by Rain Oxford
“Only if you happen to believe in it. Otherwise you call it something else. Like hunches.” Derek ran his hand over the surface of the desk. He didn’t go into detail with Mike about the way he felt; about the invisible insects that crawled up his arms and legs and back, or the way his scalp and neck muscles tightened into knots, or the way you feel when you’re driving too fast and ignore the dip sign and your stomach tries to climb out of your throat. It was not a fun feeling.
The chest by the desk had a lock built into it, but it wasn’t locked. Derek lifted the lid.
“Mike, come take a look at this.” He lifted part of the contents out of the chest and sat it on the desk. Mike crossed the room, glanced in the chest, and stood regarding the things Derek had removed.
It was his imagination (had to be!) or some trick of light. The objects seemed to absorb the light on them, as if the light somehow couldn’t quite reach them; no matter how Mike moved his flashlight, they seemed to stay in a shadow. A shadow that didn’t fall away from them, but completely enveloped them, covering them with an atmosphere of darkness. There were books, knives, and a roll of course cloth. On the cloth was a twisted geometric shape, carved from some dull metal with a loop of chain attached. All in its own shadow.
“What is it supposed to be? It looks weird, but I don’t see…”
Derek lifted the medallion by the chain. It turned slowly, hypnotically, twisting on an unfelt current of air. They both stared at the dead metal that should have shined in the light but didn’t. Derek let it drop silently back on the cloth.
“It’s odd, but for some reason that thing seems familiar.” Derek rubbed his eyes; he was getting a headache. “You were talking about the supernatural a few minutes ago. Well that’s what these things are for, unless I’m way off. I think your Mr. Jarman had a well-developed hobby in the occult.”
“Oh, that’s just great! Hot horse apple soup and magic. It figures, too, why he never wanted anyone around. Shit, this whole thing is getting way out of hand. But it does give me some ideas.”
“What kind of ideas, Mike?”
“Well, like…” Like what? Like some character is making with the ol’ black magic; stealing souls and the bodies that just happen to fit the bill? More likely some obsessed maniac who thinks he has to… “I don’t know. Have to think about it. Come on, let’s finish looking this dump over and get out of here.”
Derek followed Mike out of the room to the landing. The main room lay below. Somewhere in the house, a shutter or door banged with a slow, inconsistent rhythm. The wooden staircase creaked softly beneath their feet. It was the wind of nightmares, a wind to be hidden from, a wind that stirs the fears that lie at the bottom of a man’s soul.
But what made it worse, made it horrible, was the silence. The silence that made everything unreal and far away, the silence that was still louder than the sound of the wind.
Derek reached to touch Mike’s shoulder, but it was so far away. He seemed to reach through miles of time and space. He’s leaving me! He’s leaving me here for them! No! When his hand touched Mike’s shoulder, he didn’t feel it. His hand past through his jacket and shirt and flesh and bone…
Mike spun around, almost stumbling. “Goddam, don’t do that! I almost pissed my pants! Hey, what’s the matter?”
Derek’s hand twisted into Mike’s jacket, his face white and pinched. His other hand fumbled at something unseen at his side, then clutched at his chest. He moaned, his face falling to an expression of extreme sadness.
“Derek, for God’s sake what’s wrong?!”
What’s wrong? This man asks what’s wrong? I lay here dying in blood… he could see his men still fighting… but why was it so dark? They were strongest then… this man was not fitted for battle… my war axe…
“Where is my axe? I must…”
“Derek, what is it? What’s wrong?” Mike’s stomach felt full of ice. That isn’t his voice, it’s too deep, too… and oh God, what language was that?
My men… Where are my men? It’s so dark… I should hear them… this man… Mike? Where…? The black sky was gone, the stone fields… Mike was bending over him.
“Mike?” Derek shook his head and blinked. What was he doing on the floor? “I’m okay, give me a minute. What happened?”
