by Dirk Patton
“Well, sure, son. We can go get a steak if you want.” He frowned. Not a lot in his wallet, but he could always break out the emergency credit card, just this one exception for the emergencies only rule. It wasn't every day his boy came back from the—
Dead! Josh is dead! D-E-A-D! DEAD!
Josh took three steps toward him. Each one was off. He moved like he never even put his feet on the ground, he didn’t just walk. He sort of slithered on his feet. It made no sense but the image was unsettling and wrong.
“Josh, what’s wrong with your feet?”
“Hungry. So hungry.”
Josh’s hand pushed against his chest. Nate looked own at those fingers he'd known ever since the boy was born and saw the thick dark claws where his nails should have been.
“Josh. What?” That was as far as he got before the pain bloomed in his chest. Nate was still watching as Josh pushed his fingers forward and drove them deep into his flesh. Sliding past bone. The pain was bigger than the entire room. It grew even bigger until it stole Nate’s breath from him.
No. That was the holes in his lungs. He was still looking down when the air gasped out of those holes, spraying pink foam past the three fingers that had pierced the delicate organs.
The fingers squeezed, breaking bone and tearing internal things that should not be torn. The grip around his heart was a crushing weight.
“He wants your heart, Dad. And I am so hungry.” The words were whispered in his ear, right before Josh opened his mouth and showed the changes that had taken place there.
The pain in his heart was horrible on so many levels. It was the breaking of physical and emotional doppelgangers.
But the agony of the teeth that slid through his stubble and then met in the side of Nate’s neck?
That was so much worse.
Joshua took his time feeding on his old man.
Nate stayed awake far longer than he would ever have thought possible.
* * *
Griffin came fully awake when Charon groaned in her sleep. Her eyes snapped open and she sat up with a sharp intake of breath. He said, “You okay?”
Charon looked over at him, her dark eyes troubled. “Yes. No. Jeez.”
“What is it?”
She shook her head. “I felt something. Like when those two demon things attacked Carter and me in that parking lot.”
Griffin didn't like to think of the events of the previous fall. “Do you think it's connected?”
“No, this is different. But it's what Carter would call an incursion. Something moving around on this plane of reality that shouldn't.”
Griffin got out of bed and stretched. He was wide awake now. It didn't take a lot to wake him and he always had trouble getting back to sleep. “I don't guess there's any way of knowing what or where?”
“Not for me, wild man. I'm not psychic like Cindy Kane. It didn't feel like it had anything to do with us. Just something weird out there in the dark.”
“Is Decamp still out of town?”
“Yeah, he's in Scotland with that creepy friend of his, Jonathan Crowley.”
Griffin had first encountered Carter Decamp a couple of years earlier. The man was a retired professor of English literature. He was also an expert on the occult and some sort of monster hunter. Somehow Charon had drifted into being his apprentice. As impossible as it seemed, Decamp had some form of actual supernatural power and he was teaching Charon the same thing.
“I guess we can't call and ask him, then.”
“He said he might be difficult to reach for a while. Besides, this might be nothing. It's not like we don't have enough weird stuff around here with the Blackbournes and all. If anything else happens I can try and call him.”
“Guess that's all we can do for now then,” Griffin said.
“You could get back in bed and hold me until I go back to sleep,” said Charon.
“I could do that.”
Unlike Griffin, Charon had little trouble falling back asleep and she was soon snoring softly. Griffin drifted off close to sunrise, which was also the time his cell phone chirped. He rolled over, grabbed the phone, and slipped out of bed. He checked the screen as he walked into the hallway. Carl, of course.
“Hate to wake you this early, Wade,” Carl said, “But I’m at a crime scene and I may need Decamp. I called him, but just got his voicemail.”
“Decamp’s out of the country. What’s going on?”
“Hell if I know. I got a body with a missing heart and some weird wounds. Looks like someone’s been chewing on the victim.”
Griffin was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “Charon had some sort of warning last night. A feeling that something was wrong. Could be connected.”
“Be a hell of a coincidence if it wasn’t.”
“Do you want me to ask her to come to the scene?”
“Not sure she should see this, Wade.”
“You know she’s seen plenty of bad things, already. Her call, but I’ll ask her. Tell me where you are, and I’ll be there as soon as I can in any case.”
Carl gave him a name and an address. Griffin went to wake Charon.
Close to an hour later they pulled up in front of Nathanial Collett’s house. It was an older house, probably built in the sixties, but clean, and well maintained. Two Brennert County Sheriff’s Department cruisers and Carl’s truck were in the driveway.
“Sure you want to do this?” Griffin said.
Charon said, “No, but given what happened last night, I think I have to.”
They got out of Griffin’s truck. Carl was sitting on the front steps and he stood as they approached. He said, “Thanks for coming, Charon.”
“Don’t thank me until we see if I can be of any help.”
“Hey, I appreciate the effort. I’ve got protective gear for you both.”
Griffin and Charon stopped to put on paper booties over their shoes. Then they followed Carl into the house. The front door led directly to a well-kept living room. What was left of Collett was sprawled on the floor. A lot of blood had seeped into an old rug that covered the hardwood floor, and Griffin’s footsteps made an unpleasant squelching noise.
