Dear Tragedy: A Dark Supernatural Thriller (House of Sand Book 2)

by Michael J Sanford

The place was packed with the better part of a landfill. Clothing, garbage, half-eaten and fully rotted food, and many other unidentifiable things covered the floor, leaving only narrow paths. One led to the worn armchair Paul was seated on and another to the couch—most of which was piled with garbage as well. Jake couldn’t shake off the same feeling he’d had walking through Gerry Switzer’s apartment.

  “Uh, no thanks,” Jake said, trying not to make it obvious how much the state of the room shocked him.

  “Ms. Winters?” Paul asked.

  “Oh, no thanks,” she said. “But if it’s not too much trouble, could I use your bathroom? It was a long drive for us.”

  Paul scoffed. “Typical. Down the hall. Second room. Don’t make a mess.”

  Jake watched for Paul’s mustache to wiggle—the tell-tale sign that he was joking, which as Jake recalled, was often. But it didn’t.

  Jaina flashed Jake a worried look and shuffled off down the hallway.

  Paul leaned back in his chair and reached over the side. From out of the wasteland he produced a half-empty bottle of vodka and twisted off the cap. After a deep swig, he sighed and looked at Jake.

  “So, let’s have it, Mr. Policeman. What more have you to say about my Aza?”

  A shiver ran up Jake’s spine at Aza’s name. He almost blurted out, her name is Tragedy, but stopped himself with an abrupt cough. He didn’t know why he’d even had the thought, much less why he would say it aloud.

  Jake made a show of looking around. “Is your wife around? Ruthie, isn’t it? It’d be nice to talk to both of you, if I could.”

  “The ol’ girl’s gone out for the day. So, whatever you got to say, go on an’ say it.”

  Jake scratched at his beard. “Well, I’m sure the hospital notified you of her escape.”

  Paul scoffed and swiped at the air. “Aza’s a rascal, that’s for sure, but she had no business being in that place to begin with.”

  “That may be,” Jake said, willing to go along with whatever delusions Paul came up with. “But there have been some…incidences…involving…uh, Aza, since she escaped. And I won’t take up your time going into detail, but it’s important for her safety that we locate her.”

  “Hmph,” Paul said. He took another long draft of booze. “Is that why you came? To interrogate me about my granddaughter’s whereabouts? I had nothing to do with her running off, much as I wish I had. And I don’t know a thing about where she’s gotten off to. Again, I wish I did. But I wouldn’t tell you a damn thing, in either case. Mr. Policeman, I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time.”

  Something moved in the pile of old, wadded-up newspapers near Jake’s foot, causing him to dance back a step. A small mouse darted out and disappeared under the couch.

  Paul laughed. “Jumpy one, ain’t ya?”

  Jake’s eyes shot up to Paul. “What did you say?”

  Paul was smiling now, grinning from ear to ear, mustache turned up, rotten teeth bared for the world to see. “I said, jumpy one, ain’t ya?”

  Jake scratched at his ear as a buzzing sound ran from one side of his head to the other. Paul’s words were Aza’s words, written in her original journal entries. Journal entries that up until Seaside City Police got a hold of, only Jake, Jaina, Aza, and Dr. Green had read. It wasn’t a unique expression. And Aza had been very close with Paul. But Jake knew the words held a more sinister meaning. He could feel it racing along his skin, raising every hair and making his muscles twitch.

  “You don’t look so good, Mr. Policeman,” Paul said. “You sure you don’t need a drink? Whiskey perhaps? That’s your favorite, isn’t it?”

  Jake almost fell. It felt as if the ground had shifted. Whiskey wasn’t Jake’s favorite drink. And Paul would have no reason to believe it was. But it had been Aza’s father’s drink of choice. Jake knew Aza’s written words by heart, and Paul was spitting them back at him.

  “Paul, I know you love your granddaughter. And you should. Family is important. But I need to know where Aza—” Saying her name brought a lance of pain to both temples that almost bowled Jake over. Through desperation, he held on, staring down Paul as defiantly as he could. “I need to know where she is. My daughter is in danger and only—”

  “Well, ain’t that a shame,” Paul said. “Losing your own daughter. A true tragedy.”

