The Complete Hidden Evil Trilogy: 3 Novels and 4 Shorts of Frightening Horror (PLUS Book I of the Portal Arcane Trilogy)

by J. Thorn

  The new hole in between the houses allowed them to see to the garage on the street running behind it. Fire raged in pockets of orange and red flame. Pieces of debris, window sashes, and brick lay scattered in the driveway and on the lawn. From what Doug and Frank could see, a truck lay buried beneath hunks of plywood. The heat came in waves off the pile of rubble and brought more odors of burning chemicals and natural gas. Every house on the street remained dark, the electricity cut years ago amidst stacks of unpaid bills.

  The East Fallowfield rescue squad rolled up as the four men from the Pine Valley Fire Department checked their equipment, tightened their air bottles, and raised enough momentum to move toward what they knew could be another explosion waiting to happen. The two EMS personnel jumped out and motioned for the engine to hook the supply hose to the nearest hydrant while they ran toward what was left of the house. The engine and ladder crew jumped into action, following procedure and training that had become second nature.

  One of the East Fallowfield EMS crew grabbed the lock on the hose and yanked it from the engine. He sprinted toward the hydrant on the sidewalk and knew right away he’d have to fight years of rust to bust it open. Frank, already wearing his air mask, surveyed the scene. He scanned the street for signs of survivors or onlookers while the man from the rescue squad managed to lock the valve onto the hydrant. He gave Frank the thumbs-up, and Frank felt the water filling the hose. Doug signaled to the ladder that the pump operator had the hose live, and that the rescue squad was ready to begin searching for survivors. With years of experience on the aerial ladder, Eddie and Sal knew there was no need for them on a structure that no longer existed. They ran to the engine and jumped on the hose, joining the East Fallowfield EMS crew as they maneuvered toward where the front door used to be.

  “Dispatch. We’ve got Mountain Energy en route. Over.”

  “ETA?” Doug asked, holding the radio close to his head. “I’ve got rescue moving into place.”

  “Five, six minutes.”

  Doug sighed, hoping it would have been more like two or three. The crew on the hose paused, looking back at Doug and awaiting his command. As sarge and shift supervisor, it would be his call.

  Doug felt time pressing on him like a weight. He imagined a bunch of teenagers trapped inside the house, victims of a freak explosion after a night of underage drinking. He could not condemn them to death for something so typical. But what if the house was vacant? Could he send his men into another potential deadly explosion without knowing if anyone was inside? He made eye contact with Frank. The old man gave him a look that said he had to make a call.

  “Dispatch. Mountain Energy confirms gas valve closed. Repeat. Gas valve closed.”

  “Roger that,” replied Doug.

  He waved his arm forward, which sent the hose crew toward the fire. Although not by any means a safe situation, Doug felt better knowing that there would be no open gas lines that could reignite.

  ***

  Frank waited. He had been in those shoes, and in some ways, they were hotter than his own. He would be walking into an inferno, but Doug had to be the one to make that call. The responsibility could burn far worse than the flames. As he saw Doug give the signal, Frank recognized their own rescue squad pulling up behind the East Fallowfield EMS. He already felt better about the situation. If Doug was sending them in, the gas would be off or contained—and they had reinforcements.

  Eddie and Sal stood behind Frank, one on each side of the hose. The pressure was enough to throw water several hundred feet in the air and required multiple hands on the hose. One of the East Fallowfield crew had already fallen back to the engine in preparation for injuries or fatalities.

  Frank put a foot on the concrete steps and could feel the heat through the soles of his boots. The fire was hot but raging in pockets. He guessed that many of the houses were empty and that once the walls and studs burned, the fire would not have much fuel left. It appeared as though a giant had grabbed the upper levels of the house and torn them off. The basement sat exposed while the remnants of steps descended down into the darkness. He scanned the scene, looking for movement but seeing none. Frank aimed the hose at the inferno and let the water douse it. He sprayed the flames, some of them dying out while others would reappear with less intensity.

