“If we don’t find Gary in five minutes, I’m hightailing it out of this spooky place,” Kyle said.
An unimaginable scream of sheer agony ripped through the eerily quiet forest. Continuous high-pitched shrieks of terror only served to slightly muffle the background growling and chomping sounds.
“I’m out,” Kyle announced, backing away from the sound, his eyes about to pop out of their sockets.
The yelps of pain acted like a smack of sobriety across Mike’s face. “Wait, hold up. Did you hear that?”
Kyle kept walking. “Yes, I fucking heard it. Why do you think I’m trying to get away from it? Come on.”
Mike started to follow Kyle yet suddenly stopped. “I gotta go back.”
“What are you talking about?” Kyle slowed down but kept moving.
Mike shook his head slowly. “I have to go back. I have to kill him. For my mom.”
“Dude, that’s a stupid plan. He might have killed your mom, who knows, but if you go back, he’s gonna kill you, too. Guaranteed.” Kyle nervously yanked his long bangs.
“I don’t care. I’m going to die soon anyway.”
Kyle finally stopped walking and turned around. “Man, you keep saying that. What are you talking about?”
“Don’t worry about that. I’m going back and I’m going to kill him for my mom.” Mike turned and took two steps.
Kyle slapped his firm palm on Mike’s shoulder. “Come on man, stop playing. You know I’m going to get lost in these woods without you. Let’s just get out of here.”
Mike wiggled his body around until he shed Kyle’s giant hand. “I can’t. I just can’t. I made a promise to myself that I was going to kill George one day. Today is the day. Or night.”
“If you go toward that sound, you’re a lunatic. That’s all I know. I’m going this way.” Kyle pointed and stomped away.
In the blink of an eye, Mike stood alone.
Despite the life-or-death scenario, peaceful visions of the past flashed in front of his face.
The house on Smithfield Street.
His eighth birthday.
Chocolate cake on the tilted green card table.
Candles blazing.
Wish.
Go on, Micheal. Make a wish.
Mike’s trip down memory lane was derailed by a fetid stench that reminded him of rotten meat. He pinched his nose and breathed through his open lips and clenched teeth to keep from throwing up.
Terror plucked at his heartstrings, creating a spine-chilling, staccato symphony.
He wanted to avenge the death of his mother, but in his inebriated state, he hadn’t brought a weapon. The spur-of-the-moment decision now left him frozen in place. His scalp crawled. A force centered in the pit his stomach, sending pulsing waves of unhinging fear throughout his body. His glazed eyes, staring off into the abyss, only found darkness.
What was that?
Mike’s facial features curved and wrinkled, creating a visage full of shock and horror.
The moon, although only half-full, shone down like a spotlight in a cylindrical shaft of gleaming brightness. It revealed an ugliness only a handful of people had seen and lived to tell about. He or she appeared to be an amalgamation of the greatest horrors Dante Alighieri had encountered on his voyage to the underworld with Virgil. Had the devil’s spawn been released on earth?
George looked like a wild boar standing upright. Mike stood 6’2” and gazed up at the stout beast that seemed to be hovering just above the ground about twenty feet away. His brown fur, matted by burgundy blood, covered his face and body. Drops of blood fell from the corners of his mouth and collected on his heaving chest. Despite every ounce of common sense screaming at Mike to run, he stood with his feet firmly planted, staring at the evil face.
The spotlight disappeared. So did the local legend. Mike pulled out his flashlight and pointed it at the area where the beast had been standing just a few seconds before.
Nothing.
Empty woods.
Mike’s pituitary gland kicked into action and sent a huge rush of endorphins snaking through his body. They helped clear his scrambled head, and he chose the most sensible option given the tense situation. He turned and ran in an unknown direction. As he hurtled through the woods, he ripped the last can of Milwaukee’s Best from his hip and wielded it like a weapon, despite the fact that he looked utterly ridiculous.
