Pitch Green

by The Brothers Washburn

  “But you knew something was wrong.” Camm pointed an accusing finger at him. “You knew those weren’t just coincidences, or you wouldn’t have tried to hide it from Agent Allen.”

  Mr. Samuel didn’t answer.

  Cal looked intently at him. “No one knows what it is? Really? No one has seen it and lived? That is hard to believe.”

  “Well,” Mr. Samuel hesitated. “Maybe there is one person, but she has never been willing to talk about it, not even with her own family, not even after seventy years.”

  Camm looked at Cal in excitement. “Sarah Daniel!”

  “Who?”

  Before she could say anything more, the grandfather clock blared.

  DONG!

  All three looked at their watches; it was exactly midnight.

  Mr. Samuel gasped.

  IX

  “We have to get out of here, right now!” Mr. Samuel’s head seemed to sink into his shoulders as he jerked it back and forth, his face losing color.

  Cal’s jaw set firmly at the suggestion—his eyes narrowed in determination as he turned to face Mr. Samuel. “I came here to kill it! I am going to stay and kill it. Leave if you want, but you better hurry . . . and take Camm with you.”

  “I’m staying with you!” Camm exclaimed. She shot an indignant look at Cal as she cocked the shotgun to put a shell in the chamber, ready to fire, and then with her thumb, flipped off the safety; she’d only had time to load the gun with four shells, and fervently hoped that four would be enough.

  DONG!

  Camm jumped and the hairs on her arms stood up as the grandfather clock rang a second time. She was covered in goose bumps and her whole body felt flushed and tingly, the same feeling she felt at the top of the first crest on a roller coaster ride. She hoped the actual ride would not be as bad as the immediate anticipation.

  Cal swiveled to face the stairs leading up to their position, holding the .357 Magnum in his right hand and the big spotlight in his left, with his thumb poised to switch it on at the last moment. Camm stepped to his side with her flashlight in her left hand and the shotgun barrel balanced across her left forearm as she aimed her gun at the top of the stairs. The beam from her flashlight wobbled uncontrollably. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t will herself to stop shaking.

  Mr. Samuel sidled up, looking from Cal to Camm, and back again. His eyes were wide with terror, his skin ashen white. Sweat beads had popped out on his lip and forehead.

  “You kids are crazy. We will all die if we stay here.”

  “Go,” Cal said simply and calmly, thrusting his head in the exit direction.

  DONG!

  The sound of the gong reverberated up and down the huge empty chamber that was the main hall. It vibrated through Camm’s body, sinking right into her marrow, turning her bones to jelly, and making her knees shake. Just remaining vertical took tremendous effort, and she shifted her position to get a better grip on the shotgun.

  Mr. Samuel was now standing on the other side of Cal, also facing the top of the stairs. He held something out in front of him in his right hand. Squinting to take a closer look, Camm saw it was a small semi-automatic pistol, probably a .38 caliber. He must have had it hidden in his pocket.

  Mr. Samuel glanced up to peer at Cal, who stood still as a rock, no emotion showing on his face. Taking a ragged breath, Mr. Samuel shook his head and stared nervously over at Camm. She returned a quizzical look.

  He grimaced. “This is a big mistake, but I can’t leave you kids here alone to face it all by yourselves.”

  Camm was surprised by this show of concern, but before she could consider this further, she heard the unmistakable screech of stone on stone as the secret door opened into the cellar below.

  DONG!

  Camm wondered if the purpose of the grandfather clock’s gonging was to give that thing in the bowels of the mansion strength, or to suck the strength out of her. Now, she heard the faint sound of something heavy scrabbling up the stairs from the cellar to the main hall. It was in a hurry. Next, came the creaking of old hinges as the door from the cellar opened, slowly at first, before suddenly slamming into the side wall with a bang. Then, everything went silent.

  DONG!

  Even though Camm was making every effort to control her body, she couldn’t quite predict when each ringing gong would sound, and so at each one, she involuntarily startled, her heart racing with adrenalin. She hated being scared, but now she was almost jumping out of her own skin and sweating as badly as Mr. Samuel.

