Magic Man Plus 15 Tales of Terror

by A. P. Fuchs

  Please let somebody be out there, he thought.

  There was nothing. The sound of the waves even drowned out any rustling of the leaves the light breeze might have stirred as it blew through the tree tops about forty feet behind him.

  He was in Bird's Hill Park. There was camping, a beach---surely somebody was around. Didn't they have park rangers or some such that patrolled the grounds either on foot or by car?

  Someone had to be by soon.

  He didn't know what time it was, but if he had to guess, it was probably around one in the morning. It was late, no doubt, but it didn't feel too late.

  Then again, I could be way off, he thought. If he was off, that might be a good thing. Maybe it was around four or five and soon the early morning beach-goers would be along to set up their blankets.

  A sharp pang of cold stabbed his feet and he remembered the clay. Was that why he couldn't feel anything beneath the sand? Was he frozen from the knees the down?

  His thoughts stopped when something crawled along the sand toward him.

  What was that? Looked like a shadow skittering across the ground. A leaf?

  No, he thought. Though there were trees behind him, it was still far from fall and he couldn't see any other leaves on the sand.

  The shadow---the thing that moved---was gone.

  Dark circles rippled on the water's surface, the waves' crests sharp and white as they curled in. If it wasn't for his circumstance, Gerry would have called them beautiful.

  "C'mon, Maria," he muttered. I can't believe she left me here. Who does that? How could Jordan or Emily let her do that? Hey, they're young, but they know not to leave their father buried in the sand, only his bloody head sticking out. How could anyone not have seen me? Wouldn't someone say something? "Wouldn't anybody do something?" Tears wet his eyes. "AARRGGHH!" His scream echoed on the air. Twisting, turning, he tried to rip himself free from his sandy imprisonment. What was going on?

  How many times can I get mad over this? I'm stuck. He knew it was true. No matter what he did or how loud he shouted, there was nothing he could do about this. Nothing but wait.

  Man, he was thirsty. If only the water would roll in as far from the shore as he was. Just to have a drink.

  Don't look at it. It's funny how that worked---seeing water or the like when you were thirsty---you'd almost be willing to get down on your hands and knees and lap at a dirty puddle if you had to.

  A chill swept through him and he wondered how much the temperature had dropped since he first got there that afternoon. Probably a good ten degrees. Maybe more. His arms and legs were still numb. He had an itch where the corner of his eye met the bridge of his nose. He twitched, wrinkled his cheeks, trying to scratch it or "move it away." It didn't work and for a moment thought he'd lose his mind if he couldn't scratch it.

  His heart raced again. I could die out here. It'd serve me right, too, for the jackass I'd been today. Then, I'm sorry, Maria, kids. Maybe I should die out here. They'd be better off without me, right? At least maybe happier. He didn't know. Obviously his family needed him for financial support, but as of late, he hadn't really been there for them. He'd play with his kids, kiss his wife good night, help out with dinner (even do the blasted dishes)---but his heart was never in it. He was just being the good father, doing those things because that's what good fathers and husbands do.

  Stomach flipping upside down, realizing his own selfishness, he tensed up when that dark something moved along the sand toward him. He squinted his eyes, focused, tried to take a closer look. For a second it looked like a scorpion.

  "Couldn't be," he whispered. Scorpions didn't live in Manitoba, at least not on a provincial park's beach.

  What was that thing?

  It wasn't an animal or anything warm blooded, that was for sure. He couldn't make out fur or hair of any kind, and its body didn't appear soft or something that would indicate it was mammal or, as he always thought of mammals, friendly.

  Before he could really see what it was, it zipped passed him and disappeared out of eyeshot.

  Sharp cold tickled his toes then something wet and slippery, there, deep beneath the sand. Clay? Had his body heat somehow melted it and it was now oozing between his toes? What happened to the sand he allowed in earlier, between his feet and the clay? Maybe he pressed the sand into the clay and some of the clay came up. It didn't matter.

