After researching The Undeath, he found out that it was a very old book, dating back to the period of the Salem witch trials. He emailed the website’s owner again, asking where he could buy the book, having not found it anyplace for sale.
A week later he received a reply asking for his address. He gave a P.O. Box number, registered under a false name, finding it odd that the person hadn’t asked for money. The next day in his P.O. Box the book lay.
It was bound in leather, worn from old age. It stunk like moth balls and decay. Dust layered the outside, filling cracks in the leather like spackle. Brian was unnerved by the speediness of its arrival, but felt safe, knowing the sender didn’t know his real name. He sent a thank you email asking if the person wanted the book returned at some point, but never received a reply.
As he read from the ancient text, Brian felt empowered and strong--invincible. While at work, he often found his mind wandering, thinking about the item as if it were calling out to him. Each page was filled with fascinating entries from witches’ trials. Many of the pages consisted of the numerous and different ways a witch was put to death. Finally, listed at the back of the book were spells. He had found the one for creating a ghoul, an undead creature that would help serve his purpose. And like bleach used at a crime scene, the ghoul would serve as his undead DNA disposal unit.
Brian would require a place to keep the creature. After researching the town’s history, he came upon the old, forgotten graveyard. It was exactly what he needed; a desolate place where he could bring his captives, and a home for the ghoul.
Following the instructions with meticulous resolve, he began by digging up the woman in his backyard, her flesh intact and ripe. He read from The Undeath, slicing his finger, leaving a smudge of his blood in the book next to a number of previous entries, before letting the blood fall into the corpse’s mouth. The spell, when combined with his blood, would bring the corpse back as a member of the undead.
Later, that same evening, Brian was awakened; the ghoul standing at the foot of his bed. The Undeath stated that the ghoul was tied to him spiritually and would understand his needs, doing his bidding without question. He wanted the monster for disposing of his kills. In order to maintain the spell, every victim had to be fed to the ghoul.
He drove with the creature to the graveyard that early morning and using the spell book, bound it to the property and surrounding bog. Since the graveyard was old, the corpses all but decaying skeletons, the creature would need things to eat while waiting for Brian to bring it dead human flesh. It could survive on toads and turtles as long it received dead human flesh once a month. People using ghouls to outright kill or perform difficult tasks needed to supply them with fresh kills on a regular basis. Brian was only using his to clean up.
The ghoul leaned over the dead corpse of Harriet Baker, as if searching for the best area to begin its feast. It took hold of the lifeless female, ripped apart the abdomen and began devouring the intestines. It ate fast as if starved. The scene was gruesome, the woman’s stomach an empty cavity within minutes as it moved to her chest. It broke the ribs and sternum to get at the heart and lungs, the snapping sounds striking the silent air like a whip. The monster would eat every part of the woman, taking the bones back to the swamp where it would bury them in the marsh; the evidence gone.
Two months later, and Brian had supplied the ghoul with two more bodies. Summer had come and gone and it was time for his vacation. He always closed his dental practice for a week, heading south to warmer lands.
He booked a flight to the Cayman Islands where he lounged around on the beaches and drank margaritas poolside. He’d met quite a few women, finding it hard to control his urges. How wonderful it would be to kill a woman abroad. He would have to settle for sex though, not wanting to break the rules of the ghoul spell. Rough intercourse was a terrible substitute for killing, but it would hold him over until he arrived home.
He’d met a young woman from South Carolina, vacationing with three of her girlfriends. She had a southern accent he found appealing, different. They went out to a candlelight dinner, taking a moonlit walk on the beach afterward. He dazzled her with words--his knowledge of poetry sublime--and body movements as slight as they were, making her fall for him almost immediately. He’d always had the ability to find the right woman, gullible and trusting. And the current one, like all of his victims, was perfect.
He invited her up to his room for a nightcap. They ordered champagne and oysters, sitting on the balcony enjoying the refreshing and pleasant tropical air. He wanted to kill her, badly, having to sink his nails into his leg to keep himself centered.
