A sound…what was that?
Jimmy stopped in his tracks for a moment, trying to make out the strange sounds that had suddenly reached his ears. They were there one moment, gone the next, as a brisk wind continued to flow through the bottom of the ravine. Dead leaves, the stragglers from a long gone autumn, clung to many trees in the ravine and fluttered in the breeze. Could those have been the sounds he’d heard?
Taking another step, he heard it again, a tearing, a ripping…what in the hell could it be?
Jimmy dropped to his knees in the snow and ice covering the ravine’s bottom, trying hard to listen for the sounds playing across his ears along the wind. Were there mountain lions in this part of Kentucky? He couldn’t remember…Paulie had assured all of them that there would be no danger during this hike…how funny was that now?
The sounds came again, ripping, tearing…almost like…eating! Jimmy thought, NO, and felt a rage well up inside him. If there was a mountain lion or some wolves, maybe wild dogs, feasting on his friends he would chase them away and stand guard near their bodies all night if necessary.
His brisk pace soon turned to running, his feet tripping over exposed roots peeking up out of the snow, and slipping on icy patches lining the bottom of the ravine. He ran wildly, his breath clouding out in huge bursts ahead of him, as he swatted at branches and twigs that barred his way. His face had been cut once or twice, he knew, but didn’t care. He continued to run, working the cold from his bones, working the rage into his heart. He would not allow his friends to become food for wild animals.
He followed the remnants of his footprints as they lay ragged in the snow of the ravine, skirting around trees, leaping over snow-covered rotted logs. He couldn’t believe that he’d come this far when first running away from the scene of the disaster earlier in the day.
As he ran, the sounds of slurping and gulping became louder, his legs pumping him ever forward. There was no stray breath left in his lungs to be used for a shout toward the nocturnal predators, whatever they turned out to be. He saved it all for the running.
More brambles stabbed at his face, tore along his neck as he swept past, but he wasn’t aware of them. Blood trickled down his chin as he continued to run through the darkness and the snow. The shadows of the twisted trees swaying briskly in the cold wind played tricks on his mind. He saw things there in the darkness created by the angles in the snow that he knew could not be, should not be, and so he shoved them aside, telling his brain to ignore them.
He quickly approached the site of the fall and the unmistakable sounds of eating were now clearer than ever. Jimmy stumbled over something and fell hard to the snow. Looking back, he thought it was a small pale hand peeking out of the cuff of a torn off jacket sleeve but that was nonsense so he convinced himself to get back up and continue running. Within another thirty feet or so he saw something that looked like a boot-clad foot and sock sticking out of a thick pant leg but convinced himself to ignore this as well. There was no way that pieces of his friends could have gotten this far away from the bottom of the ridge…was there?
Another lump showed itself in his path and this time Jimmy hesitated, pulling up short and slipping in the snow. As he slid toward the thing that his mind did not want to recognize, he felt what little contents that were left in his stomach rising up in his throat.
Lying there, almost in reach, about four feet from where he came to a stop was a roundish ragged thing with only one eye, half a nose and covered in long red hair. The powder blue wool cap lay about six inches to the side of it and although part of the lips were missing and the jawbone was exposed, Jimmy knew…he knew…
Looking up, Jimmy felt the scream that was about to escape his throat choke off as his eyes fell on the bramble of branches and twigs that had become the final resting place of his three friends. Suddenly, and quite completely, all of the rage and adrenaline drained out of him to be replaced by a steady RUNRUNRUN drumming at the back of his brain.
Something unbelievably tall and very dark was standing upright on two thick legs and reaching up toward Tony’s body. The yellowish claws glistened with a thick wet substance that shone black in the moonlight. Another one was picking at one of Paulie’s arms and Jimmy noticed that the corpse of his friend was missing a leg.
Pamela’s body was no where in sight although several large lumps dotted the bluish snow immediately underneath the squatting tree. Tony’s eyes were still open and looking downward although most of his upper torso had been emptied out. The sucking, biting, tearing sounds were louder now. Jimmy couldn’t fight the turmoil in his stomach anymore as the…things continued to eat his friends and he turned to one side and retched. The sound was like a bark in the night and both of the creatures, immense as they were, turned to look in his direction.
