Fallen Stones

by Thomas M. Malafarina

  He had not yet switched on any of the lights inside his office. The glow from his computer monitor reflected in his reading glasses as darkness began to engulf the room. He had been intently scouring the Internet non-stop since the afternoon of the previous day following his meeting with the Wrights. He had been searching for any shred of information to help him out of his unholy predicament. However, so far, his search had proven to be fruitless, as he simply could not find the answer he so desperately needed.

  He was futilely trying to ascertain the nature, if not the very essence of the entity, which his evil tormentor, the once living Emerson Washburn had now become. Throughout his entire career Armstrong had lived by the philosophy knowledge was power; the more he understood his enemy, the easier it would be to defeat him. That way of thinking had never failed him in the courtroom and he was most certain it could only benefit him now. He was convinced the key to surviving the impossible situation he now found himself thrust into, was to learn all he could about his horrendous undead adversary.

  He wondered what sort of strange netherworld could be capable of unleashing such a ghastly creature into his own unsuspecting and defenseless world. Then he thought, perhaps he should not think in terms of just a singular creature but should use the plural, creatures. This was largely because, although he had only been approached by the threatening specter of Washburn he knew there were others.

  He suspected Washburn was also not the main driving force behind the confluence of events either, but he merely occupied what might be considered a lower rung on the spectral ladder, so to speak. The more he thought about it the more Armstrong believed this impression. He also understood in order to find a way to eventually protect himself from these beings or perhaps even destroy them; he would need to be aware of what manner of creatures they actually were.

  The lawyer had been researching various occult and spiritual sites looking for information on ghosts, spirits, poltergeists, demons, zombies and even other such evil mythical entities like vampires and werewolves but could not quite find a category in which to place Washburn.

  Armstrong found it fascinating how each individual type of mysterious being seemed to come with its own set of rules and guidelines. This perplexed him. He could not understand why humans insisted in assigning limits and rules to everything they could conceive, even those things born of their wildest imaginings. What was the point of creating fictional creatures of awesome evil with incredible power, then impeding their abilities with various rules and regulations? Armstrong supposed it was human nature that no matter how despicable, malevolent and deadly the creature might be, humans always needed to have some way to destroy it, in order for mankind to remain in his rightful place at the top of the food chain.

  He thought about the legendary vampires and the list of conventions they were required to adhere to in order to remain immortal, such as not going out in the daylight, sleeping in their coffins, or in their native soil, being burned by holy water or a crucifix. And who was it that decided they should not be able to see their own reflections, or that they would be terrified of garlic? He wondered if it could have been the legendary Bram Stoker himself, or perhaps it had been someone much earlier in time. Although he had read Stoker's legendary tale back during his younger years, Armstrong could not recall anything specific about the book; other than the fact, he had fallen asleep every time he read a few pages. This spoke volumes of Armstrong's opinion of the writing, especially when he could read mountains of so-called boring legal documents for hours and never nod off.

  The same sort of question regarding rules might be asked about werewolves and their ability to shape shift into half-man half-wolf creatures during a full moon. Why a full moon? And why was it they could only be killed by a silver bullet? He also noted how these two creatures as well as the latest horror movie craze, zombies, all shared one similar characteristic.

  If a victim were bitten and not killed or eaten by any of these creatures, he would shortly find himself transformed into one of the creatures as well. Supposedly, none of these imaginary beings had the ability to reproduce through conventional means, so the fictional universe had chosen to give them the ability to procreate in another fashion. These renowned creatures may have all been entertaining, but they were still fictional as far as the lawyer knew. Then again, up until a month ago, he assumed beings such Washburn were the stuff of fiction as well. Now he was fighting for his very life and immortal soul in a battle with such creatures.

  Armstrong wondered if Washburn had actually become a ghost, a specter, a poltergeist, a demon or some strange hybrid as of yet unidentified in modern literature. Armstrong had read that simple ghosts or specters could do nothing to bring physical harm to living beings but could cause their victims emotional distress, torment and mental anguish simply by their presence. Poltergeists on the other hand, when angered might be able to cause inanimate objects to move or maybe make things fly off shelves. He supposed if he found himself in the path of a flying plate or book he could possibly be harmed. Demons supposedly could not manifest themselves in our world but had to occupy a human host in order to carry out their sinister plans. "Rules, rules and more rules," he thought once again. The sheer numbers of rules were beginning to overwhelm him.

  The lawyer noted how Washburn hadn't appeared to be corporal but ethereal. Armstrong had learned those two words from his recent Internet research; corporal being physical in nature and ethereal being spectral. He began to wonder if there were such things as demonic ghosts. He didn’t know. But it did seem to make sense to him Washburn might fit into this particular category. The lawyer recalled how at first Washburn had appeared to Armstrong only in mirrors, but at their latest several encounters, the creature had actually left the confines of the looking glass and had floated across the room, never actually encountering things of this world.

  Then he recalled how when the maggot-like insects had fallen to the floor, they had shriveled up and disincarnated in a puff of foul-smelling vapor. He wondered if he somehow were able to get Washburn to touch something physical during one of his manifestations, would the horrible specter likewise disappear? And what would happen if Armstrong reached out and tried to touch the creature himself?