After a couple of glasses of wine, they were on the hotel bed, going at it. He’d gotten her clothes off and was caressing her hair when he began strangling her; not something he usually did. He liked his females to bleed. It must have been the need to kill combined with the wine. The lady wasn’t enjoying it. Her face went red as her eyes bulged from their sockets. He released her. She inhaled, wheezing, choking. She shoved him off and began running to the door. He couldn’t let her leave--she would inform the authorities.
At the door, fumbling with the lock, Brian crept up behind her and bashed her over the head with a lamp. The woman’s body went rigged after the impact, then crumpled to the carpet, unconscious.
He dragged her to the bathtub, shoving her in. Excitement, equal to his first kill, filled his body. There was no turning back. The ghoul would understand. He’d give it two bodies when he arrived back home, making up for the lost kill.
He ordered a steak dinner to the room. He wasn’t hungry, but he needed a sharp knife since he didn’t bring his with him. Making sure the woman wouldn’t wake, he bashed her head against the tub a few times, drawing blood and splattering the tiles. Laying two fingers against the side of her neck, he felt for a pulse. Finding it, he grinned. Good--she was still alive. Using the steak knife, he then slit her wrists. He cut deep, using a sawing motion, not wanting the wounds to stop bleeding. As the blood poured from her lacerations, he watched a river of crimson run down the tub and disappear into the drain. His vacation was complete.
The following morning, after purchasing new luggage, garbage bags, and a hacksaw, he cut the body up, placing the parts into the garbage bags. Making sure that the bags were firmly sealed, he stuffed them into the new luggage and left the hotel.
Brian drove his rental car until he found a deserted back road and dumped the luggage in the bushes along with the extra garbage bags and hacksaw. He proceeded to the airport, dropped off the rental and boarded his flight.
He took a cab home from the airport arriving just after nine p.m. Exhausted from the long flight and the layovers, he went right to bed after setting his alarm clock. He had work the next day.
The alarm buzzed at six a.m., waking Brian from a sound and peaceful sleep. He sat up, rubbed his eyes and yawned. Sniffing the air, his nose scrunched up at the repugnant odor assaulting his nostrils. He opened his eyes and was startled.
The ghoul was standing at the end of the bed. It had moss covering its head and skin. Pieces of bone showed through the chalky colored flesh. It appeared to be in horrendous condition as if it were rotting away.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Brian asked it. The corpse swayed as if on weary legs.
“Dying,” the ghoul said, its voice scratchy and garbled.
Brian flinched. The thing had never talked before. “You,” it said, pointing a decaying bony finger at him.
“Me?” he asked. “Are you hungry? Do you need to eat?”
“You. Kill. Alone. Break. Deal,” it said, coming around to the side of the bed. Brian cringed, leaning away from it.
“Stop,” he said. “I command you.” The creature slumped forward, reaching for him. “I order you to stop.”
“You. Kill. Break. Pact. No. Feed. Me. I. Die.”
“What?” Brian said, frantically. Everyone he killed he’d fed to the ghoul except for the one in the Cayman Islands
. How did it know about her? “It was only one time,” he explained. “I won’t do it again. I promise. I’ll bring you two bodies tomorrow.” He kicked at the sheet, trying to get his legs out from under it. He needed to get away. The ghoul grabbed his leg as the limb came from the covers, its grip vice-like. Brian felt his skin grow icy, panic seizing his chest. He cried out, pleaded, begged, but the ghoul didn’t care. Its other hand gripped Brian’s other ankle and squeezed, crushing it to a pulp of mangled flesh and splintered bone. It released its hold and Brian’s legs flopped painfully and uselessly to the ground. He screamed in agony, but sat up and began punching the ghoul in the head. A piece of rotten skin flaked off, stuck to his knuckles. The ghoul shot an arm out, seizing Brian by the neck. With a flick, the monster snapped it. Brian’s eyes rolled up, he stopped crying out and fell to the mattress, still alive. His spinal column had been severed, paralyzing him from the neck down.
