by Rain Oxford
Let the sheriff take care of it, that’s what we pay him for, ain’t it? You bet.
He thought about rousing someone else to help him, Ernie perhaps, but discarded the idea. If he brought more people into this, word would get out one way or another, and then he’d really have problems. As if he didn’t have enough now. And anyway, it wasn’t their responsibility. That shiny little badge and all that went with it hadn’t been forced on him. He had gladly accepted it. Good job or bad, it was his.
He hesitated for a moment; it would be so easy just to go back to his office and wait for Derek, wait for morning, just wait. He sighed, shoving the Scout into gear, and drove to the turnoff that led to Jarmans’ place. The Scout whined and churned reluctantly through the mud.
Nothing seemed to have been disturbed at the old house since he and Derek had been there. The front door was still an open, ugly invitation. The front of the house, with its broken windows, looked too much like a dead, leering face. Once more, he resisted the temptation to give up the whole idea, and instead pulled the Scout to the side of the yard and killed the engine. He was well away from the house, but still had a good view of the driveway and the front of the house. He lit a cigarette and sat smoking it in the dark, letting his eyes adjust to the blackness. It did little good. Getting out of the Scout, he flicked his cigarette away, tucked the wastebasket under one arm, left the shotguns in the front seat, and went into the house.
Mike noticed a subtle drop in temperature as he walked through the door. It grew colder as he got closer to the kitchen, and the odor became a thick, gagging stench. The smell was one thing; he could understand that. There were bodies down in the basement, some of which had been there for several days at least. It was true that he had smelled rotting carcasses before, and this smell wasn’t quite right, but in this old house… The cold was something else. It seemed to seep through his clothes and cling to his skin like the tentacles of some slimy, obscene creature.
It was the strongest in front of the doorway that led down into the basement. An icy, rot filled draft drifted up from the darkness. Like the breath of Death. Mike shivered, sat the wastebasket down, and got to work. The sooner he was done, the sooner he could get out and away from that piece of hell.
He sat his flashlight on one of the pantry shelves where it would give him enough light to work, then dug the string and thumbtacks out of the basket. Tying a knot in the end of the string, he fastened it to the left side of the door frame with one of the tacks eight inches above the floor. On the other side he pushed two tacks side by side into the wood with the string between them. He tested his work, pulling the string taught across the doorway. The blackened string slid easily through the gap between the two tacks, the heads keeping the string from slipping out. With the string stretched across the doorway, nothing could go in or out without carefully stepping over the string or setting off the trap.
He picked up the flashlight and basket and put them on top of the stove, then lifted out the camera and spare coat hangers. It took him a few minutes to anchor the camera to the stove grill with the wire, but when he was done it was reasonably solid and aiming at the doorway. He could be fairly sure of getting a picture that would tell him what he wanted to know.
The only thing left to do was to tie the string to the makeshift trigger on the camera and reset the shutter. He pulled the string so that it took up the slack and tied it carefully to the bent coat hanger, then tested it with a small tug. It would work. The shutter lock make a soft double click as he set it. He stood back and examined his work.
There, that fucker will work. If anything comes through here it’s got to… “Goddamnit!!”
Mike staggered back, lost his balance, and fell to the floor. His flashlight bounced across the kitchen spraying light over the room, and he was left momentarily blinded by the flash from the camera. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. God damn son of a bitch! He fought against his heavy, ragged breathing, then stopped it altogether, listening. His heart pounded faster.
There was something in the kitchen with him.
Mike strained his eyes in the dark, blinking, trying to rid himself of the after images caused by the flash. The flashlight lay in one corner of the room pointing at the wall, leaving the rest of the room in deep shadow. After a few moments, his eyes began clearing and he found what he was looking for. It was a shadow within shadows, large, near the doorway to the basement. Near the top of the shadow were two close-set, glowing coals. Mike eased his breath out softly, slowly drawing his pistol from its holster.
“I wouldn’t bother with that, Mike.”