A compact ball of blue and orange flames streaked in front of Mike’s face. He spun around several times until he became dizzy and dropped to his knees. Immediately, he sprang to his feet and started sprinting away from the direction the fireball had come from.
Another flaming object sailed directly at his head before suddenly veering upward and flying over his left shoulder. The intense fireball exploded against a huge oak tree, immediately igniting the wide trunk and blackening the bark.
Mike fell again and scratched desperately at mother earth with his empty hand to get back to his feet. He stumbled to get fully upright as a strange sensation attacked his chest. The inside of his chest. Mike felt an alien hand flatten out and slide through a gap in his ribcage. It opened like a claw and clamped down. Four powerful fingers and a thumb grabbed hold of his heart.
Breathing became labored.
Mike’s blood flow slowed to a crawl.
His mind and eyes were getting heavy, and he fell flat on his face. The killer grip tightened, and Mike sensed his life was fading away. He curled up in a ball.
I’m sorry, Mom. I thought I could get him for you, but I failed. Again. I failed like I always do. Sorry for being such an embarrassment. I’m sorry I let you down. I guess it’s all over now.
A heavy hand slapped Mike’s shoulder and violently lifted him back to his feet. He assumed George had arrived to claim his prize. Mike wanted to be defiant and stare death in the face. He opened his eyes, and to his great surprise, he saw Kyle.
“Dude, I am so lost right now. I thought you were fucking dead there, too. Did you ever find Gary?”
“No. I found someone else. Let’s get out of here.” Mike cracked open his last beer, and foam exploded everywhere. He chugged the warm lager and threw the can down. “Hold up, Kyle. This way.” Mike pointed to the right.
Thirty minutes later, Kyle and Mike walked out of Houlihan’s Square. Kyle’s dented and rusted 1984 Ford F-150 had never looked so sweet. The two young men jumped in the pickup truck.
Kyle searched his pockets for his keys. “What happened back there?”
Mike didn’t want to answer the question. He shook his head and closed his eyes, trying to mentally scrub the ugly memories. Kyle turned the ignition, and a slow, stubborn rumble finally started to rev into life. A cascade of relief washed over Mike. He opened his eyes and looked in the side view mirror.
The Stanton-Hurst train whistle blared like an angry army of boiling tea kettles. Mike Merlino’s crusty, bloodshot eyes opened and focused on the naked woman sleeping next to him. Who was this girl and when was she leaving? He also wanted to know how she could sleep as the thundering train rattled the loose plasterboard walls of the tiny apartment.
The veins in his temples pulsated and a cold sensation settled in his stomach. The frosty feeling normally set in soon after waking up. He tried to make it to the bathroom only to collapse to his knees and hover over a black plastic wastebasket.
He wrapped both arms around the circular basket and threw up on the crumpled papers that detailed his medical diagnosis and treatment options. He set the basket down and used the rim to brace himself.
He made it back to his feet and took a few wobbly steps to get inside the bathroom. He grabbed both sides of the yellowing porcelain sink to steady his dizzying head after standing up too fast.
He lifted his head and the mirror reflected an image of a gruesome face covered in brown fur, matted by thick, dried black blood in several areas, and two long fangs reminiscent of a saber-tooth tiger. The sides of the beast’s mouth had frothy yellow deposits and the eyes were two
lumps of burning coal surrounded by mysterious darkness.
Mike’s heart pumped out of control and panic-stricken blood snaked through his veins and arteries. He closed his eyes and slapped his cheek four times. What happened last night?
He hesitantly opened his eyes.
This reflection showed a deep burgundy visage save his dilated pupils, their cerulean surroundings and his short golden hair. Even through the heavy film of dirt and dust on the mirror, the blue irises screamed of naivety, ignorant albeit, but an innocence none the less.
Everything Mike knew about life, which was almost nothing, he had learned from his mother before she had died when he was ten. After her death, he had never really paid attention in school, thinking that was only for nerds.
He closed his eyes and tried to piece together the night before. Strained memories flashed in and out like unevenly flipping through a stack of faded Polaroid photographs.