“I don’t know. I thought you were having a fit or something. Scared me enough to shit peach pits, so don’t go doing it again.” Mike dug a handkerchief from his pants pocket and mopped his face. “You okay now?”
“Yeah, I think so.” Derek fumbled his cigarettes out of his pocket and spilled three onto the floor. He retrieved one and lit it with a shaking hand, drawing the smoke into his lungs as far as he could.
Mike joined him with a cigarette of his own, and the two sat on the top step of the stairs and smoked; each turning his thoughts over privately and slowly, examining the rough edges and parts that didn’t connect. The wind had not subsided but the effect it had on the house, the creaking and sighing and shifting, had.
Derek’s brain felt thick, his thoughts sluggish and uncooperative. He remembered something about a field. A battle field with a barren skyline and men fighting with swords and axes and he was there, fighting with them. No, he was wounded… His hand wandered across his chest near his birthmark. Nothing. It was like a dream, near but far away; unreal, but too real. What a hell of a time to be dreaming! But at least his mind seemed to be clearing, and he was starting to feel like himself.
“You ready?” Mike asked.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
The bottom half of the house was divided into several large rooms off from the main room. They went slowly through each, picking their way through the strewn litter and overturned furniture. Much of the furnishings were expensive pieces, rosewood and velvet chairs, glass and brass lamps, mahogany cases, though the combination was in questionable taste. It didn’t really matter much anyway now, because most of it was ruined from water or broken.
The dining room was, if anything, worse than the rest. A heavy, eight-place dining room table had been reduced to little more than kindling and pushed to one side, the chairs methodically smashed and thrown on top. There was a trail of mud across the carpet. Mike traced his flashlight over it in both directions.
“That’s funny. I didn’t notice this before.” He dropped to his haunches for a closer inspection. The muddy path led from the front door passed them into the kitchen.
Derek used his own light. “Something’s been tromping through here, that’s for sure. But what?”
Their eyes locked for an instant, then Mike shook his head. It couldn’t be what they had seen the night before. That would be no good. No good at all.
“There’re no tracks. Not here anyway. Looks more like something was dragged. See?” Mike pointed to where the mud was smeared into long furrows. The nap of the carpet was caked with mud and flattened… towards the kitchen. “It goes in there. Let’s take a look.”
The kitchen floor was old and peeling vinyl smeared with wet mud. Derek tried to breathe with his mouth alone; the rotten odor that permeated the entire house was worse in here. An overused sewer filled with decaying rats would have been a kind comparison. He had to fight to keep the contents of his stomach from coming up in one big rush. The counter tops were bare, the kitchen basically empty. Across from the counters were an old Gibson refrigerator, a four burner gas stove, and a big corrugated tin trashcan half full of molding garbage. On the opposite side of the kitchen was a small walk-in pantry with empty shelves. At the far end, between the shelving, was a doorway.
A doorway with no door, only a gaping black hole like the maw of some horrible hungry waiting monster. They stood at the entrance of the pantry, unable to go nearer but unable to leave.
Derek could feel the draft that flowed from the doorway around his ankles and legs, strong and cold and wet. Slimy, sticky, it wound twist past your legs and curled around your back to pull you screaming in and it would feed and feed…
Mik
e took one hesitant step closer, trying to see inside with his light. He jiggled the flashing in his hand when the beam of light seemed to falter. “Damn, batteries must be giving up. Let me try yours.” Switching lights made no difference; it really didn’t dim, it just didn’t penetrate the darkness for more than a few feet.
“Mike, I don’t know. I’ve got another one, a feeling like before, only worse.”
“You’re not going to go pitching a fit or whatever again, are you?”
“No.” Derek shook his head and tried to grin, but he couldn’t get it to fit on his face right, so he gave up. “But I think we’d better be damn careful. Can you see anything?”
“Stairs. Must be a cellar, but I can’t get enough light to see to the bottom. Hand me your light again for a minute.”
Mike held the two lights in one hand and started slowly, oh so slowly down the stairs. Derek was right behind him, but could see nothing around Mike’s big outline. Mike took another step.
