by Cecere, Ryan
"Zack?" she said in happy surprise. Her dog barked and wagged its tail, red tongue dangling. "Is that you? Oh my God. It's been far too long."
"I know, I know. Come here. Give me a hug."
"Wow. I don't know what to say." Heather gave Zack a lengthy hug.
"Me neither." Zack bent down, patting her dog on the head. "Hey, Lucky! Long time no see, huh?"
Lucky barked and jumped up and down.
"Where've you been? How've you been?" Heather said.
Zack didn't reply right away. Instead, he thought long and hard about what to say. To him it felt like an hour went by before he spoke. "I...I've been around. Good, but around."
"Where though?" Heather asked. "It's been two years since we spoke or even seen each other. Ever since..." She stopped herself, not wanting to ruin the moment by bringing up a sore subject. "Well...you know." She waited a moment. "Sorry."
"No, no, no. Heather, it's okay. Really. It's just after my grandmother passed I needed some time away. Just to escape, y'know?"
"Yeah, it's understandable. You were in pretty bad shape last time I saw you. You look better now, though."
"Thanks. Time away is all I needed."
"Time away helps." Heather looked deeply into Zack's hazel eyes. Being friends for so long gave her the ability to see right through him, whenever he was hiding something. "Where've you been, Zack? Seriously."
"Traveling," Zack said just before she finished her sentence, being only half truthful with her.
"Traveling?" Heather raised a brow. "Two years of just traveling? Did you stop anywhere? Do anything?"
Zack scratched the back of his head. "No. Not really. I just drove around the country. It was really relieving."
Zack didn't like lying to Heather at all. But he didn't want her knowing what he’d really been doing.
"What brings you back to Ridgefield? Back home?" Heather smiled, trying to break the mood.
"I just stopped in to visit my grandmother. Since her death I haven't actually been back to visit her."
"How long do you plan on staying?" Heather asked, biting her lips, her cheeks flushed red.
"Maybe a few days. I'm not too sure, actually."
Heather's hopes crumbled. "If you ever need a place to stay–"
Zack cut her off, "Oh, it's all right, Heather, don't worry about me. I'll be okay. Trust me."
"Okay.” She tried to smile again. ”Maybe we can get a drink sometime to catch up," Heather attempted.
"Sure." Zack nodded. "A drink sounds good."
"How about tonight? At Harold's Pub?"
"Sounds like a plan."
With nothing more to say, Heather leaned in for one more hug. "Welcome home, Zack" she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.
Zack didn't want to stay. It brought back too many bad memories for him. In the same respect, he was clearly homesick and wanted to stay.
He saw that, for him, a long road was ahead.
———
Cemetery
1:13 p.m.
Rain lightly began falling from the sky in a drizzle. But sooner rather than later it would pick up and become heavier. Leaves raced each other along the grass, down the path and all the way to the wrought iron gate. Zack stood in front of his late grandmother's grave, hands tucked in his jacket pockets. Focused. Not blinking, nor affected by the wind shoving rain into his face.
He takes off the dog tag necklace that once belonged to his grandfather. He’d given it to Zack when he passed away. Zack knelt down, and using his pocket knife, dug a small hole next to the tombstone. He placed the dog tags inside and covered it up.
"This might sound cheesy," Zack said, still kneeling, "but Grandpa said when it was your time to join him in Heaven along with all the other angels, to uh, to bury these with you." He looked beyond the grave, spaced out. "You know, now that I think about it, it’s not really too cheesy." Zack chuckled, "Kinda more sweet than cheesy, if you ask me."
Zack gritted his teeth. "For the past two years I felt completely empty. Dead inside. I felt hatred towards everything and everyone. You probably know this already since you're looking down watching me, right? Each day I tell myself to stay strong for you. I tell myself that one day I'll find the thing that did this to you, and when that day comes, it'll feel fulfilling. Kind of like a weight would be lifted off my shoulders."