  Leaning against the balcony railing, she pointed her flashlight across the main hall in the direction of the cellar door, hoping to catch a glimpse of what was emerging there. It did no good; the beam didn’t even reach the other side. The intervening darkness just sucked up the light. And while she couldn’t see anything, she heard the skittering of claws scraping across the slate floor, moving toward the stairs.

  DONG!

  Camm seriously wished she had used the bathroom before coming to the mansion. Things like that never seemed to bother Cal. Cal stood like a rock beside her. She wondered how he stayed so calm. Beyond Cal, the sound of Mr. Samuel’s gulping breaths was fanning the flames of her own panic, and she tried to ignore him.

  Suddenly, things below became silent again. Though she strained to detect any sound, she couldn’t tell where the thing was. In a second, she heard clawed feet trotting up steps. But something didn’t seem right. She angled her head, trying to get a better fix on the noise. With a start, she realized it was not climbing the stairs directly in front of them. It had stayed on the opposite side of the main hall, and was climbing the stairs there—it was going around the balcony to come up behind them.

  DONG!

  “It’s on the other side,” Camm’s voice squeaked with anxiety. “It’s trying to get around behind us!”

  Cal and Mr. Samuel didn’t reply, their bodies taut as they listened to the sound of heavy feet thudding across the hardwood floor on the balcony across the hall. Cal slowly turned a hundred and eighty degrees to point his .357 toward the back wall. Camm and Mr. Samuel followed his lead, with Camm scrambling to get her gun and flashlight pointed in the new direction; her shotgun was heavy and her arms were starting to ache from holding it up.

  Camm’s flashlight barely illuminated the back wall, and Cal had not yet switched on his spotlight. Mr. Samuel had now turned his light off completely, putting it in his pocket, so he could hold his pistol with both hands.

  As the approaching sound drew closer to the back balcony, Camm’s light became fainter and more yellow. When it began to flicker, her heart sank as she realized her light would be gone completely before their stalker turned the back corner of the balcony and came into view on their side of the hall.

  Leaving her light on, she carefully set it on the ground in front of her to shine in the direction they were facing. She knew she would need both hands to fire the shotgun. Raising the gun to her shoulder, she struggled to hold the barrel steady.

  DONG!

  The thudding noise had reached the back of the hall, now turning the far corner, padding along the back balcony. Only some twenty-five or thirty feet stretched between the back wall and themselves. Camm thought desperately, We need more space between us and that back wall; we need to step backwards!

  As if he could read her mind, Cal acted immediately, but instead of moving backward, he took two steps forward. Camm sighed. She could not fire her shotgun from behind Cal, so she had no choice but to step forward as well, until they were side by side again. Mr. Samuel also shuffled forward.

  Camm’s flashlight, shining along the floor, yellowed even further, flickered twice, and went dark.

  DONG!

  The entire main hall was now completely black. Camm could sense Cal’s larger frame next to her own. She could smell his sweat and hear his breathing. The skin on her naked arm, just inches from his, tingled as if an invisible electrical current was running through the air between them. But even as close as he w
as, when she glanced in his direction, she could not see him. She could see nothing. Nothing at all.

  Her insides clenched as she realized that, except for Cal’s and Mr. Samuel’s breathing, she could hear nothing at all. Was that thing still moving? Where had she last heard it? On the back balcony? She wasn’t sure. Was it sneaking up on them? It could be only inches away, yet she wouldn’t be able to see it.

  Had it quietly turned back to come up the other staircase in the dark to pounce on them from the other direction? Camm began to panic, her heart pounding as her breaths degenerated into shallow gasps. She felt lightheaded. She wanted to ask Cal where he thought it was, but didn’t dare speak, not even whisper.

  She forced herself to calm down. Carefully, she reassessed her situation. She couldn’t see it. She couldn’t hear it. But she could smell it—a smell of rotten eggs, only a hundred times worse. By moving her head side to side, she was able to get a fix on the source of the stink. She was sure it was coming from in front of her, not behind. How far in front, she did not know.

