Dead Men (and Women) Walking

by Anthology

  There were spots on the wall where it appeared a candle could be placed, however. Unfortunately, neither man had even a lighter, let alone a candle. That was when both Walt and Ned heard footsteps coming from a back room, toward a little door in the rear right-hand corner of the store.

  "Get out, come on," insisted Walt in a raspy whisper.

  "No let's stay. Maybe this guy will help us out."

  The door opened and out came a very tall man obscured by shadows.

  "If I find ya done stole anything, I'm gon'a shoot you where you stand and not ask no questions!" bellowed the man in a voice that could only be termed as a perpetual bellow.

  "Sir!" said Ned excitedly, his voice crackling a bit, "we were stuck out in the cold! Our car broke down, could you help us?"

  "Who in the heck are you?"

  "My name is Ned, this is my friend Walt. Our car, it broke down out on the road about a mile from here. We saw a sign, it said your town was here. We were hoping maybe you could give us a hand."

  "You mean you ain't from here?"

  "No sir, we just wanted to get some help."

  "We done got a couple of outsiders," muttered the man aloud.

  "We're truly sorry," said Walt, who was crouched down behind the first of the three aisles in the store with Ned. Both had ducked at the sight of the huge form emerging from the back.

  "Well show yourselves," said the man, walking closer.

  Ned stood up quickly, Walt with a bit more hesitation. Ned, not exactly Mr. Social, was very anxious to make a new friend here if it meant saving his own skin and getting to the comforts of their Holiday Inn.

  Walt saw the man ambling toward them in the darkness, and couldn't make out any discernable features in the black of the store. Only that he appeared middle-aged, had a grown-out bowl cut, and had to be six foot five, his noticeable hunch taken into consideration.

  "Nice to see you boys," said the man as he put both his arms around the back of the two men's shoulders. Walt noticed he was wearing overalls, but nothing under them. His odor was wretched. He smelled like a combination of body odor and human feces. Walt felt a lump start to rise in his throat.

  "Come back here, come with me," said the man, escorting them into the room from which he had emerged.

  Walt was afraid to open his mouth; afraid the man's foul stench would incite vomit. But Ned made small talk.

  "So what's your name?"

  "Kane. Not like Abel's brother though. Kay, eh, en, ee."

  "That's a nice name."

  "No it's not. It's a strong name. Nice names are for faggots." Kane paused. "Like that journalist man. He was a faggot. Last outsider we had in town before you boys."

  "Journalist man?" asked Ned.

  "Yeah, forget his name. But he had a weak name."

  Walt stiffened up. Kane noticed.

  "Why so tense boy?" asked Kane, opening the door to the back room.

  "Just cold," muttered Walt, not exactly lying.

  The three men walked into the back room, and stepped into hell. Walt looked into the small room, his mouth agape, and Kane shoved the two men in.

  It was small, no bigger than Walt and Ned's hotel room, bathroom not included. Atop the wall directly before them was a candelabra that contained six candles to illuminate the room. The wax dripped from the candles and onto a dirty, bare mattress that was attached to a rusting metal bed frame. That was the only piece of furniture in the room aside from an old wooden chair.

  The stench of decay and excrement in the room was overbearing, and Walt saw it was infested with flies. Infestation was not an exaggeration. There had to be at least 400 flies in the small room. He saw why. In the back corner, on the right, was a large mound of human waste, both liquid and solid. In the front left corner of the room, slumped against the wall, was a rotting female corpse in a blouse. She appeared to have been dead for some time.

  Sitting on the bed, in a vastly oversized white T-shirt yellowed by sweat, and tattered jeans, was a teenaged girl of probably 18. She looked pregnant.

  "This is my home," said Kane.

  Ned turned to run, and Kane punched him in stomach sending him staggering backward toward the bed, flies swarming down onto him.

  "You boys break into my home, my store, then try to leave when I bring you someplace warm and let you escape from the cold?" said Kane furiously, his voice dripping with a tone that sounded incredulous but also sounded partly like an act.