  Come on, he thought, don't be ridiculous. Body heat can't melt clay and even if it could, it wouldn't have taken this long to do it.

  Head feeling full of fog and weight, he realized his thoughts were nonsense. He had never been one to stay up late and not get crazy thoughts when the hours crept toward dawn. In bed by eleven, that was his motto, a habit since as far back as he could remember. He remembered being a kid and if he stayed up past twelve, his father would rain fire and brimstone on him for doing so. "People sleep at night," his dad always said.

  Maybe I should just go to sleep and wait until morning? Maybe I'll wake up and someone'll be digging me out? he thought. Then again, if I fall asleep and someone comes by, they'll never know I'm here.

  "Gah!" he grunted. He hated being trapped. Worse, he hated being helpless. Take charge, take control, do things your way. That's the way life had always been after he got married. Very seldom did he cave into someone else's way of doing things. Now . . .

  Now I'm stuck, he thought. His heart ached at the thought. At the truth.

  He closed his eyes, tried to calm himself. Just relax. Take it easy. You'll think clearer if you slow down. There's got to be a way to---His eyes shot open when a sickening feeling that he wasn't alone came over him.

  The shadow---probably no more than a few inches long---was right across from him, near the water. It raced back and forth, out of sight then back into it again.

  Then it came toward him.

  He jerked his chin inward then pulled his head back; it was the most he could do since he couldn't move anything else.

  The shadow sped toward him, weaving left then right in blurred figure eights, starting then stopping until . . . it was at his mouth. Gerry clamped his jaws tight, but not before getting a quick mental flash of this small dark thing hopping inside his mouth, resting on his tongue. His breathing shaky through his nose, he forced himself to look downward to get a closer look. The thing was like a shadow, smoky and dark, not having any real substance at all, but it was there all the same. It was roughly three inches long, maybe an inch wide, no legs or arms of any kind, just a body similar to a spider's: a thinner bulb attached to a slightly wider one behind. He couldn't see a face.

  What do you want? he caught himself thinking. He knew full well it couldn't read his mind, but there was this unavoidable sensation that perhaps it could.

  The creature just stayed there by his mouth. It didn't move.

  Maybe it can't see me. There are a ton of animals out there with vision based on movement. Just. Stay. Still.

  He took his eyes off the creature and looked out on the lake, hoping to see a boat despite knowing the lake was too small for boats. But what if . . .

  He looked down again and briefly lost the creature against the shadows created by the curves and dips in the sand.

  There it was.

  It still hadn't moved. Instinctively, he curled his toes deep beneath the sand, a habit he had when his patience was wearing thin. If only this thing would move or do whatever it was it was going to do. He also wished it wouldn't do anything because what if whatever it was going to do had to do with him?

  I'm going to die, he thought. That's it. Over. Done. Bye-bye me. Though he rarely prayed, he was praying now. God, look, I know we don't get along, but if You take this thing away from me, I'll do anything You want. Anything. Then, as an absentminded afterthought, I'll get a new job so I won't miss going to the beach with my kids. As if he'd ever go to the beach again if he survived tonight. I'll talk to my wife. Anything. Just . . . anything.

  The thing didn't move. Didn't wiggle. Didn't dart a
way.

  Could it only see him if he moved?

  He curled his toes, scooping clay in between them and the balls of his feet. At least gripping onto the clay gave him something to do. The moment he squeezed the clay and pictured in his mind's eye the gray mush seeping out from between his toes, the shadow moved and circled around and sped past him, out of eyesight.

  Gerry's breathing sped up, short and choppy. It was only when he saw a bit of sand dance in the lower part of his vision did he realize he opened his mouth. He snapped it back shut.

  Where is it? But it was more a feeling than a thought. God, help me. I don't deserve it, sure thing, but I'll do anything if You get me out of this. It's behind me. I know it.

  Gerry waited.

  And waited.

  And waited some more.

  The waves rolled in to shore.

  He released the clay from between his toes, and turned his head side to side.

  Then the creature came back around and settled in front of him, just like before, staying perfectly still.