  DONG!

  Camm hated that sound! Each time, it startled her more. Her stomach had become so hard and knotted she felt as if she would vomit her innards out onto the floor.

  Suddenly, there was a noise! Something . . . walking. It was walking along the back wall still, drawing closer. Step, step, step, step; it was coming nearer and nearer. Its smell was growing stronger. The air was getting heavier.

  “Cal?” Camm finally summoned enough fortitude to whisper, though her voice was hoarse and constricted with tension. “Turn on your spotlight.”

  “Wait, not yet,” he responded, emphasizing each separate word.

  DONG!

  Camm jumped so hard she almost involuntarily fired her shotgun. When this was all over, she was going to take an axe to that grandfather clock—if she was still alive.

  The thudding noise had stopped at the near corner of the back balcony. The overpowering stench made her sick to her stomach. It must be directly in front of her, just yards away. If only she could see. She held her breath, listening. It had stopped walking, but she could hear its raspy breath. Separately, something rhythmically brushed the floor, like a rope swinging back and forth across the wooden planks.

  Drenched in sweat and trembling, Camm was sure she was going to pee her pants. She couldn’t contain the stress any longer—she needed to take immediate action against the creature. “Now! Cal!” she commanded urgently in a deep whisper. “Turn it on now!”

  “Okay, guard your eyes,” Cal answered steadily. “This is going to be bright. Ready? On three: One, two, three—”

  DONG!

  The last chime sounded at the very instant the spotlight burst into life. All at once two and a half million-candlepower lit up the blackness. Camm’s eyes were not ready for the brilliant intensity. She went from seeing only dense blackness to seeing searing white.

  Before she could even squint in response to the blinding light, the spotlight bulb exploded with a sharp pop. The light had come on like an arc welder, but in a fraction of a second it had burst into a thousand red sparks, each spark flying away into the darkness, floating gently to the floor before winking out.

  Once again, they were in total blackness.

  XI

  There were only blackness and suffocating stink; the two combined into a python that wrapped itself around Camm’s chest, constricting her lungs until she could no longer breathe. She realized she was holding her breath, but she could not force her lungs to work. She was truly suffocating and would have screamed if she could only exhale.

  It screeched. The sound of a thousand fingernails scratching down a thousand blackboards pierced Camm to her very center. Before she could respond, Cal did.

  “Die, you freakin’ son of a bitch!” he yelled at the top of his lungs and fired the .357 into the darkness.

  The loud retort of the gun caused Camm to jump, and she immediately fired the shotgun. Because she was not holding it tight against her shoulder, the gun fired off wildly at an angle, up and away from where she had wanted to shoot. The recoil was severe, bruising her shoulder.

  Cal continued firing off rounds, and it seemed to Camm that Mr. Samuel had fired his pistol, too. She resituated her shotgun firmly against her battered shoulder and pulled the trigger, this time in the direction where she thought the thing must be.

  Each time one of them fired, a muzzle flashed, her shotgun the brightest. Each flash lasted only a fraction of a second, allowing them a brief glimpse of something at the end of the balcony.

  It was big. Really big. Yet, between the penetrating darkness and the bright—but brief—muzzle flashes, it was impossible to distinguish what it might be. It moved from flash to flash in a jerky motion, like in an old-time movie, so each shot seemed to go to the wrong place. It was never in the same spot twice, and its obscure form changed positions with each flash. Sometimes it was down, as if on all fours. Sometimes it was up, as if standing on two legs. One thing was certain: It was steadily getting closer.

  Cal ran out of ammunition first, his revolver having only six shots. Mr. Samuel fired twice more, then stopped firing. Camm slid the action on the shotgun, putting her last shell into the chamber. Holding her breath to steady her aim, she pointed the gun to where she thought she had last seen the menacing form, and pulled the trigger. The brief flash from the shot showed she had fired high and to the left—she had missed again.