  " I offered you hospitality, and you will accept it!"

  "Daddy, don't shout," said the girl on the bed.

  "You don't speak!' hollered Kane.

  Walt saw the man's face for the first time and was utterly disgusted. His forehead jutted out too far, like that of a Neanderthal. One of his eyes was in its socket, albeit covered by an oozing cataract, the other was missing all together. The wound had closed itself, leaving a red, crusted shell over the orifice where his eye had been. That said, he moved like a man with perfect vision.

  Kane's cheeks inverted inward, and his mouth and chin seemed far too small for his voice.

  "Well there," said Kane, his hideous visage looking in Walt's direction, "seems to me your friend here is a faggot like that reporter was. How about you?"

  Walt stood silent.

  "Come on now, didn't your daddy never teach you nothing 'bout speaking when spoke to? Or was he a loser like your faggot friend?"

  Walt bristled, but was afraid to say anything that would incite the man's rage. He was literally a monster.

  "I'm--I--Happy New Year," said Walt, choking back his desperation, saying the most innocuous thing he could come up with.

  "It's a New Year? Go figure. We lose track of the time here."

  "Yes. 2005."

  "Golly, time flies then, don't it?"

  "Yeah."

  "Well is there anything I can do to make you comfortable?" asked Kane, as he walked over to Ned. He yanked the fallen man up by his hair and sent him hurtling toward the corpse that lied in the corner. Ned landed facedown upon the body and began to scream.

  "He always like this?" asked Kane, as he sat on the edge of the mattress where Ned had been reeling from the previous blow.

  "Sir, what you are doing right now, this ain't human."

  "Son, I ain't been human for sometime now."

  Walt was silent.

  Ned staggered up from the corpse, still screaming, and ran to the door, whipped it open, and ran out through the store. Walt and Kane heard the door to the building open and slam shut.

  Kane stood up.

  "He's a dead man now," rumbled the madman, his tiny lips contorting into a hideous grin upon his concave cheeks.

  Kane stood up and ambled out the door. Walt heard a click, and when he eventually stood up, he found that the door was locked. He turned and looked at the utterly sorrowful girl who was sitting on the bed.

  "What did he mean?" asked Walt.

  "About what?" responded the girl.

  "About Ned being a dead man."

  "Self-explanatory I'd reckon. This town don't like outsiders Mister. Near as I can figure, they didn't much like them when they was all alive, and they don't like them much now neither."

  "But he was alive. Deformed, but alive."

  "All the dead are deformed here." The girl sighed, then continued. "She was an outsider, like I was. She was my mother. Finally dad--Kane . . .Kane, had enough of her."

  "I don't understand none of this! Not a single thing!"

  "Me neither sir. You can call me Holly, by the way. Holly Berkeley. I've been here. . .if you said it was 2005, I've been here for 40 years."

  "But you're just a girl."

  "Time stops for the living here as much as I can tell. Unless they kill you like they killed my momma. Then you're just dead." said Holly, pushing her far too long, thinning, blonde hair back from her eyes, revealing a mournful, dirt-caked face.

  "I'm sorry," said Walt, sullenly.

  "My real daddy was off in Vietnam I remember. Momma and
I were going to the show by ourselves, because he had just left for the war and we was lonesome. Anyway, our car broke down, engine stopped working. We saw a sign off on the roadside that said this place was ahead. And we met Kane."

  "And that man killed your mother?"

  "Yeah, had enough of her. Decided he wanted me instead of her. My momma's protestin' got to be too much, so he beat her to death."

  Walt looked at the girl, tears welling in her eyes, as she recounted the story.

  "Now," she said, starting to cry, "Now I'm gonna have that thing's child. Momma was too old for child-bearin', she was lucky. Not me. Not me, not me."

  Walt gasped. It was the only reaction he could muster.