  This made the lawyer think the entity must truly be a ghost of some sort. And although Armstrong had never come into physical contact with the spirit, he suspected doing so would not produce the sensation of any form of solidity. He also suspected if he did try to touch Washburn, it might not do the spirit any harm either. But if that were the case, then Armstrong doubted there was anything the creature could do to physically harm him. So far, the only thing Washburn had been able to do to was scare the living bejesus out of him, and it had done a first rate job of that.

  Thus far, Armstrong had dutifully carried out all of Washburn's orders. At first, while Washburn was alive, the lawyer had done so to fulfill his legal duties. But then after the man had returned from the dead in whatever form he now existed, Armstrong had done so more out of fear. But, he had to ask himself, fear of what? What did he really think this denizen of the dead could do to him? Yes, it might be emotionally distressing to be accosted with the sights, smells and sounds from some horrid underworld, but could it truly do him any physical harm? If he could regain control of his psychological reactions to Washburn's appearance, could he then learn how to drive the creature back into its world of the damned?

  He realized what the very crux of his unfortunate dilemma was. He simply didn't know what the full extent of Washburn's powers might be. He had to admit, a creature capable of returning from the dead in any form, was surely one to fear or be very cautious of at a minimum. Then he thought again about the man who had burned alive in his car two nights earlier. It had been ruled a suicide by local police; a second suicide on the same property in less than a month. Jack Moran had been that man's name. How had that happened? What had Washburn or the other heretofore-unseen creatures done to him? Had he simply perished in some freak
accident coincidentally occurring near the property, or had his demise be orchestrated?

  Armstrong wondered if the ghosts had actually been capable of killing the man or if they had simply driven him mad then he killed himself. Then again, as he had wondered earlier, perhaps they had somehow controlled the man's mind and commanded him to kill himself. These were thoughts, which had to be given great consideration, especially in light of his own volatile situation.

  During the past month, he had seen so many events come together in order to direct the unsuspecting Wright family to the farmette. This started with Washburn's moving to Ashton and hiring Armstrong as his lawyer. Then there was the long decline of Washburn's health followed by his creating his last will and testament, leaving everything to the unknown niece Stephanie Wright. After that Washburn had committed suicide, and now the Wrights were in possession of the home and the land. Armstrong assumed this well-orchestrated sequence of events was not only what Washburn had wanted but what the mysterious others wanted as well. But of course, he had no understanding what the reason behind the orchestration might be.

  Armstrong recalled how as he had walked the family around the property the previous day, he had started to wonder what would become of him now that he had done all he was ordered to do. This was a legitimate concern for the lawyer, especially if Washburn or the other unknown spirits determined they might no longer want or need to keep him alive. As a result, Armstrong had gone all Saturday night and all day Sunday without sleep, trying desperately to find some solution to his problem.

  As he stared at the computer monitor, searching over another list in the seemingly endless lists of supernatural web sites something caught his eye. He saw a link to a website, which claimed to have knowledge about something called demonic ghosts. “Demonic ghosts!” he said aloud. This was exactly what he had been thinking about only a few moments earlier. Perhaps that was what he needed to learn more about; maybe that was the answer to what Washburn had become. After a bit of wary hesitation he clicked the link and was taken directly to the site.

  Then with frustration Armstrong saw that the site, like virtually every other website he had investigated previously, was designed to look as creepy and sinister as possible, with dark gray and black backgrounds and plenty of Gothic style fonts for all the text. And of course, the lettering was not only blood red in color but also it appeared to drip blood down the screen. "Oh boy," the lawyer said sarcastically after having seen thousands of sites just like it during the past twenty-five or so hours. "That certainly is original."

  He was all set to give up and back out of the site when he noticed a small icon located off to the left and toward the bottom of the screen. The icon seemed somehow familiar to him. He wasn't sure why the icon had caught his attention especially because it was so small, and it was not very easy to make out any of the details. But it did appear to represent some type of picture, like a portrait of some couple. He immediately thought of the painting "American Gothic" by Grant Wood but didn't think that was what the icon depicted, but he was uncertain.

  He bent forward, looking closer to try to see what the picture was all about but to no avail. When he placed his cursor over top of the icon. A screen hint appeared with the caption "Click this icon... you don't want to miss this." Now his curiosity was aroused and he had to see where the link led. He figured, what did he have to lose? He had already spent a sleepless night and all day trying to find his answers; maybe his solution was only a click away. So, he pressed the left button on his mouse and the screen became awash with an image, which shocked the lawyer to the very core of his being, making the pit of his stomach feel as heavy as a lead weight.

  On the computer monitor just inches from his face was the image of Dwight and Marie Livingston; the very same scene depicted in the painting from the living room of the Washburn farmhouse. "What the hell?" the lawyer said involuntarily. What he was seeing was impossible. He looked up at the top of the screen to see what the URL for the site might be but the bar, which typically displayed such information, was missing as was his back arrow and other navigational tool bars. The image took up the entire monitor screen.

