Evil Never Dies

by Mick Ridgewell

  "It really doesn't get better," he said.

  She held her hand out. "Help an old woman down would you, dear."

  Obediently he skipped up to the top step and held out his arm. "My lady."

  Roland thought she was just being playful until he felt her effort through his arm. Her fingers dug into his skin as she made her way down each step.

  She paused at the bottom, took a deep breath, then took her tentative steps along the driveway, her hand still clinging to Roland's elbow.

  "I used to walk like this with Daddy. He would hold his arms out like a rooster, showing off to the hens. Mother would take one, and I the other. On a day like this, we would walk for miles. He was like a groom at a wedding. Step, pause, step, pause. Daddy used to walk very fast, you see, so he had to adjust his walk for us women."

  "It sounds like a Norman Rockwell moment," Roland said.

  "That is a perfect way to describe it." She beamed. Roland could see the glow in her eyes when she spoke of her father. It saddened him all the more to know what was coming next in her tale of horror.

  "Mother was on my arm like this when it happened," Patricia said, her monotone voice void of feeling. She had no expression. She only stared straight ahead, her tiny strides moving them along in near slow motion.

  "I hadn't even noticed Mother there with me. I watched in terror while things went to hell. You can't kill those things with a whack in the head. Neither gun found its target anyway. They were wicked fast with super-human strength. They blocked the blows with ease. In a flash, both guns were torn from Daddy and Fred's hands. The things just tossed them into the street."

  Roland placed his free hand over the hand holding his arm. Her hand was cold, and her voice quivered.

  "Are you cold?" Roland asked.

  She didn't answer.

  "The demons struck Daddy and Fred in the chest. It was surreal to see two men, big and strong and full of life, sent flying from their feet by a seemingly mild blow. They both fell to the street, tumbling and rolling.

  "I think that is when I realized Mother had hold of me. I screamed, and Mother screamed. She clamped down on my arm so tight she left a mark. It took a week for that mark to fade.

  "While Daddy and Fred were on the ground, both of those things grabbed poor Oscar. He didn't cry out or fight back. Oscar stood still while those things drained him dry. When he had nothing left to give, they released him, and he fell to the road. They were just steps from one of those fires, and we could see Oscar's lifeless eyes staring at us as if to say, 'Why didn't you help me?'"

  She stopped walking, retrieved a hanky from her pocket and dabbed a tear from her cheek.

  "Silly, isn't it," she said. "Tears for a man who died a hundred years ago. A man I only knew to say good morning to, no more."

  "It isn't silly at all, Patricia," Roland soothed.

  She walked along in silence for a while. Roland knew she was trying to build up the courage to tell the next part. If remembering Oscar's demise brought a tear, he didn't know how she would get through Robert Owens' passing.

  "Well," she said after a while. "There's my bench."

  "And not a moment too soon," Roland said. "I could use a rest."

  Patricia wasn't fooled and patted his hand.

  Roland helped her to her seat and settled down beside her. Her breathing came quick and shallow. She sat quietly, holding Roland's hand until she caught her breath.

  Chapter 32

  They sat on her bench. Roland held her hand like he was her adoring child. The sun was high in the cloudless sky. A slight breeze sent the long grass at the edge of the road to sway in waves of green.

  "The things disappeared after Oscar expired. It was like they got their fill and went home. I forced my way to the door and pushed it open. I screamed at Daddy to get inside. I took a step toward them, and someone pulled me back in.

  'Help them,' I screamed. 'Somebody help them.'

  "Two men carrying six-shooters ran into the street. The monsters had fooled us again. Three more vampires dropped from the sky. It could have been the same ones, I don't know for sure.

  "God bless him, one of those men had paid heed to Daddy's instructions. He blasted one of those things in the head, one, two, three times. They aren't immortal. Their bodies were once human, and sustain damage like anyone. The thing didn't die, though. Can you imagine that? Three bullets in the head and it wandered dumbfounded about the street.

