Bottom Feeder

by Matt Cole

  What the hell was Arlene talking about?

  “C’mon, Dee, you know that you and Maggie suggested that I get rid of Steve, my no good wife-beating husband.”

  “Whatever you say, Arlene,” Deena replied, humoring her obviously demented friend.

  “Look,” Arlene said. “I hate to have things end like this between us.”

  “You killed your husband, Steve?”

  Arlene slammed the door of the wood stove shut, and then turned to loom over Deena again. Her teeth flashed in a satisfied leer beneath her heavily sprayed hair. “No one will miss him; I can assure you of that.”

  Deena stared. For the love of God, Arlene was totally bonkers. Certifiably insane.

  “Oh, Arlene, what’s happened to you?”

  “I’ve become a stronger person, Dee,” Arlene replied. “You should be proud of me.”

  She clucked her tongue at Deena’s pious attitude, mocking her that she would not approve of the new Arlene.

  “Just stop this now and let me go before it gets any further out of control,” pleaded Deena.

  Arlene’s horrid grin widened. “I cannot do that; the Master would not approve.”

  “So what does the master plan to do with me, Arlene?”

  Arlene’s was the very embodiment of malevolence. “Don’t you worry none, hun, that will be known…soon.”

  Arlene gazed down at her with a purpose and Deena felt as if spiders were crawling up her spine. Arlene was planning to kill her, of course, but now Deena knew it would be soon.

  * * * *

  Gary Chapel went back through the kitchen of the house at 1420 South Douty Street.

  His car was tucked away on the street behind the house, but he still felt as if he was being watched. Mike Leopold or someone else may see him enter the house.

  The mist that night had gotten thicker. He retraced his steps around the house by feel, and then struck out across the front yard blindly, heading for the basement of darkness, without any sensory evidence of its position.

  He had tried to convince himself it was not real that what happened and what he saw was not possible.

  Now he had braced himself, in case whatever it was he saw down in the tunnels was there again. Chapel had been uncharacteristically quiet, and it had struck him that he had never said so few words in one day before.

  His knee rammed the basement door, bringing tears to his eyes, and he heard a faint but definite noise with the undertone of a slithering. Like a snake or something bigger.

  Gary Chapel stared blindly into the darkness of the basement.

  There was something moving in the darkness.

  Senses need each other, he thought. His lost sight seemed to impair his hearing instead of sharpening it.

  Then he heard it again. It was coming from the corner of the basement where the tunnel’s entrance was.

  And the smell…of decay, rot, and death began to overwhelm his nostrils.

  “Oh God…what the hell?” he moaned, his breath blowing a hole in the frosty, yet moist air that closed right up again. His mind raced over what he knew and what he could figure: the monster was real and it was in the darkness.

  There was another movement on the stairs and something touched him.

  Chapel whirled around, sending the darkness swirling around him, and headed back toward the kitchen. Higher up in the darkness of the basement it lit up enough for him to make out a faint outline of the tentacle stretched out, reaching for him. Chapel scrambled for the exit. Almost there, he reached out blindly, felt the door’s handle, then pulled himself upright and then veered left and used the knob to feel his way into the kitchen, further pulling himself away from the creature.

  The slithering became louder, more clearly than before. Much more. He even thought he heard the distant scuttle, the barely audible click of tiny claws on asphalt as they came out of the darkness…no…out of the tunnel.

  He slid along the linoleum floor to the door, flowed outside to the back yard, praying it had not escaped the tunnel into the world above because it wanted him.

  At his car he slammed his back against the hood, letting out his breath, then pounded with his fists and felt like screaming, but didn’t.

  He grabbed his cell phone and hit the speed dial for the sheriff.

  She answered on the third ring.

  “Just listen before saying that I’m crazy,” he began. “But you’re not going to believe me when I tell you what I’ve seen.”

  “Okay…Gary…Detective Chapel…have you been drinking?” Sheriff Lindsey Hill asked.

  “C’mon…” Chapel gasped.

