“Al?” he said again, although by then, he was sure he wasn’t going to get an answer.
Get out, he thought to himself in a meek voice. Better yet, get on the phone and call the cops. Something isn’t right. You know it. You can feel it.
That was beyond true, but he somehow found his legs moving forward. He moved through Al’s living room. A magazine was opened on the coffee table. A can of Dr. Pepper sat beside it. The entire scene looked like something in a wax museum.
Wayne left the living room, heading left for the hallway where the bedroom was located. He made only a single step before he saw the body on the floor. His right foot paused in mid-step as he stared at it.
“Oh my God,” he breathed.
It was Kathy’s body, her face turned slightly to the right away from him. After that, nothing else about her made much sense because of all of the blood. It was caked along her chest and splattered against the walls.
A low moan escaped Wayne’s mouth and he felt himself falling softly against the wall. He stepped closer, the blood getting richer and more real with every foot forward. There was so much of it, so much blood that the area between Kathy’s neck and knees was nothing more than a red mess.
He was so close now that he thought he could smell the blood, rich and coppery almost like a handful of pennies. He took a final trembling step and came to the midway point of the hall. To his left, the bathroom door stood open. He glanced inside and instantly fell back against the wall. A scream tried to crawl out of his throat but his body was too shocked to produce the sound. All that came out was a low whining moan as he clapped his hands to his mouth.
Al was sprawled awkwardly on the floor, his body partially supported due to the fact that his left arm had fallen on the toilet seat and his head had struck the bathtub. His blood-coated face was aimed directly at Wayne, his eyes wide and his mouth—oh God, his mouth…
His mouth looked to have been ripped open, almost like someone had grabbed his chin and pulled own until the jaw snapped and the skin stretched and split. There were fragments of teeth speckled in the maroon blood that was sprayed all over his shirt. There was more blood on the walls and a literal pool of it in Al’s lap and on the floor. The white toilet was also stained with it; the tank looked like a morbid Jackson Pollock painting.
But Wayne’s eyes went back to that gaping hole where his friend’s mouth had once been. Now there was a black cavern of blood and unspeakable suffering.
Wayne felt the scream building in his chest as tears came cascading down his cheeks. But before he could let it out, he heard something. It was the first sound he had heard since stepping into the house other than his little muffled cries.
Something splashed in the toilet.
With a creeping dread spreading through his guts, Wayne leaned forward slightly and looked into the bowl. Something was coiled up inside, something alive and flipping what appeared to be its tail in an agitated manner. When Wayne’s eyes fell on it, it froze up and coiled up tighter on itself. It was a much smaller version of the beast he had helped to kill down by the shack four days ago but it still managed to fill almost the entire bowl.
Looking at it, there was a humbling moment where Wayne was sure his bladder was going to let go. He managed to keep control of himself, though. He slowly backed away on trembling legs.
He made it out of the doorway and back into the hall before the thing struck. It came sailing out of the toilet with speed that matched that of the larger creature Wayne was familiar with. Wayne’s scream finally came bolting out of his mouth as he took off in a run to his left, back towards the living room.
The thing struck the hallway wall, making a wet splat sound. Wayne looked back for only a moment, watching as it rebounded from the wall and hit the floor, already recovering and slithering quickly towards him.
It was fast as hell, already on Wayne’s heels. Thinking purely on instinct and not considering the consequences, Wayne reached he still-open front door and collided with the screen door beyond it, thankful that it had not completely closed when he came in. Still, his impact shattered the glass and the edge of the frame caught him in the forehead. He stumbled across the porch, hearing the sound of the snake-like thing also banging it open behind him.
Wayne turned, still running to the porch stairs, just in time to see it leaping from the porch and directly for him. Watching it propel itself without legs was almost like some kind of dark magic. It was going to get him; it was going to wrap around his head just like the larger one had done to Agent Miles and—
Suddenly, the porch was not under his feet. He realized moments after gravity took him that he was falling down the porch stairs. He went flailing down the stairs head first and could actually feel the slimy surface of the thing barely touch the side of his face as it overshot its falling prey.
Wayne struck his shoulder on the porch railing and then hit the last few on his side. He felt a rib crack right around the same moment his left foot bent awkwardly on the ground. He cried out in pain as he hit the ground, instantly scrambling to his knees to find out where the monster was.
He caught sight of it just short of the edge of the driveway. It was still now, stretched out to its full length of about three feet or so. Wayne stayed on his knees, a sharp pain in his side and his left foot screaming in pain. He slowly got to his feet, hobbling on his right foot as it took on almost all of his weight. He was afraid to test his left foot just yet and he knew that if it came down to being chased again, he wouldn’t stand a chance.
But to his surprise, the thing started to slink off away from him. It slithered at a steady speed towards the side yard, in the direction of the horseshoe pit. Wayne watched it go, expecting it to turn back towards him with lightning speed at any moment. Instead, it continued on its way, as if it was bored of chasing an old man.
Then he remembered the boy that had come running down towards the water with the pitchfork. The thing had been heading back to the water to breathe…
“Ah hell,” Wayne hissed.
