Canticum Tenebris (Wrath of the Old Gods Book 2)

by John Triptych

  Deprived of their air support, the IDF task force and the Jordanians began to use their main battle tanks from prepared positions as the horde of monsters reached the town’s outer defensive perimeter. Israeli Merkavas fought side by side with modified Jordanian Challenger tanks as the battle was now hand to hand. Ground troops situated in bunkers began to use machineguns, grenades, and rifle fire to fend off the seemingly endless swarms of monsters and enemy humans who had joined in with the enemy. Thousands of prepared land mines detonated as the creatures seemingly walked right through where they lay without any sense of fear. Within minutes, the entire town was surrounded by a massive horde of supernatural creatures and attacks began to occur from all sides.

  Rabbi Elijah Ba’al saw the things flying above him. That meant that the enemy had now penetrated the town’s defenses and they were about to be overrun. He calmly remembered the words to the incantations that he had prepared for this very occasion. Now it all depended on him.

  The rabbi raised his hands into the air as the screams and gunfire raged all around him. “Arise, protectors of the chosen people! Arise and fight!”

  At that moment, there was a rumbling all around them as if there was an earthquake out in the middle of the desert. Both men and monsters hesitated for a brief instance as the unexpected erupted.

  It was then that the earth shook as if the soil all around them was being tilled by the gods themselves. Gigantic hands made of hardened clay clawed their way out from underneath the ground as the newly created golems broke through the sands and concrete streets surrounding the town. Looking like hulking gorillas made of hardened clay, these massive creatures now joined in the battle.

  Rabbi Ba’al’s eyes were now glowing with a strange fire as he screamed from the top of his lungs, commanding the creatures he had created from clay and the essences of his prisoners. “Fight the enemy, my golems! Fight them and destroy them all!”

  The battle was now joined. Both the Israelis and the Jordanians hesitated and nearly wavered as they saw a new horde of clay monsters bearing down on them. But soon, their newly found fears turned into hope as they renewed their courage and fought side by side with the golems. A large number of the flying creatures were thrown to the ground and trampled over by the golems as they ignored the fangs and claws that scratched at them. Several squads of IDF soldiers began to use their golem allies as both cover and as battering rams while they maneuvered and fought behind the construct’s protective clay bodies. Two dozen giants from the enemy horde were able to smash a few of the golems with their massive clubs, but they were taken down by accurate sniper fire from Israelis and Jordanians stationed on the rooftops. It took awhile to hit the monster’s brains with their aimed shots since they were so much smaller compared to the size of the gigantic heads they were encased in.

  It had now descended into a swirling melee as both sides threw everything they had into the town. The defenders were taking enormous casualties, but the monstrous horde incurred even greater losses as they seemingly fought without tactics or subterfuge. The golems targeted the most powerful of the enemy beasts as they fought the lamassu and the griffons to a standstill, while the defending soldiers were busy shooting at their human counterparts. Slowly but surely, the tide of battle began to turn as the golem reinforcements began to beat back the horde.

  One of the giants in the outskirts of town made a shrill whistle and then turned around as it started to run back across the desert. Pretty soon, the rest of the monstrous swarm had begun to retreat towards the safety of the dust storms in the distant horizon. As the fighting began to die down, loud cheers began to emanate from the surviving troops.

  General Siegel wiped the blood from his forehead as he surveyed the wrecked command tent. Two of the flying creatures tore through the HQ and the command staff was forced to defend themselves. General Ali and Colonel Tzur were both lying dead on the ground, having fought till the bitter end.

  Two Jordanian medics came over and began to administer first aid to the survivors. General Siegel waved them away when they asked if he needed assistance. His head had a vicious cut from the claw of the flying thing that tore Colonel Tzur’s head off, but he had killed the creature with his pistol. Within minutes after it had died, the dead creature’s corpse had somehow shriveled up into a pile of dust that got carried away by the slight breeze in the wind. It was like black magic.

  An IDF major came running into the area, the barrel of his Tavor assault rifle was still smoking after prolonged use. “General, Colonel Livni reports that the enemy has withdrawn back into the sandstorm out in the distance. Should we pursue?”

  “Negative,” General Siegel said softly. “I don’t think we have enough men left to do that. Do you have a casualty report?”

  The major handed him a clipboard. “Yes sir. We took casualties but those golems turned the tide for us. This is the first battle that I know of that the humans have won! Israel is saved!”

  General Siegel looked around sullenly while glancing at the numbers on the report. The defenders had taken over sixty percent casualties and their air support and artillery were all but gone, along with most of their armored fighting vehicles. The special Golem Brigade had also taken serious losses and was down to less than a quarter of its original strength.

  This was supposed to be a victory?

  13. The Wendigo

  Greater Boston

  It was half past midnight and Dr. Paul Dane lay awake in his bed. As he sat up, he looked to his left and noticed that the two children were fast asleep on the bedroom floor. He had tried to prepare one of the spare rooms so that they could use it, but Kim and Troy had insisted on sleeping in the same room as him. Both kids lay huddled in a mass of thick blankets and pillows that served as a makeshift sleeping bag. Even as she slept, Kim seemed to be subconsciously holding onto her brother as her arms were wrapped protectively around him as she snored softly.