  “You’re not making any sense,” Sheriff Hill said. “We have a crisis with these sinkholes and the other cases. I don’t have time for this shit, Chapel.”

  “I know, listen,” he pleaded. “This is really strange but it’s all true.” Chapel raised his finger like a teacher making a point, and even though Sheriff Hill was not there in front of him, she listened.

  For fifteen minutes he told Sheriff Hill about the last two nights inside the house on Douty Street and the monster in the darkness in the basement and about his conversation with Mike Leopold.

  After he finished there was a long pause on each end. Finally, it was Chapel who spoke first. “Well, what do you have to say in response?”

  “I don’t know,” the Sheriff said. “Why don’t you take a few days off and then we’ll talk about this again.”

  “I told you you’d think I was crazy, didn’t I?”

  “Do you need a ride home? Have you been drinking?” Sheriff Hill asked. “I didn’t know insanity was contagious or I would have never sent you to see Mike Leopold.”

  Gary Chapel pounded the hood again.

  “I’m not drunk or crazy; if you won’t help or believe me then I’ll have to take the matter into my own hands,” Chapel yelled into his phone.

  “Gary, we have more disappearances,” Sheriff Hill said. “Including Deena Hopping.”

  “What? When?” Chapel said into the phone, then hung up before she could reply. It didn’t matter; he knew where Deena was or would end up, in the tunnel. “All right, beast, you’re mine.”

  Chapter 29

  She was back.

  The bitch was back in the next room, humming to herself, stoking the fire or cooking or doing…whatever the hell it was she did on the other side of the door in the basement. Deena watched Arlene’s shadow move around the adjoining area that she’d only caught glimpses of when she opened the door and came into “her” quarters to leave Deena her food, or water, or take the damned bucket he’d given her to relieve herself in, or to stoke the fire.

  In those glimpses of the living area, Deena had seen parts of a long table, and a heavy armoire and bookcases on the one wall that was in her line of vision. She wondered what kind of job, if any, she held and, of course, as she lay fighting the cold, damp basement, and the darkness, she always wondered how Arlene had gone from friend to fiend.

  Deena felt that there was still good inside Arlene.

  Holding the scratchy blanket tight to her chin as the fire burned ever lower, the scent of wood smoke strong, Deena had thought about all the criminals she’d read about in the past in those true crime books she used to love to read and she could still not comprehend how or why Arlene could turn from a lovely woman to a psychotic sicko.

  Nothing fit.

  Her rage was darker, but not her own. Someone or something was controlling Arlene.

  And the rage was leveled not only at her, but at other people too, like Steve, as well, and even authority lately. Deena had felt Arlene’s hostility for weeks before the attack and it now lurked like an entity of its own in the basement with them, sensed that Arlene was sneering at her despite her sometimes smooth and cajoling tone. As if Arlene still cared about her.

  Deena didn’t believe the bitch that Arlene was now for a second.

  And now that she was back and she couldn’t keep at her futile attempts at escape, Deena had t
o unmask who was behind all of this, who was controlling Arlene.

  Before Arlene was instructed to kill her.

  A tall order.

  One Deena couldn’t fill handcuffed.

  Deena saw shadows moving under the door and realized Arlene had walked toward her room, only to stop on the other side of the threshold.

  No doubt the depraved woman was even now peeking inside. What a turnabout! Arlene had always been a prude and decent woman. Deena forced her body to quit quivering, set her jaw, and glared up at the small peephole in the plywood walls that had created “rooms” in the basement, silently and defiantly daring her to come inside.

  If Deena could talk to Arlene some more, she might be able to convince Arlene not to kill her. If Deena could keep from losing her temper and just keep Arlene talking.

  As if reading her mind, Arlene clicked open the door and stepped into the dark room. A wedge of light illuminated her austere quarters and she caught a glimpse of her clothing, folded neatly by the fire. Was there anything that could be used as a weapon nearby? What about her cell phone? All she could see were her jeans, blouse, jacket, and shoes.

