Tim looked dead already. He didn't answer.
“I know you can hear me, so I'll just say it. If you struggle, it'll be your balls I cut off next.”
Jeb opened a deep freezer behind him and moved things to the side. He turned, undid the straps around Tim's ankles, and picked his body up like he was carrying Christ to his tomb. Only, Tim wouldn't be rising in three days.
Jeb held Tim's body over the freezer. He leaned close to Tim's ear. “The soup was delicious,” he said. “Your friends enjoyed it, too.” He dropped Tim's body into the freezer and shut the lid. He pulled a key from his pocket, shoved it into the freezer's locking mechanism, and turned.
Sam held his hands over his mouth. Tears ran down his face. Jeb left the room and Sam had to listen to the banging from the inside of the freezer until it stopped. It was the longest few minutes of Sam’s life.
Stanton and Elmer stood in the clearing, staring up at the burned tree. Looking at Elmer, Stanton asked “Which way do we go from here?”
“I'm not a bloodhound.”
“How am I supposed to know how it works?”
Elmer's eyes grew large and he pointed behind the sheriff. A small girl in a dress was staring at them.
“Hey!” Stanton called.
The girl turned and darted into the woods.
“Hey, stop!” He shined his flashlight in her direction. “Come on!” he said as they followed her into the woods.
Sam hated himself. He wished he wasn't such a pussy. Maybe he could have stopped Jeb from tossing Tim into the freezer. But no, he had just cowered and waited for his friend to die. Deep down though, he knew there was nothing he could have done. He just needed to get out of the house. He could hear grunting and shuffling of feet coming down the hall.
“Car crash,” Pa said. “He got us another one. Said there was another one too, but he could only drag one at a time.”
“He needs to be more careful,” Jeb said. “Plus, we've got enough on our plate already.” He laughed.
They entered the room, carrying a dead man. Jeb carried the arms, and Pa, the legs. They laid the body on the table. “You know the deal,” Pa said. “He's just holding up his end.”
“We haven't had a birth in months, though,” Jeb said.
“Doesn't matter. He's forgiving. He knows we're working on it.”
The left hand of the dead man hung off the side of the table. Sam could see a wedding ring.
“Here,” Pa said, approaching the far side of the table. “Help me turn him.”
Jeb walked around to where Pa stood and helped him roll the man onto his side. As they worked to pull the man's shirt off, Sam could see the man's face. He had only met him once, but he knew instantly that it was Ronnie Garland.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Pa raised the hacksaw as Jeb held Ronnie's arm steady. Sam covered his eyes and tried to imagine that he was somewhere else, even back at school locked in a locker for the entire day. He didn't care, as long as it was anywhere but here in this room with these murderous psychopaths.
There was a knock from the front door. And again. And again. Louder each time. “Let me in!” came Luna's voice.
“Damn,” Pa said. “Is she going for a new record tonight?”
“I'll go let her in,” Jeb said, sighing.
He walked out of the room, and Sam heard his keys jingle as he unlocked the hallway door. Moments later, he heard the front door open. Pa had begun to saw off Ronnie's arm. Sick, crunching sounds nearly caused Sam to cry out in horror.
“Pa!” called Jeb.
He kept working as if he hadn't heard him.
“Pa! Come here, damn you!”
“I'm working! What is it?” Pa shouted back. He mumbled something under his breath which Sam was pretty sure was the word “worthless.”
“Pa!” Jeb shouted again. “Luna saw a cop. He's headed this way.”
Pa dropped the hacksaw on the table and let go of Ronnie's limp arm. “Goddamnit!” he yelled and stormed out of the room.
“You wait right here,” Stanton said to Elmer. They were hidden in the trees a hundred yards away from the house. “I mean it.”
“Can't you call for help or backup or something?” Elmer asked.
“My backup is slumped on the ground on Highway 52 with his guts on the outside of his body. Besides, what would I tell them? That a creepy little girl ran away from me? That I found some rope in an ash pit? Just stick close, kid.”