  "The other fella, he emptied his gun into the chest of the creature before him. Six shots in the chest and that thing walked right up to the man, who stood terrified and confused. While the two monsters fed on him, Daddy and Fred scrambled to their feet and ran as fast as they could toward the church.

  "They might have made it, but Fred tripped over the gun he had emptied into that vampire's face while he was feeding on Oscar. Fred went down, and one of them jumped on him. Daddy didn't think; if he had, he probably would have left Fred for the lost cause that he was. Daddy ran over and kicked that thing right on the side of his head. What Daddy hadn't considered was the thing's fangs were deep into the side of Fred's neck. When Daddy kicked it, its head jerked sideways, tearing a hole in Fred's throat. So much blood, so much.

  "Daddy backed away from it, and I screamed from inside the church. I screamed for him to run. He did too. He ran like a man on fire. You can't outrun a vampire, Roland. You just can't," she said, shaking her head.

  "Before Daddy ran ten steps, two more monsters dropped into the road. They were on him before he knew they were there. I fought my way through the door, but no further. I was held back, while I watched Daddy succumb to the things. I fought and screamed, but those people would not let me help him.

  "They took my Daddy away. He wasn't dead. I could see his eyes move."

  Patricia cried without restraint. Roland put his arm around her shoulder. He pulled her to him, and let her grieve. After one hundred years of pain, Patricia surrendered to the grief. Time does not heal all wounds. This one festered for a century and still crippled this woman's soul.

  "We went back inside the church and locked the doors. I collapsed against the closed door and cried. I accused every single man in there of being a coward. I blamed every man in town who still drew breath for Daddy's passing. It wasn't their fault, but grief isn't rational.

  "Mother came to me. She sat beside me, and we cried until grief and exhaustion took us. That old church had a lovely stained-glass window. I woke to a sparkling array of colors streaming through that glass. I found no beauty in the window that morning. I found no joy in the sunrise. I woke mother, and we walked from the church. Neither of us set foot in that building again."

  "I can't imagine any of those people would be eager to go back there," Roland said.

  Patricia dabbed tears from her face. "Many did. Not everyone lost someone that night. For some, God is everything. He was for me, until then. I could forgive Him for taking Daddy from me. I will not, however, forgive any God who permits the devil's seed to walk the earth, preying on the people who worship Him."

  "Some people who survived thanked God. Some, like me, blamed Him. Still more held to their faith, trying to convince the grieved that He has a plan.

  Whatever the plan was, He would have to finish it without me."

  She took one of her pauses before returning her attention to Roland.

  "There was one small victory that night, Roland."

  "Really, what was that?"

  "Some of the folks in the church were awake all night. They stood by the windows and watched. The thing that took three bullets to the head wandered around in circles all night. It stumbled and tripped over fallen men and discarded guns. The damn thing would get right back up and walk around. As soon as the sun cleared the horizon and an unobstructed ray of light fell on it, it began to smolder. It writhed and twisted, and tried to scream, but there wasn't enough of its face left to make a noise. Eventually, it burst into flame and fell to the ground. The flames left nothing behind b
ut a scorched shadow on the ground."

  "So that's when you found out that it was completely safe to move around during the day," Roland said.

  Chapter 33

  Roland walked Patricia to the cemetery after she told the tale of her father's brave last night. She held his arm for support as they traversed the uneven ground. When they arrived at the site of her parents' final resting place, he tried to back away and let her pay her respects alone, but she refused to release his arm.

  Patricia stood motionless, looking down at the old granite marker. The names were clearly visible, but the wear of wind and rain had the headstone looking weathered.

  "Poor Mother," she said after a few minutes.

  Roland placed his left hand over hers, as she clung to his arm. Her hand was so cold. How could anyone's hands be that cold on a day like this?

