Occasional Demons

by Rick Hautala

  OCCASIONAL DEMONS

  By Rick Hautala

  Digital Edition published by Crossroad Press

  Copyright 2012 / Rick Hautala

  Copy-edited by: Kurt M. Criscione

  Cover design by: David Dodd

  Interior illustrations and cover image courtesy of Glenn Chadbourne

  LICENSE NOTES

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to the vendor of your choice and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Meet the Author

  Under his own name, Rick Hautala has written close to thirty novels, including the million-copy best seller Nightstone, as well as Winter Wake, The Mountain King, and Little Brothers. He has published two short story collections: Bedbugs and Occasional Demons. He has had over sixty short stories published in a variety of national and international anthologies and magazines.

  Writing as A. J. Matthews, his novels include the bestsellers The White Room, Looking Glass, Follow, and Unbroken.

  His forthcoming books from Cemetery Dance Publications include Indian Summer, a new “Little Brothers“ novella, as well as two novels, Chills and Waiting. He recently sold The Star Road, a science fiction novel co-written with Matthew Costello, to Brendan Deneen at Thomas Dunne/St. Martin’s and Glimpses: The Best Short Stories of Rick Hautala, to Dark Regions Press.

  With Mark Steensland, he has written several short films, included the multiple award winning Peekers, based on the short story by Kealan Patrick Burke; The Ugly File, based on the short story by Ed Gorman; and Lovecraft’s Pillow, inspired by a suggestion from Stephen King.

  Born and raised in Rockport, Massachusetts, Rick is a graduate of the University of Maine in Orono with a Master of Arts in English Literature. He lives in southern Maine with author Holly Newstein.

  In 2012, he was awarded the Lifetime Achievement Award from the Horror Writers’ Association.

  For more information, check out his website www.rickhautala.com.

  Book List

  Novels

  Beyond the Shroud

  Cold Whisper

  Dark Silence

  Dead Voices

  Follow

  Four Octobers

  Ghost Light

  Impulse

  Little Brothers

  Looking Glass

  Moon Death

  Moonbog

  Moonwalker

  Night Stone

  Shades of Night

  The Mountain King

  The White Room

  The Wildman

  Twilight Time

  Unbroken

  Winter Wake

  The Body of Evidence Series (co-written with Christopher Golden)

  Brain Trust

  Burning Bones

  Last Breath

  Skin Deep

  Throat Culture

  Novellas

  Cold River

  Reunion

  Story Collections

  Bedbugs

  Occasional Demons

  Untcigahunk: The Complete Little Brothers

  DISCOVER CROSSROAD PRESS

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  Connect with us on Facebook.

  PUBLICATION CREDITS

  “The Nephews,“ originally published in Lighthouse Hauntings, edited by Martin H. Greenberg, Down East Books, 2003.

  “Nightmare Transcript,“ originally published in Bad News, edited by Richard Laymon, published by CD Publications, March, 2001.

  “Non-returnable,“ originally published in Shelf Life, edited by Greg Ketter, Dream Haven Books, 2002.

  “Dead Legends,“ originally published in Shock Rock 2, edited by Jeff Gelb, Pocket Books, published in 1994.

  “I’ve Been Thinking of You,“ originally published in Terminal Fright, edited by Ken Abner, Issue #12, Summer, 1996.

  “The Man Who Looked Like Murphy,“ originally published in Obsessions, edited by Gary Raisor, published by Dark Harvest, March, 1991.

  “Toxic Shock“ originally published in The Earth Strikes Back, edited by Rich Chizmar, Mark Ziesing Books, December, 1994.

  “The Call“ appears here for the first time, copyright, 2004.

  “Getting the Job Done,“ originally published in Stalkers, edited by Ed Gorman and Martin Greenberg, published by Dark Harvest, November, 1989.

  “Every Mothers’ Son,“ originally published in Maine Impressions, Vol. 1, # 2, March 1987.