Those eyes…Jimmy couldn’t believe the pure evil that he saw shining in those eyes. These were not mountain lions, they were no wolves or wild dogs…these were…were…
Jimmy turned and ran, as fast as his legs could carry him. The terror that threatened to overwhelm him was worse than the experience that he’d had earlier, right after the fall. He found that he could hardly breathe as the thumping of his heart filled his head. This could not be, it just couldn’t, he knew it…yet, he’d seen them with his own eyes.
A prolonged growl, loud and clear, filled the night from somewhere behind him and he could hear heavy thumping sounds in his wake. No, no, no…he said to himself over and over, not using his voice, only his mind…no, no, no…
Jimmy ran and ran, managing not to fall or trip, managing to pass what looked like a bit of a leg and what looked like a part of an arm, both still clothed, without faltering. His sense of self-preservation had kicked in hard and he’d never known himself to be able to run this fast.
Unfortunately, from the sounds growing louder behind him, it wouldn’t be fast enough. As new tears streamed forth from his eyes and froze to his cheeks, Jimmy Chase ran as fast as his legs could carry him and dared not look back. He nearly stumbled once as he swore he heard the word, “fresh…” riding along the crisp night wind but his mind told him how ridiculous it was to think that those…things back there could speak English or any language for that matter. When he heard it again, though, closer this time, clearer…he did trip, landing in a heap and rolling head over heels before ending up on his back. Trying to shake away the fuzziness in his head, Jimmy managed to open his eyes just in time to feel a heavy breath wash over his face. The stink was like nothing he had ever smelled before, a fetid odor of rot and decay, making him wish to high heaven that he’d never listened to Paulie, never agreed to come out here to frigging Lynch, Kentucky.
Then he realized that he was seeing nothing but black and shook his head again to clear it. Something strong and incredibly fast grabbed his face then, forcing his neck to stop moving, and he felt a sharp sting as a single claw broke through the skin of his cheek to scrape across bone.
The word, “fresh…” reached his ears again, only this time it was breathed ever so slowly over his face, and he finally managed to force out that scream. The blackness he faced was the open mouth of whatever had him in its grasp. Two great yellow stained teeth came into view near the top and lowered until he could see the thing’s eyes in the moonlight, piercing his. Vertical pupils surrounded by amber irises, eyeballs as large as his fist, sat in a huge dark head that looked like nothing he had ever seen before.
A low chuckling began to sound then, echoing softly into the coldness of the night, and Jimmy Chase felt a deep hatred of the state of Kentucky and that idiot Paulie rising within. When he tried to scream again, with blood trickling into his open mouth from the claw still impaling his cheek and the stink of what his bowels had let loose reaching his nose, an all encompassing blackness took hold of Jimmy Chase…and never let go.
THE END
THE OLD BRICK CHURCH ROAD by Shawn P. Madison
Jason Kittlehorn hated it when Kevin got like this, when he just went crazy and was flying of
f the deep end. It was freaking scary and it made Jason want to crawl down as deep as he could into the darkness that was his safe haven.
Kevin was howling with a terrifying mix of anger and glee, his knuckles were white on the small steering wheel of the old Dodge Dart, creating a stark contrast against the cracked cream vinyl coating.
The car was barreling down the road, doing better than ninety according to the speedometer, but Kevin just wouldn’t quit. It was at times like this, right after Kevin had gotten his fill, that Jason felt the most scared.
Horrified was a better way to describe it, actually. Jason was shivering in fear and could do nothing but let Kevin have his way until his current state of rage slowly seeped away. How long that would take…Jason didn’t know. He never knew.
All Jason did know was that the blood, all that blood, was still smeared around in the back seat of the Dart. Blood, deep and red, and bits of other stuff were still floating around in the foot-wells back there, the stink of it was everywhere and the wind blowing in from the open windows wasn’t enough to beat it back.
