They walked the five minutes to get to her parent's house, and Freya used her key to open the door. She expected the smells of apple pie and baking, not the silence and coppery smell that greeted them.
"Mom, Dad, are you here?" Freya called out. "Where are you?"
She gave Ian a worried look. "Come on. They have to be here somewhere," she said. "They never go anywhere."
She started toward the kitchen, the place that her mom occupied the most in the house, ever since she was a little girl. She went through the door, and she put her hand up to her mouth to prevent a little scream because the kitchen was decorated with some red liquid.
Ian came into the kitchen right behind her, he saw the red and smelled the copper smell, and he knew that they had found Freya's mother. Lying just over the bar divider that divided the kitchen table from the cooking area was her mother's body. Even before he drew near, he knew that Mrs. Page was dead, and he could see the open slash wound in her throat that must have finished her quickly.
He grabbed Freya and held her close. He felt her sobbing tremors as she cried. He didn't know how or when to say it, but he wanted desperately to tell her that she was not alone.
When he could, he guided Freya back into the living room, pressed a Scotch into her hand, and dialed Garret. He needed to call in the authorities at some point, and he wanted to settle Freya down into a passive position for a few minutes before he checked the rest of the house. The phone stopped ringing, and Garret's voice answered.
"Garret here," Garret answered. "Is that you, Ian?"
"Yeah, it's me," Ian replied. "There has been a murder. We are at the Pages, and Freya's mother is dead."
"Okay, I will take care of everything," Garret said. "Just sit tight, and I will be back in town in thirty to forty-five minutes. I will call the precinct to get somebody out there to investigate. I will see you in a few. Bye."
Garret hung up, and Ian examined Freya circumspectly to see if she was calm enough to make it for a few moments while he checked the house out. If nothing set her off, she looked like she would be okay by herself for five minutes or so."
"Honey, will you be alright if I go check the rest of the house out?" he asked in soothing tones. She nodded uncertainly and took another drink from her Scotch.
Ian got up and headed toward the bedrooms to look for her father. He had already checked the first-floor restroom when he went into the bathroom to get a couple of towels from the towel rack.
The first bedroom was clear. So was the second one. In the third bedroom, it looked like it would wind up being clear as well until he headed to the restroom as the final search. It was there that he found Mr. Page.
Freya's father was in the bathtub, very dead and fully clothed. The bathtub was full of water, and from Ian's first impressions, her father had been held under the water until he drowned. There was nothing to be done, and so he left everything undisturbed and returned to the living room.
When Freya saw his face, she knew that her father was dead, and she burst into a fresh bout of crying, and Ian held her close while she sobbed. They waited that way for nearly twenty minutes until the police finally showed up.
The first man through the door was Detective Crawford, followed by two Uniforms, and in short order, a four man forensic team. The uniformed officers and the forensic team went straight to work, but Crawford seemed to be more concerned with the decor of the house than with investigating the murders.
"This doesn't appear to be related in any way to the multi-murders committed recently," Crawford said as he beamed a beatific expression of pleasure. "It looks like a one-off pleasure killing to me." He went over and consulted with the forensic team for a few seconds.
Crawford returned to the couch and addressed Freya and Ian. "Your mother wasn't fucked, so I don't think that was the objective here," Crawford said. "The killer didn't eat any body parts and did not rob the place, as far as we can tell. Unless your parents had any enemies, it looks like a random killing. There won't be any reason to do anything but a preliminary investigation of this. I will get the coroner to label it as a double suicide."
"What the hell are you saying?" Freya erupted. "You are not going to try to catch whoever did this?" The outer door opened, and Garret stepped into the house.
"I could try to find suspects, but if I did, you would be on top of the list," Crawford threatened. "Just shut up and be grateful. If you weren't so sexy, I would run you in."
"Are you done here?" Garret thundered, interrupting Crawford's threatening conversation with Freya. "If you are, get the hell out of here, and leave these two alone."
Crawford smirked. "You got it, boss," he said. "I scheduled a cleanup team to stop by for a few minutes and mop up the blood. Enjoy your gangbang while you can."
Crawford consulted with the forensic team, and they began packing up their instruments and materials. They picked up the packed supplies and started toward the door, just as the door opened, and two Medical Examiners entered with a stretcher, and there were two odd looking men behind them wearing jumpers labeled 'Mel's Trauma Cleaners,' and baseball style caps turned backward.
The police and forensic team continued out of the house, and Garret went to the four new arrivals to consult with them about the tasks at hand. The Coroner's technicians placed Mrs. Page on the stretcher, and took her out of the house, presumably to secure her in a hearse or ambulance.
The two odd cleaners immediately got to work, cleaning the blood from the floor, and the spurt patterns decorating the walls and table. The two Medical Examiners returned to pick up Mr. Page, and in about ten minutes, they were loaded. A moment of consulting with Garret ensued, and then they left with the bodies.
After about forty-five minutes of cleaning, the cleaners finally removed the blood stains to Garret's satisfaction. The duo started the quick process of sanitizing the bathroom where Mr. Page drowned. Fifteen minutes and a liberal application of Clorox saw the task completed, and the cleaners left the house.
