The Bloodspawn

by Michael McBride

  Gagging from the rotten stench of the innards that rested atop him, Scott flopped out from beneath the body and rolled across the floor, the dust and dirt clinging to the crimson fluid that soaked his skin and clothing. He lay there for a moment, exhausted, his heart beating so fast he feared it might rupture as he stared through the darkness at the outline of the form that lay strewn across the dirt. There was but the slightest of glimmers from the mummified eyes, the fluid seething across the floor more than eager to soak it up.

  No sound came from the body, not the slightest sound of air being dragged into the open chest. The fingers twitched to either side of the body, rattling momentarily against the ground before curling into the throes of rigor mortis.

  Crawling closer, his hands and knees thickening with the bloody mud atop the floor, he lowered his head, staring intently into the rapidly bluing face of the cooling corpse. The eyelids were fixed back beneath the sockets, the marbled eyeballs drying and splitting. The open mouth gurgled slightly from the settling of the organs.

  Closing his eyes, Scott rolled onto his back, exhaustion having taken its toll on his weary body. His breath slowed, his pounding heart returning to something resembling the more regular fearful thundering as he seemed to melt into the ground, the tension that had literally tied him in knots slowly seeping out from him tensed muscles.

  Scott opened his eyes and stared up at the blackened ceiling for a moment before rolling onto his stomach and pushing himself up to his feet. Wiping his muddy hands of his wet jeans, he realized the futility and just shook them at his sides as he limped across the dirt floor towards the stairs. Hitting the landing, he grabbed onto the railing and prepared to pull himself up the rickety old stairs.

  The stairs wobbled beneath his weight as he advanced, creaking and groaning as he worked his way towards the kitchen. Pausing, he glanced back over his shoulder towards the dark lump that lay in the middle of the floor below, cloaked in the shadows.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, a tear creeping from the corner of his eye.

  Sniffing, he clambered into the kitchen and crossed the plywood floor towards the open front door. The rubber soles of his shoes squeaked on the hardwood floor, which was still damp from the snow that had blown in from the storm. Crossing the threshold, he stepped out onto the porch and lumbered down the stairs to the lawn.

  He stopped and stared up into the night sky. The thick mass of clouds overhead had parted just enough to allow for the dim light of but a few stars to shine down from the night sky. The enormous flakes had dwindled to tiny balls of ice, slowing from the blizzard rage with which they had once fallen to a mere trickle of flakes.

  Lowering his head, he rounded the corner of the house towards where he had parked his car, his eyes catching on movement at the line of trees far across the open field of white straight ahead. Walking around the wide trunk of the dead maple, he stared towards the start of the forest as a shadowy form stood as but a silhouette against the darkened trees. His eyes fixed on the shadow as it just stood there, watching him in return. And then, with a flash of movement, the form was gone, replaced by the crashing sound as the underbrush was hammered beneath pounding feet.

  A large buck bounded from the wall of trees, prancing into the field for just a moment, its eyes reflecting the starlight with a golden glare. Its large rack cast a long shadow across the white snow, as it stopped, its eyes flashing one final time before streaking across the field and disappearing into a grove of pines.

  Nodding, Scott turned to the vehicle and slowly fished his keys out of his pocket. Turning them over and over in his hand, he stepped to the driver’s side of the vehicle and looked into his open palm for the key to the door. His flesh was stained deep red, dirt and dust crusting the fluid into a caked mess on his skin. Glancing down at his clothing, he debated for the briefest of moments whether he really wanted that on the seats of his car, but that logic seemed more than a bit silly to him as he popped the lock and hopped into the car. Bringing the engine roaring to life, he flipped on the headlights and stared at the yellow rays of light that flooded the field from the car.

  Slowly, he shoved the gear into drive and gripped the wheel, turning out into the field and heading back towards the road. Finding the groove in the road from his tracks from when they had driven here earlier in the night, he pressed the gas, gaining momentum as the car headed for the forest on route back to his house.

  A bleak look was etched into his pale face that was splotched with the quickly drying blood. His eyes fixed blankly on the road ahead as his dry lips slowly sealed shut. Unblinking, he watched the two lines from the tire tracks in the snow- covered road in the glow of the headlights. The only thought in his head was of grabbing a shovel so that he could come back and bury his friends.

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  THE BLOODSPAWN

  Michael McBride

  © 2004 Michael McBride. All rights reserved.

  PART FOURTEEN

  SECTION 14

  Epilogue

  Saturday, November 19th

  10 a.m.

  Scott stared out the second story window from the bedroom across the hallway from his own. He had converted it to an office long ago when he had first moved in, but rarely used it. Most of the time he spent working at home was at the drafting table he had set up in the living room as it felt far less confined beneath the vaulted ceiling and with the light from all of the windows all around. This room was more of a professional looking storage area.