  He could not figure out why his mind had begun to drift. Frank had put out hundreds of fires in his career. He had seen wretched car accidents and other tragedies that forced him to suppress his humanity in times of crisis. Desensitized to the scene, his mechanical approach made Frank one of the best. The years had caught up with him, as they did to all in his profession. He knew it was time to hand the keys to another, and he believed Doug was the right man. In fact, he had been the one to present the proposal to city council. But Frank was proud, and no matter how smooth the transition, a part of him resented Doug. He had flashes of jealousy that would need to be doused with alcohol or activity.

  His radio crackled, and Frank realized his mind was wandering. He shook his head and noticed that the air in his bottle was running low. Veterans did not need a gauge; they just knew.

  “Rescue? Recover?”

  Frank recognized Doug’s voice. He knew the shift commander was following protocol, yet he felt agitated. He could handle the hose. He’d been doing so since before Doug was in diapers.

  “Get my new bottle ready,” he said into the radio, ignoring Doug’s questions.

  “Rescue squad standing by. Our boys. Rescue? Recover? Over.”

  Frank snorted and turned his head to see the others on the hose. They were supporting him and following his lead, but they were hearing the same radio communication that he was. He saw the doubt in their eyes.

  Fuck them, Frank thought. I know what I’m doing. I don’t need them telling me what to do.

  “What’s going on, Frank? You okay?”

  The fact that Doug had abandoned radio protocol angered him even more.

  “I’m lead on the hose, goddamn it. I’ll tell you what I see. Over.” He heard a hiss on the radio, waiting to hear the shift commander’s response.

  “Roger that.”

  Damn straight, Frank thought. He pushed the stream of water over more flames, each time knocking the fire back and releasing another plume of black smoke and heated mist. He kept his eyes open for survivors, realizing that only the rats were going to fry in this fire. His mind twisted again; this time he saw himself in a nursing home. He sat on a chair with a bib while a nurse spooned pureed peas into his mouth. Frank’s breath hitched, and his face burned more from the embarrassment of the vision than the burning house. He saw his kids and his wife standing beside his wheelchair, talking about him as if he were already dead. They had put him in a living coffin and were simply waiting to nail it shut.

  Frank pushed the hose left and right as if the water could wash away his vision of the future. Then he thought of Doug. It was all his fault. If it hadn’t been for Doug, he would still be sarge. He would be shift commander. He would not be dumped into a home to die with the dignity of a criminal. He would have to fix that. Doug would pay for doing this to him.

  Motion caught his eye, and Frank turned to his right. He waited, his mental rage temporarily suspended as his years of experience took over. He saw it again. Something moved from behind the brick wall that separated the basement from the old coal room. And it was bigger than a rat.

  Thursday, September 5th

  Kelly watched Robert from the passenger seat of the van. She hated his damn comb-over and the way his paunch oozed from beneath the steering wheel. He smelled like onions all the time and constantly shot flecks of food from his lips when he spoke. His cock tasted like sweaty socks.

  “Think they’ll be any fatalities?”

  “Doubtful,” replied Kelly, giving him a smirk that was as close as she could come to a real smile. She flipped the sun visor down to inspect her wavy, blonde hair. The eyeliner accentuated her blue eyes, and she brushed a bit of foundation from her high chee
kbones.

  Fucking waste, she thought. If I don’t get out of this damn podunk station soon, all of this sexy is going to spoil.

  “Last one did. It was on Marigold Street, remember? I got a shot of the old man’s legs as they brought him out on the stretcher. He was already dead, but I got the shot.”

  Shut the fuck up. “Yeah, Robert. You sure did get it. Too bad Sullivan wouldn’t let it run. He’s a real dick when it comes to that kind of shit. I guess you have to be when you’re the station manager.”

  Robert nodded in agreement. He grabbed a sugary treat wrapped in cellophane from the dashboard, unwrapping it with one hand while keeping his cup of coffee upright between his legs. Kelly watched him shove the entire pastry into his face, and she turned to look out at the empty streets to keep from vomiting.