Then, in an ultimate ironic twist, he started chasing after the thing. He cried out at the pain in his side and when he finally decided to test the ability of his left foot, he nearly fell on his face. He made it forward in a hobbling sort of run, his eyes still on the creature. By the time Wayne had passed the horseshoe pit, the thing was already halfway through the back yard. Beyond that, there was a thin grove of trees broken by a footpath that led to Al’s deck. Past that there was only the open lake.
Wincing, Al trundle forward, doing everything he could to look past the pain. As he finally hit a stride in balancing out the weight on his injured left foot, he saw Kathy’s little garden to the right, alongside the back porch. Propped against the side was a rake, a small hoe, and a mid-sized shovel that he supposed any respectable gardener would called a spade.
He grabbed the shovel (or spade, or whatever the hell it was) and continued down towards the trees and the lake beyond. Now that he had found a suitable pace—somewhere between a jog and a sprint—he dared to hope that he’d catch up to the thing. He didn’t know if it was because the grass was slowing it down or if it was running out of breath and, therefore, growing weaker, but it seemed much slower now, almost lethargic.
When he reached the bottom of the slight hill in the back yard, his foot was nearly numb, causing him to slow to a hobble. And the pain in his side was so bad that he felt like someone had wrapped barbed wire around his ribs.
The little monstrosity sped up a bit as it got closer to the trees, perhaps sensing the relief of water within the next several yards.
Its renewed speed wasn’t enough, though. Wayne closed in on it and raised the spade over his head. It had apparently assumed that the old man it had nearly killed would not be a threat because when it noticed another presence directly behind it, it froze for a moment rather than striking out at once. It had only enough time to coil back into its striking position before the spade came down.
It sliced cleanl
y through the thing’s body. There was very little give to it and it made a sick popping noise as its body was split cleanly in half. Black and clear fluid leaked from its two ends as it writhed in agony. It made Wayne feel sick and the only thing he could do to keep from puking in his dead friend’s back yard was to keep stabbing at it.
He cut the two pieces into three and the three into six. He stabbed at the ground several more times, not stopping until the thing that had erupted from Al’s mouth and sought refuge in the water of the toilet had been torn into unrecognizable bits of meat.
When he finally stopped and dropped the spade, Wayne was crying. He turned away from the mangled corpse of the thing and started back up the small hill of Al and Kathy’s back yard. He planned to go inside and call the police to report the deaths of his best friend and his wife. He had no idea how he’d explain the condition of Al’s face and that thought alone set him to weeping uncontrollably.
He made it as far as the horseshoe pit before he had to rest. He fell down on the grass and looked to his left foot. The ankle and upper part of the foot were swelling considerably. His side still stung but even that felt like it was also going numb.
With a trembling hand, he reached out and took one of the horseshoes from its place by the wooden planks that made up the frame. With tears in his eyes, he hefted it towards the opposing side and struck the stake along the front.
Cling.
Wayne let out a moan, picked up another horseshoe and held it close to him. He looked back out towards the lake, glimmering through the trees in Al’s back yard.
He remained there, motionless and crying, for the better part of the afternoon.
THIRTY-FOUR
Scott had slept for almost an entire two days straight, recuperating in the little cabin that had eventually become nothing more than a surveillance station. He’d slept soundly through the nights and had stirred awake during the day mainly to eat, use the bathroom, and field phone calls. The calls had come from Susan Lessing and Roger Lowry. Susan was checking in on him and when she spoke, he could hear a sense of distance in her voice. She was in some sort of shock, he supposed.
He was, too. What had happened on the lake had drained him and he figured he would enjoy a stress-induced sleep before the nightmares started to come…which they almost certainly would.
Roger Lowry had calmed considerably after being told that the threat had been neutralized. He’d been grateful in a brazen and abrupt way that only Roger was capable of. He told Scott to get some rest and then report back when he felt up to it. He also suggested that, given the nature of the attack he had endured from the thing, that Scott should maybe see a doctor… preferably one suggested by the bureau when he got back to DC.
Now, after his two days of rest, Scott was doing just that. He had packed up his few things and took them out to the car. He felt refreshed but, at the same time, a little winded. He was finding it a little hard to breathe and felt the beginnings of a migraine stirring in the back of his head. So yes, heading back to DC seemed like a good idea. And after he had settled in, he’d see a doctor if he was still having these breathing issues.
He went through the cabin one final time to make sure he had packed everything and then locked the place up. He went back out to the car and stood by it for a moment, taking his cell phone out. He called Susan Lessing’s number, wanting to let her know that he was headed out. The phone rang several times and then went to her voicemail. Scott considered leaving a message but then killed the call.
What was the point in dragging things out? There was only sentiment in such a thing and considering the horror they had witnessed, sentiment seemed useless. The sooner he could disconnect himself from all of this, the better.
As he backed out of the driveway, he broke into a small coughing fit.
He made his way up Kerr Lane, headed for the main stretch of highway that would take him away from this godforsaken lake. When he stopped at the intersection, seeing glorious black pavement ahead, he coughed again. He brought up a considerable amount of phlegm this time. He rolled the window down and spit it out.
He then pulled out onto the pavement, completely unaware of the tiny black flakes that he had spit out into the dirt.