Griffin crouched and looked at the bite wounds. He said, “Basic size and shape of the bites looks almost human, but...”
Carl said, “But the bites are too deep and too savage. Yeah, coroner said the teeth would have to be sharp, like an animal's.”
Carl had sent the two uniformed deputies who had been guarding the room outside. Griffin said, “Some of the less human moon-eyes eat human flesh like this.”
“Thought of that,” Carl said. “Might have to talk to Lament, whether I like it or not.”
“I'd hold off on that as long as you can.”
“Plan to.”
Griffin said, “The chest wound looks really weird.”
“It's a puncture wound made with a multi-pointed weapon. Like someone with claws stuck his hand into the old man's chest.”
Charon said, “Griffin said the heart is missing. How about any other internal organs?”
“It doesn't look like it,” Carl said, “But we won't know for sure until the autopsy has been performed.”
“That suggest something to you, Charon?” Griffin said.
“A human heart is a prized ingredient in any number of occult rituals. If whatever did this carried it away, it could mean something.”
“Or maybe they just ate it,” said Carl.
Charon said, “Possible, but since they didn't take any other organs, it's not as likely. If they enjoyed viscera, there was plenty available.”
“Good point,” said Griffin. “How are you holding up?”
“I'm not going to hurl yet.”
“Good to know.”
“Here's another weird thing,” Carl said. “I didn't make the connection until I got over here, but Nathaniel Collett has been calling my office every day for the last couple of weeks, saying he thought something had been done to his son's body at Thayer Funera
l Parlor. He wanted us to dissenter the kid.”
Griffin said, “He give any reason?”
Carl shook his head. “No, just said he had a feeling. Figured him for a loon. I've been letting one of the deputies talk to him. Maybe I should go and talk to the owner of the funeral parlor.”
Griffin said, “Thayer. That's that huge place outside of town, right?”
“That's the one.”
Charon said, “Starting to feel a little queasy here, guys. Maybe I should go and do some research on entities that eat flesh and steal hearts.”
“Yeah, let's get you outside,” Griffin said.
“Let me know if you turn anything up,” Carl said. “And thanks again for coming out. I know this isn't pleasant. I've been looking at corpses for way too long and it doesn't get any easier.”
* * *
Someone was aware of him. Henry Thayer had felt it just at the moment Joshua Collett was taking his father’s heart. That shouldn’t have been possible. The only magus of any power in the area was Carter Decamp, and Thayer had gone to great lengths, using the necromantic powers granted by Nsnigoth, to shield himself from Decamp. Thayer had come to Wellman because the walls between worlds were thin there.
This could be a problem. He had perhaps gotten a little carried away in allowing one of his servants to roam free. The local police might find the elder Collett’s body and wonder what had happened, but they wouldn’t jump to a supernatural conclusion. It wasn’t part of their mundane thinking.
If the details of the condition of the body got out and someone with the right sort of eldritch knowledge made a connection, it could interfere with his plans. His time in Wellman was growing short. Soon would come the reaping of souls. But he wasn’t ready to leave just yet. He would need to find out more about this person, whoever it might be.
Thayer went all the way to the far end of his private catacomb. There, on a stone slab, lay the body of one of his first converts since arriving in Wellman. The man had been trapped in his own dead body for six months. Only Thayer's dark arts had kept the shell in one piece. Even so, the dead man, a fellow named Darren West, was little more than a pile of bones and blackened flesh. He was also hopelessly mad.
Thayer leaned down over Darren and spoke an incantation. Darren's eyes snapped open. They were completely black and without irises. Just two, gleaming ebon orbs.
Thayer looked deep into those eyes, still mumbling the words of power, summoning the guidance of the ones who walk behind the angles. And in Darren's eyes, Thayer saw the one who had felt his presence. A small woman with dark hair and eyes...
* * *
The Thayer Funeral Home was a big, sprawling place.
Carl looked at it for several seconds and scratched at his chin. Seemed damn near every funeral home he saw was big – most of them were houses he wouldn’t have minded owning, too, if not for the whole dead people in there thing – and kept up better than any of the houses around them when they were near residential areas.
He’d met Thayer a few times. The man had about the same sort of sincerity as a snake oil salesman, but that sort of came with the territory, he supposed. You spend your days working on corpses and then smiling into the faces of the grief stricken and you sort of had to put up layers of emotional padding to avoid killing yourself. Happened in all sorts of businesses, his included.
Still, he delayed a few more minutes before going in.
The place was laid out tastefully, with earth tones and the sort of furniture designed to offer comfort to folks who’d just had their loved ones die. A lady in a dark dress with thick red hair of the sort that came out of a box of hair dye rose from her seat behind the desk and smiled at him. He knew her. The hair was real. It was one of those mysteries he would never understand, how some people got those colors naturally, but he’d known Missy Kincaid since she’d been in middle school with him.
Her smile brightened the room. “Carl. How are you? It’s been forever.”
“Missy. How come you never get any older?”