Ian and Garret were finally free to tie up loose ends. Garret called the other members of the group who were planning to move in tonight, to tell them what had happened. They all agreed to meet at the house, prepared to settle in, at seven that evening.
Ian found a full bottle of Red Label Johnny Walker Scotch in the kitchen, and he placed it on the coffee table to resupply Freya's drink as needed. There was absolutely no reason why Freya needed to be sober right now, and she definitely needed the protection of alcohol right now.
The three of them stayed in the Living Room for the next four hours, until the scheduled arrival of their friends. When they all arrived, there would be a lot to do.
13 a new home
Saturday 13, 2019@ 7 PM
Ian had long since walked the sleeping Freya to bed, to sleep off the Scotch that she had consumed. Her parents had just been murdered, so she needed to take a little vacation from life. She would be in a much better state in the morning, even with a hangover.
There came a knock on the door, and Ian let the others into the house. They were all carrying suitcases and carryalls containing clothes and other personal items that they would need for several days. To state it baldly, they were here until the thing afflicting this town was gone, or until they lost the fight.
Ian looked around at the group. Jonny looked spooked. The best description for Oscar's expression was 'troubled,' and Wilber looked both terrified and elated to have such exciting times. Garret, of course, was all business, currently scribbling some arcane notes on the whiteboard.
Garret picked a fair-sized box up and placed it on the coffee table. He then took individual packages out of the box and handed one to each person.
"I picked up some supplies in Tyler that I thought we might need," Garret began. "In the package I just handed you is the cleaning kit and ammunition for a Taurus PT-92 model 1911 nine mm handgun, which is also in the package. I expect all of you to learn how to handle the weapons, and carry them with you at all times.
>
I picked the Taurus because it fits our needs. It is more understandable than a Glock, easy to clean, loud and powerful, and it creates a huge night flare. The loudness and the flare, hopefully, will scare off any would-be attackers that can escape.
I also bought some emergency food rations, just in case they are needed. I think that we will be as well prepared as we can expect. Now, we need to discuss what is going on, and what to do about it."
"Why don't we go around the room, and I will put any relevant notes on the whiteboard as we go," Garret stated. "Ian, what do you have?"
"I had another dream about what is going on," Ian said and sat up a little straighter. "It was a dream about a species of intelligent creatures that existed on Earth millions of years ago. They had a high civilization until this thing, or something like it reached out and maybe put its equivalent of a finger through the gate. When it did that, the laws of reality changed, and they started changing and mutating until they become something some much like the Old Ones that Lovecraft wrote about that he had to be basing his work on their existence.
If just coming through a tiny bit changed those creatures so completely, then I would say that the changes that we are experiencing in other people in the town are probably due to the same reason."
Garret wrote the word 'transmutation' on the whiteboard and turned to Oscar. "What do you have to add?" he asked Oscar.
"As you know, I examined the fungus sample you gave me," Oscar began, "and it is like nothing on Earth that I have ever heard about. It seems to be able to change flesh, alive or dead, in most unnatural ways, and it appears to be connected to the objectives of this thing we face. I would say that it is basically a kind of catalyst for whatever changes the opposition is trying to cause to happen. It is bad stuff."
Garret scribbled 'tool fungus' on the board, and turned to Wilber. "Okay Wilber, do you have anything to add?" he asked.
"I think that we have to accept the fact that what we are fighting here is one of the Old Ones, or maybe an Outer God like what Lovecraft talked about. Even if you don't believe that they are real, the bad guys believe in them, and they will act as if they are real, and do things that we have to stop.
I believe that these demon gods are real. Everything we know suggests that the only defense is to eliminate its worshippers. Lovecraft claimed that there was 'Elder Signs' that would repel these gods, but it doesn't seem likely."
Garret scribbled down a couple of phrases. One was 'Eliminate Opposition, ' and the other was 'act as if they are real.' "How about you, Jonny," Garret prompted. "Do you have anything to add?"
"I would say we are in the end game here," Jonny said. "Half the town has already packed up and left for greener pastures, not that this isn't happening everywhere they can go. The other half of the town is crazy or getting there. Even the animals are doing strange things. I saw a mouse Stampede earlier today, with thousands of rats and mice running towards the East as if they were in terror. And while I was walking here, a pack of wild dogs stalked me. If I had to go another mile, I wouldn't be sitting here."
"Things are definitely going downhill around here," Garret admitted. "Everyone knows what happened to Freya's parents, and as far as I can tell, they were killed with no motive for the killing.
Also, we are losing what little police protection we have left. The precincts that sent them are recalling all of the borrowed officers that they previously sent us, and what is left of the town police is Chief Smite, Detective Crawford, and two patrol cops. We all know that Crawford is crazier than a bed bug now, and Smite plans to leave on an extended vacation tomorrow. The two cops will be useless by themselves, and if Crawford gives the orders, they will be a problem."
Garret had just about filled the white board with little notes now, and the group had a disquieted conversation about the current situation for a few moments. After a short while, Garret decided to close the meeting.
