As the group crowded around the room, the Guide began to speak ominously. “This is where old man Thompson kept the missing house guests that he so dearly wanted to stay.”
The storage room was cramped. The group stood around as lights began to flicker. Jars began to shake. Mark and Steven could see fingers of a hand inside of a jar begin to move.
The Guide paused. “On certain nights spirits of the dead try to re-enter the flesh of the deceased, reanimating the once wicked.”
As the group stood in the storage room amongst body parts, behind the bodies hanging on slabs—two-bloody mangled zombies came slowly walking out moaning as they began to reach out awkwardly at the group.
Marked watched as everyone in his group nervously began to clutch on to one other, unaware, another zombie climbed out of a barrel directly behind them, then roared. The Guide opened the door—allowing the panic-stricken group to exit out into the awaiting room. The next room they had entered appeared to be the kitchen. With the pantry closed, the group now felt a little relieved. As they walked through the old-style kitchen, lights began to strobe on and off. Inching closer and closer, a menacing heavy-set woman with a long scar covering her neck stood next to an old-style log stove holding a large butcher’s knife.
The Guide stood tall and spoke. “We’re just in luck, because we’re just in time to meet Helga—old man Thompson’s chef.”
As the group followed the Guide through the kitchen, Mark looked around—witnessing blood and body parts in the kitchen sink along with blood covering the dirty dishes. The cook stood motionless as well as expressionless with knife in hand, acting as though she was the only person in the room. As the group followed the Guide over in front of the cook, she reached down and opened the stove. Within the stove was a huge wild boars head setting on a tray with potatoes and carrots. Un-expectantly, the eyes of the huge beast sprang open as it let out a loud squeal. The motionless and expressionless cook jumped up to her feet—laughing hysterically as she stepped a few feet towards the group.
The next room was dreary and full of cobwebs. The group stepped into the ballroom and conjoined dining room—immediately noticing people dancing to eerie-sounding music. Upon entering into the candle lit room was what appeared to be two people seated, eating at a huge dining room table.
“We’re just in time… let us see what’s for dinner shall we?”
The Guide then reached across the table, lifting up the metal lid from off the platter. Underneath, a frantic human head was revealed, appearing scarily from under the lid as it began looking around at the room just before begging everyone to not partake of the meal. He then placed the lid back on the table as the guests appeared to continue eating. Just as the group began to walk out of the dining room, a guest at the table stood up and started asking if they would like to stay to eat—screaming the question louder as the group continued to walk away. The next room was well-lit with a chandelier and had an old-classical style of music playing, yet eerily.
The room was occupied with what appeared to be zombies dancing amongst another dead couple watching. As the group entered the room—the dancing stopped as the zombies began to turn and moan as they reached out for the group. The zombies began to move in closer. At the last instance, the lights in the room went off briefly, causing the group to tense up in horror. When the lights came back on—the zombies had vanished.
“On to the next stop on our tour,” the Guide said as he elegantly walked out through the wide-outstretched door into the next room.
The next room was somewhat that of the houses old-style theater room, an intersection, leading to many different doors as well as having a long stairwell leading upstairs.
The Guide pointed ominously around the foggy room. “This is where the Thompson’s entertained all of their wealthy and aristocratic friends.”
Artwork stood out vividly amongst a grand style piano that all of a sudden began to play ominously on its own.
Upon entering, the group stood patiently, waiting to see what might happen next. The room seemed empty before a loud crash could be heard as demons began to fall from the crowded sealing. The lights went out as the demons began to glow red as they swiftly flew around the room.
“Quickly,” the Guide demanded—rushing the group up the stairwell.
Up the stairs was a slightly dimmed corridor leading in two different directions. The Guide took the group over to a dead-end, continuing the tour, showing an important shrine with an old painting taken of the Thompson family. The shrine had pictures of the Thompson family.
The Guide went on to tell of the curse. “Over the years there have been over four-generations of Thompsons living in the mansion in one form or the other—with one considerably crazier than the next.”
As the group began to ease their way down the dim corridor—madness quickly followed—catching them all by surprise. From behind their curiosity, the loud roaring of a chainsaw could be heard cranking up. Suddenly, from behind stood one of the figures from the family portrait.
The tour quickly adjourned into a nearby bedroom for safety. The group hurried in and closed the door behind them as the chainsaw wielding madman was left out in the hallway.
“This is the bedroom of old man Thompson, and one of his many estranged wives at the time.”
The room was beautifully decorated. It was lavishly furnished with the finest woods and materials of the olden-era. The room seemed empty to the group, but as everyone stepped up in front of the massive bed, crying could be heard.
Seemingly alone, the room became silent, just before furniture began to shake. The bed began to rise up and spin. The walls began to drip blood as all lights shut-off.
From the room’s closet, a strange glow could be witnessed in the darkness, just instantly before the door flung open with a demon jumping out. The Guide took the group into the next room, going through the adjoined door that led into the family nursery. Mira stood ominously. She had long jet black hair and appeared to be that of a typical-looking witch. She was also the Thompsons’ nanny.