“Right,” Elmer said, feeling stupid. “Okay, but if I hear a gunshot or something, I—”
“You'll what? No offense, kid, but there isn't much you can do. Just let me do my job, I'll get to the bottom of it.”
“Okay, but what about the Goatman? He could be out here.”
“He could be in there,” Stanton said, before walking away from their hiding spot and approaching the door. His hand on his gun, he knocked loudly.
He could hear people talking inside. He stepped back a couple paces from the doorway when he heard someone unlocking the deadbolt. The door opened, and a little girl stood in the doorway.
“Hi there,” he said. “I'm Sheriff Paul Stanton. Are you the little girl I saw back that way, in the clearing?”
Luna nodded. He tried looking past her, but the house was too dark to see much of anything.
“Well, you didn't have to run, you know. I'm a good guy, okay?”
Luna just looked at him.
Stanton was getting frustrated.
“Listen,” he said. “I need to ask you something, okay? I need to know if everything is okay here. Can you tell me that? You can nod for yes, or shake your head for no. Okay?”
The little girl's eyes seemed to peer right through his own. For just an instant, it seemed like she was going to nod her head when an old man came to the door.
“Well, hey there, Sheriff,” Pa said. “Sure is late! What can I do ya for?”
“Sir,” Stanton said. “Do you mind if I come in? I'd just need a minute of your time.”
Pa's eyes flicked to Stanton’s gun. He still had his hand on the holster's release mechanism. “Heh, sorry,” He said, releasing his gun. “It's been a rough night.”
“I completely understand. My granddaughter has taken to wandering off in the night. You can imagine my worry. Almost drives an old man to drinking. Come on in, Sheriff. We can get you something to eat. Are you hungry?”
Stepping through the doorway, Stanton said, “No thank you. I've just got some questions, that's all.”
“Fair enough.”
The old man led him into the dining room. “Have a seat,” he said.
Stanton glanced around the room. The stench of the place forced its way into his very soul. There were towels draped onto the table and floor.
“I'll stand, thank you.”
Pa's eyes narrowed the slightest bit.
“Is it just you two here?” Stanton asked. “You and the girl?”
“My wife is sleeping in the bedroom. She isn't well, and she sleeps more than I knew a person could,” he said with a chuckle.
“So, there's just the three of you, then?”
“That's right.”
“Listen, I'll cut right to the chase here. I'm looking for some kids. Teenagers. Have you seen any around here?”
“Hell, we never see anyone out here. Nope. Sorry, Sheriff. I won't be able to help you there.”
“I see,” Stanton said.
Sam crawled slowly out from under the gurney. He stood up and checked the door. It was unlocked. Holding his breath, he slowly turned the handle. He could hear the Sheriff talking in the other room. All he would have to do is shout, and this would all be over. Or would it? He had heard the Sheriff asking questions and Pa was answering them. But where was Jeb?
He slipped into the hallway and stood face to face with Luna. Her eyes widened, but she knew better than to scream.
“Shhhh,” he said, holding a finger to his mouth. “Please.”
For a moment, the two stared a
t each other in silence. Luna looked towards the door that led to the kitchen. She looked back at Sam.
“Please,” he whispered again. “Just pretend you didn't see me.”
Luna turned, walked down the hall, and back into her bedroom.
He felt a wave of relief wash over him. He stood in the dark hallway a moment longer, before returning to the room where Ronnie's body lay. Walking around to the back side of the room, he saw a screwdriver on a table and put it in his back pocket.
“Well, Sheriff,” Pa said. “I hate that we couldn't be more of a help to you, but it's getting late. I need to be checkin' on Ma now.”
“I understand,” Stanton said. “But surely you wouldn't mind if I checked around the house real quick? Just to ease my mind.”
Pa's face contorted into an awful grimace. Nobody had ever been in this house and left to tell about it. The Sheriff would be no different.
“Something wrong?”
“Of course not. You lead the way. Door to the hallway is right there.” He pointed behind Stanton.
