Johnny Gruesome

by Gregory Lamberson

  “A little rusty, but it’ll do.”

  Using his arms, Eric rotated his body with frantic urgency until he faced the opposite embankment, where he’d broken his leg. Scrambling toward it, he heard the chain whistle through the air. He rolled onto his back, the sudden motion sending a shock wave of pain through his right leg.

  Johnny stood a dozen feet away, spinning the chain above his head like a lariat. Retaining his grip, he extended his arm with a snapping motion, and the chain whipped forward. Eric rolled to his left side and the chain struck the ice where he’d just lain, blasting ice fragments at his back.

  Johnny gathered the chain, and Eric rolled onto his back for a defensive view. Johnny whipped the chain again, and this time Eric rolled to his right. The chain missed again, striking the ice where he’d just been. Johnny pulled the chain back faster, coiling it, and Eric returned to his back.

  Johnny whipped the chain, and Eric rolled left, but not fast enough: the chain struck his broken leg and his agonized scream echoed around him. Johnny pulled the chain back and Eric clawed at the links with a desperate cry.

  Got to get that chain! His fingers closed around the freezing metal, but Johnny jerked it from his grasp.

  Johnny’s wicked cackling filled the night. He swung the chain in a high arc, but Eric rolled to his left and the chain chopped ice. As Johnny pulled the chain back yet again, Eric scanned the ice for anything he could use to help him.

  There! He spied the tip of a sharp rock protruding from the ice. Twisting his body, he brought his left knee to his chest and braced his foot against the abutment. Just as Johnny whipped the chain at him, he kicked the rock with all his remaining strength, propelling himself across the ice and beyond the chain’s reach. Gasping for breath, he heard the chain strike ice again. He struggled to get up on his elbows, cold air hurting his lungs, his body depleted of energy. Lying there, helpless, he prayed for his plan to succeed.

  Gathering the chain, Johnny advanced on him. “Stop crawling, Eric. It’s pathetic. Go out with a little dignity.” He crossed the ice where Eric had rolled back and forth—the same spot where the Death Mobile had crashed.

  Come on, Eric thought. Just a little closer …

  Johnny’s weight triggered a sudden splintering. Looking down, he saw jagged fissures radiate across the ice like a giant spiderweb, with his boots at the epicenter. Casting a startled look at Eric with his eyes threatening to pop out of their sockets, he sprang forward. A loud cracking split the night, and his powerful stride sent him plunging through ice and water.

  Eric’s heart pounded as he waited for Johnny to emerge from the churning current. Instead, the chain rattled across the ice, following Johnny into the black water. Then, nothing.

  Eric’s chest convulsed, and before he knew it laughter rumbled from inside him. He had done it; he had outwitted Johnny. His laughter took on an unnatural sound, then gave way to great sobs as he gazed at the hole in the ice with disbelief. I won! he thought, resting his head on the ice. His eyelashes captured snowflakes as he stared up at the black sky.

  There’s no way I can make it back on this leg, and it will be hours before anyone discovers me out here.

  I’m finished.

  Closing his eyes, he thought of Rhonda and accepted his fate.

  Chapter 52

  Over there!” Carol pointed at the Lexus parked before the bridge, barely visible through the onslaught of falling snow. Matt slowed down and pulled over. He hopped out of the Pathfinder and ran to the empty vehicle. Trying the door handle, he raised his eyebrows as the door opened and the dome light came on, illuminating the keys that dangled from the ignition. Carol ran past him, onto the bridge, where she stared at the Death Mobile.

  Seeing the damaged vehicle, Matt said, “What the hell?”

  Carol rushed to the railing behind the black car, and Matt hurried to the opposite railing. Gazing down, his heart jumped. Eric lay on the ice below, his eyes closed. Ten feet away, he saw foaming water through a gaping hole in the ice.

  What the hell had happened? “Over here, Carol!”

  Carol joined him, out of breath from running through the snow, and peered over the railing. Her heart beat faster. Not Eric, too! She called his name, but he didn’t respond.