  “Knocking,“ originally published in 999, edited by Al Sarrantonio, published by Avon Books, September, 1999.

  “Hotel Hell,“ originally published in Cold Blood, edited by Rich Chizmar, Mark Ziesing Books, Publishers, 1991.

  “The Compost Heap,“ originally published in Night World, edited by Erik Winter and Lyman Feero Winter, 1991, Vol.2 #2.

  “Iron Frog“ originally published in Murders for Mother, edited by Martin Greenberg, NAL, 1994.

  “Setup,“ originally published in 100 Vicious Little Vampires, edited by Weinberg, Dziemianowicz, and Greenberg, published by Barnes and Nobel, September, 1995.

  “The Gates of Dawn,“ originally published in Changeling: The Glamour, Erin Kelly, editor, White Wolf Books, June, 1995.

  “Off the Cuff,“ originally published in Fang, edited by Michael Grotton, Volume 1, Issue #1, April, 1992.

  “The Screaming Head,“ originally published in Skull Full of Spurs, edited by Jason Boverg, published by Dark Highways Press, 2000.

  “Abduction,“ (written in collaboration with Jesse and Matti Hautala) originally published in Great Writers and Kids Write Scary Stories, edited by Jill Morgan, Robert Weinberg, and Marty Greenberg, published by Random House, October, 1995.

  “And the Sea Shall Claim Them …“ written as A. J. Matthews with Matthew Costello, edited by Martin H. Greenberg, originally published in Lighthouse Haunting, Down East Books, 2003.

  “Scared Crows,“ a HELLBOY story, written with Jim Connolly, originally published in Hellboy: The Anthology, edited by Christopher Golden and Mike Mignola, Dark Horse Publishing, January, 2000.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  SHORT STORIES

  The Nephews

  Nightmare Transcript

  Non-returnable

  Dead Legends

  I’ve Been Thinking About You

  The Man Who Looked Like Murphy

  Toxic Shock

  The Call

  Getting the Job Done

  Every Mother’s Son

  Knocking

  Hotel Hell

  The Compost Heap

  Iron Frog

  Setup

  The Gates of Dawn

  Off the Cuff

  The Screaming Head

  COLLABORATIONS

  Abduction (written with Jesse and Matti Hautala)

  And the Sea Shall Claim Them (written by Matthew J. Costello and A. J. Matthews)

  Scared Crows (written with Jim Connolly)

  BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION

  Welcome to Occasional Demons, and thanks for stopping by. Once again, as I did for Bedbugs, I considered writing full-scale introductions for each story. After seeing what my good friend Tom Monteleone went through with the introductions he did for his collection Fearful Symmetries, I decided against the idea. These stories—like the ones in Bedbugs—will have to stand, rise, or fall on their own merits.

  But I want to say just
a few words about how these stories are arranged because, unlike the previous collection, there are some different offerings this time around.

  First of all, of course, there are eighteen short stories that I’ve written over the years. They go all the way from my second published short story to the most recent story I’ve written as of today (January 8, 2004, for the record). And this is it. Other than a few unfinished pieces, this is everything I’ve written to date in the short story form. (I think this is all. Actually, I have a story listed in my notes titled “White Terror,“ and for the life of me I can’t find a copy of it or remember what that story was about. I guess the horror literary world will have to struggle on, somehow.)

  Maybe some literary masochist will take the time to check out the publication credits and read the stories in the order in which they were written. They might even detect an evolution—(or maybe a devolution)—in my writing. Who knows? I certainly don’t. Like John Prine’s song Dear Abby, “They are what they are, and they ain’t what they ain’t.“

  But I wrote them; they were published; and I revised them all to one degree or another for this collection. And now here they are, remaining warts and all. But before you dive in, there are two other sections that need a word or two of explanation.

