Dark Deaths_Selected Horror Fiction

by William Cook

  He sat back down quietly in the shadows of the porch, the half-moon above hidden behind a mass of rolling cloud. He could sense the heavy weight of rain in the air, as could the noisy swamp creatures that dwelled along the banks of the labyrinthine bayous and streams that fed in and out of the marshes. The massive lake basin beyond and the great Mississippi River to the south, fed the outlying estuaries and marshes with a rich supply of flora and fauna; combined with the sub-tropical climate it was a furtive breeding ground. If it wasn’t mosquito infestations or biblical plagues of crickets, the area was crawling with amphibious snakes and reptiles. Before he had reinforced all the pig-pens and ringed them with steel-mesh, Abel had lost three of his prize sows to alligators one summer. That was the same year the hogs had unearthed a bevy of human bones with their rutting in the winter months – the weather was cooler and the ground was damp and soft and up they came.

  At first, Abel thought they were animal bones but he had discovered soon enough that the skeletal remains were human. Six skulls in all and a barrow full of rusted iron shackles still clasped around the dislocated limbs. The police came and then the coroner who removed the remains and interred them in a pauper’s cemetery south-west of New Orleans City Park. No further excavation was made on the Laroux property which relieved Abel and Mary but perturbed them at the same time. They had asked themselves why the police weren’t interested in what had happened there, but Abel knew the answer. His father had sworn him to secrecy as a boy when Abel’s pet dog had dug up a thigh bone from his Mammy’s flower garden. “This,” his father had told him in a hushed voice, balancing the bone in the palm of his gnarled hand “is the leg bone of someone buried here on the farm. It is a very old bone and looks similar to others that I have found over the years. See here . . .” He pointed to some deep crevices in the white mottled bone. “This person was murdered and buried here and there are more of them out there that we will never find . . .” His father had pointed north out towards the marshes. Abel noticed a deep cross cut into his father’s palm and had wondered if anyone had tried to kill his Pappy too.

  “Some of these bones are from our ancestors, son. They are from a dark past, a sad and terrible time, when our family-line became tainted by the slave-masters. My skin is pale as is yours because we carry the seed, but we are dark on the inside like our other brothers and sisters.”

  His father had gone on to tell him how the clergy folk didn’t want any part of blessing the land – that they had warned the family away from the place, telling him the place was ‘desecrated and evil.’ ‘Let the swamp reclaim it’ they had cried and so Laroux Senior had stopped asking and let the bones lay where they lay. He wasn’t a superstitious person and he believed that ‘dead is dead’ – citing the suicide of his Mammy and his own mixed blood for his lack of belief in ‘The Lord.’

  Abel remembered how confused he had been as he listened to his father’s tales of times past. He remembered most of what his Pappy had told him and had felt sad as he learnt of the bloodshed that had robbed his family of so many kin, but he still had a hard time comprehending the fact that his skin was pale. It was only until many years later, when he had sat in the public library and spent a day reading up on the history of the region, that he realized the tragic circumstances of the Laroux family.

  The region was awash with bloodshed, rumor and scandal pre-1900s and it was the belief of the white townsfolk that Mr. Gustave Laroux, the French plantation owner who owned the land where the old farm now sat, was making slaves of pretty black women for more than one purpose. According to the town records Mr. Laroux went through as many new slaves each year as there were months on the calendar. Abel thought about the bones found on the farm and the pale flesh on the back of his hands as he sat there, stunned, in the library on that hot summer’s day. His family name began and ended with the slave master and he would’ve changed it, if it weren’t for the fact that his Pappy had worn the name and had named him so.

  The rest of the Laroux family were also mixed-race and had scattered far and wide across Louisiana over the years, but they had all said the same thing to Abel when he had taken over the family plot. On the rare occasion when he had encountered his cousins or aunties and uncles in town, they had warned him that the land was no good for anything, especially livestock, what with the unforgiving summers and local wild animals, winter floods and cyclones. Upon reflection, he knew their warnings ran deeper than mere concerns about the arable nature of the land. He had stubbornly gone ahead with his pig-farming venture and, despite the fairly accurate predictions, had succeeded in providing a meager income for his small family.

