No, Bernie was pretty sure that Charlotte had come back to have a little get-together with both of them.
“This is all your fault, Bernie!” Millie shrieked. “You’re the reason I’m in this! You’ve gotta do something!”
Surprised, Bernie turned to see her glaring at him with eyes shockingly wide, in a face contorted with fear. With her tiny fists clenched at her sides, and the cords of her neck standing out, she looked as mad and spectral in the wind as the approaching horror below. He realized she dangled on the edge of a breakdown.
“Get your stuff,” he hollered against the wind. “We’re leaving! Now!”
A glance over his shoulder revealed the phantom standing even closer than before. He didn’t look at it long, not really wanting to get a better view. There were some things in life a man could live without seeing.
Millie blundered her way back toward the house, struggling against the wind in her high heels. Bernie fumbled after her as the rain started to fall. It lashed him across the face, forcing him to shield his eyes with his arm. A violent “slam” exploded ahead of him as Millie opened the screen door and the wind ripped it out of her hand. Cursing frantically, she left it open and stumbled into the dark house. He staggered in behind her, his boots clomping on the wooden floor.
With the lights out, the little farmhouse was a gloomy cave. A cave that groaned and creaked as the storm started to hammer its small structure. The shadows of thrashing tree limbs obscured what little light made it through the windows.
Bernie heard Millie pulling out drawers in the bedroom, wheezing in both panic and exertion. He stumbled down the black hallway, using the sound of her panicked frenzy as a guide. As he floundered to the bedroom door, he could see her dark figure grabbing things out of the closet in a desperate frenzy and stuffing them into a suitcase.
She stood to make another run for the closet, just as a nearby fork of lightning lit up the room with a house-rattling boom.
Four feet away, Charlotte Morlin grinned in at her through the window.
Charlotte’s time in the black loam of her grave had not been kind to her looks. There was just enough time for a stained, skullish impression…laced with worms and small roots…before the lightning faded and she became a ghastly outline against the howling outdoors.
Millie’s scream was the ragged sound of sanity starting to tear.
She stumbled, grabbed her suitcase, righted herself, and made a run for the bedroom door all at the same time. She slammed into Bernie and clawed frantically at him to get past.
But he didn’t let her pass. An idea had formed, and along with it came hope. Bernie caught her by the arms while keeping his eyes locked on the shadow outside.
“Dammit! Let me go!” she wailed, losing more ground to panic every second.
“Millie, STOP!” he shouted back, tightening his grip. “Stop and listen to me! You can’t leave yet!”
She fought like an animal, making inarticulate noises as she struggled.
“Millie!” Bernie shook her, while still keeping his eyes focused on the window. “You have to wait! I have to get the car and you need to wait here! She only moves when we look away from her. I need you to wait here and watch her while I get the car!”
“No!” Millie shrieked and twisted in his grip. “I’m not letting you leave me! Don’t you dare! I’m going with you!”
“Millie, listen to me!”
“Let me go!”
“MILLIE!” he roared, trying to break through her panic. “If you come with me, she’ll catch us! She’ll be waiting for us at the door, or in the next room. Or maybe even in the hallway when we turn around! Do you understand? YOU HAVE TO STAY HERE AND WATCH HER!”
He briefly wondered if he would have to slap her. He didn’t relish the idea since the last time he done that was with Charlotte…and that hadn’t ended well. But just then she quit fighting him. Her arms fell to her sides and she simply leaned against him, not making a sound. He laid a hand on her back, wondering if she had fainted. Then her small shoulders began to shake and Millie began to cry.
“Bernie,” she sobbed. “Please don’t. Don’t make me do this. Please?”
“You have to, baby,” he softly insisted. “It’s the only way I can get to the car out in the garage. Then I’ll pull it alongside the house and honk for you. You stay here and watch her, and then when you hear the horn you run for the backdoor. I’ll watch the backdoor so she won’t appear there and be waiting for you. Got it?”
She cried hard against his coat without answering. He had to remind himself that if the shoe were on the other foot, and she knew how to drive a car, then she would have most likely already left him behind.
“Millie,” he continued gently, “that’s the only way this can work…the only way out of here. You have to do this or she’s got us.”
She didn’t answer right away, but the sobs began to subside.
When she finally met his eyes again, he could tell she had reached the point where despair had become the last refuge of sanity. She didn’t believe him, and she didn’t think he would stop the car and wait for her, but it was the only hope she had left. She was going to do this, even though she truly expected to be left behind.
Bernie took her by the shoulders, then slowly turned her to face the window. Rain hammered the glass, distorting the outline of the horror standing outside. Millie’s eyes were wide and glassy, and she breathed in tiny gulps. She fastened her gaze on the window with a weak whimper.
“Now listen,” he whispered in her ear, “I’ll just be gone for a minute. Whatever you do, don’t look away from her. If you do, she’s gonna be right in here with you.”
He knew he was pushing her past her limit, but he needed her more frightened of looking away than staring at the horror. He needed her to buy every second of time she could. But having strengthened her fear, he now had to give her some hope to hang on to.
“When you hear the honk,” he murmured, “just back out of the room but keep watching her. You watch her as long as you can. Then run for the back door. I’ll be watching so she can’t show up there.”