  Matt sprinted back to his police unit. Opening its hatch with his remote control, he reached inside and pulled out an emergency rope, which he threw over his shoulder. One end of the rope was tied in a figure-of-eight coil.

  “Hurry!” Carol said, still at the railing.

  He took out a heavy-duty flashlight, slammed the hatch, and ran back across the bridge. “Come on!”

  Dashing between the sawhorses and the Death Mobile, he jumped over the guardrail at the end of the bridge and helped her over it. He switched on his flashlight and they staggered into the woods together.

  “Eric!”

  He heard someone shouting his name.

  No, it’s just the wind.

  The ice beneath him chilled his entire body, and his teeth chattered.

  Just look one time …

  His eyelids refused to open.

  No. Too tired. Stay still.

  Forcing his eyes open, he shifted his view to the bridge’s railing. No one was there. He closed his eyes again.

  Sleep …

  Matt and Carol burst through the brush and skittered down the shale embankment. Matt aimed the flashlight at the still figure on the ice. “Eric!”

  Eyes blinking, Eric rolled his head from side to side.

  “Over here!”

  He recognized that voice. But who—

  “Eric!”

  A second voice now, belonging to—Mrs. Crane?

  Summoning all his energy, he raised his head and saw Matt and Carol standing on the embankment, waving to him.

  “He’s alive!” Carol said.

  Groaning, he raised himself on his elbows.

  Matt handed the flashlight to Carol and slid the rope from his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  Eric shook his head. “I broke my leg.”

  “What about Johnny?” Carol said.

  Matt shot her an exasperated look, even though he had seen the resurrected Death Mobile himself.

  “He’s gone,” Eric said, sitting the rest of the way up. Wincing at his pain, he gestured at the hole in the ice. “Down there.”

  Matt and Carol stared at the dark water, their eyes searching for anything that might verify Eric’s story.

  “I’m throwing this to you,” Matt said. The end of the rope formed a true lariat, which he twirled through the air. He extended his arm and the rope sailed to Eric, a clean throw. “Wrap it around your chest, under your arms.”

  Eric managed to do as Matt instructed, pulling the lariat over his head. Using his hands for support, he tried to stand on his good leg, but the pain proved too intense.

  “Don’t get up,” Matt said. “The ice might break. Stay still and I’ll pull you over.” Matt faced Carol. “Keep him talking. He’s probably in shock.”

  Carol nodded.

  And then she screamed.

  Johnny’s hands burst through the ice, one on either side of Eric, who flinched, his hands sliding on the ice. Before he knew it, he lay on his back again, with Johnny’s wet, skeletal fingers clutching his throat and forehead. He heard Carol scream, and then icy black water engulfed him, filling his nostrils and freezing his throat, and the creek’s deafening roar blocked out everything else.

  Following Carol’s line of sight, Matt saw Eric disappear, large chunks of broken ice bobbing on the surface of the turbulent water in his wake.

  Damn it, the ice broke underneath him!

  He sprinted to the woods, clutching the rope.

  The current hurled Eric toward the rocky creek bottom. His body turned numb from the intense cold, and his widened eyes scoped the black water, useless. Holding his breath, he tumbled, buffeted, uncertain which way was up. Then he saw the ice above him glowing a dull blue beneath the streetlight. He stuck his
left leg out, jamming it into a crop of rocks.

  Throwing the rope around a tree trunk, Matt raced back to the embankment. He pulled the rope with both hands, using the tree for leverage. Carol stopped screaming when Eric burst through the ice hole, soaking wet. His quivering blue face told her everything she needed to know: he was freezing to death. His upraised hands came down hard on the solid ice and he tried to jump onto it, but that ice broke, as well, and he sank back into the water.

  Bracing his legs, Matt pulled the rope harder, jerking Eric against the ice. No matter what else happened, he had to save Eric. He would not allow another teenager to die on his watch.

  Matt’s rope prevented the current from sweeping Eric away.

  Carol called to him, desperation in her voice, “Hang on, Eric!” The current slammed his bad leg, pulling it at an unnatural angle, the pain sickening.