  Jake’s legs gave out completely and he collapsed amid pizza boxes, cat shit, and broken liquor bottles.

  “No, Mr. Policeman, you don’t look good at all. Why don’t you…lie down for a bit.” Paul laughed raucously.

  From somewhere in the back of the house, Jaina screamed.

  Hearing it brought a burst of adrenaline, returning life to Jake’s body. He shot up like a piston, drawing the revolver from his waistband as he did. He aimed it at Paul’s chest and poised his finger on the trigger.

  “Jaina?!” Jake shouted over his shoulder, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Paul.

  “Jake! Get back here!” Jaina shouted.

  Jake took a step in that direction. “You know what she is, don’t you? You’re part of it. She’s in your head.”

  Paul shrugged and took a swig of vodka. Jake took another step toward the hallway. “Is loving your only remaining family a crime? Are you going to arrest me, you doofus with a beard?” More of Aza’s words used as weapons.

  “Fuck you and fuck your demon grandchild,” Jake said. “You stay right fucking there or I will put every last round I have into that rotten corpse you call a body.”

  Paul shrugged as if he didn’t have a care in the world and reclined the armchair, thrusting up feet that looked like gnarled tree roots. He closed his eyes and sighed, mustache twitching.

  Jake turned and darted toward Jaina’s voice, hurtling over debris.

  He found Jaina in the bathroom, standing rigid in front of the bathtub, curtain pulled back and still clutched in her hand.

  “Jesus Christ!” Jake shouted.

  The tube was filled the remains of at least one body, mutilated and dismembered. Even at a glance, the work looked recent, the flesh having yet to break down. The smell of blood was thick in the air, but not the scent of decay.

  “I don’t recognize him,” Jake said, bending forward in an attempt to identify the pieces.

  “How can you even tell it’s a man?” Jaina asked. “It’s just…pieces.”

  Jake pointed.

  “Is that…a dick? Oh, fuck. Jesus, Jake, we need to get out of here.”

  Jake was drawn to the carnage in Paul and Ruthie’s bathtub. He raked his eyes over every near-unidentifiable part, thinking it could give some answer to a question he hadn’t posed. Such carnage used to leave him nauseous.

  Jaina pulled on Jake’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s go.”

  The bathroom door slammed shut, startling both Jake and Jaina. Jaina ran for the door first, but before she could even start pounding on it, Jake heard the distinct sound of a padlock snapping shut. And then a second and a third.

  “Hey!” Jaina shouted, kicking and punching the door.

  “Paul, you son of a bitch!” Jake added.

  Jaina stopped and pressed her ear to the door. “He’s leaving,” she said.

  “She got to him. Aza did. Could have started years ago, but this is her.”

  Jake set his revolver on the sink and motioned for Jaina to clear the door. She moved and Jake kicked the door. The impact shot up his leg and he almost fell, but Jaina steadied him. The door looked unperturbed. He tried a few more times to no avail.

  “I’ll try the window,” Jaina said.

  Jake kicked the door again with everything he had. It shook, just enough to notice, but not nearly enough to signify any true progress.

  “Oh, you got to be kidding me,” Jaina said. “There are bars on the outside of the window.”

  Jake turned to see the truth of it; wrought iron bars on the other side of the small window. Jake moved Jaina aside and opened the window. He grabbed the iron bars and shook them. They were firmly affixed.
r />   “Do you think Aza and Dani are here?” Jaina asked.

  Jake climbed onto the toilet, and holding on to Jaina for support, back-kicked the iron bars. They flexed and rattled, but didn’t give.

  “Aza planned this. She knew we’d come here looking for her.”

  Jaina opened the medicine cabinet and starting rifling through the contents. “That’s insane. Fucking insane,” she said. “Also, not possible. She couldn’t know we’d come here.”

  “I know it is,” Jake said. “But it’s happening. We can’t doubt that. That man out there isn’t Paul. Not the Paul I met four years ago. That…thing that locked us in here is Aza’s handiwork. Anything useful in there?”

  “No. Just old toothpaste and even older prescription bottles. Who’s all this stuff for anyway? Paul?” Jaina asked, holding up an orange pill bottle for Jake to see.

  “Christ,” Jake said, jumping off the toilet and reading the printed name. “That’s Aza’s father.”