Stanton gave him a faint smile and reached for the door handle. As he turned the handle and opened the door, Pa shuffled behind him into the hallway.
He peered into the dark hallway, squinting. “Could you guys be so kind as to turn on a light?” he said. There was no answer. He turned around and was struck in the face with a shovel. Falling backwards, his head slammed into the floor. He turned to the left in an attempt to roll away and saw a young boy standing just around the corner. With one hand, Sam held a finger to his lips while the other hand clutched a screwdriver. Before Stanton could move, the shovel came down hard on his ankle and he heard his bones break. He screamed in pain then blacked out.
Pa stood over his body and held the shovel above his throat. “I’m going to carve out your Adam’s apple now, you nosy bastard,” Pa said.
Sam lunged out of the corner at a full run and slammed Pa into the wall, knocking the shovel to the floor. Screaming and clawing, Pa kicked at Sam. His long fingernails left a scratch across the boy's cheek. Sam kneed him in the stomach, knocking him back, and drove the screwdriver into the old man's chest with as much force as he could muster. Pa lunged at him and the screwdriver plunged further into his torso, the dull tip somehow finding its way all the way into the old man's heart.
Sam felt it beating through the handle.
The old man knew it too, the way he looked down at it, the blood spilling out of his mouth, his heart weakening and still beating against the screwdrivers’ dull point.
Sam let go of it and stumbled back, gasping for breath as he saw Pa weakly twist at the handle and try to pull it out. When it was clear that it was of no use, the old man staggered towards him, coughing blood.
Sam stepped forward and grabbed the handle again. He yanked it free and drove the screwdriver into the old man’s jugular.
Pa hit the floor.
Elmer couldn't wait any longer. Out in the woods, he felt like an open target. There were noises all around him. Unsure of what he could even do, he left his hiding spot and approached the front door. His heart felt like it was going to burst in his chest when the floorboards of the steps groaned.
“Oh shit,” he whispered to himself. He tried peeking inside, but the windows were all tightly boarded up. Reaching for the tarnished brass doorknob, he stopped with the distinct feeling that he was being watched. He waited only a moment before he rattled it.
Locked.
Someone screamed inside the house. He looked for cracks in the boarded-up windows but couldn’t find anything. “Shit, shit,” he muttered under his breath. Jumping from the porch, he made his way around the side of the house where he found a storm cellar with a thick metal lock holding the doors shut.
Elmer approached the doors and called, “Hello?”
“Sam?” a voice replied. “Oh, thank God!”
“No. I'm not Sam. I'm—” his voice trailed off.
“What's going on?” A different voice called. “Hello?”
Elmer didn’t respond. To his left, something else had caught his attention. Hair stood on the back of his neck as he made out the figure of the Goatman peering at him from between two trees. Covered in blood and gore, the creature stared intently at him with two almost-human eyes. The body of Deputy Benny Dumear lay on the ground next to him. A trail of blood streaked behind them through the leaves.
The Goatman’s beady eyes stayed focused under his leather-knit mask. His chin was covered with thick, bristly hair. He bleated loudly and his jaw snapped closed as he took a prowling step forward, snorting loudly into the air.
Oh, you gotta be fucking kidding me...
More calls from the cellar. Elmer was frozen in place. He could see an axe leaning against a tree stump about halfway between himself and the monster. Neither of them moved.
I can outrun him. I have to.
He could see the horns. He could see the eyes. A chill went down his spine. The malformed brute made another bleating sound and shook his head from side to side. Ready to explode with adrenaline, he took off towards the axe. The monster ran too, at an incredible speed, his head lowered and ready to charge. Reaching the stump just before it, he grabbed the axe and swung it up with both arms. The Goatman didn't slow his charge as Elmer held the axe in front of him in defense. The curled horns slammed into the wood of the axe, splintering the handle and throwing him backwards.
He hit the ground. Hard.