Millie just nodded in reply, her face so tight he could see the bones under her skin.
Bernie let her go, then slowly backed out of the little room. He backpedaled down the hallway, keeping his gaze focused on Millie’s fragile silhouette in the bedroom door. She never moved, although she visibly trembled. Then, once he reached the kitchen, Bernie whirled and leaped for the back door.
It stood open from their frantic retreat inside a few minutes earlier, and sheets of water blew in across the kitchen floor. The storm now howled in earnest, trees twisting violently in the raging winds. Going out the door was like plunging into a mighty waterfall…that fell sideways. The incredible volume of water filling the air staggered him as it blew by.
Drenched to his skin within a second, Bernie got his bearings and lurched off toward the garage. The grass lay flat and slick, and he fell three different times trying to cross the distance in the wind. Each time he looked up with the gut wrenching fear that he would see what remained of Charlotte grinning back down at him. That reminded him that she stood right around the corner of the house from where he lay. Bernie pushed himself up and staggered onward, making for the dim outline of the garage.
The ’55 station wagon would be waiting within, topped off with gas. He hadn’t really wanted to buy the car but Millie demanded he drive her around town in something other than a farm truck. Since the car was newer than the old truck behind the tool shed, he figured it made the smarter choice of vehicles in this hurricane.
Bernie stumbled through the cascade falling in front of the open garage door and did a nervous scan of the interior. The rain slamming against the thin roof above drowned out his sigh of relief. Nothing shared the darkness with him but the car.
Wasting no time, he hurried around to the driver’s side of the vehicle. Another explosion of lightning lit up the dark and he heard Millie’s faint scream over th
e roar of the storm. If she still held the wraith with her gaze, it wouldn’t be for much longer. He swore in near panic as he tried to force his hand down into the pocket of his soggy Levi’s to get the keys. He knew with sick certainty that every passing second increased the odds of him hopping into the car only to discover a rotting passenger seated beside him.
Ripping the keys free, Bernie drove the right one into the lock on the first try and jerked the car door open. He did a quick survey of the interior to make sure Charlotte didn’t wait within, then dove inside. Slamming the door behind him, he jammed the key into the ignition and stomped on the accelerator.
The engine turned, but failed to catch.
Bernie swore and twisted the key once more. He didn’t have time for this. The engine turned again, faded, but then it caught and roared to life. Thank God!
With a near whimper of relief, Bernie dropped the car into gear and eased out into the storm. Rain slammed into the windshield, utterly obscuring his view. He hit the switch to the wipers but the downpour overwhelmed them. Visibility was almost nil. Turning on the headlights, he struggled to make out the driveway ahead of him.
Oddly enough, because of the angle of the rain he could see out of his passenger side window better than the windshield. Still, he needed to move. Bernie gently rolled the car forward, struggling to see. He could just make out the dark shape of the house as he started to ease up beside it.
“Forget it,” he muttered to himself, “she’s gone. Keep going.” He knew that was precisely what she would do. Millie would feel awful about it later, but say she had been too frightened to think. Her frailties often became their own excuses.
But what about him? Could he do that?
He struggled over what to do…keep his word and risk himself further, or hit the accelerator and leave Millie behind. In the end, he compromised. Bernie continued onward at a slow crawl, honking the horn repeatedly. He had to give Millie a chance, but there was no way he could bring himself to stop the car.
Not with Charlotte lurking out there.
The dim outline of the house crept by in the deluge. Lightning flashed twice more…illuminating both the farmhouse and the storm assaulting it. The black windows stared back at him in mute accusation, revealing nothing of what transpired inside. The back door slammed back and forth in the wind, it’s banging faintly reaching his ears. Bernie held down the horn as he moved by. Nothing. By the time the car eased its way past the building, the gut sinking truth could no longer be denied…
Millie would not be coming out.
Bernie didn’t want to think about what could be happening in there so he forced himself to concentrate on the driveway ahead. What little of it there was to see. His windshield was a sheet of distorting water that his wipers only gave brief glimpses through. That, and the thunder of the rain on the cars roof, seemed to bury him in the bowels of the maelstrom. He only had the sounds of his own ragged breathing for company.
The next pass of his wipers gave a brief glimpse of asphalt in the headlights. That meant he had reached the end of the gravel drive, and the highway now crossed in front of him. If he turned left, the small town of Weyrich lay five miles down the road. Fifteen miles to his right, Hallisboro offered more in the way of civilization. Bernie only took a minute to decide to turn right.
First of all, that put the back of his car to the wind which should ease the torrent on his windshielf. Second, Weyrich was really just a wide spot in the road with little more than a couple of houses and a store that would be closed. Hallisboro would have emergency shelters waiting…and people. Wonderful crowds of people. He couldn’t avoid crossing the Brazos this way, but there hadn’t been enough time for the river to come up yet. He needed to hurry, though.
Fortunately, turning right did reduce the assault on his windshield and he could see better. Visibility remained poor, but at least he could see the road sixty feet in front of him. The storm now embraced the car, surrounding it with raging gray curtains that turned even nearby objects into dim outlines.