  "She bore up as well as she could, but Mother was a weak woman. Not all women could endure the seclusion of this area the way it was then. She did her best, but once Daddy was gone." She paused. "Once he was gone, and we knew he wouldn't be back, not ever… Well, that was just too much.

  "She left a note." Patricia reached into a pocket in her slacks and took out a small white envelope. She handed it to Roland, her eyes never leaving the names of her parents.

  Roland removed a brittle, yellowed piece of paper from the envelope and read.

  Patricia,

  I can't bear to think of him out there with those things. I have gone to bring him back. If I don't see you in the morning, I have found him, and could not return.

  I love you, so much.

  You are so strong. Just like him.

  I hope you know how much he adored you.

  Love, Mother

  "As soon as I found this, I went to town and recruited everyone I could to search for her. We didn't find her. Eventually, she found us.

  "With Mother and Daddy gone, I moved into town. My Aunt Maggie lived in town. She was Daddy's eldest sister. After Uncle Art died, she came to stay with us. She couldn't live out here in the wilderness. That's what she called our place, the wilderness. Daddy set her up with a place in town. She became the bookkeeper for the mill. She had a small office next to the general store, with an apartment above. She thought the town was not much better than wilderness, but she enjoyed the work and eventually made a few friends.

  "I walked into her little office, suitcase in hand, and she knew. I didn't have to tell her Mother had gone, she just knew."

  Patricia turned from the grave-site. Roland backed around her, and they walked back to the road. The old woman had retreated into herself, and Roland was happy for the quiet. He listened to the wind rustle the leaves and the grass. He marveled at the clarity of the birdsong. He could swear he heard the waves breaking on the beach but knew that couldn't be true. The lake was at least a half mile away.

  He expected her to resume her seat on the bench. They had been up for a good long time. She didn't so much as glance at her bench on this day. Patricia Owens walked with her aged but determined gait, past the bench toward her house. She slowed only once. When they drew even with the path leading to the old well, both pedestrians slowed to cast a glance in the direction of the ruined old farm. Roland felt a pull, and Patricia felt his stride veer in the direction of the path. She dug her fingers deeper into the muscle of his forearm, and he followed her away. Away from the pull of the demon that lived beneath the rock.

  Chapter 34

  By the time Roland led her into the house, Patricia was barely able to walk. He was certain that she had finally written a cheque her old body could not cash. He guided her to the couch where she collapsed. Her chest heaved as she tried to settle her heart.

  "Patricia," Roland uttered. He hoped his fear for her health wasn't coming through in his voice. "Should I get a doctor now?"

  She shook her head. Patricia took his right hand in hers, patted it with the other and gave a weak smile. He did his best to return the gesture, but Roland was not at all sure Patricia's story would be told to the end. He felt confident that he heard the last she would be able to tell while they walked back to the house.

  She tried to speak, but her ragged breathing made the attempt unintelligible. Roland shook his head to indicate he didn't understand. It was as though her inability to speak had transferred to him.

  She raised her hand as though holding a glass, and tipped it toward her.

  "A drink. You want a drink?"

  She grinned, and he leaped into action. He fetched a glass of water from the kitchen and hustled it back to his host, spilling half of it on the floor and the front of his legs.

  Patricia sipped the rest until the glass was empty. Her breathing had slowed and the color was returning to her cheeks. It wasn't the youthful glow she had when Roland first met her, but he was happy to see some recovery.

  "You scared the crap out of me," he said.

  "I might need to have a few more benches put out there," she replied. "Would you be a dear and bring me a pillow and a blanket? I don't think I am ready to get up, and I do want to sleep a bit."

  Roland looked inquiringly until she pointed him to the door opposite the kitchen. He returned with a brown striped afghan and a white pillow.

  "Thank you," she said.

  He placed the pillow on the couch and Patricia lowered her head until she lay on the couch, her legs still hanging where they'd been when she was sitting upright.