  Paul silently placed his socked feet onto the floor as he took the flashlight from the night table beside the bed. As he got up, he put his glasses on and slowly made his way over to the window so as not to disturb the kids. He flipped the switch on the handheld flashlight as he pointed it down to the floor. The artificial beam of light had started to dim and he had no more spare batteries left so he turned it off. There were perhaps a dozen candles left around the house and there was still the old kerosene lantern so he only used the flashlight as a backup now. The few days that had gone went by slowly. There was still plenty of firewood to scavenge since the neighborhood was all but abandoned now. The last trip to the food bank had been a grim affair since there seemed to be only a handful of volunteers left. There were even less people who came over to get what little of the food packages that remained. Paul frowned in the darkness as he remembered that the car had maybe a quarter tank of gas left. In a few weeks, he would need to either siphon gas from some of the abandoned cars in the area, or he would have to start walking if he needed to get around.

  A muffled thump coming from the outside made Paul instinctively look out of the window. Right across the street was his neighbor, Clinton Taylor who had apparently just closed the trunk of his car before getting into the driver’s seat and then starting it up. Paul noticed that Clint always seemed to have plenty of gas for his car because this was the fifth time in a row that he noticed him going out for a drive in the middle of the night. Last evening, Paul had stayed awake to observe and it was only at the crack of dawn that Clint’s car had finally pulled up in his driveway. Where had he been going to at night?

  There was a growing sense of foreboding about this whole place. His old neighborhood didn’t feel the same way anymore. It wasn’t just the country being in a state of siege from the Aztec gods in the southern borders, it felt like the nation was collapsing in on itself. He had heard about the religious secessionists in Kansas over the radio and of the flooded areas of the southeastern states and it all seemed to be coming to a head. Paul was beginning to regret leaving New York Ci
ty, especially when the one person who understood him was still there.

  That was the moment when he decided it would be best to leave for Brooklyn tomorrow. He would take the kids with him since it was obvious that their parents were probably dead. Detective Valerie Mendoza would welcome him with open arms.

  But there was still one thing that bothered him about being where he was. It was the mystery about Kim and Troy’s missing parents. What had happened to them? Would the kids go with him to New York without the peace of mind of knowing what happened to their parents?? Could he leave them behind if they chose instead to stay and wait it out for a little while longer? He knew he had to find the answers because it was bothering him too.

  Paul slowly made his way over to the master bathroom and put on a pair of slacks over his thermal underwear. After putting his soft walking shoes on, he slowly took a thick jacket from the coat hanger and slipped into it as he made his way to the door. He glanced at the kids one last time before closing the door behind him. Then he made his way to the ground floor of the house. The dying embers from the fireplace were still visible as Paul opened the front door and peeked outside. As expected, there was no one around.

  Paul left the house as he silently made his way to the front of Clint Taylor’s home. Unlike Paul’s residence, Clint’s place was an A-frame, colonial style three-storied home made almost entirely of wood. It had an elevated front porch with white picket fences and its surrounding walls were painted grey with white trim. The tall, narrow windows seemed to have been covered up from the inside. As he slowly made his way up to the porch, Paul tried the knob on the front door but it was evidently locked. He tried to peer through the windows, but the pulled blinds were impossible to see through. As he made his way around to the back of the house, Paul kept hoping he was wrong in suspecting his neighbor was up to something, but he was almost certain that something just wasn’t right with him and he had to make sure.

  He had known Clint for years, almost two decades in fact, but from the moment he had returned, he had sensed that his old friend was no longer the man he had known for all that time. Paul had gone over to his house a few days back and asked about Clint’s wife Donna to see if there was anything he could do, but his old neighbor was evasive and told him not to worry. Just by talking to him, Paul felt that the old neurologist was hiding something. Clint just wasn’t a very convincing liar and it was clear something was wrong with Donna but he refused to reveal what it was.

  As he made his way to the back door, Paul remembered Donna. Clint’s wife was more of the quiet type. She had been working as an accountant for Harvard University but she mostly kept to herself and would only come alive when she and her husband were watching baseball games. Beyond that, he didn’t know much else about her other than the fact that she once had been a nun and was deeply religious. Donna had been a frequent volunteer in the local church when it came to all sorts of activities. After his return from New York, Paul would sometimes hear distant screaming from Clint’s house in the middle of the day. Kim was apparently so scared of the woman, she steered clear of the house every time she needed to walk past it. The only thing that Clint mentioned was that Donna had somehow become unhinged when the old gods returned. She had seemingly lost her mind and her will to live and he was treating her as an invalid. Paul felt that more could have been done but with the country in crisis, it would be impossible to find a psychologist who would be able to treat her..

  When Paul finally twisted the knob on the back door, it opened with a slight squeak. Clint must have apparently forgotten to lock his rear door but with the area pretty much deserted, he probably felt secure enough to not even bother with it. As he pushed at the inner screen door, Paul slowly made his way inside while turning on his flashlight.