  “There’s a few hours of night before daybreak. Maybe if we get the shots, get your on-location piece and get out, we can talk before I head back home.”

  Kelly sighed and then smiled. She brought her full lips upward as much as she could. “I’m not feeling so well tonight. Maybe another time?”

  Robert nodded while passing beneath a blinking, yellow traffic light. Whatever cops were patrolling this part of Pine Valley would already be at the fire. He drove as if he owned the road. “You might feel better once we wrap on this scene.”

  Not getting out of it tonight, Kelly, dear. You’re sucking the pig’s dick and that’s that.

  She brushed a hand through her hair and thought again of Miami. She thought even more about South Beach. She knew she could have easily worked the glitzy LA scene, but it was so hard to break in. Giving Fat Robert a blow job before he went home to his wife was one thing, but spreading her legs on the casting couch was another level of desperation she hoped to avoid. Besides, she had the looks and the body to be a big fish in the South Beach pond, at least for five or ten more years. Kelly had to remind herself of Robert’s connections at WMBC in Miami. Every time he shoved his disgusting tool in her mouth, she had to remember that. Things would be better in Florida. They had to be.

  “Maybe I will. We’ll see.”

  Her reply cast a wide smile over Robert’s wobbling chins. He turned the van off Main Street and could see the sky glowing over the old neighborhood.

  “Shit. These are all vacant. Ain’t no way we’re gonna get a body shot tonight.”

  Kelly nodded, pretending to share his disappointment in not witnessing a burned, crispy corpse.

  “I’m going to pull up to the curb on Maple over there. Doesn’t look like the FD is using the ladder on this one.”

  Robert swung the van toward the curb until he was within ten feet of the rear of the ladder rig. The lights on the rig kept flashing, but the sirens were silent. He set his Styrofoam cup in the holder between the seats and put the van in park. He turned to face Kelly, smiling while patting her shoulder with one hand.

  “You look better already,” he said, his breath reeking of garlic and bitter coffee.

  “Can you get the camera and boom set up while I touch up my face?”

  “Of course, Kelly. Not like your face needs to be painted or anything. You’re like a news angel.”

  Gag. “Thanks, Robert. You’re sweet. I’m sure your wife loves the way you compliment her.” Easy, girl. He may be smart enough to detect your sarcasm.

  “She does. She even saves all of the love notes I leave her.”

  Maybe not.

  “Get our shot framed and I’ll find out who’s in charge. Don’t think it’s Frank anymore, but I’ll find him and ask.” Robert slapped his meaty, sweaty palm on her thigh and winked before opening the door.

  She shook, hoping the touch was not his way of escalating their arrangement. Even South Beach wasn’t worth that. Kelly took one last glance at her face in the mirror, pursing her lips together and drawing her eyes tight. She might be the local correspondent in this shitty town today, but this face would help her escape, and if it didn’t, she had the curves to help.

  ***

  “You can’t get any closer.”

  “But I can’t frame the shot unless I do, Eddie. C’mon, man. How many times have I been on one of your scenes? I know the deal. Cut me a break.”

  Eddie used his arm to clear soot from his face, doing nothing more than spreading it around in dark, greasy lines. “You know its Doug’s department now. I can’t just assume that he’ll let you do what Frank used to let you do.”

  “Where is Doug?” Robert asked.

  “He’s running com on the engine rig, but I wouldn’t get in his way. We just got the gas shut off but haven’t figured out if there are more pockets or not. He ain’t gonna be too welcoming to the press right now.”

  “Fair enough. Thanks, Eddie.”

  Robert turned with the camera rig on his shoulder. The gear had grown considerably smaller and lighter over the years. He remembered driving the van with the transponder on top, taking an hour to set up the mobile communications unit. These days, the station had the raw footage dump minutes after he shot it. That didn’t change the difficulty in dealing with the fire or police at the scene, but he could spend less time on the equipment and more time hammering them for access.