The Greystone Graveyard Gates
A Headstone-Can’t make out the name
Same Headstone-Crashing and breaking
Running
Someone’s Running in the woods
Mike’s Running
A Party
Kissing the girl in his bed
Scared
Screaming
Someone was Terrified
A Face was coming into focus
It’s Mike
He opened his eyes and wanted to know why he felt the overwhelming urge to punch the mirror. In his haze, he had forgotten about the important matter at hand. He tiptoed back into the bedroom of the tiny apartment and smiled in response to the sound of light snoring.
He searched around the filthy brown carpet covered in dirty clothes, empty potato chip bags, used paper plates and beer cans. He spotted his lady friend’s purse and traversed the trash heap covering most of the floor with the silence of a seasoned cat burglar.
He unzipped the handbag at a torturously slow pace, especially for someone as hungover as he was. He tried to stay focused on the purse and the girl on his mattress at the same time. He got it open and riffled through some tampons, berets, a plastic baggie with cheese curls, a set of keys and a cell phone before locating the wallet.
He peeked over and made sure she was still sleeping. He felt grimy as he gently pinched the gold clasp to open the black leather wallet. He snatched the cash between his index and middle fingers and tugged the folded bills out of their slot.
He tucked the small stack into the band of his boxers and kept looking for that piece of plastic. There it was. There’s the car she had used to pay for Mike’s beers and shots last night. He remembered that.
He put the wallet back in the red purse and a rush of guilt coursed through his head. His feet pounded the floor as he walked quickly toward the kitchen. He stashed the cash and card on the counter.
He slammed the loaf of Wonder Bread on the uneven table and struggled with the twist tie. He had to really focus to get the tie off. He opened the plastic bag and released a formidable yeasty smell that wafted through the musty kitchenette.
Flies circled around the overfilled sink of dirty dishes as he pulled two slices from the bread bag. He tore one piece in half and squeezed it into a ball while searching for something to drink. The tap water came out yellowish brown and smelled like rotten eggs so his hunt continued.
He found a dented can of Silver Star Beer on the counter. He picked up the can and noticed a little weight to it. He shook the liquid from side to side and jammed the ball of bread into his mouth. He took a swig of the sour lager that had been opened three days ago and chewed up the doughy mixture.
Mike gagged as he forced himself to choke down the sustenance. An instant sheen of sweat covered his upper body and his tear ducts emptied onto his scarlet face. He went to rip off another piece until he noticed the bluish-green mold on the crust.
He sloppily tore away the infected area with the same precision as an unlicensed doctor on acid. He finished his sourdough meal, fought away the urge to vomit and went back to his shoe-box of a bedroom. His guest was still sleeping on his nasty, never cleaned mattress that didn’t have a box-spring for support.
He threw on a pair of stained, torn and stinking khaki shorts. He leaned over and missed on his first two attempts to grab a shirt, almost falling over until he finally swiped a shirt from the floor and stood back up. The red T-shirt had peeling white lettering on the front that could barely be made out.
Merch Auto Service
Pungent body odor emanated from the tight shirt and Mike wished he had a better alternative before sliding it on. He closed his eyes as the soft cotton went over his head and a memory from last night jumped in.
He pulled the shirt down and wanted to open his eyes but they wouldn’t cooperate.
There wasn’t a series of pictures this time.
Only
One
Still
Frame
That red-stained mouth.
Those teeth.
What were those red stains?
He forced his eyes open and stumbled back into the kitchenette. He finished the floater on the counter and tried to chase away the nasty image. He couldn’t wait to talk to Kyle about last night.
Mike Vaughn struggled to quietly open the dilapidated door to his humble abode. He got frustrated and had to kick it open. He stepped out into the searing heat after, all in all, a typical start to the day. He threw on an old pair of black sunglasses and walked toward the woods behind his apartment.
“Whoa, slow down there, sailor,” a soothing, yet high-pitched female voice rang in his ears.
