly implausible—no, more than that: impossible. Gabriel read all those books and stories about wizards, or cult leaders who served uncaring gods . . . If even he hadn’t noticed anything otherworldly, surely she had been imagining it.

  But the thing was, she knew she hadn’t imagined it.

  Restless and wakeful even with Gabriel’s comfortable bulk beside her, Ellie got out of bed to let her fiancé dream of whatever he would. She went downstairs in the silk nightdress he had gotten her at Macy’s, poured another slug of SJ’s white dog into her mug, and stepped out onto the porch.

  It was cooler out there, and humid. She loved the quiet seclusion of this place, loved the way the bones of the colonial saltbox still showed beneath the new shingles and siding, the way the fresh beams were mellowing alongside the ancient ones. She wanted so badly to live here with Gabriel—to settle here, maybe even start a family one day, once life settled down.

  But would life settle down? As the night deepened and Ellie’s eyes grew used to the darkness she really began to see the complexity and strength but also the fragility of the world just outside her home. The trees of the forest beyond their little yard seemed so solid, with their deep roots buried in rich soil and the rough moonlit bark protecting their trunks, but a hurricane could blow them over, or an axe could fell them; the night-creatures, bug and bird and beast, went about their business as they did every night, as their ancestors had for who knew how long, and yet the slap of a hand could snuff out a mosquito’s life; a single gunshot could end a deer, fox, or owl, as could something even smaller, like plague. Others would take their place; she knew that. She had taken enough fluke and crab from the bay to know one was much like the other . . . But were men and women the same? Perhaps so . . . If Lester had died from the polio, someone else would have gotten his scholarship and gone on to become a doctor. If those maniacs in the masks had killed her and Gabriel, someone would have bought their half-finished house to live their lives in it; raise their own families.

  Then again, it wasn’t the same. Weren’t they supposed to have evolved from monkeys—not be them? Civilization was something animals didn’t have. They ought to be moving forward, not backward.

  Ellie rose to go inspect the place where those flames had erupted from the earth. She’d been right—there was no evidence of kindling or wood or anything else that might have burned so fiercely, and for so long. And the ground, too, was untouched, save for a black smear that reminded her less of charcoal and more of motor oil . . .

  Or the grease left by those disgusting mushrooms.

  Were those repellent growths another piece of this puzzle, whose shape she could not perceive? What was more insane—to accept that it all had to be connected, or to refuse to accept it? She might have been able to deny the masks, or the fires, or Hunter’s trick with the moonshine, or everything that had happened with Greene, or that strange occurrence where the air itself seemed to thicken and curdle before queer things happened, but together they added up to something she could not explain, something not a part of the natural world as she had come to understand it.

  And really, supernatural or not, this group of masked men had come for her, and they’d said they’d come again—for her, and for others, too. She couldn’t sit idly by and do nothing as the noose tightened around all their necks.

  It was a terrifying prospect, to accept that some sort of strange phenomenon was at work in the quiet village of Amityville, but it was also terrifying to accept that her father was involved with masked men who murdered people, and she wasn’t going to deny that anymore, either. While the man in the mask hadn’t sounded like Hunter or her father, there had been four other men standing behind Hunter on that stage—men who’d sat in silence as he performed miracles and played the crowd. And who could say how many new recruits had enlisted after that performance? They were of one mind, as he’d said.

  These thoughts were no comfort to Ellie, but comfort was not what she needed. She needed a plan, and the one that came to her was intimidating.

  It wasn’t the easy thing to
do, but she knew it was the right thing.

  Ellie didn’t know how she would tell Gabriel that she was leaving him—at least until her presence in his life didn’t make him a target for further violence. They’d said they’d come back—they’d said she’d leave him if she knew what was good for her. While it felt like giving in to them, a few days away might throw them off the scent. By then, she would have figured out a course of action. At least, she hoped so.

  Eventually the sky began to lighten, and the birds she’d heard all her life awoke, and the mosquitoes came back to feast upon her, driving her inside.

  “There you are.” Gabriel was up, earlier than usual. The tantalizing smell of coffee reached her nose even as she winced to see his poor bruised face. “When you weren’t beside me I couldn’t get back to sleep. I guess I’ve already gotten used to you being here.”

  Ellie accepted a cup of coffee, but set it down on the counter without taking a sip. “Gabe . . . we need to talk.”

  He stiffened, as if he knew what she was about to say. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m going away for a while. Just while I figure out what to do.”

  “Do about what?”

  “About . . .” Ellie didn’t know how to start, after hours of working through this in her mind. “About what’s been happening here, to us, and elsewhere in Amityville. The attacks, the murders.”

  “What do you plan to do about them?”

  “I want to put an end to it all.” She hoped he wouldn’t ask her how she planned to do that. He didn’t, but what he did say troubled her even more, in a way.

  “But why do you think you’ll be able to?”

  This brought Ellie up short. Gabriel usually expressed confidence in her abilities, not the reverse.

  “Well . . . because . . .” Ellie fumbled and then found her footing. “Because I know who they are.”

  “And who are they?”

  “They’ve got to be that creepy church my pop joined. It tipped me off when the man in the round mask called me ‘daughter of the island.’ I’ve never heard that said anywhere except for when I went to that tent revival with Jones. I’d been hoping those clowns were all talk, but—”