  “Looking for something, sweetie?” Arlene mocked.

  Trying to make out the contours of Arlene’s face, Deena squinted up at her, holding the blanket over her body. The fire had nearly died, the temperature in the room was not a lot of degrees above freezing, and the light was so weak, only brightening the area just skirting the stove, that she was thwarted.

  Arlene kicked the door shut. It closed with a solid thud that jarred Deena, put her even more on edge.

  Don’t let her get to you; its all part of the game. A game you’ll win.

  But the door closing seemed the knell of death, reinforcing the fact that there was no escape, that she was locked in here, prey to whatever vile atrocities awaited her.

  “So, Deena…” Arlene’s voice was a raspy whisper that crawled across Deena’s skin. “The master knows of your escape plan and wants you to know it won’t work.”

  Deena’s pulse jumped.

  The master? He knows about what? Has Arlene been secretly watching me? Filming me? Laughing at my impotent attempts to free myself? Who was the master?

  “You may as well give it up, dear. Whatever you’ve decided to do, it won’t work.” Arlene was stepping closer to Deena, standing tall, trying to intimidate her as she was forced to lie or sit, naked on the cot.

  “Hungry?” Arlene asked.

  As if she cared, Deena thought. The truth was her stomach was turned inside out with fear; Deena wouldn’t be able to swallow a bite.

  “No?”

  Deena didn’t respond and Arlene cocked her head, studying Deena like a bird eyeing an insect scuttling on the ground. “You know, Dee, I expected a long friendship between us. But the master does as he wants and who am I to question him?”

  “I thought the Lord was your master?” Deena asked.

  “Ah, she speaks. At last.” Arlene seemed pleased and Deena mentally kicked herself for saying anything.

  “Well?”

  “The master has been known by many names over the centuries, but that is not important now,” Arlene answered.

  “When do I get to meet this master?”

  “Oh, don’t rush it now, Deena, in time you will. And if you’re lucky as was I, perhaps even you will be chosen for something more than a means to make him stronger.”

  “You mean if he doesn’t eat me?”

  “Now this isn’t fun at all, is it?”

  “Are we supposed to be having fun, Arlene?”

  “Of course, now you need to eat, here.” Arlene motioned for Deena to sit up.

  Deena moved into a sitting position, keeping the blanket covering her, her handcuffed left wrist holding her hand down by the cot’s leg. Her right wrist, linked by the chain to her right, lay against her right thigh.

  “So, what’s for dinner?”

  Arlene laughed and sent more shivers down Deena’s spine.

  * * * *

  Screw playing by the rules! This was an honest to god monster; there were no rules for that!

  Gary Chapel climbed out of his house desk chair and walked to the window. There was still a cop car at the curb; obviously Sheriff Hill was not convinced that he was okay. He stopped worrying if he was being watched or babysat and found he didn’t care. Deena Hopping was missing, a monster was on the loose, and somehow Mike Leopold, the town crazy, was now the most logical and believable person if not the most sane.

  After his conversation with the Sheriff, Chapel had returned to his home. He’d already taken care of everything in the case that things went bad. He then pulled out several maps of the area, including one given to him by his grandfather, then jumped on the Internet and checked the latest Google map and satellite and topographical maps of the town.

  “Where are you, you son of a bitch?” he muttered as he marked all the locations where the sinkholes had opened up around town, then he put a mark for the house on South Douty Street. “And what the hell are you?”

  Are you the monster my grandfather told stories about?

  Are you Deros?

  None of this made any sense.

  Chapel tossed another chunk of oak on the fire, and then adjusted the logs with his poker. As he stared at the flames he thought of Deena Hopping and of Mike Leopold’s story of how he had burned down the family house with his family still inside. Was Deena alive? Injured? Had the monster eaten her? Or…was it already too late? His fingers clenched over the smooth metal of the poker and his shoulder muscles bunched.

  Gary Chapel shuddered with fear. It was a feeling he was not accustomed to as a police officer.

