A Wistful Tale of Gods, Men and Monsters

by David Ruggerio

  Tom pressed, “Anything out of the ordinary today?” Banger was sweating now; he found it hard to hide his anxiousness, “Not a thing Sheriff.” He then raised a bottle of warm beer, “Tiss a glorious day. Here’s to our wives and girlfriends; may they never meet.” He took a swig of the beer and dropped it back on the counter with a bang. He turned to leave; he glanced back at Martha, their eyes connected, narrowing and turning a fiery red. Their glare turned to Beverly; Jessup witnessed their antagonism towards her, it was murderous rage, “Tom, maybe we should go to my store.” Before Tom could respond, Martha sneered, “maybe you should.”

  The three sat in the warm comfort of Jessup cellar office. As he made coffee on his antique Mr. Coffee machine, Tom blurted out, “What the hell was that about?” Beverly stood and took a hot mug and leaned against the bookshelves, “As I told you two before, I’m a witch.” Tom was perplexed, “So, what does that have to do with anything.”

  She smiled, “Don’t you get it? They are witches.”

  Jessup jumped, “What? They’re witches?”

  Beverly continued, “Well, actually Banger is a warlock and Martha is a witch.” Her two companions were flabbergasted. “In fact, a good part of this town are members of an ancient coven.” She took a deep gulp of coffee and continued, “Did you see that moon tonight? It is the rarest blood moon. Tomorrow will be a pivotal night for the beast. The town will do whatever they need to do to protect the beast. But more importantly, the coven will venerate Satan as a supernatural patriarchal deity.”

  Tom’s head was spinning, “Satan? Are you telling me that there are other witches in Brunswick? Are you kidding me?”

  “Kidding, no. Many people think that modern witchcraft is groups of gothic dressing adolescents wearing dark makeup and distressing their parents to no end. The fact of the matter is that this coven is one of the oldest in America; in fact, it dates back to kinship in Germany.” Tom was finding it hard to take it all in, “So they’re witches, it is sort of a Rotary type of club.”

  “Now Sheriff, you’re insulting me.”

  “I apologize, it’s just hard for me to fathom,” he took a mug of coffee from Jessup, “and what exactly is their role in this?”

  “Their role has gone on for centuries unchanged. They are responsible for providing the beast sacrifices, and for that, the beast does their bidding.”

  Jessup dropped into a seat, “Sacrifices? Are you speaking of all those slaughtered children?”

  “Yes, the community would select the appropriate young girl, and she would be given to the beast to appease its appetite.” Tom dropped his face into his hands and groaned, “How many in the town belong to this group.”

  Beverly thought for a second, “Nearly half of the town.”

  “How do we fight them?”

  “You don’t. We need to get to the beast in the next two nights before it gets its next victim and kill it.” She looked close for a reaction, “Gentlemen, this is a blood moon, when it feeds during this lunar cycle, it will become so strong, I think then killing it will be nearly impossible.” Just then there was a banging at Jessup’s front door, Beverly halted him, “Don’t answer it, it is probably a group of townsfolk that have put two and two together and are now out to stop us.” That angered Tom to no end, not in his town. “What or who is the beast?”

  “I’m not sure, but from local lore, it’s a Mohawk Indian priestess who somehow became a shapeshifter.”

  Jessup jumped in, “There’s only one woman in town who claims to be a Mohawk, and that’s Anne Justice!”

  Tom was struggling, “Makes sense, she probably killed her husband. So where do we find this damn animal, should we start at the cemetery?” Beverly thought for a second, “I think not. Our best bet is to attack it tomorrow night.”

  Jessup jumped, “On Halloween?”

  Tom quipped, “Were you planning on trick-or-treating?” That finally brought a smile to Jessup’s concerned look. Beverly continued, “The beast will be preoccupied tomorrow. We need to attack it in its lair.”

  “Where’s its lair?”