She waved the compliment away with a chuckle. “You and me both know that’s a lie, but you’re sweet for saying it.” She moved in closer for a hug and he let her. Missy was about as sweet as honey, and happily married to the best of his knowledge – her high school sweetheart, a man named Burt Kincaid, who was a pharmacist these days.
“How are those kids of yours?”
“Pure trouble.” She giggled like she was still in high school, a fact that he found endearing. “But I love them just the same.”
“Long as you talk them down from the hard stuff I’ll let ‘em pass on being guests at my jail.”
“Oh, they’re only five and seven. I think we’ve got a while before I have to rein them in.” He'd met them both. They were cute as buttons.
Missy got a serious look on her face. “Is everything all right? Are you here professionally or personally?”
“Professionally, I’m happy to say.”
She smiled and nodded. “Well, you tell me what you need and I’ll see what I can do about getting it handled.”
“Well, if he can spare just a few minutes, I needed to talk to your boss about a case.”
Missy frowned. “I’m sure he’ll make the time.” Her smile crept back in place slowly.
“Well, thank you, kindly.” He put on his best smile. “It’s nothing too bad, just a few questions about a man who made some calls.”
Her face grew stormy and then switched to a politely sad expression he knew was another case of snake oil sales. “I expect I know who you mean, but there’s no reason for wagging tongues, hon. I’ll got get Mister Thayer.”
Carl nodded and looked around the room, contemplating sitting down while he waited. A quick scan of the chairs showed exactly two types: the sort you don’t sit in and the sort that just pull you in and never want to let you go. He chose to stand instead. The former would break under his weight and the later would entice him to take a nap.
When Thayer came out of his office, the man had a smile plastered on his face. His eyes were just a bit wider than usual, and his dimples were deep creases. If Carl were the sort that bet on poker, he'd say the man was hiding something. What that something was he could not say, but his guts said Thayer was guilty as hell of something.
“Sheriff Price! How good to see you. How can I help you today?” He offered his hand and Carl took it. Thayer was a big man, lots of muscle and a bit of padding. His grip was soft and the other hand moved to enfold Carl’s in a double grasp that he was certain came automatically to the man these days. He was used to offering comfort.
Carl resisted the urge to wipe his hand clean. He offered up his best hundred-watt smile. “Well, I was wondering if we could have a talk somewhere a little more private?” Aside from Missy there was no one around. “I don’t want anything said that might start ugly rumors, and if someone were to come through the door….”
“Understood.” Thayer let go of his hand and smoothly made his way back to the solid oak door to his office. The carpet they walked across would have muffled the sound of stampeding buffalo. Carl figured it was the sort of carpet a man could sleep on and never for a second miss the comfort of his bed.
Thayer turned and smiled at him even as he settled into his office seat. Like everything else, it was a damned fine piece of furniture.
“What seems to be worrying you, Sheriff?”
“Well, not worrying me so much as it’s a little on the worrisome side.” Carl thought about going the country bumpkin route and making himself sound ignorant but didn’t feel that was the right way to go with Thayer. The man was not a local, but he was also the sort that seemed capable of understanding when a man was playing him.
“How so?”
“Well. We’re keeping the details closed right now, as we’re dealing with an open investigation, but last night we had a murder here in Brennert. A man named Nathaniel Collett got himself killed in a rather grisly fashion.”
There it was. Not
exactly a tell, but a shift of the eyes. Was it the sort of thing that was admissible in court? Or that he'd ever mention? No, but it was enough for his guts to tell him Thayer was likely dirty on one level or another. It could also just be that he knew about the police reports.
Thayer made a sympathetic face and tsked. “That’s horrible. Why, it was only a few weeks ago that I buried the poor man’s son.”
“That’s one of the reasons I’m here, actually. While investigating the situation it turns out that Mister Collett made several calls to my offices.”
“Oh, he did?” His look of surprise was almost perfect.
“I’m afraid so. He had a few complaints about your funeral home, actually. He believed someone on these premises was doing something… unnatural… with his son’s body. He made multiple requests to have the body exhumed in order to examine it.”
Carl made sure to keep his expression neutral, but it wasn't easy. The man wasn't actually squirming in his seat, but he wanted to. Might be he’d done absolutely nothing wrong, but he surely was doing everything in his power to make sure he didn’t fidget more than the bare minimum.
Just to make his point, Carl said, “Under the circumstances. I might well have to look into his request to have the body exhumed.”
Thayer kept the same expression, but his color changed a bit. First, he got paler and then he got a bit of a blush going. Not the sort that said he was embarrassed, but the sort that said maybe he was a touch on the annoyed side.
“Really, Sheriff Price, I can’t begin to imagine—”
“Thing is, Mister Thayer, while I can’t get into details, there were certain aspects of this particular crime scene that indicated possible occult beliefs and practices.”
Couldn’t have made the man flinch that hard without actually slapping him in most cases. He tried to control it, but some actions are purely involuntary.
“’Occult activities?’”
“You’d think that wouldn’t be a thing, right? But we’ve had a few occasions over the last few years that have meant studying up on that sort of thing. I have a couple of local experts looking into the situation right now, seeing if they can find any correlations between the sort of activities that were performed on the deceased and different occult organizations.”