  Finally, there is the section titled “Collaborations.“ This contains three stories I wrote with other writers. “Abduction,“ which I wrote with two of my sons, means a lot to me simply because we had so much fun brainstorming ideas for it. The funniest part of that whole process was when the editors deleted a section of the story that Matti had come up with. They deemed it “inappropriate“ for young children to read. Ironically, Matti was ten years old when he came up with the plot turn that was cut. It was a good lesson on the difference between what adults thinks children can handle and what children really can handle.

  The section also includes “And the Sea Shall Claim Them,“ a story my good friend Matt Costello wrote and published with this guy named “A. J. Matthews.“ I understand there’s a certain New York publisher who claims that this is my pseudonym. That may be true. I can’t be sure about that...

  Concluding the collection is the story “Scared Crows,“ something a friend and I cooked up for the Hellboy anthology Chris Golden edited. I want to offer a special thank you to Mike Mignola for letting us play in his world and for allowing me to reprint the story here. It was a fun one that, I hope, retains the spirit of Hellboy.

  So that’s about it. I hope you enjoy this collection as much as you enjoyed Bedbugs. One last thing—the most important thing. I know this book—like Bedbugs from CD Publications—wouldn’t be what it is without the absolutely amazing contribution of my good friend Glenn Chadbourne. Glenn brings a twisted life to all of his illustrations, and the ones he’s done for this collection truly enhance each and every story. And that’s why I’m dedicating this book—

  To Glenn Chadbourne

  Thank you, Glenn, for years of true friendship and great artwork!

  SHORT STORIES

  The Nephews

  Just like every other Friday night, The Wheelwell—a working man’s bar just up from the docks in Cape Harvest, Maine—was filled with rafts of drifting cigarette smoke. It hung, suspended in the air in several clearly defined strata—some charcoal gray, some as blue as the ocean at dawn. Glenn Chadwick had always suspected that on any given night, with a careful analysis of the layers of smoke, you could tell which of the locals was there without even looking around or listening for any particular voice. On this chilly, late-September night, however, such ruminations were the furthest thing from his mind when he burst through the barroom door a half hour before closing time.

  Perched on stools in their regular place at the brass rail were his buddies, Tony Miller and Jake ’Butter’ McPherson. Tony nodded and raised his forefinger, which was pretty much the extent of his “good to see yah“ greeting for anyone. Even if he did smile, you never would have seen it behind the thick tangle of his salt ’n pepper beard. Butter, who was clean-shaven, spun around and smiled widely, exposing the single large front tooth of his which was stained yellow from nicotine and internal decay. It was the bright yellow color of that damaged tooth that inspired his nickname “Butter Tooth“—or “Butter“ for short.

  “Where the hell you been, boy-o?“ Butter said, his voice slurring from the numerous beers he no doubt had already consumed. “Marsha was by an hour or so ago, looking for yah.“

  “I’ll catch up with her later,“ Glenn said, waving his hand dismissively. He barely smiled as Shantelle, the barmaid, slid his usual—a twenty-ounce Shipyard—across to him. Glenn noticed that his right hand was shaking a little as he clasped the ice-rimmed glass and raised it to his mouth. The first gulp made him snort and shiver, but it felt damned good going down.

  “What’s that you got there?“ Tony asked, indicating the black leather carrying case slung over Glenn’s shoulder. His voice was raw from a lifetime of cigarettes. “You ain’t started carrying a purse around, have yah?“ A few of the locals nearby burst out laughing, but Glenn hardly noticed or cared. Shaking his head from side to side, he eased up onto the vacant bar stood next to Butter.

  “I’ve been out to the Nephews,“ he said.

  Although he tried to sound casual, he could hear the slight tremor in his voice and wondered if his friends noticed it, too.

  “You don’t say,“ Butter replied, raising one gray, bushy eyebrow. Glenn saw Tony’s posture stiffen a little as he leaned away from the bar railing and cast a sidelong glance at him.