Starting at his feet--the toes, the ghoul began taking large bites out of Brian. The creature chewed slowly, cow-like. Tears streaked Brian’s face as he could only watch and listen to the ghoul eat him alive. With only dread upon his mind, he wondered if he was truly alive, because ghouls were only supposed to eat dead things.
The Lake Pact
He saw the creature lunge from the depths of Beaver Dam Lake, wrap its scaly long arms around the woman in the canoe and pull her under. It was only a moment, but the image would stay in his mind forever, as if branded there. The creature had dark olive colored scales, large bulbous black eyes and gills down its sides.
Billy wasn’t supposed to go near the lake. His mother told him it was dangerous, especially without an adult. No one from the neighborhood used the lake. Only outsiders were seen swimming and boating, parking their cars alongside Lake Road, and enjoying themselves in one of nature’s pools.
Billy was never told why he or any of the other neighborhood kids weren’t allowed by the lake. Every time he asked his father he received the same response: “Because I said so.”
The woman in the canoe was a visitor. He’d seen her Jeep parked along the road on his way toward the lake. Everyone knew everyone from the neighborhood and Billy didn’t recognize her. Apparently she’d never learned the basic rules of swimming: never do it alone. He doubted it would’ve mattered whether she had one other person or ten, because she would still be dead. Standing on the hillside, his legs trembling, he turned and went home.
The next day, while sitting on the school bus, Billy passed the spot where the woman’s Jeep had been parked. It was gone. He felt an uneasiness fall over him, a creeping dread. He should’ve told his parents about her, but didn’t want to get punished, and they most likely wouldn’t have believed him anyway. A belt whipping combined with a grounding was never welcomed.
“I saw something,” he said to his best friend Mack as they sat alone at the end of a lunchroom bench.
“Your sister naked?” Mack asked, laughing.
Billy reached over the table and nailed him in the arm. “No, something awful; unbelievable.”
“Your mother naked?” Mack asked, avoiding Billy’s fist.
“I’m serious.”
“What was it?”
Billy leaned in, whispering, “I saw a woman get killed yesterday.”
“Bullshit,” Mark said, shoving his sandwich into his mouth.
“I went down to the lake,” Billy said, coldly.
Mack stopped chewing and with a mouthful of food said, “Beaver Dam Lake?”
“You know any other?”
Mack quickly finished chewing and swallowed. “Your parents would’ve killed you if they found out you went there.”
“I know.”
“So, what happened?” Mack asked, his attention solely on Billy.
Billy told him what he saw, and how the woman’s Jeep was gone the next day.
“I want to see it,” Mack said, eager-eyed.
“See it? We have to kill it.”
“Kill it?”
“Yeah,” Billy said. “It must be why no one from the neighborhood goes swimming or boating.”
“You think they know about the creature?”
“No, it’d be all over the news if they did. I think people must go disappearing or get found mutilated, so people simply stay away. They probably don’t tell us kids because they don’t want to scare us with grisly tales.”
“Wait a minute,” Mack said, leaning forward. “I’ve seen people swimming in that lake plenty of times, boating too.”
“Yeah, but no one from the neighborhood. They’re always outsiders. And what about all the missing posters on the supermarket wall in town? All of them stating how the people were known to have gone to the lake around the time they went missing.”
Mack thought for a moment. “You’re right,” he said. “But how are we going to kill it?”
The two friends spent the rest of the week planning. First they’d need proof that such a creature existed and Billy’s dad’s camcorder would do the trick. They’d need bait to lure it out of the lake and as much as they wanted to use Jake Burrows, the class bully, they didn’t. Instead they settled for Killer, the neighborhood Rottweiler responsible for numerous kids’ stitches and scars. They sat in the woods behind the dog’s doghouse and learned its schedule.