  Armstrong assumed he must have accidentally clicked somewhere on the screen he shouldn't have and had inadvertently thrown the picture into full screen mode. He pressed the escape key, which he found usually took displays out of full screen back to normal operation mode, but the picture did not reduce in size and his tool bars did not reappear. “Wonderful,” he thought with disappointment, “…some kind of virus no doubt.” As he was about to shut down his computer, he saw the picture begin to change.

  The first thing he noticed was the eyes of the wolf's head cane on which Dwight Livingston rested his hands, began to glow a bright red, which increased in intensity until they became an iridescent almost blinding white. He lifted his hand to shield his eyes from the luminescence but the light disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Then he noticed Dwight Livingston's fingers move ever so slightly on the head of the walking stick as if tapping slowly and impatiently.

  The logical part of his mind told him it was obviously some sort of computer animation technique; geared to make the viewer feel uncomfortable and perhaps even frightened by the image. But he couldn't understand why the web designer had chosen this particular portrait and where in the world he might have gotten a digital image of it. Of all the paintings of all the couples in the world, especially those of famous couples throughout history, why had the Webmaster chosen this one? It was the very same painting currently hanging on the wall at the Washburn farmhouse. It made absolutely no sense to him, yet there it was.

  Then as if providing him with the answer he truly didn't want to receive, the faces of both Dwight and Marie Livingston began to change. The normal pallor of their skin turned from a healthy pink to a dusky gray. Their flesh began to shrink back upon their skulls, wrinkle and gain a leathery appearance as if the couple were withering away to mummified corpses right before his eyes. Large dark circles surrounded their sunken eye sockets from which their red-rimmed orbs stared directly at Armstrong, as if boring a fissure into his very soul. They were both looking at him if not looking straight through him.

  The corners of their shriveled mouths slowly curled up in slight, knowing, sinister smiles. Armstrong felt as if the two horrible creatures shared some sinister knowledge, which he did not, but it might be knowledge he was about to unfortunately discover. The image of the woman, Marie Livingston, began to fade and drift backward out of the screen appearing to shrink in size, while Dwight began to grow and become much, much clearer, and almost three-dimensional in appearance.

  The lawyer backed away from the screen sinking deep into the leather upholstery of his desk chair as the likeness of Dwight Livingston continued to grow until its cracked and blackened lips filled the entire computer screen. Then as the lips slowly began to part they revealed a few blackened, cavity-riddled teeth. A thick blackish-red liquid the consistency of melted tar began to flow slowly from the spaces between the rotten teeth. Then dozens if not hundreds of glistening yellow-white maggots drizzled from inside the hideous thing's cavernous mouth, spilling over its lips and falling out of the monitor and onto Armstrong's computer keyboard where the wretched insects writhed as if in pain before eventually disappearing as if vaporized in gray-green puffs of foul smelling smoke.

  The air around Armstrong was thick with the vile sickening sweet stench he recognized of as the reek of death. It was the same repulsive scent he had encountered upon finding a dead rat rotting in his basement once a long time ago. However, the passing of time had done nothing to allow his memory to erase that stinking and always-recognizable odor. And this foul smell had an additional element, the scent of burned flesh, which Armstrong assumed came from the disintegrating larvae.

  Terrified with fear, Armstrong tried to reach cautiously over as he pressed the off button on his monitor. Then he reached down and pressed the power button on his computer, but the image did not d
isappear. Instead, the maggot-infested mouth on the screen opened wider and the lawyer could see even more blackened and yellowed rotted teeth, many missing in places looking like randomly scattered and skewed grave markers in a long ago abandoned cemetery.

  Inside the pitch dark maw, the man's withered blackened tongue still covered with squirming clinging larvae moved slowly about, serpentine in appearance as it snaked itself along the tops of the rotting teeth, occasionally snagging its paper thin flesh on a sharpened edge of a particularly nasty bit of decayed enamel and causing a laceration on its surface. Instead of blood trickling down from the cuts, a thick sickening dark green puss-like sludge oozed hideously from the wounds. The disgusting stench emanating from the screen had gone beyond anything Armstrong had ever previously encountered.

  Then the gaping mouth began to slowly close as the face of Dwight Livingston backed away, until his entire visage once again filled the screen. Marie likewise began to slowly emerge back into the foreground and eventually took her place by her husband's side. Armstrong noticed for the first time, deep hand prints on Marie’s neck and a long open slit across Dwight’s throat, extending practically from one ear to the other and hanging open like a second, much larger mouth.

  Within a few seconds, the flesh began to reappear on both of the corpses and the image gradually returned to reflect that of the original painting. The lawyer felt a momentary bit of hope assuming what he had just witnessed was nothing more than a sophisticated computer simulation, dreamed up perhaps by some local teenager as a prank. He guessed he had triggered the program when he clicked the icon and now the image would remain frozen until he backed out of the screen and re-clicked the icon once again. Then he suspected it would replay once again looping through the exact scenario he had just witnessed. He assumed the smells and the burning maggots were probably his imagination because of his exhaustion from lack of sleep.