Bad Vibes
Dane Hatchell
These stories are a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 Dane Hatchell
Cover Copyright © P.A. Douglas
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this story may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
From Severed Press:
From Severed Press:
Other Titles Available from the Author
Resurrection X: Zombie Evolution
A Gentleman’s Privilege: Zombies in the Old South
A Werewolf in our Midst
Apocalypse³
Club Dead: Zombie Isle
Dead Coup d'État
Dreaming of an Undead Christmas
It Came from Black Swamp
Lord of the Flies: A Zombie Story
Love Prevails: A Zombie Nightmare
Pheromone and Rotten
Red Rain
Soul Mates
The Garden of Fear
The Last Savior
The Turning of Dick Condon
Time and Tide: A Fractured Fairy Tale
Two Big Foot Tales
Two Demented Fish Tales
Zombie of Iwo Jima
Zombie God of the Jungle
Bad Vibes
Dane Hatchell
I was in a middle-class subdivision dotted with eighty year old houses covered in lap siding with peeling paint. Massive oaks shaded the road and had sucked out the life of the once green yards now barren of grass. Moss hung like spider’s web from the gnarled limbs that twisted toward the sky. My name is Lucas Mayor. I’m one of the best known particle physicists in the world, but I’m better known now for my psychic adventures.
Mailboxes had long ceased to exist down the street making it hard to determine the address I was in search of. Victims of rowdy teen’s joyriding on a drunken weekend night no doubt, and the erosion of time. I rolled down the car’s window and came to a stop. The banana-like scent of a magnolia fuscata spilled into the cab and brought its delightful smell.
For a moment I transported my thoughts back in time to where dogs barked, children laughed, and lawnmowers’ growled in the background. That all had ended abruptly the week the unspeakable horror was first discovered. A horror so terrible that all the families had abandoned their houses and no one was ever brave enough to move back in. Something evil had driven them out.
For over a decade, more than twenty children had vanished from surrounding counties. The story was always the same: the child had been abducted while playing outside in their own yard. It wasn’t because of irresponsible parents the child had turned up missing. The children had always been under the watchful eye of a parent or relative just seconds before disappearing. What some had mistaken for a simple impromptu game of hide and seek turned into a frantic search and rescue madness. One mother left her four year old in a chair on the porch while she walked to the end of the driveway to get the mail. The child was never seen again. Not a single clue left behind. Gone. Vanished. As if he had dissolved into thin air.
As mysterious as the abductions had become, the perpetrator turned out to be very ordinary. A disabled Korean War veteran that had suffered from six months as a prisoner proved to be the greatest monster the state had ever known.
Albert Dooley led a modest life living alone on a disability pension from the US Army. An archived newspaper article I found reported he was quick to offer a smile and a wave to his neighbors on the rare occasion he was seen meandering around the yard or washing his baby-blue 1960 AMC Rambler. Other than that not much was known about the man.
A dog exposed the unseen darkness that dwelled within him when it brought home a ghastly treasure of a child’s severed foot.
The police were immediately called along with the FBI. Within hours the area had teamed with officials searching to connect the pieces to the puzzle. A shallow grave hastily dug before a rainstorm had exposed the monster that lived among the good citizens.
By the time the authorities surrounded Dooley’s house, he had already made two quick cuts to his abdomen. He sat at his kitchen table and had pulled out his own viscera. His intestines were neatly swirled on a silver platter and topped with whipped cream from a spray can and adorned with a cherry at its peak.
The sun gleaned off a car’s window parked at the end of a driveway up ahead and pulled me from my thoughts. That could only be my contact, a representative of Simon, Roberts, and Ferguson, LLC. The group consisted of lawyers with cash to invest in the real estate market.
I continued down the road until I reached the driveway. The gravel was loose in the entrance and two holes a few feet apart made the car bounce up and down four times as I turned in and parked next to a black sedan.
Charles Jacobs jumped out of his car, eager to greet me as I fumbled with my door lock to get out.
“You’re Lucas Mayor, right? I’m Jacobs.” Jacobs darted his gaze about the area and licked his lips.
I stretched a bit and milked a yawn while ignoring the man. The music of living creatures was noticeably void as the gentle breeze blew through the bright green leaves of the oaks. A spirit of sadness hung about the area making me feel as if I was on a sinking ship and the last life boat was a hundred yards away.
I finally turned toward Jacobs. “I sense the full truth of the situation has been hidden from me.” I can smell deception from one hundred miles away.
Jacobs dabbed his brow with his handkerchief and haphazardly stuffed it in his front pocket. “Uh, I’m not sure what you mean by that. You spoke to one of the partners. I don’t know what he told you.”
I pulled out a pack of breath mints and used my bottom teeth to separate one on end into my mouth. “Mr. Roberts told me the local superstitions had kept people from returning to the area after the bodies of the children were discovered. He made it sound like it was all bullshit and all he needed from me was my certification the area was clean. I sense that it’s not going to be that easy.”
