******
The Eaton house was inherited by Ed's brother, who lived in Florida. He listed the property with a realtor and it promptly sold.
One night, three months after the three funerals, Jack came home from work to discover he had new neighbors. The house next door was lit up; drapes hung in the windows; and two black Corvettes were parked in the driveway.
Jack barely noticed. He had a date with a brand new bottle of bourbon.
As he ate his microwaved supper, Jack Carver's sense of personal identity had never been so unclear.
Wasn't he the lawman credited with bringing in the notorious Cornfield Killer? Or was he the man whose lies got Joanie Eaton hanged? Certainly, he was the man who shot his best friend. And wasn't he the guy who strangled the helpless young woman he was supposed to rescue?
Or was he the woman herself?
If he wasn't Laura Eaton, he should be.
Was he the killer or the killer's killer?
He didn't know who he was any more.
As the man in the Sheriff's uniform struggled to remember his own name, there came a rapping on his front door.
He knew immediately it was Them and he was instantly angry. He didn't know why They'd come back to him and he didn't care. They had tricked him into stealing Laura's senses and now They were going to pay!
He knew it was the Sensora sisters.
Grabbing his gun, flipping off the safety, Jack stalked to his front door and opened it.
Seeing them again made him crazy. Enraged, he pointed his pistol at Clara...
Only to lose all sensation of touch.
Simultaneously, he went blind (and he was fairly certain his sense of taste and smell were also obliterated.)
He couldn't tell if he was still holding the gun or not. He couldn't feel anything.
Clara's voice, “You can't harm us, Sheriff.”
Evata's voice, “Don't even try it.”
Flora's voice, “You've lost, Jack.”
Lucia's voice, “Why can't he accept it like a man?”
Ivona answered her sister, saying sarcastically, “Yeah. Right.”
His senses were returned to him with a bang. He found himself on the floor, his knees aching. His gun was gone. They had disarmed him while he was senseless.
“Shall we go inside, Jack?” asked Flora, batting her eyes at him.
The five sisters strolled into his house. Jack scrambled to his feet and followed them.
The front door slammed shut behind him.
Clara said, “We did as promised, Sheriff.”
Lucia asked her sisters, “He found her alive, right?”
“Yes,” answered Evata.
Ivona remarked, “For all the good it did her.”
His rage rose again, fogging his mind, propelling him forward, fists raised, intent on beating Ivona's face in.
Again he was stripped of four of his five senses.
He was void.
He had no clue if he was still swinging his arms or if he had fallen flat on his face.
“You asked us if we are witches. Remember, Sheriff?”
“We aren't. Not exactly.”
“We're more like vampires. We are a breed of night creatures that have existed for centuries.”
“We feed on people's perceptions, Jack.”
“We eat human senses.”
Jack's fury had withered. He believed them.
They weren't human.
After each clairvoyant vision they gave him, Jack had thought the sisters looked like they were in some kind of drugged-out stupor. Now he realized they were just overly full— having gorged themselves into a state of satiated lethargy.
Understanding— that these five sisters slowly devoured Laura's five connections to the world— terrified Jack.
The women returned his senses to him. Once again, Jack found himself prostrate at the feet of the immortal Sensora sisters.
“What do you want from me?” Tears streaming down his face, he begged to know, “Why are you doing this to me?”
“I told you,” said Clara, “on the night we first met. My sisters and I have been wandering.”
“We've decided to put down roots here,” said Evata.
“You'll make a wonderful neighbor, Jack,” said Flora.
Ivona grinned devilishly. “You won't even know we're around.”
“What do you think, sisters?” asked Lucia. “With that wonderful feast he and Laura helped to provide us, it'll be at least five years before any of us will need to feed again. Right?”
“Right, sister.”
“Oh, most definitely.”
Flora clarified, “Now that we have secured entry into this community, we'll be able to eat without your aid, of course. But our first meal, that wouldn't have been possible without you, Jack!”
He was more overwhelmed than confused but he found himself muttering, “I don't understand.”
Her stoic features clouding over with a frown, Clara further explained, “We have certain... restrictions on our existence, Sheriff. Before we could take up residency here, we needed to introduce ourselves to the people's protector.”
“That's you, Mr. Carver,” said Evata.
“But there is something you get in return,” added Flora.
“What?”
Ivona frowned and Flora smiled. Lucia gave the answer: “A glamour.”
“What?” he asked, more confused than ever.
Evata told him, “You will continue to serve as Sheriff for a very long time, Mr. Carver. People outside this county may criticize your actions but around here, you'll always be a hero. You will be reelected every time you run for office.”
Clara insisted, “And you will continue to run for office until your dying day. You will never retire. And while you are Sheriff, you will never disturb my sisters and I.”
Ominously, Lucia declared, “You're our protector now, human.”
“Otherwise—” warned Ivona, “the entire world will learn the truth about how Laura Eaton died.”
He was shocked to the core of his being and yet not at all surprised by the threat. Of course these fiends knew what he did. Meekly, he said, “You set me up.”
“No, Jack,” said Flora.
“We did exactly as we promised,” insisted Evata.