  “Shit,” Jaina said, returning to the medicine cabinet. “These are some pretty heavy anti-psychotics. Anti-anxiety. Anti-depressives. He’s got a full pharmacy prescribed to him.”

  “Had,” Jake said.

  “Right. Shit, we need to get out of here.”

  Jake moved back to the door and pounded on it. “Paul!” he shouted. “Paul! I know what happened. I know what Aza is. What she can do. I know what happened to your daughter and son-in-law. Paul!”

  Footsteps sounded from the other side and stopped in front of the door. Something metallic rang off the floor. Then a short laugh.

  “The flame is not the destination, but a journey unto itself,” Paul said.

  “What does that even mean, you quack!?” Jaina shouted.

  Jake eyed her, hoping she’d get the message and not antagonize their captor any further. She spit at the door and stomped her foot.

  Metal scraped against the other side of the door and liquid seeped beneath it to pool around Jake’s feet. The smell of gasoline was immediate and over-powering.

  “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” Jaina said, backing away from the door. “He’s going to burn us.”

  Jake held his ground even as Paul continued to slosh gasoline beneath the door. “Paul! Listen to me. I know this isn’t what you want to do. I know you just love your granddaughter. I know what she means to you.”

  “Without loss, life has no context,” Paul shouted. “Without death, we are nameless.”

  Through the door, Jake heard the undeniable sound of a long-necked lighter clicking on.

  “My name is not Paul. My name is—”

  “I know who you are, you son of a bitch. I know you. I know your name! Tragedy!” Jake shouted as loud as he could. “Your fucking name is Tragedy!”

  Jake grabbed the revolver, spun into the middle of the bathroom, and unloaded the gun at the bathroom door. Five quick shots and even as the gun started clicking on empty chambers, he kept squeezing. Jaina grabbed his arm and forced the gun down.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Sunday 3:38 p.m.

  “I don’t hear anything,” Jaina said, still clutching on to Jake. “Maybe you got him.”

  Jake looked at the puddle of gasoline on the floor, reassuring himself it wasn’t burning. His temples throbbed and his ears itched. He thought he smelled fire for just a second. Then pine pitch and ash. Every muscle in his body tingled.

  Cautiously, Jake approached the door and put his ear to it. Nothing. He lowered an eye to one of the bullet holes. He could only see a pinprick of the hallway beyond, but didn’t sense any movement.

  “I must have hit him,” Jake said. “But we still need to get out of here. Window’s the best bet.”

  Jake climbed back onto the toilet, and using Jaina for balance, kicked at the metal bars. Several kicks later, they popped free, taking a fair portion of the surrounding siding with them.

  “Yes!” Jaina said triumphantly.

  Jake was breathing too hard to add to the merriment. He stuck his head out of the window. “It’ll be a little tight for me to squeeze through, but it’s only a few feet to the ground. You first, Jae.”

  Jake helped Jaina slide out the window feet first and then followed suit.

  “Think anyone heard the gunshots?” Jaina asked.

  Jake looked at the open front yard and shook his head. “No neighbors out here close enough to hear. Pretty secluded.”

  Jake dusted his clothes off and headed back for the front door. He hadn’t learned anything about where Aza may have taken Dani. Despite Jaina’s protests, Jake couldn’t leave yet.

  “Let’s not split up this time,” Jaina said.

  “Yeah. Well, I’m out of rounds, so just stay close. Remember, we’re looking for anything that might tell us where Aza took Dani.”

  In the hallway outside the bathroom, they found Paul. From what Jake could tell, Paul had taken all five rounds to the chest. He sat slumped against the wall, unlit lighter still clutched in his hand, a rusty red gas can at his side.

  “Shit, that looks just like the can Aza’s father used,” Jake said, nudging the can with his foot. “And like the one we pulled from the Regency Motel rubble.”

  “Guess Aza—or whatever she is—has a particular style. That’s good, isn’t it? Makes her predictable?”

  Jake crouched in front of Paul and studied the man he’d just killed. Jake hardly remembered pulling the trigger. Except that he knew there was nothing more in the world he had wanted to do in the moment. He’d killed before, in the line of duty. It had been rare and always something he’d looked at as having to do. Kill or be killed. Shooting Paul certainly fit into that way of looking at it, but that wasn’t why’d he’d done it. He’d wanted to kill Paul simply to kill him. Because he could.

