by Black, D. S.
Well, Mary wasn't gonna have it. She decided, along with all her girls that if they fought the law, they could somehow win. On one hot and humid day in August, Mary and her girls gathered their rifles and took station at the windows on both the bottom and top floors. The sheriff and his deputized Christians bullied their way around the house and gave out a warning: “Mary Forthright and all those under her charge, come on out with your hands up! In the name of God almighty, or else we will send you whores straight to hell!”
Mary was the first to fire. She took off the Sherriff’s hat, along with his right ear and sent him flying down on the old dirt road; the Sherriff nearly pissed his pants, and blood gushed out of the hole that used to be his ear. That's when the hell storm of bullets traded off. The girls and Mary shot their loads, the Christian crazies shot theirs. At the end of the firefight, two Christians were dead and gone and all Mary's girls were dead, along with Mary herself. The Sheriff never even fired a shot. He simply stayed hunkered down behind the car and let the flock do all the fighting.
To be fair to the girls and Mary, they were outnumbered by about two to one, and some of them boys were veterans of both Korea and Big Two. Furthermore, was one of the only times Mary and her girls had even fired a shot. The guns they had were more for novelty, given to them over the years by happy and satisfied customers.
Later, the house went up for auction and was bought by a young couple by the name of Bob and Kate Davis. Bob was a big man with a burly beard; his wife Kate, small and delicate. Bob was in the construction business and did all the repairs himself—replacing the shattered windows, replacing blood stained floor panels, replacing the walls where bullets had peppered them, did all the repainting.
They'd been there for nearly a month before the strange things started happening. At first, it was small stuff. A mirror would break suddenly while Kate was looking at herself and brushing her hair, or books might come flying out of Bob's handcrafted bookcase and fly straight into the fireplace (thankfully, it was far too hot to have a fire going). Then things got a lot worse. While Bob was laying some finish on the wood banisters, something (he swore he felt the pointed toe of a lady’s boot) sent him tumbling down the stairs; nearly breaking his neck.
That wasn't quite enough to send the Davis couple running though. That came on a chilly Halloween night. Halloween had always been the biggest party of the year for Mary Forthright and her girls. And this year was gonna be a real humdinger, a serious hoot. While lying in bed about to get intimate with each other, Bob and Kate Davis found themselves suddenly held down by a mystically powerful force. The windows blew out, shattering glass on the newly finished floors. The cool October wind came howling in. The wind wasn't all they were hearing, though. They heard the laughter of women. They would say later that the laughter was filled with devious joy.
Then they saw the girls; Mary right in front, dressed in nothing but their knickers, standing around the bed. The girls pounced on both Bob and Kate, ripped their clothes off and rode them till the sun came up. Bob and Kate couldn't move the whole night and just had to bare up to it. Bob seemed to handle the issue a bit better than his wife, who a week later had to be hospitalized and eventually committed to a mental institution up in Columbia where she stayed till the day she died. Bob never returned to the house. He later sought out someone supposed to be smart about things concerning hauntings. This person, who held a degree in Folklore from the University of South Carolina told Bob that what he had experienced fit in well with the description of a Hag haunting. Hags, said the Folklore expert usually came in through the windows and rode their victims all night long. Hags rarely killed anyone, said the expert. Bob couldn't help but question that bit of logic given the fact that one of these Hags had nearly broken his neck when he went tumbling down the stairs.
At least that was the way Nell Teach had told her grandkids. Up to that point, Jack Teach assumed he was immune to the paranormal activity so many others experienced. Maybe he lacked the Third Eye. Maybe they just didn't like him. Maybe he just hadn't met the right ghosts. Up to that point, the ghost stories—both before and after the Fever—were nothing more than just that: stories! But, after one night in the Forthright house, Jack was going to learn the hard way that his immunity to the spirit realm was nothing more than an illusion.
5
Jack and Candy stood staring at the door for a few more moments.
“OK. Nothing to it but to do it, ain't that right Jack O Roo?”
Jack had never liked when she called him that, but today he didn't complain. Candy's happy go lucky attitude was beginning to annoy him. The girl lost her husband and her kids just over a week ago, and here she is smiling up at a haunted house like it was a fucking amusement park ride. Just another day in paradise.
What's the worst that could happen? Jack thought to himself.
I could get raped by a Hag or thrown down some stairs, that’s what. Then again, if the ghosts haven't touched me yet, then why would they start now?
But even then, Jack felt a cold shudder go up his spine. He shook his mangled head and ignored it. He looked over at Candy, “Sure thing. I'm dead beat you know? Forgive the pun,” he said.
Candy gave him a friendly smile, then removed her revolver from its holster. “OK girls, watch my back.”
Jack looked around, hoping to see what she saw, but saw nothing but the dying day. He had a pistol on his hip but didn't bother to take it out. The house looked empty, at least of the walking dead. He let Candy take the lead. She casually walked up to the door, raised her foot to kick it in—
the door creaked open on its own. Another cold shudder shot up Jack's spine. Candy stood there a moment, her head cocked as though she found this quite amusing, then pushed the door the rest of the way open. She entered with the revolver raised and ready. She whistled, then waited listening.