Killer was put out shortly after nine a.m. and brought back in after six p.m. everyday. The Freckers were notorious for going out on Saturdays, leaving Killer all day by himself. It was as if the dog looked forward to Saturday, always chewing through his line and escaping. It was the only day kids knew to stay away from the property. Occasionally someone would get too close to the house and Killer would come charging. Hence the many scarred children and mailmen in the area.
Billy and Mack bought sleeping pills, crushed them up and mixed the contents into pieces of hamburger meat. They snuck into Killer’s doghouse at night, placing the bowl in the back of it where the owner wouldn’t notice.
The next morning, Saturday, Billy and Mack had gotten up early and sat in the woods behind the Freckers’ house and waited.
Killer was brought out at nine and tied to his doghouse. He smelled the hamburger and disappeared inside. He reappeared five minutes later and began stumbling before collapsing to the ground, asleep.
They tied the animal’s legs together and placed the heavy dog in a red wagon, covering it with a blanket before hauling him down the road. Billy wasn’t sure how long the sleeping pills effect would last, keeping an eye on the blanket the whole time. Upon reaching the path leading to the lake, they pulled the wagon over ruts and rocks before winding up at the water’s edge. Killer was dumped from the wagon and his body positioned just along the shoreline. The two boys shoved the wagon behind a patch of tall weeds before climbing half way up the trail and hiding within a bushel of tall grass.
“How do you know it likes dog?” Mack asked.
“I don’t,” Billy answered, taking the camcorder out of its nylon case, getting it ready to record.
Three hours had gone by. The sun was beaming, the day hot and humid. Their shirts were sticking to them like an extra layer of skin. Mosquitoes buzzed their ears and prodded their flesh.
Another hour passed and the sun was dipping below the horizon. Gnats were now joining in with the mosquitoes and annoying the hell out of the boys.
“I’m gone,” Mack said, standing.
“Wait,” Billy said, grabbing his wrist to pull him back down. “The creature might see you.”
“I’ve got to eat. I’m starving.”
Resigned, starving himself, Billy said, “Fine, we’ll try again tomorrow.” He packed up the camcorder and slung the strap around his neck.
They walked down to the dog, its stomach still moving as air pumped in and out of its lungs. “Thought we might’ve killed him,” he laughed. “What now?”
“Well, he’s still sleeping. We’ll untie his legs and leave him here. He’ll find his way home.” Billy bent down and began untying Killer’s hind legs while
Mack took care of the front ones.
“Damn you’re slow,” Billy said, standing and making fun of his friend. He noticed a stirring in the water like jets in a hot tub.
“Shit,” Mack said, startled as he jumped backward landing in the lake. “The dog’s waking up.” Billy watched as two webbed claws appeared out of the water behind his friend.
“Mack,” he yelled, trying to warn his friend. “Watch out.” The creature’s head and shoulders came out of the water with lightning speed. Before he knew it the thing was in the air, flying toward them.
Mack turned around, but it was too late. The creature landed on him and together they splashed into the shallow water, the back of Mack’s head hitting the muddy shoreline. The amphibian type creature had a wide sucker-mouth. Its bulbous eyes had no pupils, reflecting its surroundings like giant onyx marbles. It had no ears that Billy could see and a small dorsal fin on its head. A strong algae odor filled the air.
A guttural, phlegm-like sound came from its mouth before it bit down on Mack’s chest. The webbed claws plunged into the boy’s sides and seemed to be digging around. Billy charged forward, kicking the creature in its head. It flailed backward, Mack’s blood dripping from its maw.
Squealing in anger, the creature pulled its gore covered hands out of Mack’s limp body before smashing him in the chest, causing his body to go under the water. Billy tried connecting with another kick to the monster’s head, but slipped, landing on his back. The creature sprang out of the water, landing on Mack’s dead body, crushing it further before lunging at Billy.
Another Man's Wife plus 3 Other Tales of Horror Page 4
