Night of the Beast

by Harry Shannon

  Edith brought more tea.

  "Feeling better?"

  "Yes."

  "We'll go on in a few minutes. This is going to be fun. We're very close, you know."

  "I know."

  Gladys sipped. "Well," she said, "I guess as long as we can still watch the movie."

  The far horizon rumbled and groaned.

  10

  THE BAXTERS

  Julie still hadn't shaken the flu, but Paula Baxter now suspected that the problem was a lot more complicated than sunburn and a common virus. Julie, curtains drawn and blankets piled high despite the heat, had been sleeping almost around the clock. She'd barely set foot outside the RV, and then only after sundown. Meanwhile, Timmy was having bad dreams again. The poor boy had dark circles under his eyes. Finally, as if that weren't enough, there was something going on between the two kids. They kept glaring at each other like a couple of Samurai, psyching up for a fight to the death.

  Face the truth, Paula, she told herself. This vacation has been an unmitigated disaster from the start. I should have known that nothing would heal itself just because we went on a trip. The real problems always hitch a ride, like it or not. And now the children have picked up on my vibes.

  Especially Julie.

  Paula sighed. She closed the book she'd been pretending to read and switched off the lamp. No more excuses, she thought. You can't keep ignoring what's right in front of you. There's no denying it, woman. Something is wrong with your daughter.

  Well, maybe it is only psychosomatic. But that sure as hell doesn't mean it isn't serious. After all, she's gone through a tremendous amount of emotional upheaval. Separation and divorce are pretty foreign words to a child. Julie has sunk into a flat, lethargic depression, Paula.

  And the fact is, so have you.

  That does it, she grimaced. I'll give us one more day to get our shit together. If we're all still behaving like this, it's off to the nearest doctor. Screw the damn vacation. Doctor, hell. Why not a shrink? Sure, I'll find a good shrink, too. Maybe we all need help. And some sleep.

  A few moments later, when the vampers returned for a second try, they found Timmy Baxter ready and waiting. The boy had used his pocketknife to sharpen two croquet stakes. He had them under his pillow.

  Come out and play, hissed the voices. We're waiting for you.

  It would be so easy, Timmy. There is no pain, just a blank spot. You won't remember. And then you will be just like us, Timmy. A child of the black hours, forever young. Think of it, boy. Forever young!

  Don't listen, dummy. That's how a vamper gets you, by telling lies. They take over if you let them. Just steal a guy away by talking him numb. You gotta be strong, real strong, like Mr. Rourke. Sure of yourself and everything.

  Timmy wondered if heroes ever got scared, ever felt half as afraid as he did right now.

  Go away, his mind said. Before I get mad.

  Hollow chuckles, smacking lips. Thirst.

  Timmy, look at me.

  It was the female vamper, the one who sounded so much like his sister. Heck, she'd almost fooled him the first time. But vampers were shape-changers, he'd checked on that; read through all the back issues of Horror Magazine. They could make themselves look almost any way they wanted to. Be loose as a fog, turn rock solid. It was a sneaky trick they had, another way to get at you.

  Timmy, it's me. Look.

  Don't look, he told himself. Don't.

  But he did. He swallowed and raised his head slowly, like a puppet on a string. She was right outside his window, sort of swaying back and forth like a circus balloon. Real, yet not-real.

  It was Julie. He felt his blood thicken to cough syrup and clog his veins. Blood they wanted, she wanted.

  Timmy smelled the foulness of her breath, the reek of the other one's clothing. He looked at his sister, his heart full of sorrow.

  Come on, she hissed. This is strange and wonderful and I feel great. Honest.

  He choked and shook his head. No, Julie.

  You're my kid brother. Okay, I pick on you but I love you lots. I wouldn't lie. It's super.

  No, I won't do it. Won't.

  Silly, she said, it doesn't hurt. You just start being... different. Days feel all stuffy and hot and the sun is a drag. But at night, oh at night, you hear and see and feel like you can't imagine. I wouldn't fib, not about something like this. Open the window and let me in.

  He grabbed the croquet stakes and lifted them. Julie growled low and mean, from the back of her throat.

  You're stupid, she said. You don't know what you're missing.

  Timmy placed one stake on its side and formed a crude cross. Julie immediately covered her eyes. As she moved back, a silent howl echoed through his mind. Her body seemed to bulge, distort and ripple. It broke apart, like a reflection in a pond that gets shattered by a series of small waves. For a split second he saw a different Julie, and this one was far less fearsome. She looked mad as heck, but like his sister and not some devil girl.

  Timmy wondered how much had actually happened and how much had been forced into his head. What vampers could actually do, or only fool you by pretending to do.