Nothing! Just the dead air.
Jack stepped in right behind her. The inside smelled of ancient dust and mold. Cobwebs and spiders occupied the corners of the walls. The floor was old and rotted wood, splintered like old dried blisters. The walls were discolored from time's merciless hands. A large staircase stood almost directly in front of the doorway. Jack now stood in the same spot Bob Davis had landed after falling down the stairs.
The house was quiet, very quiet; the air dusty and old—
A soft giggle came from the shadows.
“Did you hear that?” Jack asked. His face was distorted in painful curiosity. He pushed his glasses back into place and grimaced as they rubbed against his ruined face.
“I didn't hear anything. Girls?”
“Mama, I think it only wants Jack. We sense it. It's... they’re here. Somewhere.”
“You hear that Jack? The whores only want you.” She cackled loudly; her laughter made Jack question her sanity again.
“What are you talking abou—”
A heavy crash came from above.
“I must have pissed em off with that whore comment, eh Jack?” Candy was now whispering, though she didn't realize it; all the laughter knocked out of her by the loud crash from upstairs.
Jack reached in his pocket and took out a bottle of Hydrocodone syrup; it was quite strong. He unscrewed the top and took a long drag.
“Let's just make sure there isn't anything here that can eat us. Okay?” he said. He was scared, but the drugs helped mask it. It was probably just his imagination anyway. He didn't hear any giggles. Come on Jack, be real. There is no such thing as ghos—
More giggles, followed by a torrent of wild laughter.
“Jesus! You heard that, didn't you?” Jack asked.
“Didn't hear a thing Jack O Roo. Nothing but that loud bang. Come on, let’s look around.”
6
They moved room to room downstairs; finding nothing but more dust, mold and cobwebs. Nothing had been in this house for a long time. There was a feeling of morbidity about the place. Jack could feel it in his bones, yet he also felt attracted to it. Strongly at
tracted. He followed Candy up the winding stairs, the old wood creaking under their feet. He felt the splintered banister, it was rough and a little unstable; the upstairs was hot and stuffy, but he felt cold. At the top of the stairs, he took out his Hydrocodone and swallowed another mouthful.
The stairs ended at a long hallway with multiple rooms.
“I’ll check this way and you check that way,” Candy said and then she started down to the left.
Jack removed his pistol (better safe than sorry) and went room to room. Nothing but the old dead air, but he felt something. A strong urge. It was pulling him into the last room on the right—
Giggles. Then…
…Jaaaaack come on innnnnnnn
Jack stood in front of the door. Did he really just hear that? Probably just the drugs playing with his mind.
It was now almost too dark to see and he wanted to lie down so badly; he wanted sleep. He felt consciousness begin to leave him. Yes! He would just lie down right here in this room and rest for a bit.
A hand grabbed his shoulder.
Had it not been for the drugs, he may have had a heart attack, even though he was only in his mid-twenties.
He jerked around and there stood Candy.
“You OK?” Her words sounded far off like they were traveling over a great chasm.
“Just sleepy. That's all.”
She guided him back down the hall, down the stairs and into the old living room. She helped him down onto the floor.
“I’ll be right back. Gonna grab the blankets.”
Jack saw her walking away, and his eyes began to shut. He opened them a moment, then closed them and slept.
7
Jack woke in utter living darkness. He could hear Candy's snores from somewhere over to his left. He was on the floor. She'd wrapped him up in a blanket and pushed a small pillow under his head. He realized how much they needed each other now. He'd tried to blow his brains out just over a week ago. Now he was happy he didn't. He had Candy still and that was something, but laying in the eerie darkness, he felt a little scared. No! Damn scared. He could hear Candy's breathing; her breath came in fast gasps, but there was something else too.
A soft giggle came from upstairs. Then, Jaaaaaaaaack
A window was open somewhere, letting in a soft breeze. A hell of a risk, Jack thought. What if a zombie climbs in and takes a tasty bite out of one of us?
Jaaaaaaaack
Jack closed his eyes and tried to ignore the voice from upstairs, from that room on the far end of the hallway. He felt cold. The temperature outside was eighty-seven degrees, but he was now shivering. He couldn't see Candy well, just a dark imprint in the black room. He heard her breathing, though. She was breathing fast and tossing and turning; she was having a nightmare.
Jaaaaaaaack
This time, his blanket flew off him as though someone reached down and snatched it. He felt himself getting up; not sure why he was doing it, but doing it none the less. He walked around Candy's dark hump of a body and creaked slowly up the stairs. At the top of the stairs, he stopped and listened to see if Candy woke up. Her wild breathing, and tossing and turning told him she was in a deep and troubled sleep.
He walked down the hallway, trying not to make the old boards creak. His night vision had come around and he could see much better now. The hallway looked like a midnight blue tunnel.
Girly giggles. Then…
…Jaaaaaack. Come onnnn innnnn...
The door on the right, at the end of the hallway opened slowly, groaning with the eeriness of a nightmare. His heart was beating hard against his chest. He felt cold sweat dripping down his face. He felt cold everywhere except—
Dear God, do I have an erection?