“What’s the big deal? Just look things over a bit and we’ll get a reporter to do a story where you give us a clean bill of health. We’ll roll in the dozers and break ground on Lazy Lake Estates. It’s going to be a golf community, you know.”
“Sounds like an expensive investment.”
“The bosses got the land for real cheap. Half of the lots already have pending contracts for purchase. They’re just waiting for the go signal. That’s your job. I hear they’re paying you well.”
“I have no qualms with the payment. I just don’t like being deceived. There has been a fair amount of deception concerning this matter with me, hasn’t there?”
“Hey buddy, I already said I don’t know what they told you.”
“Fair enough. Would you please tell me why my services are needed? Why not just ‘roll in the dozers’ as you say?”
Jacobs dropped his gaze to a large gray rock on the ground and moved it about with his shoe. “We tried that once. Things didn’t go so well.”
“What happened?”
“We hired an outfit from nearly 300 miles away to come here. Four bulldozers didn’t make it half a block down the street before every hydraulic hose on those machines busted. It was a big mess. The company made the excuse that it had been a bad batch of hydraulic fluid that ruined the hoses. That alone though didn’t account for what happened next.”
My gaze was pulled toward the house. From a distance the peeling paint gave it a textured appearance. The white that covered the façade had dulled to a stale brown. The yellow trim had chunks missing
resembling a poorly eaten ear of corn. “What happened next?”
“The four dozer operators got some of the hydraulic fluid on them. There was some kind of reaction involved.”
“Reaction? What do you mean?”
“Their skin started to blister. By the time the EMTs got to ’em the four were writhing on the ground screaming in agony. I remember one witness described their skin looking like a pig’s that had been roasting over a pit.
“They were taken to the ICU at the hospital. Their condition was so bad the only relief they got was when they were given so much morphine it knocked them out. Even in their unconscious state their mouths and facial expressions would twist and contort in silent agony. Things would squirm about underneath the skin—like worms or something. Thankfully, the four died two weeks later. That’s when all their children started having nightmares.”
“Do you mean the children had nightmares because they lost their fathers?”
“That’s what the doctors blamed it on. No one from around here buys that story. The residents of this neighborhood left after Dooley was exposed because of nightmares they were having. There’s some kind of connection.” Jacobs ran his hand over the back of his head and wiped it on his pants. “I used to think all the stories of the evil unleashed when Dooley killed himself were a load of crap too. I’m not sure of what to think anymore. All I know is I want this over. I want this area leveled and a pond dug where his house sets. I’m ready to get the fuck out of here and let you get to work.”
I attempted to piece together the truth from what Jacobs said and didn’t say. This situation was far different from the picture that had been painted for me. I had anticipated a few of the murdered children’s surviving vibrations to be frolicking about creating harmless mischief. This was much worse than that.
“Tell me, Jacobs, do you suspect that a demon is involved here?”
“Demon? Like Casper the Ghost?”
“Hardly. What I have come to learn is that humans are born harboring another life form.”
“Another life form? Like an alien?”
“You could call it an alien but that wouldn’t be my choice of words. Scientists focus on physical evolution to explain life’s origins. What they have failed to discover is a separate conscious that evolved parallel with ours that every human harbors.”
“Wait, you’re saying we have more than just our own conscious inside our head?”
“Something like that. I suspect that the viruses that aided man’s evolution are the source. Viruses can’t reproduce without a host. At least 8% of the human genome is made up of endogenous retroviruses. Viruses are a mysterious life force, and I believe the ones in our human genome form a separate consciousness that lives and develops in all of us. That consciousness is the source of what we call evil. It’s that voice in your head that tells you to do bad things. Punch your sister in the arm, steal a piece of candy, or even molest and kill children. We have rationalized this force within us as the devil or some supernatural spirit. It’s not like that at all. Ghosts are not supernatural. After the body dies, remnants of our conscious remain as vibrations. So will vibrations of this other entity. Some vibrations are strong enough to interact with the living. There is no heaven or hell, angles or supernatural demons. There are only vibrations. As a particle physicist I can tell you with the utmost assurance, all matter, all reality, consists of vibrating strings.”
“That’s a little over my head.” Jacobs pushed his tongue over his front teeth.
“We spend our whole lives fighting this evil influence. Society has banded together in an attempt to control it by making laws and creating religions.”
“That’s an interesting theory but sounds kind of hard to swallow.”
Jacobs was like most others, refusing to accept the true conflict mankind warred with every day. “Do you know what the word ‘demon’ literally means?”
“No.”
“It means ‘teacher.’ No more than that. Man is not inherently evil. It’s the separate conscious that lives in all of us that tries to get us to do evil things. It’s that little devil on your shoulder whispering in your ear. Why? Because that is what this separate conscious desires. It feeds on evil perpetrated on others. It revels in pain, torture, and suffering.