  He thought of his herd; aware that the swine were agitated tonight, probably due to the pending rain or whatever it was that was causing the marshland creatures’ cacophony of noise. The pig-pens were at the rear of the property but Abel could hear the grunts and squeals; the sounds carried easily across the section, slightly muffled by the opaque blanket of fog. He thought about checking on them but decided to sit and see if they would quiet themselves which they did after a few minutes. The swamp also seemed to grow silent by varying degrees as he packed the small bone pipe with some more tobacco. Enjoying the respite from the wild night, Abel savored the silence as he inhaled deeply before yawning.

  His thoughts inevitably turned back to his Pappy as they always did, especially at this time of the year. Tonight was the anniversary of his father’s disappearance. Thirty years ago to the day, his Pappy had followed the call of the marsh and disappeared without a trace into the swamp’s dark night. He supped at the pipe as continued to sit on the stool, willing sleep to take him off to bed as his eyes grew weary to the point of closure. The ivory pipe slipped from his calloused fingers and clattered on the timber porch. Abel sat up with a start, rubbing his tired eyes before stooping to pick up his father’s pipe. He emptied the ashen contents into his palm, thinking of the scarred cross on his Pappy’s hand and shuddered as more memories flooded back.

  He knew his Pappy would never return, but still some small glimmer of hope ensured his vigil continued into the small hours. Tonight, however, would prove different. The blurred vision of his father’s weather-beaten face dissipated from his mind, as he made the decision to retire to his bed for the night. Abel stood and stretched, content that he had kept watch long enough, but feeling slightly foolish as he did most nights – aware that his wishes were futile at best; that his hopes were merely unfulfilled dreams.

  He hesitated as he placed his hand on the front-door handle. The swamp had quietened to a murmur; nothing stirred apart from a breeze gently rustling the tops of the Mangroves, before settling to a deathly silence. He strained his ears, listening for the hogs but no noise came. The black clouds still tumbled across the sky but the cool evening breeze had ceased to shift the tall grass in the front yard. A plume of condensation came from Abel’s mouth as he stifled another yawn and shivered simultaneously. He looked out towards the bayou – a sense of growing dread causing him to swallow hard as he strained to hear any signs of life. And then he heard it, almost imperceptible at first – a long mournful whistling sound that made his blood run cold. It had been so long since he had heard that terrible sound, as a ten year old boy sitting on the porch with his young Pappy, who was telling him tales of the olden times.

  Abel’s memories started gathering speed as that night rushed back to meet him head-on. He remembered the startled look on his father’s face, much like his own expression now if he’d been able to see it. He remembered his father rise from his stool and slowly walk down the porch steps and across the yard, towards the sound of the approaching whistle coming from the bayou.

  Another peeling horn blast trumpeted deep into the night. Abel swallowed hard and began to fear for his own life as the sound approached steadily from the depths of the bayou. The clouds ran together as the night grew darker with every passing second, the trees barely distinguishable from the blackening sky. His father had walked across the dirt field in fro
nt of the house, hands at his sides, his body rigid as if he were drugged or sleepwalking. Abel had called out to his father:

  “Pappy? Pappy . . .” but his father had continued to plod forward towards the fog-horn blast as it ruptured the silence of the night. And then his father was gone; swallowed by the blackness and whatever lay beyond the fringe of trees that bordered the property. The vision of that night was now so clear in Abel’s mind that the similarities of the present evening propelled him into action. He bent and took a torch from the tool cupboard he kept on the porch next to the stool. He shone the arc of yellow light across the front yard, letting it play on the tall grass for a minute before directing it across the graveled road and into the fog shrouded tree-line on the edge of the marsh. The light seemed to grow dimmer as it expanded and diffused in the slowly swirling fog – glowing reflections of swamp creatures’ eyes flickered and ducked for cover, darting away from the light amongst the cypress and mangrove trees.