Mike’s hand froze, the gun half lifted. The voice was cold, arrogant, but what stopped him was the thick, sibilant coarseness of it. There was nothing human in it. It was complete evil; a hiss. The words spewed like venom from the mouth of a snake.
Mike shifted to his knees, facing the creature, and slowly stood. He felt weak and hollow. He pointed the gun in the general direction of the creature’s midsection, the pistol grip hard and slick with the perspiration in his hand. The kitchen had grown colder, the stench almost unbearable. Part of his mind was aware of it, but he was too shaken to give it any thought.
“Stand right there!” His voice shook and sounded weak in his ears. He tried to put more force into it. He began inching backward to where the flashlight lay. Instinctively, he felt that the light would help, and if he could just get his hand on it… “If you move, I swear to God I’ll…”
A horrible rasping came from the creature, and it took Mike a second to realize what it was. It was laughing. It was laughing at him. It began approaching him, moving closer to the feeble light, and any thoughts Mike had about the flashlight evaporated. He felt the hair at the back of his neck stand out, stiff, and he fought against the fear and nausea that threatened to overwhelm him.
The form was large, basically human, but the face was a hellish apparition of diseased evil. The skin was filled with lines and folds of flesh, the color of a rotting fish belly. The nose was flattened into two gaping slits, and below it the sharp, jutting teeth protruded from the lipless mouth. There was no chin. But dominating the face were the eyes, the empty glowing pits that formed a gateway into the soulless depths of the creature’s being.
Mike tried to pull the trigger of the gun, to destroy this thing, to turn that face into nothingness, but he couldn’t. His hand wouldn’t obey. As long as he looked into those eyes, he couldn’t resist. With all his will and desperation, he tore his eyes from those of the creature’s. He felt the gun leap in his hand three times, filling the room with artificial thunder.
I did it! Oh God… He was blinded again from the flashes of the gun, but that thing had to be lying dead at his feet. It just had to…
The gun was ripped from his hand, tearing skin from his fingers. He screamed, spun desperately to get away, and slammed face first into the refrigerator. Blood mingled with tears of frustration. He turned and slumped to the floor, his back against the metal of the refrigerator. The creature crouched in front of him and held Mike’s head, forcing him to look into its eyes. This close, Mike could see the rotting skin clinging loosely to its face.
“You wanted to know about me, didn’t you? And you’re going to find out. Soon.” The creature’s voice was soft, sneering. “Haven’t you wondered why I’ve spared you this long?”
Mike tried to move, but couldn’t. He couldn’t speak. His body seemed dead, paralyzed. All he could do was look into those eyes.
They moved closer, almost touching Mike’s and its breath flooded his face. If he could have done anything at all, he would have vomited. All he could see were the eyes. They seemed to fill his head with cold fire and pain, tearing and eating at his brain.
“Your friends will come here for you, and you will be here to greet them. I promise you that. But we must be ready for them, must we not?” The flesh of the face began to fall away in decaying pieces, the eyes growing brighter and closer. In their depths swirled a green
ish-black fog.
Mike’s mind and soul screamed in agony, but his lips were silent. Soon there was nothing.
* * *
The Scout wasn’t in front of Mike’s office when they got back into town, but Derek and Parker went inside anyway. Parker called out Mike’s name and checked the back room. After a moment he came back out and shrugged his shoulders.
“No Mike. He must have been up to something, though. Look at this place.” He waved his hand at the spilled trash on the floor and the litter on the desk. There was a nub of candle on the desk and beside it an inverted glass ashtray, covered with black smudges. Derek ran a finger across it. It felt greasy. He held his finger out to Parker.
“From the candle, I guess. Can you make anything of it?”
“Sure. Mike was cooking his ashtray. Doesn’t everybody? Shit, I don’t know.”
Derek needed something, some kind of clue to show what Mike had had in mind. He searched the small office with his eyes. Nothing seemed to make any sense. Damn it, Mike, why didn’t you wait?
“No sense standing here,” Derek said. “We’re going to have to go out and find him.”
