by Jack Castle
Screw this. Jeb and I need back up. Hank knew if he could just make it back to the vehicle, he could call for reinforcements and come back with more people and more light.
But before he could take a step for the exit, Jack-o-lantern came lunging out of the darkened interior and barreled into him in a full-on tackle. Hank turned and managed to crank off a round but the shot went high as Jack-o’-Lantern dived under his aim and wrapped his arms around Hank’s midsection like a wrestler. Backpedaling, Hank turned his head over his shoulder and glimpsed where they were headed.
Oh God, no. Not there!
Both men stumbled backwards into the pool.
Hank squeezed his eyes shut as he was immediately enveloped by darkness and excrement. Beneath the surface he smacked his head on the bottom of the pool. The sludge penetrated his ears, and nose, and felt vile on his skin.
His gun long gone, he clawed for the surface. What he hoped was the surface. Treading water, he coughed and sputtered, the stench everywhere He swiped a hand across his eyes, risking a look, finding it hard to focus.
The morning light had penetrated more of the pool’s water. Hank scanned the surface, frantically searching for his attacker. He was certain they’d both gone into the pool.
Not finding anyone, Hank swam for the shallow end. Putting his feet down, he spit and blew his nose. As nervous as he was about being attacked from behind, he made for the stairs. If there was any justice in the world, Jack-o’-lantern hit his head at the bottom of the pool and would stay there until a hazmat dive team retrieved his dead naked corpse.
Hank’s hand was inches from the railing when Jack-O exploded out of the water behind him. A slimy, slippery arm coiled around his throat like a boa constrictor.
I am done fooling around with this guy.
With tremendous force Hank elbowed his attacker in the face. Opponent dazed, Hank was able to slip out of the headlock. Jack-o-lantern fell back beneath the muck.
Hank turned, his fists balled. The next time Jack-o’-lantern surfaced, he would strike to kill.
A minute passed. And then another. No sign of his attacker. He began backing up toward the stairs. When his foot hit the bottom stair he slipped and fell backward onto them. He recovered quickly, checked the surface one last time, turned, and ran.
Wiping the human filth from his eyes with the palms of his shaking hands, he staggered for the exit. He didn’t remember seeing the head on the floor through his blurred vision, but he was pretty sure he felt it staring at him as he clumsily negotiated the doorway.
Arriving to Jeb’s SUV on shaky legs, he noted the sun had leapt from the mountaintops and into the sky. Shock was beginning to set in and Hank’s hand slipped off the door handle of the patrol vehicle on the first try. After getting the door open on the second try he collapsed on his chest and belly onto the front seat and reached for the radio’s microphone.
What the hell do I say?
“10-33, 10-33,” he stated. Code for an officer needing emergency assistance. Realizing the local dispatcher probably wasn’t even aware they even had ten codes, he added, “Officer down, Officer down. Requesting EMS and immediate back up! We’re up at the Rakewell building at the uh … southwest entrance.”
Without intending too, Hank slipped off the seat, painfully onto the floorboards, and back out the door.
After everything he had been through, and the shock settling in, his body told him to stay down and wait for reinforcements.
His brain was a different matter.
Got to get back in there and warn Jeb.
Hank doubted the lunatic who tackled him was anywhere other than at the bottom of the pool but he wasn’t about to take any chances. Plus, there might be more nutjobs inside. With the way his day was going there would have to be.
Hank knew the revolver was somewhere at the bottom of the pool along with his flashlight. He’d need both gun and light if he was going to go back inside and do Jeb any good.
He crawled back into the patrol car and reached for the standard issue shotgun that would be between the seats. The gun rack was locked and Jeb had the keys. No other firearms were forthcoming.
What about light? They had taken both flashlights. Hank popped the trunk and found a box of flares. Perfect. He could not only use the flares for light but he could also leave a trail for the paramedics to follow when they arrived.
He gathered up an armload of flares and headed for the Rakewell behemoth once more.
He didn’t get far.
Jeb was standing at the entrance. His grim demeanor told Hank that Wanda had expired.
Scrunching his nose, Jeb asked, “What the hell happened to you?”
Hank braced an arm against the front hood.
As sirens began wailing from down the mountain, Jeb peered inside his vehicle. “Awww, man. You didn’t get that crap all over my ride did you?”
Chapter 9
The Harbor
The town of HavenPort came into view.
As the ferry motored towards the harbor, Emma could see the town was nestled on a flat track of land between the mountains and the bay. As the boat drew closer she saw a pot-bellied fisherman wearing a cap and turtle neck waddling along a boardwalk that ran in front of a delightful variety of shops and charming sea side cafes.
Next, the boat passed a beautiful log home with big windows and a wooden deck overlooking the bay. Two small children, one a handsome little boy with dark wavy hair, the other a cute little girl who had to be about five years old, were standing out on the deck and waving to them energetically. The boat captain must’ve seen them, too, for he gave the boat horn a long call which delighted the children.
“Hi,” Emma shouted, waving back. She doubted the kids could hear her but they surprised her when the little girl yelled hi back.
Turning to Horatio, Emma remarked, “Cute kids. Do you know them?”