“You, me, everyone fights for control with this conscious every day. Thankfully, the good in us prevails most of the time.”
“So this conscious can live after death? Is that what’s haunting the area, Dooley’s demon?”
“Yes. On rare occasions the demon can remain beyond the host’s death. It must be quite powerful to inflict the damage you have described.”
Jacobs sighed. “Well, I sure hope you know what you’re doing. You may even want to reconsider now that you know the whole story. I thought you were the best and could handle this. I don’t want you to end up like the others that tried.”
“Others? There were others that came before me and tried to exterminate the demon?”
Jacobs dropped his gaze to the ground. “Three others tried . . . all three died.”
*
The door unlocked and opened with a sigh of bending bones. Rays of sunlight outlined my shadow as the room woke from its restless sleep. Nothing looked unusual about a living room that had gone undisturbed for over four decades.
A vintage 1950’s sofa couch that would fetch a decent price at a flea market set centered against a wall with an oak coffee table positioned in front. The couch was off white in color and had a fine layer of undisturbed dust that clung to it like a second skin. An iron comedy/tragedy mask hung on one wall next to a black velvet picture of Elvis Presley wearing a grin of confidence next to it. A ceramic lamp with cherubs on the base set on a table next to the couch. The place reminded me of my favorite Aunt’s house, Aunt Jane. As a young boy I would spend a few days with her in the summer between school years. Her house always had the warm smell of baking pies.
“This looks as good of a place as any to pitch camp,” I told myself. My words echoed back and left me with a foreboding sense of loneliness. Perhaps I wasn’t as well prepared as I thought? I set the two gel cell batteries I carried in either hand down on the floor’s ancient carpet.
I returned to the car out front of the house and opened the trunk. For a brief moment I eyed the equipment, debating whether I was too hasty in accepting this case. Something was out of place. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
“Good grief, man. Get a hold of yourself.” This was so unlike me. What was it about Jacobs’s story that had triggered my doubt? Am I not the only man in the world who is both an acclaimed physicists and a leader in psychic research? I wasn’t some amateur learning his trade from Fate magazine. I had a reputation to maintain. More importantly, I had to preserve my own self-respect and prove I was stronger to my darker side. It was science that had proved unseen forces existed alongside man. It would be science that would bring the force that haunted the area to an end.
I retrieved the duffel bag and my laptop, closed the trunk and went back into the house. I intentionally left the front door open just in case I needed to make a fast escape.
It was 12:33 PM when I powered up the laptop as it rested on the coffee table. A separate device the size of a pack of cigarettes plugged into a USB port and also connected to the batteries now wired in series. The fans from the laptop stirred the dust from the table giving rise to stale air that tickled my nose. I sniffed holding back a sneeze and then went for the duffel bag.
The bag contained enough refreshments for the afternoon, napkins, and the hand held device I created that should soon rid the house of its evil. An energy drink I bought an hour before was covered in sweat but thankfully still felt cool. The spray of the pull-top sent a citrus-ozone fragrance into the room and after a couple of chugs later I stiffened my resolve.
“Let’s see here . . . okay, talk to me.” My fingers pressed a few icons on the computer screen—the fans increased in speed. A warm hum emitted from the devi
ce attached that sent osculating magnetic waves throughout the house. A radar circle appeared on the screen with a sweeping arm anchored to the center moving clockwise. No targets appeared in the circle that represented the area inside the house.
The front door slammed shut.
Instinctually, I bounded to the door and grabbed the knob. A sharp pain pierced my palm and forced me to immediately let go. I slowly backed away and returned my focus to the computer screen. A large red blotch left an image directly on the door’s location. I set the drink can down nearly toppling it over.
The door knob? It’s hiding in the door knob? This was unprecedented. Entities, as I called them, were a separate consciousness spawned by the minds of certain individuals. An entity would inhabit their unwary host until death. Then, the entity remained to exist as a vibration and inhabit a personal item of their deceased host. All matter is made up tiny vibrating strings. The entities had found a way to continue their existence beyond a human body. Residing in something loved, something cherished of their creator. Never had there been a connection found in such an emotionally detached object as a door knob.
Without haste, I plunged my hand into the bag and came back with the device I jokingly named the Terminator. A push of a button brought the circuits to life and began the start sequence.
Every entity vibrates at a unique frequency. The Terminator is able to detect that frequency, but it did more than that. The Terminator is able to find the resonance frequency of the entity, create one to match it, amplify it, and in turn destroy it. I describe how it works to others by likening the effect to that of a wine glass shattering by the soprano notes of an opera singer.
I pressed the cold metal probe to the door handle and watched the red LEDs flash as the waves sought to discover the ‘unique combination.’ The device beeped once and the LEDs remained lit. The knob began to hum as the Terminator matched the frequency and intensified.
The door gave a groan of stressed old wood. The air electrified and my hair stood on end. The wail of an injured banshee replaced the hum until it rose in a crescendo that left my ears throbbing in pain.
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