“And where do you figure he’s gonna be? He could be just about anywhere. There might have been some more trouble.”
“I’ve got a pretty good idea where he went.”
“Well, where?”
“Out to the Jarman house.”
“Holy shit. I bet he would. We’d better get out there.”
“Right. But we need to stop at the hotel first. The gun Mike gave me is in my room, and there’s a chance we might need it.”
Ann was waiting in the station wagon. She didn’t seem surprised when Parker told her what they had found, but she was worried. Parker spun the wagon around in the middle of the street, spraying mud from the tires. When he pulled up in front of the hotel, all three ran into the lobby.
“I’ll be right back!” Derek said over his shoulder. He sprinted up the stairs, taking them three at a time. He fumbled with his room key until the lock gave, then banged his shin on the foot of the bed. Cursing, he almost knocked over the bedside lamp turning it on. He shoved the pistol into the top of his pants and scooped up the extra shells, dropping them into his jacket pockets where he could get to them easily.
Derek turned, ready to leave, then stopped with the feeling that he was forgetting something. His brow furrowed, thinking.
The Axe.
The axe? What do I need that for? It’s just a piece of metal… He picked it up, remembering the way it had seemed to glow with its own internal light earlier. It wasn’t glowing now, but it tingled in his hand as if filled with some life or energy of its own. For some reason, he didn’t want to leave it. What the hell, maybe it will bring me luck. We damn sure need it. For some reason it made him feel better. He stuck it into his jacket pocket with the extra shells and went back down to the lobby.
Ann and Parker were waiting at the foot of the stairs, talking, and Parker looked exasperated.
“I just talked to Mrs. Jameson,” Ann told Derek. “Mike was here about an hour ago, looking for you. He didn’t tell her what it was about.”
“That’s what I thought. That also means that he’s an hour ahead of us, so we’d better hurry. If it isn’t too late already. You stay here with Mrs. Jameson, and Parker and I will be back as soon as we can.”
“Uh-uh, no way. I’m going with you.”
“Ann, we don’t have time---”
“I’m going, even if I have to drive myself. Do you want me to go alone?”
“I don’t want you to go at all. It could turn out to be dangerous, and I don’t want you to get caught in the middle of it.”
“You’ve got a lot to learn about me, Derek, if you think I’m going to stay here. And besides, I’ll be safer with you wherever you are.” Ann turned and stomped to the door impatiently. “Are we going or not?”
They piled into the station wagon, Parker jamming it into gear and grumbling. “That woman of yours ain’t got no sense, son. I told her to leave men’s work to the men, but she won’t listen. Bull-headed, that’s what she is. You should beat her.”
“Derek tucked his arm around Ann, holding her tight. “Maybe, but I’m the one with no sense. I shouldn’t have gone off without telling Mike where I would be. If anything has happened to him, it’s my fault.”
“No more so than the rest of us. He shouldn’t have gone off on his own, anyway. But, I’ve known that old bloodhound for a few years and he’s a tough one. I don’t think he would get himself into something that he couldn’t get back out of. He can take care of himself.”
“Let’s hope you’re right.”
The road was terrible. The big wheels of the Scout had torn trenches eight inches deep in the soft mud, and Parker twisted the steering wheel desperately several times, trying to avoid the worst places. Now and then, the tires of the station wagon would spin, whining in protest and digging for purchase.
Their luck finally ran out; with a sudden whump, the station wagon stopped, tossing the three passengers forward in their seats.
“Shit, shit, SHIT!” Parker slammed the steering wheel with his fist. He pawed open the glove box and dug out a beat-up, rusty flashlight. “I guess we’d better hop out and see how bad it is.” He and Derek opened their doors and slipped out, the small warmth in the interior disappearing instantly. In a matter of seconds they were back, wet and shivering.
“End of the line, kiddies. We’re bottomed out,” Parker said.
Ann grimaced. “No chance of pulling it out, huh?”