One more quick glance back there and Jason felt like he was gonna lose his lunch. Gonna lose it, yes indeed!
The blade was still back there, too, still lying against the blood splattered seats back there. Still sticky with the blood of those poor children as the Dart raced down the Old Brick Church Road, doing better than a hundred by then. Looking at the battered exterior of the old car, no one would have believed that the vehicle was capable of such speeds. But that was one of Jason’s favorite pastimes, fixing up old cars, fine-tuning the engines, modifying the whole until what used to be just a used up old hunk of junk turned into something that could quickly become King of the Road.
And then, without fail, Kevin would come along and want to take one of Jason’s masterpieces out for a ride. Just a quick ride, is what he’d say. Is what he always said. And it always ended up the same. With blood, lots of blood, and Jason watching horrified as whichever car it was went careening down the Old Brick Church Road with Kevin howling in manic rage all the way.
This was the sixth or seventh time, Jason couldn’t remember exactly. Kevin had been coming around for about two years now, at least Jason thought two years sounded right. He couldn’t really say for sure but it didn’t matter in the long run.
What did matter was Kevin’s knack for getting into trouble. His love of carving up little kids as they squealed for their mommas, his talent for making them last although so much blood, all that blood, had poured out of them.
Jason didn’t know how he stood it, time and time again, but he did. Without fail. He always stood for it when Kevin got this way. Perhaps it was the fear, the absolute terror, of what Kevin might do to him if he were to somehow rail against the killing. Kevin’s killing…
It just never seemed to end. These last two…brother and sister…probably twins, about six years old. Why did they always follow Kevin? Why did they not see the monster behind those eyes? Why did they always just let him take their hands and lead them away? Why not just turn and run? It would be so easy…just break into a sprint and leave Kevin far behind. But it never happened that way. It was just so cruel, so senseless…but not to Kevin.
Jason screamed for Kevin to stop the car, shouted at the top of his lungs, something that actually took Kevin by surprise…at least for a second, but Kevin just kept on hollering! Screaming out the windows, almost daring someone to look up and take notice, see the blood, the blade, the…other stuff leftover from the killings.
Kevin took a moment from his howling and yelled at Jason to shut the hell up, the vehemence behind the words forcing Jason to quiet down. The Dart continued to race along the Old Brick Church Road, changing lanes without signals, swerving from lane to lane.
There was only one lane going each way with a single dotted yellow line in between going down this stretch of blacktop. In many places, the pavement was cracked, a good many weeds growing through, and the old shocks of the Dart were being pounded as the car raced down the road.
Nothing for miles but scrap weed on each side here, only a small sign every so often telling the occasional traveler that the Old Brick Church was coming up on your right…six miles…four miles…three miles…just one mile, on your right. Visitor’s Center open Fridays and Weekends.
Kevin continued screaming and Jason felt his teeth begin to chatter. Visions of those poor kids came back to him just then, vivid and sharp, the slashing, the hacking, the blood and those poor pitiful screams. Just two young children, playing outside the car as their father went into the convenience store most likely for a pack of smokes or a six-pack of beer.
Kevin always seemed to be in the right place at the right time these days. He put on that hometown country boy grin, took those kiddies by the hand and they just followed him right into the Dart. Then it was off for ice cream and cotton candy and a date with Mack the knife…
Everything had been ok, too…for awhile. Then the girl asked about her Daddy and Kevin turned around to fix her with his evil eyes, shrieked at her to be quiet. There it was, all of sudden and with such a fury, that demon inside Kevin just came out and took over. When that happened, Jason knew, it wouldn’t be long until bye bye little kiddies and that long fast trip down the Old Brick Church Road. Always down this road…this long lonely stretch of cracked and sun-starched blacktop…
State Road forty-three in Pasanack County, Tennessee, wasn’t a highway by any means but, folks around these parts always referred to it as one. They’d tell people to take a left on to the highway, what we around here call the Old Brick Church Road on account of our one historic landmark, whenever the occasion presented itself for giving passers- through a set of directions.