The room had three infant cribs. The group stood in the middle of the room as three scary-looking children jumped out. The nanny picked up a hatchet and began to smash it into the wall, furiously staring at the group.
“Looks like a bad time—they seem really hungry,” the ominous guide said, jokingly.
Throughout the house, monsters began appearing more frequent, jumping out from behind doors and curtains. Nearing the end, they entered, what seemed to be the final door, leading to a winding set of stairs that went straight down into the basement. Upon entering, the group could see what appeared to be a laboratory with a torture chamber.
“This is where the torturing took place,” the Guide explained.
The family physician appeared out from behind the table. Mark could immediately tell that it was his one true love, Stephanie. Stephanie was dressed as an evil nurse. Her character had to perform savage experiments on the undead—with slaves being held captive in cages begging for their lives.
With a large syringe in hand, she began to administer the drug, exaggerating greatly the sharpness of the needle. Stephanie injected the syringe into one of the lifeless bodies sprawled out on the table in front of her. After a moment, the dead jumped. It began growling and groaning upon sight of the group. Off of the exam table, the walking corpse began moving closer and closer towards the guests.
With the show seemingly over and the group exiting, Mark waved goodbye to Stephanie just before he signaled for her to call.
Chapter 7 way of the undead
Mark and Steven was now traveling home, each unaware of the severity of the problems plaguing the area. Wild Bill continued to broadcast live from the middle of the Knoxville quarantine. The pair listened closely. “I was advised that Sheriff Matthews and his wife have been reported as missing persons by their thirty-year-old daughter Samantha Matthews-Moore. The news has been reported to me from one of my good friends over at the Knoxville S
heriff’s Office.”
Mark turned up the radio a little louder as the Disc Jockey began to further report on the City in lock-down. “The Sheriff has now been unheard from for almost three days. This report was just handed to me a few hours ago and is under good authority to me. I was told that the head of the Knoxville Police Department is also now being considered a missing person. Police Captain James W. Hammons has been reported as missing by his wife. It is my personal opinion and in no way that of this radio station that they either fled the quarantine like cowards or they knew something we didn’t. Is it possible they are now in hiding? What could it be? Better yet, exactly what harm could they do with something they knew?”
A solemn hint of desperation came over his voice. “This is Wild Bill in the Evening broadcasting live from the Knoxville quarantine—completely non-commercial interrupted. Back to my previous statement about the missing officials, in my opinion, the government, or someone involved in government affairs has eliminated the heads of these departments in an attempt to silence them from their highly political and representative posts as heads of these offices to maybe slow the release of pertinent information, perhaps concerning the quarantine.”
“With the heads of these departments gone—they would be in shambles, and it would possibly delay the release of important statements regarding this strange infectious outbreak. And from my perspective it has done just that. But why? That’s what you listeners have to ask yourselves.”
Wild Bill paused briefly. “Now what I tell you is a fact. My friend over at Knoxville Memorial Hospital has told of a group of suits—a somewhat “men in black” agency that may be a branch of our government or even a defunct group of impostors with their own agenda that had approached him about not talking to this radio station or me, or else. He was warned to keep any and all information confidential or he would face severe consequences. The so called “men in black” came to my friend—whom has been a well prominent doctor in the field of medicine for well over twenty-years, brandishing identification clearance cards of that of CIA.”
“This is Wild Bill in the evening and we’re not going to stop till we get some answers. And to answer your question from earlier, caller, my view can be seen in the fact that although the viral outbreak and eminent death of its carriers has been somewhat publicized and has made the world news—no new information has been presented by any of the world news headquarters. It is in my opinion that the government is now trying to keep the newly emerging facts that the disease should run its course in twenty-four hours hush as there is now a hospital full of sick and dying patients with close to eight hours left till this highly infectious virus is said to run its course. What are they hiding and why are they suppressing this?”
“My main concern is indeed how the fact that our city, let alone Lake Ocoee, now in the middle of a quarantine, is still yet to make world news. It’s a cover up I tell you,” Wild Bill demanded as he took another call.
Mark began to speculate. He began to think that maybe the reason his dad Mike was missing was in some way related to the Sheriff’s and Police Captain’s disappearance. Mark turned down the volume on the radio and quickly looked over at Steven. “My dad’s as high-ranking official as anyone—just not in Knoxville. He’s been missing for a couple of days now. I don’t think he’s in hiding or ran away. Wild Bill said that it’s also possible the government was silencing all of the higher ups for some reason. I just don’t know why they would. Do you think he’s missing because of these ‘men in black?’”
“If your dad hasn’t called or left a message by the time we get home then we should start considering foul play or one of the other options,” Steven said, concerned.
Mark turned the radio back up as he stepped further down on the accelerator trying to get home faster. As he began to pull into his driveway, abruptly, the radio station quit broadcasting and had gone off the air. A loud squelching sound of static began to ring loudly. Mark lowered the volume.