  There was a small desk, the same one that he had used growing up with his parents, in the corner of the room. Atop it sat an outdated computer, which had been state of the art only a few years ago when he had upgraded, but since had fallen far behind the cutting edge. A printer, with a combined fax and copy function, rested on top of a small silver filing cabinet next to the desk, the drawers stuffed full of building contracts. The majority of the business paperwork was kept at his office downtown, but it had been quite some time since he frequented that locale. He did the majority of his dealings by phone as he had an accountant to deal with the finances and a great set of managerial assistants to deal with the day to day maintenance.

  Scott had brought the cordless phone up into the study with him as he was expecting a call. He had just tossed it onto the paper tray in front of the printer atop the small stack of faxes he had accrued over the last week but hadn’t yet bothered to look at.

  There was a tall oak bookcase in the corner, filled with old textbooks he had been unable to sell back at the end of his final term in college. At least five years of architectural digests lined the shelf beneath. There were all sorts of books he had saved from his youth, hard- bound tomes that his parents had read to him growing up, along with the four thick volumes of old yearbooks from high school, and the thinner ones from junior high. Aside from the sparse furniture, and the stacks of unopened boxes in the corner of the room, it was quite barren.

  Scott craned his neck so that he could see all the way towards the park. The real estate agency had set up the circus looking tents next to the large gazebo, a row of smoking grills burning in a line in front. People filled the street, clustering into small groups as they inhaled their hamburgers and hot dogs from paper plates. The snow had been cleared from the basketball court, the baskets only recently having been added, as groups of small children tried with all of their might to get the large balls even close to the net.

  The snow, which had been close to knee deep only a few days ago was now completely melted from the streets and sidewalk, with only glistening patches remaining on the lawns and the recently laid sod of the park. As far as Colorado weather went, that was the norm, snow one day completely out of the blue, and the next it was gone leaving but a small reminder of the ferocious storm that had brought it. And today, they had lucke
d out with the weather. The sun shined brightly from directly overhead as just a few white, fluffy clouds dotted the sky.

  Sparrows chirped madly as they foraged the bare spot in the lawn, plucking out seeds and then darting back into the masses of pines where they had been weathering the storm.

  It was the perfect day for the picnic. And while the heat was only in the high 50’s, he knew that he couldn’t have asked for anything more.

  All of the lots had been contracted, and even without hiring additional help, which during the winter months never proved to be very difficult anyway, they should have the entire neighborhood completed within six months. The bank was happy, the Realtors were extraordinarily happy, his new neighbors were happy, and given the circumstances that surrounded the last chaotic week of his life, Scott was contented with being all right.

  He had spent the entire night burying Harry and Matt, side by side, in the earthen floor of the house. It wasn’t as if he could have just shown up at the cemetery with two bodies asking for burial. There would have been far too many questions, most of them involving the police and questions that he couldn’t answer, at least not in a way that they would understand. The way he saw it, Matt’s life had ended in that house so many years prior, that it was only fitting that it be his final resting place, and Harry had devoted the majority of his life to fighting the evil that they had banished from within. He did feel badly about not giving Harry the proper burial that he deserved, but he knew, deep down, that Harry would approve.

  Laughter filled his ears, even through the closed window as more and more cars lined up, one behind the other along the curb near the park, as more families strolled down the street, pushing strollers, holding hands, on their way to the barbecue. From his vantage, it looked like there had to be close to a couple hundred people filling the street. It was a smashing success, and even from afar he could feel a genuine sense of community from the revelers.

  At some point, he was going to have to make an appearance over there himself; after all he had to get back into his normal, everyday life. What better way to do that than with a group of people who all at least liked him momentarily, as none of their walls had begun to crack, none of their foundations settling. And there was a certain young Realtor over there that he really looked forward to getting to know a little better.

  For the first time in what seemed far too long, a smile crossed his lips. With the guilt over what happened to Matt and Harry, he wondered if he would ever be able to smile again, but he had reached at state of equilibrium with it. He had never asked to be involved with that situation, but he knew that he handled it the best that he could. In his mind, that thing that stalked the woods wasn’t Matt, his friend had died more than a decade ago in that lake. And while he still wished that he could go back in time and somehow change the past, to actually free Matt from that sinking car, he knew that he couldn’t. Wherever he was now, Matt was surely better off.

  In the final moment of his life, Harry had looked at peace, and that was how Scott chose to remember him. While they had only known each other a matter of days, there had been something of a kinship that he knew he would always remember, and would honor Harry with that memory for as long as he lived. But now the time had come to move on. He had taken measures to provide himself with a semblance of closure, something that would allow him to just push the whole thing to the back of his mind and insert himself back into his normal, everyday life.

  The ringing phone startled him from his trance.

  Giving one final, almost sentimental glance out across the street towards the park, he turned from the window and walked around the desk, snatching the phone from where it rested on the printer. A few of the white pages fell from the tray onto the floor as he brought the phone to his ear.

  “Hello?”

  “Scott?”

  “Hey, Greg, how’s it going?”