Zack looked back at the headstone. His eyes became glossy. "This thing is going to pay." He brushed fingers through his short, and now wet, hair. "Even if it takes me out in the process." He stood to his feet, clutching his fists at his sides. "I miss you."
He headed down the path, looking over his shoulder once more at the grave. As he turned his head straight, he did a double take, halting. Down, far at the end of the cemetery, he took notice of one of the statues. An angel statue, holding out its hands as if to be cradling body–only, it's holding air. Something strange about the statue struck Zack's interest. But he didn't know what it was.
Shaking off the oddball feeling, Zack exited the cemetery and got back into his pick-up truck, parked along the curb. Once more (probably the last time, he thought), he glanced over at the Ridgefield Cemetery before driving off.
3
Ridgefield, Connecticut
Lomax Manor
10:49 p.m.
The rain came down hard that night, pitter-pattering against Roseanne's–Rose, as she preferred to be called–apartment window. She was seated by the window and heater with her red curtains shut, in her favorite rocking chair next to the fire. She wore a blanket that covered from her waist down below her feet. Rose enjoyed nights like these, where she could sit by the cozy heater while reading one of her favorite horror-mystery novels written by her favorite writer–best-selling horror author, Kurt Nelson.
Rose finished her current chapter, then placed a white bookmark in the page before closing it and setting it aside on the table. She picked up her steamy hot green tea and took a tiny sip, so she wouldn't burn her lips or tongue.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Rose, tea halfway from her mouth, turned to her apartment door. Those tapping sounds... The same ones she has been hearing for the past few nights now. The same tapping sounds no other resident within the senior living facility had heard.
And that odor… The invisible trail of burning ember whiffed under her nostrils. It grew stronger, overpowering.
All the seniors would gossip and whisper to one another that Roseanne was the next one on Death Row, or simply going crazy. That she was getting too old. She hadn’t only heard tapping noises, but actually seen an animal walking around on the fourth floor.
Her floor.
Rose placed her tea cup on the saucer, and shuffled to her door, opening it just enough to peek out. She looked to her left; just two other apartment doors, adjacent from each other, and the corridor leading down the other end of the hall. Then she turned to her right. The sight before her, at the way end of the hall, froze up her body.
It was back. Again.
Her eyes became misty. Her throat dried up, unable to create a sound.
It was evil. It was the size of a hound. It had extremely thick black fur that never shed, red glowing eyes with gigantic teeth, and talon-like nails.
It snarled at Rose, foaming at the mouth. Its moist snout sniffed at the air. Sniffing out her.
Its prey.
Tap. Tap.
It took two steps forward.
Rose leaped back into her apartment and slammed the door shut, locking it. She rushed over to her phone that lay on the kitchen counter, dialing the front desk. The security guard there answered, and was greeted by an unexpected cry for help.
Rose looked over her shoulder, and emerging from the darkness of her bedroom was the hound with the glowing red eyes. How did it get in? How? Rose's body became paralyzed. The hound growled at her once more and before she could let out a scream, it pounced.
———
Paul hated doing the overnight shifts. Mainly because a
fter a certain hour of the night, it got dead. At eight o'clock, the older crowd went up for the night. The “younger” seniors stayed out, but not much longer. Tonight was different. Dead to the point Paul felt he was doing an actual graveyard shift...in a graveyard. The one resident, Peter, who kept Paul occupied by nagging him all night to change the channel on the television in the ground floor lounge, had gone up early the past few nights due to a cold.
Paul leaned back in the black leather chair, hands resting on his bald head, and huffed in boredom. He had one more hour to go before the next guard would come on duty to relieve him. Just like any other job, the last hour dragged.
The buzzer sounded, signaling a resident–or perhaps a visitor–looking to get in. At times, children who lived around the area would play with the buzzers during all hours of the day to continuously piss off whoever worked at the desk. Numerous times in Paul's one year working at Lomax Manor he had to deal with the brats and argue with them. He swore next time one of them messed with the buzzer he'd go to jail.