  With no hesitation, Beverly revealed a startling revelation, “The old Hade’s mortuary. It has been cared for by Hades’ confederate for nearly a century.” Tom stopped her, “Confederate? Hades has been dead for nearly a hundred years, how old is this guy?”

  “I might think more than a few centuries. Gentlemen, what I am talking about are things you only dream in the most horrifying of nightmares. Although I’ve never seen him, it has been rumored that a malevolent, ghoul named Balin has been caring for this shiftshaper for centuries.”

  “But what about Hades?”

  “This symbiosis began long before Hades; he was just a hapless co-conspirator. When he did something that angered the beast, it murdered his daughter. It is also said that it was Balin who threw Hades off the roof of the mansion. What I suggest…” The banging on the door became louder, “like I was saying, is there a backdoor?” Jessup pointed towards the rear, “Good, let’s split up tonight, let’s meet back up at my shop around two. I’ll have everything we need to battle the beast. Make sure that neither of you is followed tomorrow.” The two men left shell-shocked. Tom thought he had seen it all in South Philly. Tomorrow would bring unfathomable experiences.

  CHAPTER 22

  GROUNDED

  Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. Resist him, standing firm in the faith.

  -1 Pet. 5:8-9

  Jane was hearing none of it, she was furious. “How dare you, young lady to sneak out of this house, and with everything that’s going on.” She didn’t’ wait for a response, “and you, young man, I’m responsible for you, what do you have to say?” The two remained silent, Jane bristled, “Well then, I guess I will put your costumes away for next year, since you both are grounded till, after Halloween.”

  “But Mom…”

  “No buts, now both of you go to sleep and think about what you guys did tonight.”

  . . .

  Tom checked on the armory before heading home for the night. He was shocked to find Bessy still sitting at her desk. “My God Bessy, burning the candle at both ends.”

  “Well, sort of.” Tom could feel uneasiness in her voice. This night, his secretary was going to show little niceties in her words. “You know Sheriff, sometimes it’s better to let sleeping dogs lay.”

  “And what sleeping dog are you referring to, or should I say beast?”

  “Sheriff, she has existed for generations in this area, she protects us from the outside. We really live a peaceful life here.”

  Tom realized that the evil was coming from within, “Peaceful? What was peaceful about Rebecca Hibler’s slaughter?”

  “It’s just all part and parcel to the way things have been done, you just don’t understand.” Tom’s eyes glanced at the front door of the office, a small gathering of locals was pushing to get in, headed by Larry Bumsfeld. “Sheriff don’t fight it, all your predecessors understood. We welcomed you in with open arms.” Tom seized the moment, darting for his office and locking the door behind him. He threw the window open and jumped feet first, landing smack dab in front of his deputy. “Howie, thank God it’s you, the whole town has gone mad.”

  “I know Sheriff, I have my car parked around the corner, let’s go.” As Tom went in the direction Howie pointed to, he felt a crushing thud on the back of his skull. He landed face first in a snowdrift. His only sense at that moment was identifying the pure scent of the snow. It had a similar odor to his freezer at home. The sheriff then recognized that iron like taste of blood. His mind was becoming clouded, dizzy, things moving very slowly, Tom saw feet walking his way. Again, anoth
er deafening thud. Things became dark, as he drifted off into a never-ending gloom.

  While Larry and Bessy looked on, Howie placed the hammer into a plastic bag and rolled it up. Bessy leaned to see if the breathing had stopped. “We should have done this a long time ago. He was never going to become one of us.”

  Larry sneered, “I hated him from the moment I saw him. Banger and I will toss the body in the woods over by Bald Mountain with the others.”

  As Bessy turned Elias showed up, “Did you get him?”

  Howie put a camel into the corner of his mouth, “Yup, got him, took three swings. Damn head split open like a melon, lookie there, brains whiter than white. Help me wrap him up; we’ll put him in my truck.”

  Elias was inquisitive, “What about a new sheriff.”

  “My good man, this one isn’t even cold yet…”

  . . .