Ivona reminded him, “We didn't murder the girl.”
Five pairs of eyes said in stares, You did that.
Jack decided, I'll just kill myself.
Clara seemed to read his mind (or his defeatist body language). Coldly, she informed him, “You'll find it impossible to do yourself harm, Sheriff. If you try, you'll again lose all your senses.”
“And when you do eventually die, well...” Lucia shrugged. “Do you honestly think that means it's over?”
With acidic disdain, Flora said, “You'll just be handing off your problems to the next Sheriff.”
Ivona called him a, “Coward.”
“Who knows?” Clara stated evenly, “In that case, another serial killer might even crop up.”
Immediately, Jack recalled Ed's final words: “She made me do it, Jack! She made me!” He went absolutely berserk when Ed said it because he thought Ed was talking about Laura.
Now Jack wondered if Ed was referring to a different 'she.'
“Don't worry, Sheriff,” reassured Clara. “It won't be so bad.”
“We don't eat often.”
“Once a year or so, some young maiden somewhere in the county will suddenly go blind... or inexplicably lose one of her other senses... and the world will continue to turn.”
“We'll try to select women who are unknown to you, Jack, so we don't exacerbate your guilt.”
“Rest assured: you won't ever hear about most of our exploits.”
“Do you understand, Sheriff?” asked Clara.
He understood all too well. “I'm your slave.”
“Don't look at it that way.”
“Think of all the good you can do for the people of this count
y.”
“Think of the lives you can save.”
“Think of duty and honor and all that happy horseshit.”
“Think whatever you want, mortal. Just leave us alone.”
As one, all five asked him, “Do you understand us, Sheriff?”
“Yes,” he said.
Lucia smiled brightly. “We should be going now, don't you think, sisters?”
“Yes.”
“Absolutely.”
“We've still got a lot of unpacking to do before dawn.”
Clara said, “Goodnight, Sheriff.”
Evata said politely, with no hint of sarcasm or irony, “Thank you for a lovely evening, Mr. Carver.”
Ivona opened the front door, saying gruffly, “Later, neighbor.”
Flora blew him a kiss and Lucia gave him a quick (cold) peck on the cheek before leaving.
Alone again in his house, Jack headed into his kitchen and retrieved his bottle of Jack Daniels.
He sat at his kitchen table, poured himself a glass, picked it up, then hesitated.
Five years. . . . They said they wouldn't need to feed again for at least five years.
That gave him five years to figure out a way to defeat them.
Jack had seen a lot of monster movies. Even the worst villains had their vulnerabilities.
The Sensora sisters must have a weakness. They compared themselves to vampires and vampires had many weaknesses.
Jack knew his own lack of self-confidence led him to disaster.
He was determined to do better.
He took the bottle of Jack Daniels to the kitchen sink and poured it down the drain.
“I know who I am,” he muttered aloud.
Jack Curtis Carver was the Sheriff of Trinity County.
Pulling back the shade on the window that looked out on the house next door, he vowed aloud, “And I will find a way to protect the people.”
THE END
___________________
THIS IS NOT A TEST!
___________________
… … …
This is the Emergency Broadcast System! THIS NOT A TEST! This is an actual emergency!
A state of martial law is now in effect globally as rampaging mobs continue to cause worldwide carnage! It has been positively confirmed that a masked transmission of mysterious origin is being piggybacked on all known radio and television broadcasts! This is an ongoing attack that is ultimately universally lethal! Continued exposure to the signal gradually destroys the cerebellum, resulting in wildly uninhibited behavior! This essentially means that if you are hearing my voice right now, you probably are too frenzied to realize it... but you are already dead!
This message was prerecorded… obviously!
… … …
This is the Emergency Broadcast System! THIS NOT A TEST! This is an actual emergency!
A state of martial law is now in effect globally as rampaging mobs continue to …
THE END
The Night Lightning Struck Paintersville
In the end, when lightning struck Paintersville, the Taylor sisters were together.
******
When Talytha Taylor entered the (only) general store in the little town of Paintersville, Montana, she heard three things simultaneously.
A bell above the door rang, heralding her entrance.
A woman was bawling— not just crying but bawling, like her heart was breaking.
And a man was shouting, “—always comes back to the same shitty choice: either we suck it up and do as he says or our loved ones suffer!”
“Ssshh!”
“Like they aren’t suffering already? Like we all aren’t suffering?”
There was a hissing chorus of, “Ssshh!”
Talytha didn’t see anyone. The voices were coming from farther back in the store. She walked down an aisle with canned vegetables on one side and cartons of soft drinks on the other side, floorboards creaking underfoot. She could smell a pleasant mix of apples, onions, cedar wood, and cigar smoke. Sunshine was in short supply this afternoon and the store was full of deep shadows.
On the long drive here from Great Falls, Talytha kept hearing gloomy meteorological forecasts; severe thunderstorms were expected later tonight.
She was glad she made it to Paintersville before the bad weather. It was a bitch finding this place. Apparently, until just about a year ago, this town went by another name. No one in Montana seemed even aware that a ‘Paintersville’ existed.