  Slowly, carefully, Gerry leaned his head forward slightly, maybe only a millimeter or two. He sniffed, thinking that maybe if he knew what this thing smelled like, he might be able to identify it. It didn't smell like . . . anything. The only scent he picked up was the tinny, almost perfume-like smell of the sand.

  What if this is all in my head? he thought. Some paranoid delusion because I'm stuck out here all alone? He swallowed. If only it was a hallucination.

  Movement at the bottom of his line of sight.

  The creature stirred and backed away, a short strip of black against the gray of the sand.

  Please go away. Please go away. Please.

  The creature remained.

  Gerry curled his toes.

  Something moved in the water. Whatever it was, it was about five or six feet from shore. At least that's what Gerry thought, the way the moonlight danced upon the water in horizontal swirls of white. Ovoid dark circles moved along the top of the water like black oil. For some reason it reminded Gerry of a painting he once saw. He couldn't recall which one.

  Then, the sound of a fish jumping out of, then landing back in, the water. The water sprayed upward in a small splash, but he couldn't see what had come up then quickly ducked back beneath the lake's surface.

  The movement stopped.

  The inky liquid atop the water's surface disappeared.

  Gerry felt his toes curl and again the clay smooshed between them. He hated the feeling. The clay was watery and solid at the same time, like wet dough.

  He twisted and turned, tried again to free himself. He grimaced when the bottom of his chin scraped against the sand piled up high against it. Was it his imagination or, though he couldn't recall correctly, was the sand packed higher around his neck than when Jordan had buried him? Now that he was focusing on it, the sand was up near the bottoms of his ears than by the bottom of his neckline where he could have sworn it was before.

  "Help!" he shouted. He waited, thinking again that maybe a car would come by the parking lot or that some park patrol fellow would hear him.

  No car, and no one came.

  That thing, he remembered. Frantically scanning the beach for any sign of that shadow-like slug, he braced himself for the creature to suddenly scurry back to him. Already in his mind's eye he could see it dart toward him, pause just below his chin and sit there, as though the two were waiting to see "who would blink first."

  The creature didn't come.

  I can't believe this is happening to me, he thought. As if I did anything---I mean, really, anything---to deserve this.

  His heart ached, its beat quick and fast, to the point of discomfort. He didn't know how long he could stand the fast thump-thump-thumping beneath his chest and was sure that his heart would give out on him if it didn't slow down. Unfortunately, there wasn't much one could do to slow a fast-beating heart. Taking deep breaths didn't work. Not when you're buried from the neck down. Too much pressure against the lungs.

  His eyes focused back on the water when he heard another splash, this one bigger.

  The black oily substance not too far from shore had returned, like a dark shadow hovering along the water. It somehow looked thicker and less liquidy.

  "I can't deal with this," he whispered.

  Splash! Something black jumped up out of the water and came back down again.

  The shadow-like slug was back on the beach, right in front of him, no more than ten feet away.

  Gerry tried to swallow, but couldn't because his mouth was too dry.

  I need a drink, he thought absentmindedly.

  His heart raced and the numbness of his limbs set on full force.

  The creature sped toward him, weaving left then right, back and forth.

  It was dragging something behind it.

  Enough! "You want a piece of me? Fine. Come and get it!" he screamed.

  The creature was right before him in a heartbeat and instead of stopping just before his chin like the last time, it leaped into the air and latched on to his mouth. His lips were pressed tight, but he felt the creature trying to pry its way in between, pushing, wriggling, worming. Just below his nose he saw its black body lashing side to side as it tried to break the seal of his lips. The thing pressed so hard he wasn't sure just how much longer he could keep the creature out. Already he was revisiting that mental image from earlier, the image of that thing burrowing into his mouth and sitting on his tongue.

  He clenched his jaw, tightened the muscles around his lips. He almost didn't notice the creature didn't really feel solid, but more like a tight beam of hot air constantly being blown against his lips. The hot pressure reminded him of the hard rush of air you felt when you stuck your head out of a car window going a hundred kilometers an hour.