  “Jake?”

  Jake jumped, but collected himself and stood up. “Nothing about this bullshit is predictable.”

  “I’m just really trying to find something positive in this mess,” Jaina said. “If I don’t, I am going to seriously lose my mind. We’re hunting some child-thieving demon-child, for Christ’s sake.”

  Jake grabbed her hand and squeezed.

  “Do you see that?” Jaina asked, nodding downward.

  Jake followed her gaze, but saw only the wide blood pool surrounding Paul and the spatter of it on the wall. He could smell the blood in the air, amid the must and filth. And he could still smell fire. Or at least the remains of one.

  Jaina let go of Jake’s hand, stepped around Paul, and stooped. “Looks like ash,” she said, pointing to the carpet.

  Jake skirted Paul’s corpse and joined Jaina as she followed the trail down the cluttered hallway. It passed by a room that could have been a bedroom save for the mountain of garbage preventing any access to it.

  “Here,” Jaina said, stopping just as the trail of ash did, at the foot of a closed door at the end of the hallway.

  On the left was a door leading to the backyard. Jake could see the guest house, overgrown with ivy and weeds. It didn’t look like the lawn had been touched in four years.

  “I don’t like this,” Jake said as the hairs on the back of his neck sprang to attention. The smell of dead fire was intense, so much so it burned Jake’s nostrils. It made his eyes water. He squinted at Jaina, but she didn’t show any sign of sensing the same thing.

  Jaina put her ear to the door. “Think it’s a trap of some sort? I mean, it’s pretty clear Paul wanted to kill us.”

  “You mean Aza.”

  “Whatever,” Jaina said. “Do we open it?”

  Jake swallowed against a throat like sandpaper and brushed Jaina aside. It wasn’t like they had a choice. Jaina perhaps did, but not Jake. Even if Peter survived and recovered, he would never be the same. Jake couldn’t allow Aza to take his daughter from him as well. And he couldn’t shake the undeniable urge to step into the room. Even if it were the mouth of Hell, he would still venture forth.

  Jake turned the knob and threw the door open.

  “Fuck me
,” Jaina whispered.

  Jake took a step into a small room that was devoid of all furniture and trash. Even the carpet had been torn away, revealing a bare plywood floor. Remains of wallpaper clung to otherwise barren walls. A pair of windows let in enough light to see the only thing in the room. Ash.

  In the middle of the floor, the black and gray ash created a silhouette of a man and woman. Like a crime scene outline, the figures had been crafted with their arms and legs splayed out in different directions. The smaller one had tendrils of hair that followed the same artistic direction.

  “Jake,” Jaina said, grabbing his attention away from the ashen forms. “The walls.”

  The walls were covered in smudged ash as well. Not in the shape of a man and woman but in words. Large, sprawling letters wrapped around all four walls in a disjointed twist of madness.

  We tell ourselves that the world is full of gods, demons, and monsters in an effort to explain away our sorrow, claiming we are powerless to the whims of the unseen. In that is the true irony, for our lie is the world’s truth. The demons and monsters are not unseen. They are in each and every one of us. We are the monsters, slowly consuming ourselves from the inside out.

  “I don’t get it,” Jaina said. “Are these supposed to be Aza’s parents?”

  “Yes,” Jake said without any doubt.

  “Did Aza write this or Paul?”

  “I don’t think there’s a difference.”

  “Well…shit. So, what—”

  “Shh!” Jake said, raising a hand. He’d heard something in the hallway.

  “What?” Jaina asked.

  Paul stepped into the doorway, ears straining. Something like the sound of metal on metal sounded from the backyard. A rhythmic screech.

  Jake threw open the door and bolted into the backyard, his instincts taking full control. There, frozen in place, scanning each blade of grass and errant leaf, Jake listened.

  The breeze rustled the surrounding trees and carried with it the sound of a girl’s laughter. Just a titter, but enough to send Jake’s heart into his throat.

  Jake took off toward the noise.

  Around the side of the guest house, he heard it again: a faint screech and a familiar giggle.