  Another blast from the eerie horn rang out from the swamp, causing Abel to wince and nearly drop the torch as the sound assaulted his senses. This time, the blaring noise was accompanied by a deep tremor beneath his boots that rattled the loose iron on the roof of the porch. Abel swayed slightly as the rumbling continued to grow steadily. He wanted to turn away from whatever it was in the swamp and run like hell, but his tired legs seemed to move on their own accord. He stepped from the porch and walked steadily towards the road; he wanted to turn back and check that Mary and the kids were ok, but he couldn’t even turn his head.

  The sound of trees falling and branches breaking, echoed loudly as the rumbling intensified. Abel stood at the edge of the road like a stone statue, eyes wide – his gaze fixed firmly in the direction of the fast-approaching noise. The torch slipped from his grasp as a weird green light emanated through the cracks in the swamp foliage and then rose above the tree-line like the morning sun. His whole being trembled as the earth shook beneath him; trees began to fall and splinter. A dark mass of shadow and swirling fog welled up from the swamp, the green light intensified, causing Abel to shield his eyes.

  He managed to shake himself from his trance, noticing twin trails of something heading towards him through the weeds and grass. SNAKES!!! He leapt backwards, almost falling as he prepared to face whatever it was, but as the grass bent and the clicking presence hit the road and passed him on either side, he nearly choked as he fought for breath – his heart pounding in his chest as his mind started to fragment. On either side of him lay a track of bone as thick as a 4x2 – unmistakably human, end upon end of knobbed bone welded together by some bizarre force. Abel dropped to his knees as the green light burst from the bayou, followed by a hulking mass of black smoking metal unlike anything he’d seen before, the bone tracks jumping and clattering as the massive object careened towards him. The earth shook violently one final time as another ear-splitting blast ripped the night asunder. With a deathly hiss of brakes amidst billowing clouds of smoke, the black bulk came to a halt, inches from his cowering form.

  Abel slowly looked up, not sure if he was awake or in some bizarre nightmare. Towering over him was the front of the train – the massive pointed cattle guard looked as though it was fashioned out of a solid piece of sharpened steel; above him, sparking embers and ash floated up into the night sky as the smoke stack sent plumes of smoke into the air. From the ground to the top of the smoke-stack he reckoned it stood at least forty-feet tall. The body of the train at first looked like black steel but now it seemed to shift and alter its shape. Abel drew back in horror, as he witnessed blackened human limbs and body parts morphing in ripples across the surface of the train. He got to his feet, noticing a spreading pool of what he thought was engine oil, spreading out towards him. A stench filled his nostrils making him gag, reminding him of when he had burnt the pigs when they had the sickness. His ears throbbed with pain and rang like an alarm inside his brain and then he heard the voice . . .

  “Venir, Laroux. Come closer,” the guttural voice commanded.

  Abel moved forward in a trance. As he made his way towards the voice down the side of the locomotive, his feet sloshed in the dark fluid pooled around the train; it felt like molasses as it sucked at his boots. And then he froze dead-still in his tracks.

  Standing before him in the shadows and the tumbling fog was a figure. Abel’s mind couldn’t comprehend what had just emerged from the carriage. It seemed to step out of the very body of the train; its black skeletal body dripped with what looked like tar, smoke wafting from smoldering flesh. Abel looked up as it elongated and grew, until it stood as tall as the roof of the caboose. Steam plumed from its black snout as it tilted its massive horned head, leaning down to eyeball Abel. A deep low chuckle came from its open mouth – row after row of razor sharp teeth clicked and rasped together, a long black forked tongue flicked in and out of its throat like a dancing snake.