  “What the hell you wanna be doin’ out there?“ Butter asked. “’Specially this time of year.“ He took a pack of Luckys from the breast pocket of his denim work shirt, shook one out from himself, then offered one to Glenn. Again, Glenn noticed that his hand was trembling as he slid the cigarette into the corner of his mouth and accepted a light from Butter’s Bic butane before he lit his own.

  “Remember that writer fella up from Portland who was in here a day or so ago, asking about the lighthouse out on the Nephews?“ he said, exhaling noisily. The smoke flattened out and joined the blue reef above their heads.

  Both Butter and Tony grunted and nodded.

  “Well, he wanted me to take him out there today. I just got back.“ Butter inhaled deeply, then tipped his head back and blew a stream of smoke up at the ceiling before responding.

  “Wanted to see the haunted lighthouse, did he?“ he said with a wide smile. Glenn had always thought Butter would be sensitive about how that big yellow tooth of his looked, but he never seemed to mind. And Butter still did all right with the ladies, which wasn’t bad for a suntanned, weathered man in his late fifties.

  “You gotta admit,“ Glenn said, shifting uneasily on the barstool, “there’s some pretty weird stories about that place.“

  “’N all of it’s horse-pucky, if you ask me“ Tony said, craning his head around and looking Glenn straight in the eyes. “There’s nothing on that island but a derelict lighthouse ’n the keeper’s old house that’s gone to shit.“

  “That’s pretty much what I told this guy,“ Glenn said, noisily exhaling smoke, “but he was determined to see it for himself. He wanted to see if he could see a ghost or at least hear the music.“ “There’s no ghosts on that island, and there sure as hell ain’t no music,“ Tony said. “Ain’t nothin’ there ’cept a couple of old buildings ’n rocks covered with seagull shit.“

  “Yeah, but lemme tell you what happened, ’cause I’m gonna need one or both of you guys to go back with me in the morning to find him.“ Tony moaned softly as he carefully placed his half-empty glass on the bar, then shifted all the way around so he was looking past Butter and squarely at Glenn.

  “Let me tell you something.“ Tony’s voice was so low Glenn had to strain to hear him above the general noise of the barroom. “The last damned thing we need is another story in some friggin’ magazine or newspaper ’bout that lighthouse. All it means is we’re gonna get more an’ more curiosi
ty seekers pokin’ around out there. An’ that can only mean more trouble.“

  “More trouble for you, maybe.“ Butter turned to Tony and winked. “I’m thinkin’ you don’t want any more boats around than’s necessary so no one will find out how many bales of weed you’re bringing in every month.“

  “Maybe I got a wife and three kids to feed,“ Tony snapped, “unlike you, you buck-toothed piece of—“

  “Only three that you acknowledge,“ Butter said, overshooting him. “From what I hear, you got a passel of bastids running around from here to Bangor.“

  “Hey, c’mon. Take it easy,“ Glenn said. His whole life, it seemed, he’d been stepping in between Butter and Tony. For two men who swore they were such good friends, and cousins to boot, they sure did argue and insult each other plenty. “Lemme buy the next round. That writer fella paid me an extra fifty bucks to wait around ’till after dark. That’s why I’m so late.“ Butter smiled, and Tony nodded slowly as he stroked his gray-flecked beard. Once Shantelle brought the new round, Glenn started to feel at least a little bit fortified. What had happened out on NephewsIsland already seemed a bit more remote, a little easier to deal with.

  “Tanguay was supposed to ferry this guy over there today, but he never showed. Probably went to the fights in Lewiston. Fella’s name is Mike...Mike Kimball, I think. Mike somethin’ or other. Anyways, he’s heard the stories about the lighthouse keeper and his wife. You know, how she was so lonely ’n isolated all winter out there that she made her husband buy a piano and bring it out to the island. Problem was, she only knew how to play one tune, and she played it day ’n night, ’night ’n day until it finally drove the poor fella nuts. He took an ax to the piano, ’n then her.“