  “I was just calling to let you know that everything is in place and we’re ready to level this sucker.”

  “Thanks a lot for taking care of this on such short notice.”

  “Just remember that you owe me. You know how much trouble I could get into for not running this through the City Planner’s office.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Well, you had said that you wanted me to call you when everything was in place and ready to go, so…”

  “Thanks, man. When you think of how I can repay you, you just let me know.”

  “I think we’ll start with a couple of rounds for me and my boys.”

  “You got a deal. Just name the time and place.”

  “Did I say just a couple of rounds, what I really meant was the first twenty or so rounds.”

  “You’re pushing your luck now.”

  “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  “Certainly not.”

  “Well, I guess I’d better prepare to do this thing. If you need anything else, I’m at my cell phone. Seems a shame to demolish this old beauty, but you’re the boss.”

  “Thanks, Greg. I really appreciate it.”

  “No prob, man. Catch you later.”

  There was click as Scott held the phone out in his hand with a look of satisfaction on his face. Pressing the “Off” button on the phone, he dropped it onto the desk and sat down in the folding chair that had been pulled beneath the desk.

  The retirement home had jumped at his offer to buy the Cavenaugh house as apparently they were having some sort of financial troubles. He had offered far more than the house was worth, and had asked for very little of the land in the process. They had been all right with the fact that his sole intention was to demolish it as he claimed he wanted the land for a potential retirement home of his own. Moving fast, so as not to give any of the historical preservation societies time to formulate their actions, he had hired an old friend who he had worked with once before back when he had first entered the business to demolish it.

  Truthfully, the easiest option would have been to drag out a wrecking ball and just hammer it to the ground, but that would take more time and coordination. And time was something that he was short on. There was also a part of him that felt that house was better suited going out with a bang in a big ball of fire. That was the one thing that was going to help him put this whole thing behind him. And whether that house was the source of the evil or not, it was certainly a physical representation of it in his mind, and he knew that once that house was nothing more than a pile of rubble that he would be able to move on.

  Greg Danson, who worked in demolitions for a living had to be one of the nicest most well adjusted people he had ever met in his life. He was just like a little kid when he lined up those charges. A sparkle would come into his eye and he was once again a ten year- old kid shoving an M- 80 into an anthill.

  The only time he had been available had been a Saturday morning, which he generally never worked, but he had made an exception and called it a personal favor. But Scott knew that he just loved his job so much that he would look for any excuse to prolong his workweek. In fact, he hadn’t charged him the overtime rate, settling on half- rate with a favor to be named later. And any favor that he should require down the road would be well worth it.

  All Scott wanted right now was to see that house burned to the ground.

  Smiling once again, he could feel a swell of peace rising in his chest. As soon as this was over he would be able to move on.

  Bending from the chair, he grabbed the small stack of papers that had fallen from the tray on the printer. Sorting them so that they were all face up, he glanced down at the top one. It was from the People Network.

  His brow furrowing slightly, he began to peruse the pile looking for the cover letter. Snatching it from the middle of the pile, he moved it to the top and read it aloud.

  “Mr. Ramsey: Is this your idea of a joke? It doesn’t matter, I guess, since we’ve already billed your credit card.”

  Scott’s brow furrowed as he reread the cover letter, making absolutely no sense of it at
all.

  Tossing it aside onto the desk, he grabbed the faxed transmission and began to read what appeared to be an adoption form.

  “Subject: baby boy,” he mumbled as he read. “City: Colorado Springs. State: Colorado.”

  He scanned past the information pertaining to the issuing agency as well as the preparer.

  “Father: Unknown. Mother: Unknown. Status: Orphaned. Description: Child was taken into custody as a ward of the state under extreme circumstances. Hair Color: Blonde. Eye Color: Hazel.”

  He paused.

  “But Matt’s eyes were light,” he mused, before reading the form once again. “Distinguishing Marks: Birth mark on the right forearm.”

  He immediately glanced down at his exposed forearm, staring with intent scrutiny at the small scar from where he had once had the birthmark. His heart began to pound as he turned back to the paper.

  “Adoptive Parents: Dean and Susan Ramsey.”

  The stack of pages fell from his hand, fluttering to the floor, as his jaw dropped. Thousands of conflicting thoughts raced through his brain all at the same time as he struggled to come to grips with what he had read.

  “It can’t be,” he stammered.

  There was a creaking sound behind him as the door to the study slowly opened. A dark shadow moved across the floor as a darkened form appeared in the doorway against the light from the hall.

  “You have to accept it,” the deep, cracking voice said. “Embrace it… my son.”

  Scott whirled and stared at the shadowy form as it breezed into the room across the floor. A wild mane of matted hair was pressed beneath a dark hood, the face shielded in shadows as the figure approached. His arms were folded across his chest, his hands disappearing into the wide sleeves of the tattered shroud, which danced about him on an unseen breeze. Slowly, the figure stopped right in front of him, the bare, cracked and blistered feet floated inches above the ground.