  His muffled grunts were suddenly muted when the water splashed . . .

  . . . and splashed.

  And splashed.

  Looking past the creature to the water, the waves stopped rolling in to shore and for an instant the water near the shoreline was perfectly calm and flat. Then the waves started curling away. The water bubbled and popped and splashed and something began to emerge.

  It rose quickly, bringing a wall of water with it like a sheet of gray-and-black-and-white-stained glass. Gerry's mouth fell open. Before he realized what he had done, the creature dove inside and sat on his tongue.

  It didn't move.

  The sheet of water went up and up and up, a hump of black at its peak. Then the hump hung at its apex a moment before coming back down in a rush and sending the wall of water outward in a violent spray, submerging Gerry. A sharp pang hit his nasal cavities as the water rushed inward. His head spun, and along with the metal-like taste of lake water that burst in through the corners of his mouth, he also tasted the creature. It tasted like cotton and . . . paint. He squeezed his eyes shut and forgot about the creatures, both large and small, and waited to die. The underwater current rushed toward him, plowing against his skin, icy and cold. His whole body shivered and when he clenched his toes, the clay spread around his skin then quickly receded and suddenly he wasn't clenching anything at all.

  The water around him grew still for a moment before moving in the opposite direction, the sand up around his neck growing thinner. The water pushed his head forward into the sand. He thought his whole face would be plowed into the mound of sand built up around his neck, but instead found the sand gone. Soon he was able to feel the cold water against his shoulders. A sudden coolness touched the top of his head and the water continued to recede. When his head was finally above water, he instinctively took a deep breath and, in his lower peripheral, saw the tail of the creature inside his mouth hanging limply from his lips. He tried to spit the thing out, but it was latched onto his tongue like a leech. In spite of the water in his mouth, the creature still tasted like dry cotton.

  He opened his eyes and blinked out the lake water.

  The lake was a tumult of waves, gray and bla
ck and white, roiling and rolling; huge mounds of water. He tried to focus on the waves as they began to settle instead of looking at the hulk of black that had risen from the lake.

  If it's going to kill me, I don't want to see it, he thought. But he couldn't help himself. He took his eyes from the water and watched as the large creature raised its black, slick, leather-like tentacles toward the sky. From what he could see, there were six of them, each tentacle about fifteen feet long, if not more. They spread out from a huge bulb of black nearly the size of a house, its skin---if that's what it was---dark and shiny and liquid-looking. A single eye, black and infinite, took up half its face, the eye so dark it paled the black latex-like skin of its body. Running from the center of the thing's face was a thin thread that reminded Gerry of a tar line in the road. The thread ran from the blackness to his mouth and he realized it was connected to the creature on his tongue. He spat and gagged and flicked his tongue, trying to get the thing out of his mouth.

  It didn't move.

  His heart pounded and his chest ached.

  He noticed the sand-stained skin of his shoulders and saw he was free from mid chest up. He wriggled and twisted and pulled his arms up, tugging his still-asleep limbs away from the grip of the sand. Not looking up at the creature before him, he redoubled his efforts and was able to get his arms free up to the elbows before his shoulders and arms sagged from exhaustion. Panting, cold and alone, Gerry peered up at the creature. Its dark eye took him in, and he wished the moon hadn't hid behind a cloud so he could see his captor more fully.

  Mind empty, he watched as the monster snapped the tar-like thread like a whip, yanking the thing off his tongue and ripping it out from his mouth.

  Gerry spat out the tinny, paint-like taste. Blood ran from his tongue and in between his lips.

  The tiny shadowy creature sped back toward its master and disappeared.

  Dark patches, out of the corner of his eye. His son's body lay beside him, face down in the sand. Turning his head, he saw Emily lying on her side behind him, half-buried in the sand. Maria was on her back not far from Emily, a good part of her body buried as well. All up and down the beach were bodies, adults, kids, even a few elderly people, some completely revealed, others still partly covered with sand.