  William glanced over at Lilly who was fast asleep, he turned away. Tears flowed freely; his pillow became soaked with sorrow. He felt so alone in the world. He knew now that his father was dead. His fears caused a dull thumping in his head; he felt genuine pain in his chest. Who would take care of him, who would play ball in the afternoons, cook dinner for him? He then thought of his poor father, his delicate face lying somewhere, unprotected, ravaged, and then William’s sorrow turned to anger. He turned back over and was startled by a mist that had formed in the room, he tried to call Lilly, but the words wouldn’t come, he was mute. A form evolved from within. It was a young girl; his anger began to color her form. She had golden locks and pink cheeks. Her hands were so delicate, it held a rag doll. Her smile was so inviting and pleasant. She reached for William. At first, he pulled back, then sensing kindness, he allowed her to touch his cheek. Her feathery touch gave him solace, but it also revealed to him her true identity. She was Derica Willowsby, Joshua’s daughter. She was there to warn her great-grandson and try and protect him. Her words were a whisper, barely detectable, “I love you and will always protect you. The beast will never forget, peer into a mirror, and look deeply into it; your answers lie in the beast’s past.” William’s curiosity got the best of him, Bu…but the monst…” The girl pressed her finger to his lips, quieting him. The color then gradually drained from her feathery form, and she dissipated along with the mist. In seconds the cloud slipped back under the door and was gone. His attention was now taken by a glimmer of brilliant sunshine that heated the last wisps of mist. He had not slept a wink but felt joyously invigorated. He jumped out of bed and peered into the mirror over Lilly’s bureau, he did as she said. He looked closer, almost pressing his nose against it, but what did she mean?

  Lilly sat up, “What are you doing silly?” William struggled with whether to tell Lilly, but how could he keep this from her. He sat on her bed and babbled on about the ghostly girl and her message. Was it a dream, he thought not. Lilly was adamant, “We have to kill it.”

  “But with what? We lost the only weapon we had.”

  “We have to go and see Mr. Homel, he will know.”

  . . .

  The town was up bright and early. Those folks who were not preoccupied with the lunar cycle and ignorant of what would transpire that evening, were busy getting ready for Halloween. Their joy and enthusiasm drowned out the solemn and seriousness of their infected neighbors.

  Lilly promised that she would be back in an hour and the two of them would serve out their banishment that evening in her room. The two scurried across town, keeping a watchful eye for Banger. As they ran up to the bookstore they noticed that the witchlike statue that normally stood sentinel was gone. William tugged on the door handle, but it was looked, he pounded on the door. With no response, he pounded again while pressing his nose against the glass of the door. He could see Mr. Homel’s bald head peek out from behind a bookcase. When Homel saw it was the children, he cautiously waved them to the rear of the building. William and Lilly huddled together as they waited for the frightened storeowner to unlock the chains and bolts that secured it. He opened the steel door a crack and peered around to see if any of the townsfolk had followed. “Come-on you two, get in, quickly before someone sees you.” He pulled the door shut and secured it. “What are you two doing out so early on Halloween?” Before they could answer there was pounding on the steel door, a startled Homel sucked his breath in causing a resounding huh noise. This made the children fearful. Why was Mr. Homel so scared? The pounding resumed, but then Jessup heard a familiar voice. He went about unlocking the door, and as it creaked upon opening, Beverly jumped in, “What took you so long, you told us last night to come this way.” Before Jessup could conjure up an excuse she continued, “I think that’s something wrong with the sheriff. I had a good view of his office from my store, and all night the two deputies and that old bag that runs the office were buzzing around.”

  “Well, what should we do?”

  “Do? Well, do what we planned last night.” She looked at the two children, Lilly blurted out, “We’re going to kill the monster tonight.”

  Beverly was amused, “A young Wiccan in the making, that’s the spirit.” Let’s all head over to my shop and get ready to attack.” Jessup’s fear was getting the better of him, “Maybe I should research further here.”

  “Research my ass, Homel, are you telling me that these two children are braver than you?” He dropped his head, looking over his spectacles and sadly shook his head no. “Well now then, let’s go.”