He made his way down the lobby, to the parking lot entrance. He opened up, allowing a gentlemen wearing a baseball cap in his early seventies into the building. The old man shook off his raincoat and briefcase upon entering. Paul shut the door behind him, making sure it was secure.
"Hey, Paul, how's it going?"
"Just bored out of my mind, Richie," Paul said.
"That always happens the last hour." Paul rolled his eyes in agreement. "Helluva night, huh? This storm just came outta nowhere."
"I know, it's crazy. We weren't supposed to have rain until later this week. The damn storm has been causing the lights to flicker. But everything seems okay...for now."
The two headed back toward the lobby.
"How was the ball meeting?" Paul asked.
"Eh, was okay. I'm just waiting for retirement."
Paul returned back behind the desk once they entered the lobby. Richie stood beside it.
"Hey, Paul? Have you been hearing all the whack-a-doo rumors going around this dump lately?"
Intrigued, Paul leaned in. "No. What rumors?"
Richie looked around and spoke in a lower tone. "Is anyone else around here?"
"No. It's just been me."
"Okay, good." Richie cleared his throat. "Anyway, apparently one of the residents has been hearing these weird tapping noises during the night, in the hallway. Not just hearing things but seeing things, too."
"Seeing things?"
"Yes. She's been going around saying she's seen a black, demon dog walking around the fourth floor halls." Paul squinted. "I've asked around and everyone that I've talked to didn't see or hear anything."
"That's strange."
"Right." Richie broke out in a laugh.
"The only kind of dogs allowed in this building are ones the sizes of cats."
"I'm telling you, Paul, this place is going insane. That's why I just stay in my apartment, keep to myself, say 'hi' and 'bye' to people and do my thing."
"Who's been seeing this?" Paul asked.
"Roseanne."
In shock, "Rose? No way. She's one of the few people in here with all her marbles. It can't be her."
Richie nodded his head in disbelief. "I didn't believe it either until I talked to her the other day." There was a beat of silence before Richie spoke again. He patted his hand on the desk. "Well, this old geezer is off to bed. Will you be on tomorrow night?"
"No, it's my off day. I'll be back Monday, though."
"Okie dokie. Good night, Paul."
"Good night."
Richie took two steps, then turned back to Paul with a grin. "Watch out for those dogs."
Paul forced a smile as Richie slapped his knee and headed for the elevator. Paul took a seat once the elevator got moving. The moment his ass hit the leather, the phone rang, echoing throughout the lobby.
"Lomax Manor, this is Paul, how may I help you?" Paul jumped up off the chair. It rolled on its wheels and smacked into the wall. "Rose?"
———
Paul darted for the elevator, pressing the buttons rapidly as if playing one of those finger tapping games on your smart phone. It was on the seventh floor and gradually making its way down. Before the door could open halfway, Paul jumped inside, madly pressing buttons.
The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open once it reached the fourth floor. Paul squeezed through the crack in the door when the elevator dinged jumping out, darting to Roseanne's apartment.
Paul yanked and twisted at the locked door.
"Shit!"
Paul fumbled at the keys on his belt, searching through the dozen keys until he found the Master to Apartments key and unlocked her door, tripping as he entered.
Rose's apartment was dark and silent. Her phone was dangling, tapping against the bottom of the counter. A trail of red liquid lead from the phone to the living room. Paul knelt down and ran his fingers through it.
Blood.
He darted into the living room screaming Rose's name. He halted. Paul gulped, then took a step closer.
Rose's body was flat out on top the coffee table. A chunk of flesh was missing from her neck, a pool of blood forming before Paul's eyes. The window was open, and, for a split second, Paul could've sworn he seen a black hound leaping out to the dumpster below.
Paul whipped out his cell phone and punched 911.
"Help! I need help!"
Crime Scene
11:30 p.m.