“Nope,” Horatio said, squinting again. “I heard the new sheriff bought the house, but I haven’t met him or his family yet.” Horatio stared at his feet then asked, “Do you have a place to stay yet?”
Emma was about to answer no but then a memory flashed inside her head as though it had been typed there.
“The Land’s End Bed and Breakfast Hotel,” she answered, almost robotically. That’s right. She had called ahead and had a furnished room waiting for her. Didn’t she?
Well it doesn’t matter, first things first, as soon as we dock; I have to pee.
The ferry docked in the harbor to a few curious onlookers and a class of kayakers paddling out of a nearby cove.
Emma heard herself sigh and said, “Well, I should probably grab my car and be going.”
He stood there with his hands in his pockets, smiling at her easily. “I’m sure I’ll see you around town.”
Emma nodded back and, like everyone else on board, retreated to her vehicle below decks to await departure.
After driving her car down the steel ramps and off the ferry, Emma drove only a short distance before parking in front of a building marked, HavenPort Harbor Restroom. The small structure had green sheet metal roofing with a sturdy wood A-frame and faded paint.
As soon as Emma stepped out of her car she immediately felt better. It was good to be off the boat. A cool breeze rolled off the water and she just stood there for a few seconds soaking up the small seaside town.
She took a step towards the bathroom and was suddenly gripped by inexplicable fear. She couldn’t put her finger on it but she felt like a deer in a hunter’s scope. Emma scanned the parking lot. No one appeared to be around and even the sounds of the happy little town drifted away.
Any port in a storm I suppose. It’s either here or on the ground in front of everyone. Hi everyone, my name’s Emma. Just rolled into town. Scuse’ me while I drop my drawers and take a pee.
She took another step towards the
bathroom. You big baby, what are you afraid of? You’re in the middle of downtown main street USA bustling with people. You lived in New York City for years for heaven’s sake.
Honk-honk!
Emma flinched as Horatio drove by in his pickup truck and gave her a little wave. Angry at being startled, she half-heartedly smiled and waved back.
Her bladder abruptly reminded her of the task at hand.
The interior of the restroom was dimly lit with only one light bulb. Old fashioned wooden stalls lined one wall and the door creaked when she opened one. Pleasantly surprised, the stall was clean and there was about a half roll of toilet paper.
Her bladder must’ve recognized where she was because her urgency meter kicked it up to another level. So much so she barely had time to spin around, unfasten her belt and pants, and drop unceremoniously onto the commode.
She was grateful no unwanted moisture on the seat greeted her buttocks.
Feeling less than graceful she muttered, “Dancer I are.”
It took a second for her muscles to finally unclench but when they did she could have doused a small forest fire.
I bet it was all that coffee I drank on the ferry this morning.
CREAK.
Emma froze. Someone had entered the bathroom. She thought it odd that out of the half dozen stalls to choose from they choose the one right next to hers.
Maybe she doesn’t realize I’m here, Emma thought, but she doubted it after her thunderous water works.
As Emma was reaching for some toilet paper she heard the woman in the next stall breathing. Now she was certain there wasn’t any scientific evidence to support this, but she would swear that the breathing wasn’t female.
It was coming from a man. And it was increasing in pitch and intensity.
This is just great.
As Emma reached for one more handful of toilet paper she could see the woman’s shoes.
They weren’t woman’s shoes. They were a man’s. Odd looking things too; made out of burlap sacks?
Terrific. I’m not in town ten minutes and some drunk fisherman stumbles mistakenly into the ladies room and is now relieving himself loudly in the stall right next to mine. I’ll be sure to mention that in the postcard to Mee-Maw.
As Emma recoiled in disgust she noticed a small circular hole in the wall between them. It was about the size of a silver dollar. Why hadn’t she noticed the hole when she had first entered the stall? For a second, she could see light coming through the hole but then it was blocked.
Had the guy blocked up the hole?
Emma wasn’t the peeping-Tom sort. Okay, she was a little snoopy-poopy at times, but regardless, her curiosity got the better of her, and she leaned forward and peered through the hole.
To her surprise, an eye was staring back at her. And not just any eye. But the same kind of eye she had seen earlier on the salmon shark. Black and soulless.
The drunk fisherman started breathing even faster. God. Her seeing him must have excited him in some sick way.
Emma quickly took her handful of toilet paper, crumpled it up into a ball, and after a moment of hesitation, stuffed it inside the hole. It was only there for a second before it was abruptly pulled through from the other side.
The drunk fisherman’s breathing became deafening now. IN and OUT, IN and OUT.
Emma didn’t cry out but she wanted to. Thankfully, she didn’t just freeze up and sit there either. She jumped to her feet, yanked up her drawers, grabbed her purse, and bolted from the stall.
The heavy breathing stopped the instant she exited the stall.
At first, like a slow moving train leaving the station, she shuffled past the drunk fisherman’s closed stall, then headed for the door, building up speed.
Emma put her hand on the exit’s door handle and made the mistake of glancing back over her shoulder.
The door to the drunk fisherman’s stall slammed violently open.