“I……SHIT!!! OHH SHIITT!!! Mike’s scream and flying body sent Derek sprawling across the kitchen floor. He felt something heavy land on his legs and it moved, trying to get to his throat! He felt his own scream tear out of his lungs and he kicked desperately with his feet.
Where’s the light, Mike, oh goddam where’s the light?!
Until he was free. He clutched at the air and his hand found the edge of the stove. Pulling himself up, he dug his hand into his pocket and came up with his lighter. It caught on something and fell from his hand. He caught it blind in mid-air and spun the wheel.
It flamed on the first try, the fire leaping in the wind from the doorway. It wasn’t much light, but it was enough to see that there was no one, nothing, in the kitchen but he and Mike. Mike sat on the floor, his legs spread out and his back against one of the counters. His face was pure white, his eyes wide.
“Mike, where are the flashlights?”
“I dropped them down there. I… let’s get the fuck out of here!”
They both ran.
They clutched at each other’s jackets, tripping and slamming into walls until they burst through the front door. They raced across the gravel to the Scout, panting. Mike groaned and threw up.
Mike’s hands were shaking so bad that Derek had to put the key in the ignition switch for him. Once rolling, Mike held the scout at a breakneck speed, ignoring the mud and potholes until they were almost back in town. He stopped, opened his door, and vomited on the road.
“What was it you saw back there?” Mike didn’t seem to hear him, so he asked again.
“Oh, God.” Mike blinked; Derek could see tears in the sheriff’s eyes reflecting the dash lights. “It was people! Naked, torn apart, chewed apart, arms and legs and insides. All over the floor. There were pieces of people all over the Goddamn floor!”
Chapter 7
Mike dropped Derek off at the hotel after asking him not to say anything to anyone yet about what they had found. Most of the lights in the lobby were off, but Mrs. Jameson was still awake; light from her room illuminated the short hallway leading to it.
Derek mounted the stairs, step by tired step, then walked down the hall to his room. He unlocked the door and twisted the knob, only faintly realizing a tingling sensation in his hand, and stopped with the door half open. There was a light on somewhere in the room. But they had all been off when he had left… It was dim, but he could make out the outline of his window and the cheap lithograph mountain scene on the far wall. It was coming from somewhere near the bed. He let the door swing open slowly, keeping his muscles tense, ready to leap through the ceiling if anything moved.
It took him a moment to realize the light was coming from the nightstand. Not from the lamp, but somewhere lower, on the surface of the stand. It was coming from the piece of metal laying there. The axe bit.
It was about as bright as one of those nightlights mothers buy for their children, the ones with the cartoon characters. Not bright, but enough to keep imaginary monsters at bay until the morning light would drive them back into the dark closets and basements to await nightfall once more.
Only this pulsed softly with blue light, compelling. He found himself standing over it and staring at it, fascinated, not even remembering crossing the room. Soothing, calming, reassuring, it seemed to call to him from far away, to tug gently at his mind from another time and place. He touched it carefully, expecting a shock, but there was none. Instead, a current of warmth flowed up his arm in waves. From far away he could hear voices, strange, powerful voices that called to him by name but it was another’s name…
“Derek?”
No, not that name, another…
“Derek, are you alright?” Mrs. Jameson stood in the rectangle of light shining from the hallway, the worry in her face framed by her curlers.
Derek shook his head and smiled. “Everybody seems to be asking me that tonight. I’m okay. Tired.” He glanced down to where his hand rested on the piece of metal. There was no blue light. Nothing but a lingering warmth.
“I heard someone come in, thought it was you.” Her face relaxed and she smiled. “Ann asked me to give you a message for her, if I was still up when you came in. I don’t know why, but she seemed awfully worried about something.”
What he and Mike had been through not long before flashed through his mind; he got a strangle hold on the thought and shoved it back. “What did she say?”
“Oh. She said to tell you that she was going to Parker’s store, and to come over if you weren’t busy.”