  Roland bent and gently lifted the woman's legs to the soft cushions of the couch, then draped the afghan over her. She didn't say anything else, just closed her eyes and passed into a restful sleep.

  Roland marveled at how small and fragile she looked in that moment. She had always been small, but only now did he see her as fragile.

  Seated in the chair across from her, Roland stuffed earbuds in his ears and pushed the Play button on his recorder. He listened to the scene Patricia described on that walk back from the graveside visit.

  While Robert Owens lost his battle with the vampires at the church, the gang of teenage monsters paid a visit to the farm of Curtis and Maureen Davidson. Christopher Davidson, one of the teens, had found his way home.

  The Davidsons knew what their boy had become, but knowing and actually seeing it was apparently too much for Maureen. Curtis did his best to restrain his wife and their youngest from going out to see Chris.

  Chris was just a couple of years younger than Patricia. When the news circulated about this demonic gang of teenage monsters, Patricia grew morose. She knew all of those kids. They had attended school together. They were all two or three years behind her, but Kings Shore of 1912 didn't have many teens, so even the ones who lived on the most remote farms attended school in the same room.

  Curtis ran to stop his youngest from opening the door and going to his big brother. That was all Maureen needed. Before Curtis could stop her, Maureen slipped by him and, standing on the front stoop, called to Chris.

  The boy walked up to her like any obedient son would. Maureen reached to take the boy's hand, and when she did, he smiled. Maureen knew then that she had made a mistake. The boy's jagged teeth sparkled in the light coming from the opened door behind her.

  Curtis threw his youngest son to the floor and ran for his wife. He could see those teeth and the boy's demon eyes. He heard the gasp from Maureen as she spun to flee the creature before her.

  She wasn't fast enough, however. Chris grabbed her and pulled her to the center of the yard. Curtis watched as his own son shared in taking the life from his beloved wife.

  In his mind, Curtis knew it wasn't really Chris, but his eyes betrayed him. He watched the face of the young man he loved more than life feed on the blood of his own mother.

  Overcome with horror, Curtis didn't realize that his youngest had followed him. The boy screamed for them to leave his mother alone. Every one of those monsters looked to Curtis and his boy like they were tasty morsels at a holiday feast.

  Curtis hustled his boy inside and locked the door.
The two of them sat on the couch, the elder holding tight to his gun, and the younger clinging to his daddy's shirtsleeve with one hand, and vigorously sucking the thumb of his other, a habit he had outgrown eight years ago.

  Those monsters stayed out there the whole night. Curtis told the people in town that they climbed trees and swung from the branches like monkeys. One of them had taken to jumping up on the roof and then jumping to the ground. Over and over again he jumped up, then down. He would land with the grace of a cat. Then he'd run around for a while, then jump up on the roof again.

  One of them led the Davidsons' horse from the barn. The poor animal had terror in its eyes, but it was powerless to resist them. They brought that animal right up to the front steps and swarmed it.

  It tried to run off when the first one dug its demon teeth into that muscular neck. That was when the true power of these things became real for Curtis. When that horse tried to run off, one of those kids grabbed hold of its back leg and ripped it off.

  The horse fell to the ground, and while the vampire holding the severed leg lapped up the blood that dripped from it, the other four fed on the horse. The one who bit down on the beast's neck never let go until the poor thing was dead. The others latched on to the gaping hole that moments ago was a powerful hindquarter of a workhorse.

  According to Curtis Davidson, when they finished the horse, one of those things actually whinnied.

  When the sun breached the horizon, Curtis went outside and dragged Maureen's body over to the horse. He then soaked them both with kerosene and set them ablaze. In his barn, he found similar carnage. Every animal in the barn lay dead, with its throat torn out. Two dairy cows, one black-Angus steer, and seven goats.

  They left the chickens. They clucked and cackled in the hen house waiting for breakfast while Curtis wandered around the barn trying to figure out how to drag three full-grown cows outside without a horse to pull them.