It had taken all day to get here. Now all she had to do was find her sister.
The voices had hushed. Except for Talytha’s footfalls on the hardwood floor, the store had become eerily quiet. Ahead of her was one of those big circular mirrors mounted just below the ceiling. In it, she could see the rounded reflection of a cluster of people. Talytha walked past jars of pickles on one side and chips and dips on the other, coming to the end of the aisle and turning right.
Here, in an open area in the middle of the store, seven people were clustered around a long counter, like the kind she’d expect to see in a diner. On the counter were a cash register, an opened box of beef jerky, a display of cheap butane lighters, several jars of honey, and a humidor. Twin ceiling fans lazily beat the air from above.
Two women— one older, one younger— stood behind the counter, both wearing demure black dresses. The moment Talytha saw the puffy red eyes of the older lady, she knew this was the person that she heard crying. Her cheeks were dry; Talytha saw no tears; but she noted the handkerchief being squeezed by the woman and that was all the confirmation she needed. The younger lady also looked distraught and worried. Noticing a resemblance in their eyes and the shape of their bodies, Talytha assumed they were mother and daughter.
Clustered around the counter were four middle-aged men. Two of the four were red-faced and glaring, looking angry as hell. One was dressed in brown overalls and a white t-shirt. The other was dressed in jeans and a checkerboard plaid shirt. A third mustached man was looking down at his cowboy boots, both hands buried in the pockets of his denim jeans. The fourth guy appeared nervous as he tugged on the brim of his green baseball cap.
The seventh person was a crumpled-up old woman seated at the counter. Her gaunt face had more cracks than a dried-up riverbed. She was wearing enormous false eyelashes, gaudy turquoise eye-shadow, and a metallic blue dress. Her thin hair had been dyed pitch-black, making her face look even more ancient (and more pathetic, in Talytha’s opinion).
Seven sets of eyes glared at her, fixing Talytha with angry stares. None of these seven were black people (and the old woman was probably the whitest white lady she’d ever seen in her life) but that didn’t surprise her much. Talytha had light brown skin, a hazelnut tone actually, but the way these people were looking at her, she felt very black indeed. It was startling how no one made any attempts whatsoever at pleasantries, not a ‘Hi,’ ‘Howdy,’ ‘How may I help you?’ or even a simple ‘Yes?’
The middle-aged lady behind the counter sniffled, causing one of the red-faced guys to glare at her.
Talytha stammered, “Um . . . hello.”
No one greeted her in return.
“I, um— I’m kinda lost here. I was hoping I could maybe get some directions to-”
The guy in the plaid shirt interrupted her, asking, “Where you headed?”
The pallid guy wearing the green baseball cap asked, “North or south?”
“Actually,” Talytha said, “I’m not sure.” She smiled at them. Receiving no smiles in return, she clarified, “I’m looking for someone who lives around here.”
Three of the seven— including the old woman— were looking elsewhere when she said that. Those three sets of eyes now whipped back, joining the other four sets to stare fearfully at her.
Talytha concentrated on the red-faced guy wearing brown overalls and was stymied when she tried to determine his age. Upon first glance, she’d taken him to be in his late
fifties, maybe early sixties. Now she realized it was his haggard eyes that made him look so aged. A breed of frantic desperation was locked behind his eyes.
All these people appeared to be stressed out.
Brown Overalls took out a big white handkerchief and wiped sweat off his face as he asked Talytha, “Who ya lookin’ for?”
The guy in the plaid shirt and the guy in the green cap exchanged an uneasy look between them.
Talytha sighed.
She would rather be anywhere else right now, instead of this this hick nowhere creepy-as-shit little town. She should be back home in Chicago, getting ready to go out on a date tonight. Everything about this trip had been fucked up from the get-go. There was some kind of trouble at the airport and her departure was delayed almost two hours.
When she finally made it to Great Falls, she had problems with the rental car agency. Her grandmother Diana was sponsoring this trip— this quest to find Maleeka— and before Talytha could get her car, the rental agency had to contact her grandmother directly. That took the better part of another hour.
Then she had to endure a long-ass boring three-hour drive, with strong winds dogging her all the way.
Only to arrive here in Paintersville and meet these lovely people.
For all of a minute, she considered moving on. Screw these rednecks. She would find her sister on her own.
She didn’t like the way everyone was looking at her.
But then the guy in overalls asked, “Well?” prompting Talytha to say the name of the asshole who lured Maleeka to this godforsaken place, “Darnel Johnson.”
“Darnel?” asked the pale guy with the green cap.
“Darnel?” repeated the flushed guy in brown overalls.
The young woman behind the counter said, “I’ll bet she means David.”
“David?” repeated the guy in the plaid shirt.
When the elderly woman with the sculptured black hair spoke up, her voice was shrill enough to kill a circling horsefly. “She’s obviously related to that Keeka girl! Probably her sister, from the looks of her!” She waved a gnarled hand, dismissing Talytha, the first of the seven to stop staring at her.
The young woman corrected the old hag, “She means Maleeka.”
Fishing in Brains for an Eye with Teeth (Thirteen Tales of Terror) Page 4