Scrambling to stand back up, he realized that he had dropped the axe and it was now out of his reach. The Goatman backed up, let out a rough, snorting breath, and charged again like an angry bull.
Elmer wasn't ready to die like this.
Acting on instinct and gathering all his will in desperation, he drew upon the power he had always suspected was inside him. Holding his hands in front of him, he commanded the hellish beast to stop. There was no time to think of what would happen, but he tried anyway.
The Goatman froze in his tracks as if he had run into an invisible wall. He let out an inhuman roar of frustration and clawed at the air in front of him. Blood streaked from Elmer's nose, and the veins at his temples thumped violently. He held one hand in the monster's direction while he picked up the axe with his other. He walked to where the cellar door was and slammed the blade into the lock three times. Patrick and John erupted from the cellar and froze in horror.
“It's him,” John said. “Oh God.”
Elmer was pale and shaky. Cold sweat dripped from his forehead.
Patrick stumbled over to him. “How the hell are you doing that?”
The Goatman was suspended in the air now, inches above the ground. Blood slowly dripped onto the dirt.
“Run,” was the only word he could muster. The two boys gave each other a glance before taking off around the front of the house.
Elmer grew weak, and he knew he couldn't hold the beast back much longer. He gave a push with his hand and that was all he had left. The horned freak fell back a few feet, then charged at him again—this time faster and harder.
Barely able to stand, he waited until the Goatman was close enough and took his best swing with the axe. The blade sank into the back of its head with a wet splat.
Flailing and thrashing wildly, the monster pawed in agony at the axe embedded in its skull. The creature’s primal screams echoed through the woods. He fell backwards to the ground, his neck jerking roughly as his head slammed into the hard earth.
His vision went dark.
He heard ragged breaths. The dragging of limbs. Someone was screaming.
Struggling to function, he stumbled to a crouching position and saw the Goatman standing over him, blood trickling down the front of his horrible mask, leaking from his eye sockets. There he stood for a while, his body waving forwards and backwards. Then, making a gruff sound of pain, he fell. Without giving himself time to think, Elmer ran to where the Goatman lay, and stomped as hard as he could on the head of the axe. The blade sank deep into the monstrous skull.
A spray of blood and brain matter went flying, splattering his face and shirt.
The screaming in his ears, he realized, was his own voice.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“We have to go back and help him,” John said.
“I have to find Sam first!” Patrick nearly screamed.
They reached the front of the house, and found the front door hanging open.
“You do what you want. I'm going to find my brother.”
John stared at him for just a moment before turning and going back the way he came. Patrick entered the house and started screaming for Sam.
Heading back around the side of the house, John found Elmer lying on the ground next to the bloody body of the Goatman. “Elmer,” he said, shaking him. “Come on man, get up.” The other boy sat up slowly and John helped him to his feet.
“I don't know how or why you're here,” John said. “But thank you.”
“Don't mention it,” he said. “Hold on.” He walked over to the massive corpse and stuck his foot on the back of its neck. With both hands, he pulled the axe from its head with a sick sound like a spoon through a bowl of coleslaw. The Goatman didn't move.
“Let's go,” Elmer said.
Inside the house, Sam was trying to wake Sheriff Stanton.
“Sam!” Patrick called again.
“In here!” Sam called back from the hallway.
Patrick opened the door leading into the hallway and saw the grotesque scene. The old man was slumped against the wall face-first with a screwdriver in his throat, the Sheriff's foot was demolished, and Sam looked shell-shocked.
“Come on, Sam,” he said. “Come on, we're leaving right now.”
“We can't leave yet,” Sam said. “There are people here who need help.”
“I don't care, Sam,” he said, “we've got to—”
Patrick's eyes flew out of his head as a pitchfork penetrated the back of his skull. His mouth tried to move, but no sounds came out. Sam screamed as the pitchfork was jerked violently, and the top half of his brother's head was separated from the bottom half with a sickening crunch. He panicked. All the hero in him was completely spent. Taking off running, he banged on Luna's door.
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