  “Hold tight, Eric!” Matt said, pulling the rope hand over hand. Carol joined him, and they hoisted Eric halfway out of the water.

  They’re saving me!

  Rope fibers burned Carol’s soft hands. She saw Eric come free of the water and tears filled her eyes.

  “Pull harder!” Matt said as the wind whipped them. Digging her heels into icy shale, Carol saw hope brighten Eric’s face. She thanked God she had convinced Matt to bring her there.

  And then Johnny emerged from the black water behind Eric.

  Matt nearly let go of the rope. The thing rising from the water appeared human in configuration—

  —lumbering away from the funeral home—

  —and wore clothing—

  —a black leather motorcycle jacket and a torn T-shirt—

  —but the resemblance ended there. Surely this creature belonged not on earth, but in hell. The current had removed most of its flesh and hair, and only the exposed muscles held its skeletal frame together. A chain had wrapped around it, reminding Matt of Jacob Marley’s ghost in A Christmas Carol. Its eyes bulged in their sockets, and its throat issued a maniacal laugh. In that instant, he believed everything Carol and Eric had told him.

  Feeling the skeletal fingers claw at his shoulders, Eric cringed at the sound of Johnny’s trademark laughter, which sounded as if it had been run through a food processor.

  No! This nightmare just would not end. He saw Matt and Carol shouting at him, but he couldn’t make out their words. Then Carol released the rope and drew the gun from her coat.

  Carol recoiled at the sight of Johnny. He’d kill Eric, no doubt about it—and then he’d come for her. He’d kill Matt, too, and then rape her. She couldn’t allow that to happen. Releasing the rope, she pulled Matt’s .45 from her coat pocket and, holding the gun in both hands, trained it on the creek where Eric struggled against Johnny.

  In shocked disbelief, Matt recognized the .45 in Carol’s hands. Now that he believed her account of Johnny’s misdeeds, he understood her need to carry the weapon for protection. But at this range, and in this darkness and weather, she could shoot Eric just as easily as she could Johnny, especially since she’d never taken lessons. He saw her aim the gun with both hands and anticipated the gunshot. She would never forgive herself if she hit Eric by mistake, but if he let go of the rope to stop her, Eric would die for certain.

  Eric tried to pull himself the rest of the way out of the creek, but Johnny’s grip held him like a steel vise, and he felt himself slipping back into the water. He saw Carol aiming the gun at him, and he wondered if she intended to spare him a terrible death at Johnny’s hands.

  “Errrrrriiiiiic!”

  At that moment, he would have preferred a bullet in his head to whatever Johnny had in mind for him. He saw fire flash from the gun’s barrel and a shot ripped the sky.

  With no other choice, Matt aimed a sideways kick at Carol’s hip. He winced as his blow sent her flying just as she fired the .45. The shot went wild and she cried out, landing on the shale.

  “You’ll hit Eric!”

  Lifting her head, she stared at him, her mouth open. With the color rushing from her face, she turned toward Eric and Johnny.

  Realizing Matt had saved his life, and trusting him to maintain his hold on the rope, Eric threw himself at Johnny. His stomach churned at the rotting visage of his former best friend, entwined in the very chain with which he’d been murdered. With his last remaining strength, he wrapped his left arm around Johnny’s back and shoved the palm of his right hand beneath Johnny’s exposed jaw. Mere inches separated their faces and he pressed his lips close to the patch of soggy flesh still clinging to Johnny’s skull.

  “It’s all over, Johnny! You’re over.”

  Johnny clawed at Eric’s hair, his voice a strangled sound. “Fuck youuuuuu!”

  With creek water cascading around them, Eric said, “I did my homework. You should have done yours. ‘A ghost can’t cross, travel over, or escape from, running water.’”

  Johnny clawed at Eric’s eyes with his free hand. Eric twisted his face away from the skeletal fingers. Johnny snapped his jaws at Eric’s fingers, but Eric kept them beyond his reach.

  “Your soul is never getting out of this creek unless you give up the ghost.”