“Yeah, maybe, if you’ve got a bulldozer in your back pocket. We slid off into a couple of them ruts, and the rear wheels are just hanging there.”
“We’re almost there, aren’t we?” Derek asked. “Shouldn’t be too far to walk.”
“Take us about five minutes as the crow flies.”
“More like the pig wallows, I’d say.” Ann looked gloomily out at the muddy ground.
Derek patted her on the head, almost smiling. “Wallowing or whatever, we’d better get to it.”
It took a full ten minutes for them to reach the gate entrance to the Jarman property. For a moment, Derek’s heart both lifted and fell; the Scout wasn’t in front of the house. Maybe I was wrong. He didn’t come here. We don’t have to worry…
Ann squeezed his arm, pointing to where Parker was now aiming the flashlight. His lips tightened. The Scout sat far to the side of the yard, half buried in trees and bushes, the wet, green paint gleaming.
“Do you think he might be in the truck?” Ann asked. “He wouldn’t shoot at us, I hope.”
Derek shook his head. “If he was there, he would have let us know by now, and he wouldn’t shoot until he knew who we were. But I think we should check it before we go inside. Just for GP.”
The Scout was empty, except for the two shotguns. Parker played his light over the seats and dash, then checked one of the shotguns. It was loaded. “Be a good idea to take this,” Parker said. “Gives us more fire power in case we need it, and it ain’t gonna do nobody no good out here. And we’d better find Mike, too, or we’re gonna have to walk back to town. He’s got the keys.”
The three turned and looked at the house. To them it seemed filled with a sinister invitation, waiting. Reluctantly they left the Scout and approached the house.
* * *
The house was dark and silent, but far from empty.
As they searched the Scout It waited, watching. Soon they would be coming in. But they would never leave. There was still much room in the basement.
As the three frightened, but determined people approached, It moved silently away from the door and deeper into the cold house. Let them come far enough into the house to make it easy, so they couldn’t escape. The old man would die quickly, but there was something about the younger man… For a moment It felt fear. It made a small noise in its throat, the sound of something It might have once felt. But It was driven by insane lusting greed, and the fo
rce of it was too strong to resist. The men would die in blood, and It would feed. The glowing, soulless eyes narrowed in the darkness, waiting, a new desire growing. Yes, the men would die quickly.
But the girl would live a long time…
* * *
The cold and stench flooded from the open door, stronger than Derek remembered. It didn’t seem to bother Parker much, but Ann looked sick.
“My God, why does it smell like that?” Ann whispered. “It’s worse than anything I could have imagined. And it’s like a deep-freeze in there.”
“I know. Are you going to be alright?”
“I guess so. I don’t have any choice in the matter anyway, do I?”
“Not really. We can’t leave you out here. So, if you two are ready…?” Derek stepped through the doorway, into the black interior. Ann followed so close that she was almost touching him. Parker brought up a nervous rear.
Parker had given Derek the flashlight, and he strained his eyes in the almost pitch blackness, turning his head from side to side. If anything in there moved… Please, Lord, don’t let nothing move. I don’t want anything to move… His fingers were cramping, and he realized he was squeezing the shotgun in both hands as hard as he could. He eased them, flexing them one by one, but kept the gun lifted and ready to use.
The trio stopped in the dining room and Ann and Parker gathered around Derek as he bent to examine the floor. Mike might have been through here, but he couldn’t tell from the tracks.
“I guess the kitchen’s next,” Derek said, just loud enough for them to hear. He stood up, and the three moved toward the kitchen entrance. “Mike?” Derek called softly. If the sheriff was anywhere in the house, he didn’t want to startle him. Mike might shoot first and identify later. “Mike? It’s Derek,” he called louder. No answer. If Mike were still here…
The front door crashed shut, the sound reverberating through the house. Then a sliding, scraping noise, as if something huge and heavy was being dragged across the floor. With the first sound, they had whirled, facing the direction they had come, and began backing into the kitchen. They didn’t have to see to guess what the scraping noise was; the front door had been blocked to keep them in.