But this was no highway…Jason knew. It was the one road that haunted him, day and night, waking or dreaming. The Old Brick Church Road was the home of Kevin’s killings. It was the place where little kids went to die, to scream as their bodies were sliced open by that freaking horrible knife! Where they let their life’s blood pour out into the floorboards of a car or the weed infested dirt along the side of the road or the rusted old barrels outside of the abandoned saw mill that was four miles west of the Old Brick Church.
Kids had been disappearing around here for about two years now…it started right around the time that Kevin had first come along. He had seemed all right at first, at least to Jason, but soon after he showed up the horrors began. And he always dragged Jason along with him. As if Jason also enjoyed it, also got off on slitting the throat of a four year old boy, of cutting the dress off a screaming five year old girl and letting the knife go through the fabric to pierce that young skin. As if Jason enjoyed seeing the blood splash them, both he and Kevin, as the kids died and screamed and cried.
It had to stop some time, Jason thought, but as time wore on, Kevin showed no signs of quitting. Kevin showed only signs of wanting more. More death, more blood, more little kids to cry for their mommas and beg for their lives.
Jason remembered being ridiculed back in school, back when he was as little as some of the murdered kids were. Remembered being made fun of, about his clothes, about his hair, about his shoes or the galoshes his mom made him wear whenever it snowed outside. Later on, as a teenager, the kids had needled him about his last name, calling him Jason Kettle-Corn and calling him a screwed up pervert freak! Jason hated those kids, he hated the younger ones who used to tease him, too! He hated them all, hated them as much as he hated his Dad for locking him in the closet as punishment for hours on end. For pulling out his fingernails with a pair of pliers and screaming at him that it was his fault and to take his punishment like a man. For making him feel worse than he felt when those bastard kids used to make fun of him in school.
He hated all of them, all of them…and that might be why he allowed Kevin to drag him along on these hateful trips. Why he allowed Kevin to kill those children while he watched, helpless to stop him…while he stood idly by as the knife swished and blood smacked against
the walls or the ground or one of Kevin’s shoes.
The Dart was racing even faster now down the Old Brick Church Road. Jason felt the fury of the wind that tore through his hair and beat against his eyes and tried to think through the clamor of Kevin’s endless screaming rage. That endless, ceaseless screaming! The shrieks of insanity…yes, that’s what Kevin surely was…insane.
Jason realized now for the first time as the screaming bounced around inside his head that there would be no stopping Kevin. That more kids would die while he looked on helplessly unless something was done to stop Kevin’s insanity. But what could be done? What could he do? Jason didn’t know. One more quick glance back at the blood-stained vinyl seats in the back of the Dart made Jason want to wretch again. He felt the tears coming, felt them fall from his eyes but still couldn’t get Kevin’s screams the hell out of his head.
They were passing a truck now, speeding up from behind it and crossing the dotted yellow lines to the oncoming lane. It was a big tanker truck probably filled with chemicals for the plant on the other side of the Old Brick Church. As they passed it, Jason saw various identification numbers and tiny signs indicating harmful contents plastered against the rounded metal back and shiny sides. Kevin swerved a few times, acting like he was going to hit the truck and Jason yearned for that deep dark place that he usually hid in so successfully.
For some reason today, though, it wasn’t there. Not there at all. Nope, no dark places here today, boy! Just plenty of speed, plenty of wind and plenty of room ahead on the Old Brick Church Road.
Jason saw the confused expression on the face of the truck driver as the Dart gained on the rig, saw the confusion turn to terror as the man’s eyes found the back seat covered in deep dark red. He saw the man’s lower lip begin to tremble, saw him reach over for the CB radio. He saw all this and realized that Kevin had no clue what was going on, that Kevin was lost in his screaming rage, that he knew nothing but the gas pedal, the cracked vinyl steering wheel and the bumpy surface of the Old Brick Church Road.
9 Tales Told in the Dark 5 Page 10