  Inside, Chapel felt a vast hole—an emptiness borne of the unknown, and his childhood fears of monsters coming to life.

  Never had he felt so useless, so impotent.

  “Fuck it!” he gritted through clenched teeth. He refused to let this beat him down. He would find the monster and Deena—one way or another.

  Slamming away from the desk, he grabbed his jacket, his guns in a bag, his gloves, and headed outside into a clear night, through the backdoor so as to avoid being seen by the police who were watching his house—the stars glimmered, tiny pinpoints against the velvety black sky. It was the first truly clear night in how long? He couldn’t remember.

  Someone had Deena Hopping. Something evil.

  And that beast was one helluva monster, which should have decisively narrowed the field, but Chapel was neither a tunnel expert nor a monster hunter.

  He had to find her!

  With renewed purpose he stopped and grabbed his cell phone; he called the sheriff’s department, gave his name, badge number, and asked to speak directly to the sheriff. It was late, but he believed Lindsey would be there. He had come to trust the sheriff and thought of her as a friend more than a boss.

  He was right, for a few moments later she answered carefully, “This better be more coherent than your last call, Detective Chapel.”

  “I believe there is a copycat kidnapper or a partner we may have missed with Frank Marsden,” Chapel said in an attempt to sound less crazy.

  “What evidence of this do you have, Detective? I have to work with facts and evidence. And what you have is neither.”

  “But it will be. I’m going on gut instincts, Sheriff. And I’m going to find this other killer.”

  Sheriff Lindsey Hill exhaled. “You are no longer part of this investigation, Detective. I’m putting you on administrative leave. Get some rest; you’ve worked hard to bring Frank Marsden into custody and I feel that you are in dire need of a rest.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I could help you,” Gary Chapel argued.

  “Not at the moment. You would just get in the way. Get some rest; that is an order.”

  “You’re wrong,” Chapel said tautly.

  “I have many things to get to; the governor is sending in the National Guard to help us with these sinkholes. Now rest and let us do our jobs,
Detective Chapel.”

  He’d seen a bit of the press conference on television with the Governor ducking questions and answering in vague generalities about the sinkholes. It had convinced Chapel they were all scratching their heads and covering their asses and no one knew what was going on.

  “Fine! Go ahead, then. You do what you have to and I’ll do what I have to.”

  “What does that mean, Chapel?” Sheriff Hill demanded sharply.

  But Chapel had already hung up in disgust. It had been a waste of time to call her. He thought for a moment, and then took two strides to his desk area. He wasn’t the most organized at home, but he had a file or two that held important papers. He thumbed through them quickly, grabbing a small note tucked inside, it had been his grandfather’s, memorizing its contents, and then placing the information on his map. He dialed another number.

  If he was gonna do this, Gary Chapel knew he was gonna need help.

  Chapter 30

  “Any word on finding Deena Hopping?” Detective Gary Chapel asked, sticking his head into Detective Sergeant Patrick Townsend’s office.

  “What the hell are you doing here? If the Sheriff sees you, your ass is grass. And the answer is no.” Townsend was terse.

  Gary Chapel had cooled off a bit since the phone call earlier with the Sheriff and had sought to find out what he could about Deena Hopping’s disappearance. No one seemed to know what the next step should be as most of the department had been preoccupied with the sinkholes and the problems they were causing.

  “You should go home,” Townsend added.

  “I’ll go home when the sheriff goes home.” Chapel was bugged that, after all his hard investigative work, Sheriff Lindsey Hill felt she could tell him what he should do in a similar case.

  “Hill’s still here?”

  Everyone is still here, Townsend wanted to say. Nobody wanted to leave with all that was going on and more disappearances.

  As if hearing her name, Sheriff Lindsey Hill appeared in the hallway and stopped beside Chapel. “I thought I instructed you to take some time off? What are you doing here, Detective Chapel?”

  “I needed to pick up some of my personal items before taking your advice, Sheriff,” Chapel lied.