He never felt lonelier in his life. Just him and the storm, with his vengeful dead wife somewhere behind him.
Swallowing hard, Bernie tried to get comfortable in his soggy clothes and focused forward. Gently touching the accelerator, he allowed the car to start rolling down the hill. He used low gear to keep it slow because brakes could be a catastrophic choice in these conditions, even at normal speed. As it turned out, it was just as well he did because circumstances forced him to stop when he reached the bottom of the hill.
Fifty feet ahead, the phantom waited in his headlights.
Bernie’s air left him like he’d been punched in the chest. He could clearly see the ghastly revenant through the water distortion of his windshield. It waited in silence, a motionless shape in a sodden white dress. The only sounds came from the raindrops thundering on the roof of his car, and the rhythmic thump of the wipers. Bernie gripped the steering wheel, his eyes like those of a cornered animal. He only had one choice left.
He couldn’t go back because the road was too narrow to turn around. The ditches on each side now cascaded with water. He couldn’t just sit here staring at the specter either. The river would rise soon, and he now sat in its flood plain. This whole area would soon be underwater, and the bridge ahead would be impassable even sooner. He needed to go.
Now.
Bernie squared his jaw and narrowed his eyes at the dim figure ahead. Then he stomped on the gas. The car’s tires spun, found purchase, and the station wagon shot forward in the storm. The horrific figure ahead grew quickly and filled his headlights. At the very last instant, just as the root webbed visage became clear in his high beams, he threw up an arm in reflex, flinching from the upcoming impact.
It never came.
For one glorious moment, elation filled him as he realized he was past and now drove unimpeded toward the river. But then he understood his fatal mistake as the smell of rot and black earth filled the car.
He had taken his eyes off of her when he shielded his face at that last second.
Bernie screamed as two deathly cold arms embraced him from the back seat, and he reflexively twisted the steering wheel to the side.
“Happy anniversary, baby,” Charlotte’s dirt choked voice rattled in his ear. “Let’s go home.
.
***
Hurricane Carla smashed through the state of Texas in early September of 1961, causing massive damage to property and infrastructure alike. Fortunately, due to new warning systems and evacuation procedures, the death toll only reached the surprisingly low total of 31.
Millie Jackson was not numbered amongst the casualties since her death was ruled a homicide. Her body was found, strangled and wrapped in an old rotted sheet, in the bedroom of a small farmhouse owned by Bernie Morlin. Authorities assume Morlin killed her then fled out into the storm, only to slide off the road at the Old Weyrich Bridge nearby. County police found his car at the bottom of the bridge.
His body was never found.
A Singularity of Purpose
Russell Cokeland swung himself off the school bus and onto the shoulder of the country highway.
“C’mon, you two!” he hollered back into vehicle. “Let’s go! The show is going be on in nine minutes!”
“You don’t listen much, do you Russell.”
Andy Keller, and his little brother Mack descended the steps and walked clear of the bus. The tow-headed pair could have been twins, despite the year of difference in their ages. They even stood together, both in the same stance with their hands in their pockets as they watched the bus pull away and leave them on the dusty shoulder.
“What do you mean, Andy?” Russell had a feeling he wasn’t going to like the answer.
“I told you, we promised to have the garage cleaned out for my dad before he comes home this evening. That way he can work on the car in there.”
“Can’t you guys do that after the show?”
“Not if we want to be done.”
Andy frowned at him. “Jeez, Russell! There are things in life more important than TV. You’re welcome to come help us, you know. My mom’s going to order in pizza and drinks while we work.”
“Uh, no thanks.” Russell held up his hands as if warding off something distasteful. “I’ll let you two mama’s boys get on with your business. I’ll just mosey on home.”
“Whatever.” Andy shrugged and scuffed his toe in the roadside pebbles. He didn’t look terribly surprised. “See you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
Russell grumbled and headed for the brushy corner where a gravel road intersected with the highway. The fifteen-year-old reached over the rusty barbed wired fence and retrieved his bicycle. He hid it there every morning before the bus picked him up. Now he hauled it up to the gravel road and pointed it down the lane’s tree-covered depths. Then he looked back at the pair of boys getting ready to cross the highway to their house.
“Don’t you two strain nothing while doing your good deeds.”
Andy didn’t respond, but his little brother couldn’t help taking a parting shot of his own.
“We won’t,” Mac replied cheerily. “Don’t let Purvis eat you.”
“Pshaw! That old wreck can’t catch me! And if he ever does I’ll beat his ass down with a stick!”
“Like you did last time?” the younger boy giggled.
“That was almost two years ago! And he got lucky and surprised me. Besides, I was a little snot back then…like you are now!”
“Oh, suuurrrreeee! Did you replace those pants because of the hole Purvis tore in the leg or the load you left in the seat?”
Russell just glared in response, then hunched his shoulders and faced back toward the gravel road.
Despite being angry over the needling, the teen chose to drop it and let the other two leave with the last word. He couldn’t win this anyways. They were the only kids in the area his age. Getting them pissed would leave him with nobody to hang out with. He had few enough friends as it was.
Shades: Eight Tales of Terror Page 16