  PART FIVE

  A FRIGHTENING CONFRONTATION

  “The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow’r,

  And all that beauty, all that wealth e’er gave,

  Awaits alike th’ inevitable hour.

  The paths of glory lead but to the grave.”

  — Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard

  Thomas Gray

  CHAPTER 23

  THE HALLOWEEN COUNTDOWN

  Not by might nor by power, but by My Spirit,' says the Lord of hosts.

  -Zech. 4:6

  “Bessy, its Joe Wouter, can I speak to the sheriff, it’s very important.”

  “Sure Joe, one second.”

  “Well howdy there Wouter, what’s cooking on this fine Halloween morn?”

  “Who is this? I need to speak to the sheriff.”

  “This is the sheriff. Don’t you recognize me Joe, its Howie?”

  “Howie? But where’s Tom?’

  “Oh well, he up and went back to Philadelphia, too boring here for him. Not enough homicides I guess.” Joe was stunned as Howie chuckled; he sat back and tried to piece together the happenings over the past days. There was not a single note of unhappiness or a word about leaving town. Tom was engrossed in his work, he seemed to love it. This was all too strange, but who could he call? He thought for a second and realized that the only one he could trust was Jessup Homel. He dialed his shop, but there was no answer. He looked at his desk and the mountain of work that was screaming for his attention, the hell with it. He grabbed his jacket and took off for Brunswick.

  . . .

  “These are the haunting sounds of Johnny B, bringing you my annual Halloween countdown. Now at number 18 is Season of the Witch by Donovan. Wouter’s mind drifted, he began recalling every strange look and oddity that he and Tom had endured from the Brunswick townsfolk, something was amiss, and behind it all was an immensely powerful beast. There was definitely a connection between the disappearance of Willowsby and the murders. He then focused on Willowsby’s wife, a pure Mohawk. How could that be after so many centuries? His mind drifted further…

  So many different people to be

  That it’s strange, so strange

  You’ve got to pick up every stitch

  You�
��ve got to pick up every stitch

  You’ve got to pick up every stitch…

  Mmm, must be the season of the witch…

  The majestic buck nervously flicked its tail. It was hunting season, and the guarded animal didn’t want to become part of some young man’s successful ritual of the hunt. It lightly hopped over a fallen sapling and took its first step onto the slick asphalt. The deer never saw the rumbling truck coming; neither did the driver see the great animal. He slammed on the breaks. The fine coating of ice on the country road caused the car to careen and spin. It slammed into a century-old pine. The driver’s head smashed through the windshield and rested halfway out on the hood of the truck. There was noticeable twitching as the brain vainly sent its last messages to its heart, but alas, the heart had ceased. A Halloween snow had begun to fall, flake by flake covering the motionless corpse. The majestic buck uncharacteristically came close to the tattered truck; it then flicked its tail and bounded off into the forest.

  . . .

  Jane looked at her watch; sure enough, it had been over two hours. She was furious, what was she going to do with that child? Just then there was a knock at the door. She turned and tried to remember where she had put the basket of candy. She grabbed it and hurried to the door. She double checked her variety of candy; she didn’t want to be outdone by anyone.

  Her first trick or treater was a lone boy, small with a fine turn of the century dress with an intricate color of pure white lace around his neck and burgundy corduroy. The garb was complete with buckled shoes and knickers. His face was covered by a grotesque clown mask. The red of its lips and nose were vibrant and almost thick. “Well sweetheart, you’re the first! Tell me, what are you supposed to be?” The boy grabbed his mask’s nose and placed the mask on the top of his head. Jane could see how unbelievably beautiful the boy’s face was. His golden hair was perfectly combed, his cheeks were rosy red, and he seemed almost doll-like. “Well ma’am, what am I supposed to be? Well, of course, I’m your friend.” Off in the distance, a sweet melody began to filter to Jane’s ears. It was music like she hadn’t heard since she was a child, it reminded her of an old southern revival. Her mind wandered…