  He caught a glimpse of Kelly’s legs as she slid off the seat and placed a heeled shoe on the running board of the van. Robert stole a glance at her creamy, white thighs. He frowned, remembering that his connections in Miami had dried up long ago. He could name drop or make small talk at a network conference, but he held no sway anymore. He was nothing more than a middle-aged cameraman trapped in a boring, cold marriage. Robert knew Kelly was disgusted by him, but he didn’t care. She made him feel like a man. But lately, he wanted more. He wanted to see his cock inside her and plant his face in her tits.

  She’s either going to stop or call bullshit on you, pal. You’d better have an exit strategy, or this could get really messy.

  Robert shrugged the thought off as he planted the tripod on the sidewalk, where miniature cyclones of leaves swirled at his legs. The wind picked up and pushed a chilled wave of late-summer air over his face. He shivered and looked again to see Kelly fixing her hair in the side mirror. Her lazy, blonde curls and curvy hips distracted him. Robert dropped a lens cap to the ground and stepped on it while trying to locate it on the pavement.

  “Shit.”

  The plastic cracked, and that bothered Robert. He may have let his high school waist go to hell, and he may have lost that once luxurious head of hair, but he still cared about the equipment. Technology needed to be respected like the savior it was. Technology allowed him to see women naked that would have never let him do so otherwise, and it gave him the power to satisfy his sexual desires without being arrested for them.

  Robert made sure the camera was tight on the tripod before walking toward Doug. The shift commander sat on the passenger seat of the rig, with one leg dangling out of the open door. He had the radio to his face and was giving dispatch an update. He grimaced when he saw Robert approach.

  “No rapist being released from prison today? No car wreckage that needs to be seen on the six o’clock lead?”

  “How are you, Doug?” replied Robert, ignoring the insults lightly veiled as questions.

  “One hundred yards. Department policy.”

  “C’mon, Doug. Frank let me get as close as I could without getting in the way.”

  “Frank ain’t in charge no more.”

  “I’ve been shooting your fires for years. I know what I’m doing.”

  “Your fat ass is my responsibility. I’m not losing my job over it.”

  Robert sighed and put both hands on his hips. “You gonna tell Ms. Swift she can’t report on it?”

  Doug looked past Robert at Kelly, who was now walking toward the engine. She held a clipboard in one hand and a wireless microphone in the other. He saw the shape of her breasts even beneath the bland wardrobe provided by the network. She had been on the channel’s staff for only a few months, yet everyone in town recognized
her. The radio crackled again, snapping Doug out of his daydream.

  “One hundred yards. I’m busy.” He turned to face the hose crew dousing the fire with water, intentionally distracting his mind from Kelly’s long legs.

  Robert turned and put both hands in the air as if signaling to Kelly that there was nothing more he could do. They met in the middle of the street, several yards behind the engine rig.

  “My tripod. That’s as close a shot as we’re going to get.”

  “Zoom?”

  “Too dark. I’ll get closer with the lens and the boys on the computers might pull the shot in tighter, but . . .”

  Kelly exhaled over her bottom lip, blowing wisps of hair from the side of her face. Robert watched, involuntarily licking his own lips.

  “Then let’s shoot this and get out of here. No point in hanging around if the new sarge isn’t going to let us get anything worthwhile.”

  Best suggestion I’ve heard all night, Robert thought. I might get two blow jobs out of this. Or maybe this is the night when . . .

  “Is the battery pack charged?” she asked.

  “Yes, it is. Everything is charged and ready to go,” Robert replied beneath a salacious smile.

  ***

  “Good morning to you too, Phil. I’m on Maple Street in the old industrial neighborhood of Pine Valley, where an early-morning explosion has rocked this vacant, abandoned street. Firefighters and EMS responded to a house fire call at 3:13 a.m. to find the address all but vaporized. If you look over my shoulder, you’ll see the Pine Valley fire department, with help from the East Fallowfield rescue squad, attempting to put out the blaze resulting from what they believe to have been a gas explosion.”

  “Wait,” Robert said. “Okay. Just needed to tighten the frame on that shot. What’s next?”