“Sailor? What the?” Mike stopped near the tree line and turned around. He rubbed his eyes under his scratched lenses.
A female dwarf who looked like a strange Disney princess stood in front of Mike’s apartment. A sparkling purple dress hugged her thick curves and tapered out around her hips. The bottom of the dress skimmed the ground as she took a few steps closer. Fierce blue eyes studied Mike like a student preparing for a final exam.
She emitted an aura of enchantment and seemed to have been dipped in stardust. The woman had long, thick braids that alternated from platinum blond to black and hung to her midsection. They looked like ornately chiseled columns of ivory and obsidian.
She spoke in an British accent. “Sorry, just a figure of speech. I need to talk to you.”
Mike scanned the area. “I must be seein’ stuff. What did I do last night?”
Her angelic voice rang out. “I could tell you all about it. I’m here to help you.”
Mike lowered his voice. “If you want to help, you would shut the hell up so you don’t wake that girl up in my place.”
She peeked over her shoulder toward Mike’s apartment. “Don’t worry about her. She is still snoring. I can hear her from here.”
Mike tried to shake his head and shed the confusion, but the fair fleshed dwarf with rosy red cheeks and pointed ears remained in front of him. When that didn’t work, he turned and entered the woods, swatting some branches of a big bush to the side. He walked about twenty feet, pushed his sunglasses on top of his head, and spun around to face her.
The dwarf scurried around the wide trunk of an oak tree, her heels sounding like pounding horse hooves as she approached Mike.
A smile that would’ve warmed the heart of a murderer spread across the woman’s glistening purple lips. She didn’t have wrinkles but her calming face resembled that of a loving grandmother. The sun strained its golden rays to poke through the camouflaged canopy above, adding an argent shine to her flesh.
“Stop right there, you weirdo. What do you want from me?” Mike asked.
She stopped creeping closer. “I want to help you. My appearance may be strange, but that doesn’t change the fact that you have greatness within you. I’ve been sent to bring it out.”
Mike chuckled, unamused. “You seen my place back there, didn’t you? The only thing I’m headed for is an unmarked grave. Save your spit lady, or wha
tever you are.” Mike turned around and started walking away again.
Without slowing down, he grabbed the joint from behind his ear and put the skinny end between his lips, then patted his pockets for a lighter or matches. “Damn it.”
He didn’t want to go back to his apartment and risk waking up the girl, but his bones were really hurting. He doubled back.
The dwarf held her right hand high with her index finger extended. She closed her eyes and blew a stream of pink dust from her mouth that danced in the air before rushing to her extended fingertip.
The pink glow turned blue, then red, before a steady orange flame sprouted from her fingertip. She looked like a miniature Statue of Liberty as she opened her eyes. “Need a light?”
Mike took seven skeptical steps toward her and leaned down with the joint in his mouth. The dwarf lowered her finger gradually, forcing Mike to lean down lower. He stood up in disgust and ripped the joint from his mouth. “Come on. Quit playin’ with me.”
The woman’s low-pitched, snickering laugh finally died out, and she put on a serious face. “You’re right. I know you need it for those aching bones.”
Mike leaned in and she allowed him to light the joint. He noticed tattoos on the backs of her hands. One said FAB, and the other said FOUR. He cocked his head to the side. “How the hell you know that anyhow?”
She blew out the flame and held the same index finger over her lips, touching the bottom of her nose. “I know everything.”
Mike’s eyes widened as he tried to figure out if this was real. “I still don’t know what the hell you are, but thanks for the light.”
She said, “I’m Alayna. I’m a faerie. Sent to awaken your blood.”
It was quickly shaping up to be one of the strangest mornings ever as Mike’s pocket buzzed. He pulled out his phone and smirked. The call was coming from the Prince’s Mountain Police.
Mike shook his head and slid the phone back into his pocket. He extended the joint, pinched between his middle finger and thumb, toward Alayna.
Graveyard Uprisings (Bloodline Awakened Supernatural Thriller Series Book 2) Page 20