  Arching his spine, Johnny flailed his arms and roared. His frame rumbled and shook. How could this be happening to him? He raised his eyes to heaven for the answer. His jaws parted and for a moment he experienced rapture.

  Light splits the darkness again.

  This time I welcome the golden light. I want to bask in its warmth. I’ve had enough of hell on earth.

  The silhouettes appear, marching toward me, whispering. Take me away!

  Thousands of them advance on me.

  Something’s wrong. It’s not like the last time. There’s nothing musical about their voices.

  No!

  They reach for me with talons and snap at me with fangs.

  Mommy! Help me, Mommy!

  Laughing, they tear me to shreds.

  Johnny’s final scream sounded both soulful and damned. His eyes exploded, jelly spraying from their gaping sockets. His jawbone fell away, his rotten tongue curling and uncurling like a tentacle. The sinews holding his body together relaxed, and his skull rolled off his neck, dragging his spinal cord after it, his arms and hands collapsing. His body separated and the creek swallowed its parts.

  Chapter 53

  They hoisted him from the creek, and he cried out every time he bumped his leg. They laid him on the shale and Matt shed his coat.

  “Take off his jacket,” he said to Carol, who pulled off Eric’s jacket and sweatshirt, both of them heavy with water. She helped Matt dress Eric in his heavy police coat, then Matt pulled his hat down over Eric’s ears.

  “We can’t wait for an ambulance,” Matt told him. “You’ll freeze to death. I’m sorry, I know it will hurt like hell, but we have to carry you through those woods.”

  Unable to speak, with his teeth chattering out of control, Eric nodded. Matt and Carol wrapped his arms around their shoulders and stood in unison. Eric hopped on one foot, and they supported him as they scaled the shale and entered the woods. On the bridge, they helped him into the Pathfinder’s rear seat and Carol got in beside him. Matt switched on the engine, then the heat.

  “Get him out of those clothes and into that blanket on the floor,” he said, getting out again.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I have to clean up down there.” He closed the door and ran back into the woods.

  Carol turned to Eric. “I know it’s embarrassing, but he’s right.”

  Eric nodded and Carol helped him out of his clothes. She had difficulty pulling off his jeans, which had shrunk in the cold water. By the time she’d stripped him and wrapped him in the blanket, the interior of the vehicle had heated. Matt returned, throwing the rope and Eric’s wet clothing into the empty seat beside him. He held his .45 for Carol to see.

  “You’re taking lessons.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me.”

  He detached the radio microphone
from the dashboard. “Come in, Ben.”

  A moment passed, followed by a short burst of static and a squawk. “Go ahead, Chief.”

  “I have Eric Carter with me. He’s alive but wet, and probably suffering from hypothermia. Send an ambulance out to the Willow Creek Bridge right away, and tell his folks to come pick up their car.”

  “Copy that.”

  “We should take him to the emergency room ourselves,” Carol said.

  “He’ll be all right. In the meantime we need to come up with a believable story. There’s no way I’m reporting what I just saw. We’ll all be run out of town. Out of the country.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “I don’t have a clue in hell.”

  Epilogue

  Spring

  Alec Condon, the Green Forest Cemetery groundskeeper, pushed his wheelbarrow down a winding path flanked by polished graves. His son, Ross, had dropped out of Red Hill Community College and run off to Florida with Alec’s nephew, Tommy. He couldn’t blame them; the town had become notorious, and not in a manner that led to opportunities for young men hoping to improve their lives.

  When two cable TV networks announced plans to produce competing TV movies based on the unsolved Red Hill Murders, locals objected. They lived in Red Hill to enjoy a slower, quieter lifestyle, and did not wish to see their village portrayed in an unflattering manner. Once it became clear the films would be produced anyway, they decided to make the best of an undesirable situation. If these producers intended to exploit Red Hill anyway, why shouldn’t the village benefit? But no sooner had residents acquiesced to the producers’ wishes than one network abandoned its project, and the other decided to shoot its version in Canada for economic reasons.