  Abel’s bowels emptied, the hot contents filling his boots and darkening his trousers. The huge horns on the creature’s head glistened sharply as it took a step forward – Abel figured the horns spanned at least ten feet across, reminiscent of water buffalo. The earth shook with each advancing step the huge beast took.

  “You are mine, Laroux,” hissed the creature.

  “You were promised to me thirty years ago by that other Laroux.”

  The stench was almost unbearable now. Abel violently retched and the meal Mary had so lovingly prepared earlier spilled down his shirt front. The creature’s taloned hand hovered above him for a second, blocking out the sky above, before clasping Abel’s head as if it were picking an apple. He felt his boots suck from his feet, heavy with his own waste and stuck fast in the thick pool of viscous fluid as the creature effortlessly lifted him up until Abel was level with the beast’s face.

  Its gaze burned a brilliant deep red; through the immeasurable pain of the creature’s pinching grasp, Abel noted that he could actually see a molten fire burning in the center of each of the creature’s terrible eyes. Its tongue lashed Abel’s face, probing his open mouth, licking his flesh as the shark-like rows of teeth vibrated and accelerated their lateral movements to a blur as if in anticipation of a feast. Abel fainted.

  “Wake up my charge. Wake now,” the deep voice called.

  Abel heard the voice and struggled to regain consciousness. He opened his eyes slowly; afraid of what he might see before him.

  “Come on now, Laroux. Open your eyes so we may talk,” said the small figure kneeling next to him.

  The unmistakable stench made him cough as Abel struggled to stand. His legs were weak and caked with feces and scum but he managed to get to his feet. The pain in his head was intense but bearable; as he checked his limbs and patted himself down to assure him of the wholeness of his being. The strange looking man next to him rose to stand at the front of the black locomotive. He wore an old-fashioned striped conductor’s cap and coal-smeared dungarees complete with oversized gloves and boots. Abel glanced nervously about him, expecting to see the creature at any moment.

  “I thought it advantageous to change my appearance for you, Laroux,” said the train driver.

  “You see at first, you were all I required but when you expired briefly I had recourse to explore this tainted piece of earth you call home.”

  Abel’s thoughts immediately turned to Mary and the children and his mind started to race.

  “Don’t worry, Laroux. Your family is safe – still tucked up nice and snug in their humble beds, blissfully unaware of our little tête-à-tête.”

  Abel plucked up the courage to question his assailant, angry at the implicit threat behind the driver’s statement.

  “Wh-wh-who are you? What do you want from me?”

  “I want you, Abel Laroux. Your father promised you to me thirty years ago and I am here to collect on our agreement.”

  “B-b-but why? I don’t understand.”

  The driver chuckled and it was the same terrible sound that had earlier emanated from the belly of
the beast. His wizened face wrinkled as he smiled, his thin lips peeling back from a set of extremely sharp teeth.

  “Your father sold his soul to me many moons ago. But he was a bad man. He didn’t meet his end of our agreement. He got what he wished for – a son – you, Abel Laroux. But he couldn’t give me what I asked for in return and as a result I am here tonight to claim his forfeiture. Namely, you.”

  Abel couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He shook his head, trying to wake himself from the nightmare he thought he was in.

  “I took your father for a train ride. If you haven’t figured it out already, this is a v.e.r.y. special train, Laroux.” The driver smiled condescendingly, as if talking to a small child. “I only have one-way tickets for passengers on this train.”

  Abel noticed the driver’s black tongue darting across his pointed teeth and that his eyes were starting to glow. He seemed to be getting larger by degrees.

  “What do you want from me? Why has it taken you thirty years to return?”

  “I move in circles, Laroux. Time is irrelevant to me although numbers are significant with everything I do. Trains like this once crisscrossed this land, ferrying crops from the plantations to the mills and markets upstate. But I can assure you my son that you have never encountered a vehicle such as this fine specimen,” the driver waved his hand with a flourish at the hulking mass of locomotive behind him