He did indeed, and it grew harder against his pants the closer he got to the door. No turning back now, oh no. He was going all the way. Looks like the spirits hadn't left Jack out of the loop after all.
He stood in front of the door like a teenager in heat. He pushed the door open all the way and stepped in.
8
While Jack was upstairs doing god knows what, Candy slept roughly and dreamed of the Marlboro Man. That big ugly man with the mustache; his leathery tan skin, his big boots and cowboy hat. The very model of what used to be the American Man. Least that's what the Marlboro company wanted to teach the nation and the world. Candy wasn't a smoker; in fact, she hated smoking.
The Marlboro Man chased her down an old country road with potholes in the ancient black top. More like a gray top, because it had been worn down from years of humid Southern weather; along with relentless, seemingly never-ending sunny days. On either side of the road, tall oak trees cast dubious shadows on the road. She was running. Her heart pounded against her chest; sweat poured down her face; her red hair was heavy and wet; she felt the sun burning her bare shoulders.
She wore only a white tank top, and a pair of thin pink panties, and white sneakers. When she looked back, the Marlboro Man ran with a sinister and horny smile; the crotch of his jeans poking out from a major erection. He looked like a giant; his legs long and running like a crazed Tom Bobadilla from Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings. A huge cigarette hung from his thick sun-chapped lips, smoke pluming from the end. Signs all around her read: WELCOME TO MARLBORO COUNTY: HOME OF CANCER, LAND OF THE DEAD.
The ground shook underneath her feet, and the pitted black top ran under her like a huge treadmill. She smelled the smoke. The fumes surrounded her. She then realized the entire woodland burned with poisoning cigarette smoke. She tried to run faster, but she made no progress.
Behind her, she heard in a smoker's scratched voice. “Come on back here honey! The Marlboro Man wants some pussy!” Then a nasty, cancerous laughter vibrated around her; she fell face down. The giant Marlboro Man's shadow descended around her. She felt him grab her ankles, opened her legs; she heard his giant metal zipper zippering down. Felt her hair pulled back, smelled the nasty cigarette breath and felt him rip her thin panties off with rough calloused fingers, then more bellowing cancerous laughter.
He forced her legs open; then she felt—
She woke up panting, early sunlight gleaming in through the cracks between the boards on the windows.
“Mama?”
“Marlboro county?” Candy whispered.
“We saw it too, Mama. We think that's where Pinky is.”
In that moment, the thought of going to Marlboro County certainly didn't bring a strong appetite, but she did feel the need to go there even with the strange nightmare echoing in her dazed consciousness. Marlboro County. It wasn't even that far away, if the roads stayed clear, which she doubted.
9
Jack opened his eyes. The hot day was burning in through the open windows. He was still in the top floor room; he was naked, and he felt raggedly tired as though he'd been tossed in a washing machine and spun on high.
Candy stood at the door staring in, a wide smile on her face. “Well? You gonna tell me what happened?”
10
He never told her what happened because he honestly couldn't remember anything after he stepped into the bedroom. All he knew is he felt drained of all his energy and he had to pee half hard, and everyone knows what that means. They'd eaten some breakfast (canned beef on crackers and water), packed up the sleeping gear into the Humvee and climbed in.
Jack stared up at the house, and for a moment saw a girl standing in the top bedroom window, waving goodbye in a strange and ghostly manner. Then she was gone.
And so were they. Candy backed the Hummer out of the crunching driveway and drove down the old gravel road. The day was bright and blue; he saw the road sign as they took a right back onto a main road: OLD HOSTEL STREET. He could have sworn there was no street sign before.
He shook his head, reached in his pocket and finished off one of the bottles of Hydrocodone. He still had one more left. The pain wasn't so bad today. He hoped like hell that meant his face was healing up and the pain would disappear soon. Cause he didn't know if they'd
be able to find any more dope for him to take. Most of the pharmacies were looted the first week of the Fever. It was just short of a miracle that Candy found two bottles of some of the best dope ever made on the legal market.
“So, where we going?” he asked.
“I dreamed last night. I dreamed about Marlboro County.”
“Is that where we're going?”
“Yep! I think so.”
11
She was right. The roads leading to Marlboro County were clogged with broken down cars. The former owners of these cars had tried to escape deeper inland, hoping for safety deeper in the countryside. The idea of going to the swamps never crossed most people's minds. The Teach family had been going to the swamps for years and possessed the skills necessary to live in the marshlands for long periods of time. A country gal can survive, was a witticism Candy enjoyed saying; a slight adjustment of Charlie Daniel's “A Country Boy Can Survive.”
But most living or vacationing near the coast tried to run to the country; the Fever followed them everywhere they went. The boneyard of dead cars, trucks, vans, and a few motorcycles was evidence enough. The roaming herds of the dead were simply icing on the cake.
She was able to move around most of the cars by going off the road a bit and lurking around them. It was slow moving though and caused quite a commotion of flying dirt, which caught the attention of a hungry looking mob of zombies. The day was another scorcher, and she really didn't think Jack would hold up well if they had to walk.