Peggy Edwards just made her twenty-second year in the PD last Friday, and had only been promoted to a detective, Homicide specifically, three years ago. Out of all the years of hard work, all the years of busting the bad guys, and the several partners she was assigned to work with, none equaled the amount of strange as her newest partner, Michael Connors. To her, he put the strange in strange. Michael had recently moved to the East Coast from Los Angeles. He never talked about his past, and ever since he had arrived in Ridgefield a few weeks ago there had been a ton of unsolved and mysterious cases.
Just like this one.
Peggy had a strong desire to dig into her partner’s past, knowing she might find something disturbing in his files. She knew it was best to leave it alone–at least for now.
The storm had lightened up tremendously within the last hour, so Peggy left her umbrella in the car, not bothered by the light drizzle. She flashed her badge to fresh-out-of-the-academy, Officer Stanzi, allowing her to enter the property. Peggy joined Michael's side by the dumpsters, where he was staring up at the open apartment window that belonged to Roseanne.
"What are you staring at?" she asked.
Michael glanced over at her, handing her a cup of coffee. "Paul Stine, the guard on duty, the one who made the call, claimed that whatever attacked our victim jumped out this window right into this area."
"What did he say attacked the victim?"
"He was unclear about that." Michael took out his flashlight and shone it around. Peggy followed close behind. "He did say that the victim–Roseanne, an elderly woman in her seventies or eighties, I don't recall–was apparently seeing a black dog roaming around her floor. She called down to the front desk hysterical and shouting. When he got up to her room she was dead. A chunk of her neck was bitten off."
"Yikes." Peggy never wanted to hear Michael's theory on things, since she already knew what he'd say. And that bothered her. But she needed to. "What do you think? Animal attack? Rabid dog?"
Michael turned off his flashlight, smiled and turned to her. "Oh come on, Edwards, you and I both know you really don't like my theories on things."
"Enlighten me. Prove me wrong this time, Connors. Give me an actual answer that's not irrational this time. Hmm?"
"Say it was a dog," he began. "How would it have gotten past security, let alone climbed four flights of stairs and," he pointed his finger in the air, "how could it have opened two sets of doors in the process? Rabid dog or wild animal, it doesn't have a rational sense to it. Could you explain to me how the hell anything
can jump from that height, down here, unharmed with no evidence of any kind of trace to where it might've gone, and just vanished into the night?"
Peggy rolled her eyes, knowing his irrational theory was coming at any point.
"If it was an animal, Edwards, it definitely wasn't an ordinary animal."
"Please, don't say it–"
"Precisely, it had to have been something supernatural.” He shrugged. “Maybe a black dog. But maybe a hellhound, or a skin walker. Something along those lines."
Peggy sighed, placing her cup of coffee on the covered dumpster. "How are you still a cop, Connors? I swear with all your spooky theories we should start questioning you. I mean, a lot of weird cases have come across my desk since you got here. Now, I'm not pointing any fingers at you, but for God’s sake, stop with all the supernatural mumbo-jumbo. There's a rational explanation to all this, okay?"
Michael tied his hair into a ponytail, then took a step past her. "Trust me, Edwards. If I was the one behind all these unsolved cases–like the missing children a few months ago–nobody would catch me and no evidence would be found. I'm not the one behind this."
After sending a shiver down her spine, Michael made his way into the building.
———
As the final squad car exited the parking lot of Lomax Manor, disappearing around the block, Lance–parked up the street–exited his car and went towards the building. He snuck through the parking lot to the dumpster area, pulled out his flashlight and shone it along the green dumpsters, the blue recycling dumpsters, the generator and down the small path towards the back doors into the kitchen. During all the ruckus, Lance managed to speak with Paul outside in private and get the scoop. Not wanting police to notice him around, he quickly thanked Paul for his time and vanished up the street to his car where he waited till it quieted down; and the police left the scene. He had a few run-ins with Detective Peggy Edwards since living in Ridgefield, and she already suspected him of something. She’d seen him around a lot of the unsolved cases crime scenes. The last thing he needed was for a cop to be up his ass while he tried doing his job.