  The back door had led into the kitchen and it was a mess. The once gleaming stainless steel countertop was stained in a deep brown. Paul noticed that there was a pile of dirty chef knives in the sink. The table in the center of the kitchen seemed to have deep groves along its grimy top and there were two cleavers lying side by side on it. The whole place smelled of rotting meat.

  Paul silently cursed to himself as he shook the flashlight to try to get some more power out of it as its beam of light started to get dimmer. He had admonished Troy a few days ago when he noticed that the boy had been keeping the flashlight on for almost the entire night. After that, he always kept it by his side. Paul felt a pang of regret as he made his way through the narrow corridor that led to the living room. Troy couldn’t speak and the last thing he wanted was to tell him off, but he did.

  As he passed by a slightly opened door that led to a study, Paul noticed a number of things lying on the mahogany desk. He pushed the door inwards a little bit further so he could slip inside. There seemed to be a curious collection of old leather wallets and ladies handbags sitting at the top of the table. Paul stood behind the desk and picked up one wallet in particular then he started to examine it. The wallet contained a driver’s license that belonged to a certain Alexander Fisher as well as a credit card. As he went through a few other wallets, the hairs at the back of Paul’s neck began to rise. What happened to the people who owned these things? After examining over two dozen that belonged to different people from all walks of life, Paul started to rummage through the handbags.

  As he looked through the second handbag, Paul let out a soft gasp. This particular one was black leather and it had a driver’s license that belonged to Kim’s mother. The rest of the contents consisted of a tube of lipstick, some coins, a silk handkerchief, a cell phone and a small picture of the entire family. It looked like a selfie picture taken in a water park; Kim and Troy were making faces as their smiling parents posed right behind them.

  “I’m sorry,” a voice said from across the room.

  Paul dropped the photograph and shined the flashlight in front of him. Standing in the doorway was Clint Taylor. He still wore his dark blue suit and he had a cleaver in his hand. Paul said nothing as he looked around for a weapon.

  “Look, Paul, we’ve been friends and neighbors a long, long time and I never had any intention of ever hurting you,” Clint said calmly. “But you’ve got to understand my predicament.”

  Paul was breathing in short, nervous gasps. “And what predicament is that?”

  Clint looked down on the floor. “Donna. My wife. She hasn’t been well and this is the only way to keep her from transforming into one of those things out there.”

  Paul shook his head in disbelief. “What things, Clint?”

  Clint sighed. “Come on, Paul. You’re a world famous expert on mythology. I’ve read all your books. Heck, you even gave me free copies of them. Don’t you remember the myth of the Wendigo?”

  “The Wendigo?”

  “Yes, you remember? The old Indian legend?”

  “An evil, beast-like spirit that can transform into a man or some half animal monster,” Paul said. “Legend says that anyone who eats human flesh can turn into one.”

  “Precisely,” Clint said. “When this whole thing started, heck, people are now calling it the Glooming from what I’ve heard. Anyway, when it started, Donna became quiet and stopped eating. For weeks, I tried to figure out what was wrong with her but she just withdrew into herself. By this time the hospitals were full to bursting and I couldn’t find a psychologist to treat her. Then I thought it may have been a seizure disorder or some other brain dysfunction but none of her symptoms fit so I figured it must have been some sort of mental illness. Then she started getting hysterical and violent. It all came to a head when Rachel from next door came in for a visit one evening.”

  “Rachel S-Sandborn?”

  “Yes, our good ‘ol neighbor, the one who had a husband in the oil business. Rachel came over to ask a favor, I don’t even remember the details anymore. I only left them alone for a few seconds while I went upstairs to get something from my bedroom closet. The next thing I knew, there were screams coming from downstairs so I hurried back to the
living room. Donna had torn her throat out and was taking huge chunks of flesh from her throat and shoulders. By the time I was able to get my wife off of her, Rachel was dead.”

  Paul didn’t answer. All he could think about was that he would be Clint’s next victim. He just stood there as he kept pointing the flashlight at him.

  “I couldn’t bring her to the cops. She was my wife and I still love her dearly,” Clint said softly. “When the whole world is breaking down, all you’ve got left is family. Do you know what I mean?”

  “Clint, I—”

  “No, you don’t know what I mean because your wife is dead. But if she was alive and she did this, would you have let them take her away? And since law and order had broken down they would probably kill her in the end since there aren’t any more jails that are still going or any treatment centers out there anymore. Would you have let them do that to Elizabeth?”

  Paul kept quiet.

  “No, of course you won’t answer because you haven’t been in my shoes, Paul,” Clint said. “So I did what I had to do, I got rid of Rachael's body and tried to cover it all up. But then her husband came snooping around the next day. So you can guess what happened then.”

  “You killed him too?”

  “I had to do it. If he found out, that would have been it,” Clint said softly.

  Paul realized that his old friend had gone insane. “How?”

  “Oh, just led him down the cellar to meet Donna. She distracted him and I smashed his head in with a hammer. He was a good man, we went sport fishing together a few times. It was the hardest thing I ever had o do,” Clint said wistfully. “And before I could dispose of his body what does Donna do? She starts to eat him before he’s even cold! I couldn’t bear to watch so I just walked back upstairs and locked the basement door behind me. The next day, she sort of comes back to normal.”