"Okay, I will give you some quick instructions on how to prepare, arm and use the handguns, and how to clean them tomorrow," Garret concluded. "We will also try to find our targets to fight this thing that is coming. I still do not think that this is some kind of supernatural shit, but we should still act as though it is supernatural. Everyone, try to get a good night's sleep, and we will take up our preparations in the morning."
14 the reckoning
Sunday 14, 2019@ 8 AM
"Rise and shine, Sleepyheads," Garret said in an attempt to be uncharacteristically domestic. "We have places to go and hoodlums to find!"
Ian and Freya opened their eyes to the new day. "Just one more hour, Grandpa," Freya muttered.
Garret would not take no for an answer. In five minutes, he had forced the whole group out of their beds and into the kitchen, where he plied them with coffee and doughnuts. Where he found doughnuts in the current times was a mystery, which he refused to solve for the group.
Garret went to the window and looked out upon the day. He knew that the sun was out behind the fog banks, and in an ordinary year, it would be eighty degrees, sunny and bright.
The fogs overcast the morning, and somehow, it leached the light out of the brightness of the day. There was a thick feeling of gloom and despair, which almost seemed to be a scent etched into the world, like the smell of death in a room in which a corpse lies in state.
Somewhere in the miasma of mists and fog, half of the people of Holden were still around, but Garret could feel that they were changing, every day a little less human. So far, he could not see those changes in the small group that he had gathered around him, but it worried him that they were not immune.
Freya took out a skillet and opened the refrigerator to extract a large package of bacon and a carton of eggs. Ian got out the implements that she would need to cook these things, and then he busied himself making toast to go with the breakfast.
"Okay, everyone, today we will need to do two things," Garret said. "We need to collect as many supplies as we can get our hands on, especially food, and we need to see if we can get any information on where the things we want to stop are going to take place.
We will take my car and Oscar's Pontiac to the supermarket, and leave Wilber's PT Cruiser here. After the supermarket, we will stop by wherever else we can think of that might have what we need, and we will load up, and strike up conversations with a few people if we can, to find out what they know."
"That sounds like a plan," Oscar said, "but I would like to beg off on this trip. I would like to set up a mini-lab and my records and notebooks, just in case something comes up that needs analyzing."
"Okay, that sounds fair," Garret replied. "Just stay indoors until we get back. It is getting dangerous out there, so I don't want anyone to go out alone anymore."
All of the members of the group nodded their heads in agreement. It is generally true that the only people who want to go on dangerous adventures are folks who have never gone on such adventures. None of them felt particularly brave right now, and losing their lives or seeing any of their friends die was the last thing that they wanted.
The group spent a few minutes discussing the most productive places to visit to achieve their goals. They decided that Ian and Freya would go with Garret, and Wilber and Jonny would take Oscar's car.
They had soon made plans, and put on their coats with the collars up to shield from the gusting rain that had just started falling again. They all bade Oscar some version of goodbye, and then they loaded themselves into the cars and started the trip.
They left Oscar the keys to the PT Cruiser, just in case he needed emergency transportation, but he doubted that he would encounter a big enough reason to get behind the wheel of that car. Meanwhile, he had plenty test kits, small instruments and data filled notes and files to arrange.
The group had been gone for about one and a half hours when Oscar heard a bumping sound coming from the front door. He wondered if he should go open the door for the group, who must have their hands full of loot when the thump turned into the soun
d of wood being broken.
The central panel in the wooden door burst outward explosively, and whatever item hit the door returned for a repeat performance. A third crashing crushing blow and a sizable hole was in the door. Oscar was feeling the beginnings of panic and was just about to run aimlessly away from the door, when Detective Crawford's head stuck itself through the hole in the door, with a beaming, crazed look on his face.
"Heerrs Johnny!" Crawford said in a perfect imitation of the return of the insane man in THE SHINING. "Did you miss me?"
Crawford removed his head from the hole for a second and used his sledgehammer to splinter the door entirely out of his way. He stepped through the wreckage that once was a door, and into the room.
"You have been a bad boy," Crawford cooed. "I have to punish you for that. You know that it will hurt me more than it hurts you. That is a lie; it will hurt you a lot."
Oscar was having a hard time coming up with the best thing to do now. Should he negotiate, or should he make a break for the back door out of the kitchen? He wasn't a big, tough man, and he could already feel what pain Crawford was capable of causing him.
His thoughts kept returning to the fact that his handgun was on the nightstand in his new bedroom, worlds away from helping him now. Okay, he would have to run for it. He turned toward the kitchen and started to sprint for the door.
He had just entered the kitchen, and there was a tiny hope being born inside him that he could get away when suddenly, he was pushed into a skid across the floor by a shocking impact on his back. Crawford had crossed the intervening distance much faster than Oscar thought he could, and managed to give him a shove to take him off his feet.
Crawford dragged him to his feet with a firm grip on his collar, and Oscar saw red just before the world darkened when Crawford's right fist struck just under Oscar's left eye. For whatever reason, Crawford allowed the blow to dislodge his grip on Oscar's collar, and Oscar nearly broke the kitchen table that Crawford knocked him against.
Beyond The Chaos Gate: Lovecraftian Horror Page 8