“I think I will. Thank you.” His eyes took in her curlers and print robe. She looked tired. “I hope you didn’t stay up just to give me Ann’s message.”
“No, I was sitting up reading a book, one of those gothic romance things, but this weather makes it seem more scary than anything else. Think I’ll just put it away and go to bed.” She started to leave, and then hesitated. “Maybe I’m just a foolish old woman, but I’m worried. Things just aren’t right anymore in this town, with Tony and the Doc dying and all. People around here can feel something’s wrong. You tell Ann to be careful. And you be careful, too.”
“Don’t worry, I will be. And I’ll do my best with Ann.”
“Well, goodnight, Derek. Take care.”
“You too, Mrs. Jameson.”
Derek watched her until she was out of sight, her bedroom slippers making soft slapping sounds against her heels. When the sound had faded to silence he shut his door, and for some reason he felt lonely, as if he had shut out the world. He turned on the lamp on the nightstand and examined the piece of axe blade, but now it was just metal, not light, nothing magical or compelling like before.
His clothes were soaked. He debated whether to change them or not; they’d just get soaked again when he went to see Ann. But being dry, if even for a few minutes, was too tempting. He toweled his hair and changed into dry clothes.
The gun Mike had given him was tucked into the top of his pants, uncomfortable but reassuring against the muscles of his stomach. He thought it looked a touch too dramatic with the grip jutting out from his jacket, but what the hell. It made him feel better.
If someone had been in Derek’s darkened room only a few minutes after he had gone, they would have seen the axe blade on the nightstand begin to glow, a soft muted glow that was reflected in the base of the lame. The blue light grew slightly brighter, reaching to the walls and the dark corners of the room as if searching for someone or something that wasn’t there. After a moment it seemed to flicker in disappointment, gradually losing light until the room was left in darkness once more.
* * *
Derek found Ann and Parker playing cards apathetically in the back room of the store. Ann stood on tiptoes to give him a kiss. “I thought you’d be back sooner. I was afraid something might have happened.” She stopped searching his face as the tension slipped across it. “Something did happen, didn’t it?”
“Yes and no.” Derek frowned and sat on the couch. Ann and Parker exchanged worried exp
ressions. “Mike asked me not to say anything, but you’ll probably find out soon, anyway. He and I ended up at the Jarman place, looking for whatever there might be to find. We found this trail of mud leading from the front door to the kitchen, and there was a cellar… Mike found bodies in it.”
“You mean the missing people?” Parker whispered.
“Yeah, I guess so. I didn’t see them myself, and Mike didn’t feel like elaborating on it. I suppose some of them were friends of his.”
“Any ideas who did it?”
“We didn’t stick around to find out, but if Mike has any ideas, he didn’t tell me. At least we’re closer than we were.”
“Those poor people.” Ann blinked back tears. “One reason I wanted to see you, Derek, is because I’m worried about Dr. Wittakin. I’d really like for us to go out there and check on him. I keep thinking of him living all alone and hardly able to get around, with his legs the way they are. With the phones being dead he can’t even call.”
“We could try to get him to move into town until this is over,” Derek said.
“Yes, something like that. He’s such a nice old man, and if anything were to happen…”
“He’s nice, alright- like an old buzzard,” Parker snorted. “I’d worry more about anything that tried to bother him.”
“You’re mean. I know you like him even if you won’t say so.”
“I like…? Shit. But if we’re going to go, let’s get it over with. I got lots of better ways to spend my time than wet-nursing that old fool.”
* * *
Miraculously, they made it to Wittakin’s house without getting Parker’s muddy station wagon stuck badly enough to have to dig their way out. If any form of magic could be attributed to four letter words and dire epitaphs, Parker had used enough to guarantee safe passage through three states.
Dr. Wittakin was glad to see them. The living room was bathed with a ruby glow from the fire. The atmosphere was comfortable, warm and cheerful; it made the horrors of the last few days seem further away, almost unreal. Almost.