  Her ears rang with the explosive assault from the blasting guns. Her chest was heaving, and her arms felt so weak she was afraid she would drop her shotgun. For a second, everything was black and quiet. The stench was incredible. The contrast between the booming muzzle flashes and the dark silence was wrenching. Everyone stood in place. Nothing moved. As the ringing diminished, the sound of heavy breathing was all Camm could hear.

  Her own breaths came and went in rasps. She could hear the heavy, but steady, breaths of Cal next to her, and the heavier, more wheezing breaths coming from Mr. Samuel. Then came the sound of something else breathing, a squeaky, scratchy sound as each gulp of air was inhaled and then released.

  It was still alive! Had they even hit it?

  “Are you out?” It was Cal asking about ammunition.

  “The gun is empty, but I have more shells in my pocket,” Camm answered, digging in her pocket for shells.

  “I only brought one clip. I think I have one shot left.” That was Mr. Samuel.

  “Camm, try and reload. I will, too.”

  Tears stung Camm’s eyes as the frustration of the moment struck her. “Cal, I can’t see. I can’t reload in the dark.”

  Cal sighed. She heard him loading shells into the .357. Cal was familiar enough with guns to reload by feel. Camm was not.

  It was now only feet away. It could attack at any moment. Camm had never felt so helpless and vulnerable.

  At that moment, a small ray of light appeared about ten feet in front of Camm, spreading across the balcony floor and out into the void of the main hall. At first it seemed a miracle, but then Camm realized the half-moon had just come up over the Slate Range, shining through a bedroom window and out through the bedroom door. There was not enough light to distinguish color or depth, but enough to make out forms.

  Camm could see and hear Cal next to her, down on one knee, reloading his pistol. Camm could also see Mr. Samuel’s form on the other side of Cal. He stood, transfixed, staring straight ahead with his pistol pointed at something.

  Slowly, Camm turned her head and saw an indistinct figure on the other side of the moonlight, about fifteen feet away. It was down on all fours, standing about four feet high at the shoulders, a long tail slashing side to side behind it.

  In dim light, it could have been a wolf with an unusually large head, or a lion with a long snout, but in the black-on-black silhouette, Camm could make out two very large ears pointing straight up from either side of the head.

  Cal stood up and pointed his gun straight at the dark form. Camm heard a click
. “Cal!” she breathed. “Your gun jammed.”

  “Revolvers don’t jam,” Cal grunted, holding the pistol close to his face, trying to see it in the dark. “It’s a misfire.”

  Camm looked down at her own gun to see if there was enough light to reload. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the dark silhouette suddenly leap through the moonlight toward her. Jumping instinctively backward, she lost her footing and fell, coming down hard on her elbow with her shotgun flying from her grip and landing somewhere behind her.

  Cal quickly stepped back, grabbed her arm, and tried to pull her to her feet, but Camm was frantically trying to reach for her shotgun. For a moment, Camm and Cal were a confusion of arms and legs as Camm tried to bend back to grab her gun, while Cal lugged her up onto her feet again.

  Silently, the dark creature rose on its hind legs. Up and up it rose, rearing up over eight feet above them as it watched the confusion below it.

  “You two run.” It was Mr. Samuel, his voice almost a howl. “Run, now!” he shrieked, and then stepped directly in front of the beast. Sticking his gun barrel in its belly, he fired his last shot. There was the screeching sound again, fingernails on blackboards, and then the massive form fell on Mr. Samuel, dragging him down and crushing him to the floor.

  At last, Camm felt her shotgun and held it in one hand, letting Cal grip her by the other hand. Together, they ran for the stairs. Behind, they heard the sounds of screaming, grunting, and chewing. Reaching the stairs, they darted down in the dark as fast as they could go. Suddenly, Mr. Samuel’s scream reached a crescendo that was prematurely cut short. Cal gasped, “No,” and stopped, turning to face the top of stairs, as if to go back.

  Camm yanked his arm to swing him around. “He’s dead,” she breathed. “He told us to run. His last act of life, his last effort was for us—don’t waste it!”