  "This town, it's damned," said Holly. "I don't know what happened to these people. Backwoods, inbred rednecks before maybe, but now, they are just damned. For some reason they didn't die like normal folk. They stay on this earth, and they take people like you and me and your friend and my momma because they are evil people, or something made them evil. And this is what the souls of the evil do."

  After a pause, Holly added, "And I'm giving birth to his demon."

  "We're getting out of here."

  "You can't leave. They'll catch you."

  "When he gets back, we are leaving," said Walt, calmly, his hand gripping the switchblade in his jacket pocket.

  Walt sat and chatted with Holly for a while as they waited for their mutual captor to return.

  "I wish he'd get rid of that body, I really do." Said Holly.

  "Why won't he."

  "He says he's the man and he makes the rules. The rules are me and my momma are never to leave this room. Even now that she's dead."

  "That's depraved."

  "That's normal. I remember in the beginning, we'd try and run away, and he'd just tie us to the bed and let the wax from the candles drip down on our faces until we promised never to do it again. It's evil the things he does. I ain't never even seen the rest of this town. Like you, I met him first."

  Walt couldn't respond. He just couldn't.

  "I hate having to look at her every day. Knowing I've lost her is hard enough, but having to look at the reality of it, to never be able to forget, it's awful."

  "I lost my father, I can't imagine having to--"

  "Please don't try to, you'll only end up hurting yourself in your mind." Suddenly there was a crash outside, the sound of a strong force whipping open the door. Kane was back.

  "He's going to come in here, and I'm going to attack him. Then we're going to find Ned, and get on out of here," said Walt, bracing himself.

  They heard the sound of keys jangling behind the door to the back room, and the handle rattled, until finally the door opened.

  In walked Kane, looking like something out of an American Gothic painting from hell. In one hand he gripped a bloody pitchfork, and in the other, he held the head of Ned Jenkins by the hair.

  "Faggot shouldn't have run," said Kane, his twisted face contorting into a twisted smile. He tossed the head at Walt, who vomited as it bounced off his lap and onto the floor.

  "Shouldn't have done that," said Kane, shoving Walt violently aside, eyeing the regurgitated mess on the floor. "At least now my baby has dinner."

  Kane started menacingly toward Holly, and she curled up into a fetal position, hoping in vain it would help.

  That was when Walt snapped.

  "I will not accept this!" growled Walt, lunging at Kane, his switchblade in hand.

  Kane turned around, surprised, and the hideous man gargled in horror and dropped the pitchfork as the knife plunged into his neck. All the while, Walt screamed maniacally.

  "My daddy didn't raise me to sit by and watch evil men do the devil's work! He didn't you hear! God may have forsaken your town, but He is working through me right now! I am his servant and I will not let you hurt this poor girl anymore!"

  Holly stood up, and staggered off the bed.

  "Run girl, run!"

  Holly bolted for the door and ran out into the winter evening. Her legs felt weak and unsteady. She had not run in so long, and on top of that, she was pregnant.

  "Come back here girl," Kane gargled, some sort of greenish-yellow goo oozing from his neck wound.

  "No, she won't come back, she is free from you now."

  "You say you are the Lord's servant. That's a gol'dang joke son. So long as you are in this town, your Lord doesn't even acknowledge you exist."

  "That's a lie."

  "That church on the hill up there, in it, we worship a god much more powerful than yours. He has kept us on this earth forever. And he lets us do whatever we want. He is a benevolent god, a kind god."

  "He has made you into monsters."

  Walt and Kane stared at each other; Kane slumped over the mattress looking upward, Walt looking down with his knife in hand.

  Finally, Walt spoke.

  "Evil men took my father and her mother. And not even your god will prevent me from stopping you, for Holly's sake."

  "You are a fool," said Kane, standing up, and approaching Walt, his face contorted in the same twisted smile.

  Holly ran through the snow, and saw lights switch on, one after another, in the shacks as she ran in the direction that Walt and Ned had come from. Doors opened on either side of her, and she saw men, some large and some small, start to give chase. They were silent, their feet falling in the snow the only sounds they made. Their presence was terrifying enough in their quietness. Then she heard the voices.