As much as she wanted to close her eyes or at least change the damn channel, she just couldn’t drag her eyes away.
And for a moment, nothing happened.
Then the drunk fisherman, if that was what he indeed was, wearing the burlap shoes and sporting black-soulless eyes, launched out of the stall with one mighty leap.
As it turned out, he wasn’t a drunk fisherman.
It was the exact same scarecrow she had seen in the wheat fields on Mee-Maw’s farm.
The blinding fear a deer must feel when a hunter takes a shot is what danced up and down Emma’s spine. And just as a deer might spring into action Emma yanked open the door with all her might and scrambled outside into the blessed sunlight. She didn’t stop moving until she reached her car door.
She rifled through her pockets and pulled out her keys. She fumbled for the door key like an idiot girl in those horror movies and of course she had an equal amount of trouble unlocking the door. At last she jumped behind the wheel and slammed the door closed. She noted thankfully that Mr. Scarecrow had not exited the building behind her. Despite this, she slammed the door locks shut with her fist before starting the engine.
Still trembling, she started the car without the cliché problems that plagued horror movie automobiles. Thank goodness for small mercies?
The gears ground in reverse and she got the hell out of there.
She glanced in the rearview mirror, half expecting Mr. Scarecrow to be in the back seat. He wasn’t. And she was pretty sure she hadn’t seen him exit the bathroom.
She turned back to the road and swerved as she realized he was sitting in the seat beside her.
Emma could only scream.
Chapter 10
Latitude 61
When the volunteer HavenPort firefighters arrived, two men and one woman exited the ambulance and dashed for the building with orange cases and a backboard. Jeb led the way.
“Not you,” a fourth paramedic shouted to Hank. It was a middle-aged, short, cherubic woman in a hastily thrown on jacket. The shoulder patch read HavenPort Volunteer Fire Dept. She motioned for Hank to join her at the back of the rescue vehicle.
When she yanked opened the rear of the ambulance Hank saw his reflection in a hard-shelled mirror hanging on the back of the door. His entire body, face and clothes were covered in grunge. An image of the creepy naked guy flashed across his mind, and for a moment he imagined he was standing right behind him with that jack-o-lantern grin of his, but when Hank spun around only the paramedic was there.
“You hurt? Did that crazy lady cut you anywhere?” the paramedic asked as she ineptly slipped on a pair of plastic gloves.
Hank recognized her Michigan accent immediately. “You’re the dispatcher on the microphone.”
“That’s me, dispatcher, gift shop owner, caribou wrangler, and volunteer fire-fighter. Ophelia Pierce but everyone call me Ophy.” She wrinkled her small nose at the smell of his clothes. “Forgive me if we don’t shake hands.”
Hank nodded in complete understanding.
At this, Ophy flashed a broad smile on her wide, rosy-cheeked face.
Hank liked her immediately and said, “I don’t think I’m cut anywhere.”
“Well, let’s get you cleaned up then, sheriff. I must say, you certainly had one hell of a first day.”
Ophy was obviously new to the job and the sight of excrement all over his body was making her queasy but Hank had to give her credit; she pushed through it. “You’re in luck, Anchorage Fire Department was doing mudflat rescue exercises up the road and they’re en route. They should be here in about another ten minutes.”
Halfheartedly, Hank replied, “Yeah, aren’t I the lucky guy.”
*****
Forty-five minutes later, Hank sat on the back of the ambulance in a fresh pair of tight-fitting scrubs and white tennies on loan from one of the volunteer paramedics who happened to be his size.
The Rakewell building was now filled with State Troopers, Anchorage Fire Department, and HavenPort volunteer firefighters. Wanda’s body had already been carted away to eventually end up at the Anchorage morgue forty-five miles north.
A young and smiling firefighter stepped in front of him wearing a thin hazmat suit over his turnout gear. “G. Wahlman” was stitched on the outside of his jacket. It was one of the firefighters from Anchorage who happened to be training nearby. He was holding a trash bag with Hank’s soiled clothes.
“Don’t worry, Sheriff. We’ll test your clothes for any hazmat and get back to you with the results. In the meantime I’d recommend you see your doc and get tested for every disease known to man.”
Hank nodded and said, “I appreciate you guys coming down.”
“Are you kidding?” the young firefighter asked. He took a quick glance over his shoulder at the Rakewell building. Hiking a thumb in its direction he added, “And miss a chance to explore Latitude 61?”
Hank’s brow furrowed. “I’m not following you.”
The firefighter looked at Ophy for support but clearly she didn’t approve of the subject matter. This didn’t dissuade the young fireman’s enthusiasm in the least. “You never heard of Latitude 61? Why do you think the military built this base in the first place?” Not waiting for a response he answered, “The secret experiments on alien artifacts. Area 51? The chamber beneath the Sphinx? All the alien artifacts ever collected were brought here for testing. Everybody knows it but no one ever talks about it.”
“They don’t talk about it because it isn’t true.” Ophy grumped. “The military built the Rakewell building as a supply depot because it’s an ice free port and connected to the railroad, and nothing more. They call it Latitude 61 because that’s its exact latitude.”