As Tyler relaxed next to the television, Mark worked up the confidence to ask questions. “Have you heard from dad today?”
Tyler awkwardly lifted his chin. “No, I thought that maybe you had.”
“Well, I haven’t talked to him in almost three days,” Mark said.
With little time to waste, the next step was to check the answering machine, thus, sorting through all recorded messages, or just anything over the past few days. As Tyler watched anxiously, Mark played some prior messages twice at times left by his dad.
He checked thoroughly through the dates and times of all calls—listening closely as he tried to make sure they hadn’t given away any information as to his whereabouts.
“We need to go to the rangers’ station,” Mark said. “We need to go tonight.”
Mark, Tyler, and Steven quickly gathered their things, stepping out into the cool, night air, and on their way down the dark forested preserve, making their way over to check out the ranger station.
“When would be a good time to consider dad a missing person?” Tyler asked.
Mark thought it over. “We’ll just have to see if anyone at his work has heard from him.”
Passing through a long stretch of forested land, Mark peered off into the trees—pondering every possible scenario.
Mike was always in constant battles with the areas hunters, having to protect the land from poachers, hunting on preserved or illegal land. Mike was also one of the areas only game wardens, enforcing the regulations and laws of the park.
“Perhaps he was killed trying to stop illegal hunting? He’s told stories of having been shot at before by hunters unhappy to see him,” Mark said aloud.
“Why would you even think that? He’s maybe missing, but it doesn’t mean that he’s dead,” Tyler said, giving an angry glance from the back seat.
The more Mark thought it over, the angrier he became: figuring that it quite possibly could have been hermits that were said to live out in the woods. Mike would always tell campfire stories when they were growing up, telling of the wild hermits who supposedly hunted innocent children and campers before traveling back to their homes deep within the woods.
The stories Mike would spin could always be confirmed by the missing persons board out near the rangers shack. It was filled with dozens of reports of missing children and people who were supposedly lost in the woods, possibly taken by the hermits, so Mike would say. The police would do all they could to find the missing people, but with all those miles of woodland it could be quite impossible.
Part of Mike’s job was to post the missing person flyers all over the park. After enough time had passed, without word, anyone missing for well over a week was often said that their bodies quite possibly would be too decomposed and ate up by all the indigenous wildlife in the area to even make a positive identification.
Mark thought long and hard, trying to come to terms with the fact that he might have to post missing person flyers for his own dad: a man who had been responsible for leading numerous search teams, having saved countless lives himself. Mike had even turned what was formerly a little unorganized ranger shack far behind the standard outfit—into one with the most high-tech lifesaving equipment.
“Surely, if something has happened to dad, it was in no way connected to our Government,” Mark said aloud as he looked back at Steven.
“I don’t think anything’s happened to your dad,” Steven said. “I bet he might even be waiting on us by the time we get back to the house tonight.”
Mark’s mind continued to race. Who are these men in black? Why did Wild Bill go off the air all of a sudden? How come the twenty-four-hour window hasn’t made world news, as well as the news of the quarantine?
“Something isn’t right,” Mark said aloud.
Mark pulled on into the paved parking lot, coming to a rest near the front door of the ranger’s station. Upon entering into the lot Mike’s 4WD could be seen parked in its usual spot. The sight would have been a relief to witness if only the shack
hadn’t appeared so empty and abandoned on the inside. The cabin hadn’t a single light on, appearing as though no one had been by in a few days, evident by the accumulation of newspapers piling up at the front door. The street light out near the road illuminated most of the lot as well as part of the front of the shack. Within the cover of darkness and as the cool mountain air blew through the lot, Mark walked over to the side of the shack—peeking in through one of the window’s before giving off a few loud knocks of his own. No signs of movement could be seen or any kind of sign of his dad. Within the dark shack, all appeared quiet; all appeared dark except the vending machine glowing in one of the corners of the room.
“It’s empty!” Mark shouted as he came swiftly walking from around the corner of the building.
“Where could he be? His 4WD is here. Did he get a ride from someone?” Tyler asked, starting to feel more concerned.
Steven went and set on the hood of Mark’s truck. “You know what I think? The government’s behind this. If we go to the cops, we’ll be next on the missing persons list.”
The mountain air was cold. Mark put his hands in his pockets as he began to think. “Well, I’m going to leave a note, but I’ve already decided if I don’t hear from him by the time I get off work tomorrow then I’m going to report him as missing. It’s ridiculous…theirs a small chance he went to Cherokee, but he’s always told us before going down there.”
Steven sprang up off the hood and crossed his arms as the cold began to give him chills.
“You may be right. I know it’s bad timing in all, but maybe your dad is with Angela and they had plans to tie the knot and knew if we’re all about to go into a statewide quarantine they might not get to. Maybe it was a spur of the moment thing Angela pushed for.”
Way of the Undead Page 5