END
Read on for a free sample of Nine Eyes
Prologue
The scream ripped the night apart. It lashed the small, drab stone houses of the village and whipped out over the hills, echoing over the waters of the loch. On it went, a feral howl that spoke of pain, of fear, and of a deep longing until it was as if it had always been there, a primal thing that had no name yet spoke to every living thing that heard it.
“Come on, girl. Push!”
Another groan started up from deep within her swollen belly. The pain was a crashing symphony, at once both deep and throbbing yet also sharp and tearing. It rolled down, boiling over until it rose into an animalistic yowl.
“Again! Come on, girl. I can see the head!”
By her side, a man stood. He watched through widened eyes, his heart singing in his throat, perfectly caught between elation and terror. They said birth was the most natural thing in the world, but how could it be? Blood and fluid flooded the rug, and he was sure no man could ever withstand the titanic forces that ripped through his wife as she fought to bring their child into the world. She lunged out, gripping his hand as the contraction took her. He winced, for a split second wondering if he could ask her to stop because she was grinding his bones together, but in the face of her bared teeth and bulging eyes, he decided not to. In this state, she looked more like a possessed monster than an imminent mother.
Her belly rippled again as the contraction peaked. It couldn't be much longer, could it? He raised his eyes to the ceiling and dared to mutter a little prayer: Let it be a girl. Please let it be a girl.
The old woman kneeling between his wife's knees gave a triumphant shout. “Yes! That's it... keep pushing. Keep it up. Don't stop now! It's coming... one more... You can do it...”
He felt his wife withdraw, folding in on herself as she sought out the last of her reserves to expel the child she had carried for so long. This time she didn't so much scream as growl, long and loud. No wonder ancient man had seen this and worshipped nature as a mother; in her small frame, she held more power than he could ever dream of. The power of life.
“Yes!” the old woman panted. “Yes... he is here! He is here!”
He?
The heat of the man's instinctive elation turned to ice.
The old woman cradled the squirming babe and smiled. She held it up to him, still covered in bloody mucus, its umbilical cord snaking out from in between his wife's legs.
“Yes,” she beamed. “Look. A boy. A boy, John. You have a son!”
He took the child with leaden arms. His wife looked over and let out a keening wail that bore no resemblance to the cries of her birthing. This was borne of an anguish so deep, he thought he might drown.
A boy.
The curse lived on.
Chapter One
Is it a mirror? A reflection? A memory, buried for so long that it feels more like something he'd dreamt? He doesn't know, not yet. It sits, just out of reach, waiting for the day when he finally plucks up the courage to take that leap of faith and grab it, turn it over in his hands and fathom it out once and for all. But until then, the speculation continues. Maybe forever. Maybe tomorrow. For who knows what tomorrow may bring?
o0o
[.REC]
“Okay- is it on?”
[The camera focuses on a tall woman standing stiffly to attention]
“Yeah. Try to relax. Right... in three... two...”
“Hello, I'm Yolanda Ndiaye, and welcome to the Highlands of Scotland. In this episode, we are investigating the legend of the Bees... uh, Beiyust...”
“Bèist an t-Sluic.”
[The woman fidgets and works her mouth]
“Okay. I'll start again. Right. Hello, I'm Yolanda Ndiaye, and welcome to the Hig
hlands of Scotland. In this episode, we are investigating the legend of the [she pauses, preparing herself to copy the cameraman's pronunciation] Bayst an Tlooeek, also known as the Beast of the Hollow. Many people think the only loch worth mentioning in Scotland when it comes to lake monsters is the infamous Loch Ness, but they'd be wrong. Locals have long shared stories of a demon that is said to inhabit this lonely stretch of water, with tales of occult activity and even human sacrifice, but they never made the mainstream... until now, that is. We're here to uncover the truth behind the Beast and find out if there really is a monster haunting these waters. I'm Yolanda Ndaiye, and you're watching Hunting Monsters.”
“Okay – cut.”
Yolanda visibly relaxed. “How was that?”
From the sidelines, Paul gave her a nod. “Yeah, not bad for a first try. What do you think, Decker?”
The man behind the camera looked up and shrugged. “Camera seems to like her. Need to tighten the pronunciations. Plus, you said who you were twice.”
Yolanda winced. “I know. I'm sorry. I realised when I said it. You want to go again?”
“Yeah, okay. Right. And... three... two...”
Paul grinned to himself and wandered away to find the other two members of his crew. It didn't take long.
One of them turned to him as he approached and smiled at him. “Wow. It's beautiful here.” Mags inhaled deeply, her eyes closed. “Smell that clean air. You know, legend or not, it was worth coming here just to get London out of my lungs.”
Paul couldn't help but agree with her. It might have been a pain in the neck to get here, but it had been worth it. The loch stretched out before them, a vast, glittering expanse of blue bordered by a green ribbon of pine trees. Behind them, hills dotted with heather rolled and beyond that rose ancient outcrops of dark, grey stone that pierced the clouds with jagged teeth. The scenery alone would bring in the punters, and once they'd factored in the local legends that had brought them there... Paul smiled to himself. Yeah. Things were going to be okay. He could feel it.
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