  "That one there!" shouted one. "That's Kane girly! Them outsiders come into town, always bringing trouble!"

  Holly continued running as fast as she could, thinking to herself, if the outsiders caused nothing but trouble, how come they never let any of them leave once they hit town. Was it to appease Kane's god? She had no clue. She only knew she was desperate to leave. As she neared the very first house that began the haunted township of Samson, she was shoved from behind. Shoved right over the town line.

  Looking up, Holly saw about 50 men looking down at her, their faces contorted and disfigured all like Kane's. This was not just the effect of inbreeding. These men looked like they had seen the devil.

  Then, the most bizarre thing happened. In the middle of the winter storm, which seemed to be winding down, there was a rumble of thunder. Then lightning flashed, followed by another, louder, thunderclap. This weather now bordered upon apocalyptic. Oddly, the lightning only flashed within the limits of the town.

  "God's calling us back," said one of the things that once had been a man as he looked up at the sky. "He don't like your god very much."

  The pack of men turned around, seemingly bound by the limits of the town, and walked back toward their homes. As lightning continued to flash and the thunder crackled, Holly saw that the demonic townsfolk were fading away, disappearing like spirits. Spirits of men who may have been decent once, but who now had given their souls to evil, and were remade in its image. Souls forever damned.

  As she stood up in the snow, she noticed something remarkable. There was no struggle indicative of the extra weight from carrying a child. Her stomach was normal. She was no longer pregnant. She looked at her hands. They seemed bigger and arched. She touched her face. There were lines, lines of age and experience. She was in her late fifties. She was old!

  Holly turned and walked down the same footpath that had taken Walt and Ned into the town. She saw their footprints, not quite covered by freshly fallen snow. She saw that the sky was beginning to brighten. She had not seen the sun begin to light the pre-dawn sky in the years she had been kept prisoner in that wretched town. Finally she came to the end of the footpath. She saw an automobile, a strange model that she didn't recognize, on the side of the road.

  Going around to the back of it, she saw that the word "Jeep" was written, and underneath it, "Grand Cherokee." This must be a new kind of automobile, she thought to herself.

  Holly went to open the door, and found it to be unlocked. She sat on the driver's side,
and noticed that the glove compartment was open. Her newly aged hands reached inside, and she began to fumble around. Before she could come across anything, she was startled by a loud honking noise.

  With horror, Holly whipped her head around, only to see a large truck with a plow attached to the front.

  "Hey there ma'am, do you need any help?"

  "Yes, this car, it's stuck," said Holly, scared.

  "If you want I could give you a lift into the town and get a tow-truck back out here for you."

  Holly was uncertain. She was afraid to get in the car with the strange man.

  "Well yes or no?"

  "Yes. . .yes I'll come."

  "You look like you've been through hell," said the plow driver. "Have you been here all night?"

  "I've been here too long."

  "Well hop in, I'll get you a coffee and some breakfast at the diner in town. Older woman like you shouldn't be out in the elements like this all night. Catch that pneumonia."

  This hospitality, it warmed Holly. She had forgotten all about such emotions. She had forgotten what it felt like to be warmed on the inside.

  "I'll be right there sir."

  "Okay, but quickly, I have the rest of this road here to finish. Dangerous road this one is, even in good weather. Factor in the biggest storm in state history and you have a hum-dinger of a safety hazard. Ain't no wonder you swerved off."

  Holly had seen something that had caught her eye in the glove-box of the Jeep before the plow driver had gotten her attention. It was a dog-eared photograph that was on the very edge of the compartment. It was a photo of Walt, smiling in front of a Christmas tree, except he was much younger, probably the same age Holly had been when she had first gone to Samson.

  Walt was standing next to an older, heavyset man with a beaming smile on his face that more than compensated for Walt's self-conscious, teenage grin. Holly flipped over the picture. Written on the back, in blue ink, was: Dad And Walt -- Christmas '94