  What's the difference, he thought. Either way, they scare the heck out of me.

  The other vamper was watching from off in the trees. He seemed to say something. Julie raised her right arm. She held a butcher knife, stolen from the kitchen, in her fist. She spoke to Timmy from within, her tone cold and menacing.

  Put the cross down, Timmy.

  No.

  Then I'll have to hurt you — Mommy, too.

  I'll still have the stakes, he reasoned, terror washing over him. I can put them back together in no time. Why not stall?

  He separated the pieces.

  Good, she said. Peace pipe?

  Timmy nodded quickly.

  All right, then. But don't you dare try and tell on me.

  Huh?

  I mean it, punk. You keep your damn mouth shut around Mom, hear me? I'm not sure I want to leave yet.

  A distant bell, a tiny click: Wait a second, how come she's worried? Mom would never believe me, not about this. Heck, last time Julie made it back to bed before I worked up the guts to check on her. So why does she care? Why?

  Oh, I might tell, Timmy threatened. You couldn't stop me, either.

  Better not. I'm warning you.

  Give me one good reason.

  Julie was suddenly back at the window. She'd gone all sticky and hollow, as if her skin were made out of clear sandwich wrap. It was horrifying. Her nose seemed to strain itself right through the screen, like a thin cloud of fog. Her eyes were murderous.

  Here is one good reason, she hissed.

  Julie raised her pale upper lip and bared fangs. Were they real? Timmy didn't want to find out. He felt exactly like what he was, a little boy trying to bluff a monster with a couple of croquet stakes. She let her fangs drag along the side of the camper. They made a soft, raspy sound — teeth against metal, one equally as strong as the other.

  Fffffffffffft. Click.

  Fffffffffffft. Click.

  Timmy shuddered. It wasn't hard to imagine what those could do, how they'd rip into a body and tear the meat to shreds.

  But vampers didn't keep promises or stick to deals. Some night soon, whenever the mood struck her, Julie would attack. Should he gamble, then? In the movies, the creature always needed a while to change back again. And Julie was outside.

  "MOM!" Timmy screamed. He formed the cross, a shield of sharpened stakes. "Mom, hurry!"

  You'll pay, Julie barked. She called her brother nasty names. He felt her rage, white hot, like the blast from an open furnace. She coiled, faded, and began to shift. Timmy gulped, his mouth dry as a sack of cat litter. Well, it's a race. Jeez, come on. You gotta hurry!

  "Mom! Mom!"

  Better get here fast, he thought. Before Julie has time. If you don't this will all be for nothing, 'cause she'll just fake you out again.

  "Mom?"

  "What the
hell is it?"

  Paula stumbled into the room, still tying the belt to her robe. The boy took a quick peek outside. The night seemed calm and empty. Timmy crossed his fingers for luck and yanked on his mother's sleeve. He dragged her down the hall, past the dreaded closet and over to Julie's bed. He felt around for a moment, located the light switch...

  And there was Julie, sound asleep.

  He'd lost. There was no sense trying to fight it, she'd won this round. He'd better stay quiet, at least for now. Until he found a new angle.

  Timmy apologized. He blamed his yelling on a terrible dream, then softened things even further by claiming that Julie had been a part of his nightmare. That she'd been in danger. He'd felt scared silly, really worried about her.

  His mother accepted the story immediately, and her trust disturbed him. He had to suppress a bubble of guilt, the urge to confess.

  "Hey, Timmy," Paula said, gently stroking her daughter's hair. "I think she's getting better. She seems stronger now, don't you think?"

  That was true enough. Julie wasn't pale anymore. In fact, she looked absolutely radiant.

  11

  ROURKE

  It's still night.

  Something woke me.

  What?

  The dog, scratching, begging Rourke to let him go outside. Maggie lay naked in the firelight, fast asleep. Sleepily, Peter padded over to Monday. He opened the door and was blown backwards by the raw force of a howling wind.

  Monday slid past his legs and out into the darkness. Rourke had to lean his full weight on the door to close it again. He walked to the fireplace, pulled the screen, placed fresh wood on the glowing embers. The room grew brighter. He wondered how Maggie could sleep through such a storm. The floor shook beneath his feet with each new roll of thunder.

  Peter couldn't pull his eyes away from Maggie. So brave, so intelligent, so loving. He felt a sense of awe. How delicate, he thought. Her long lashes, the tiny flutter of thin blue veins in her neck, those sensitive, pillow-soft breasts. How vulnerable we are, in spite of ourselves.

  She looked lovely in the firelight.

  Shrill bells: Two longs, one short. Maggie sat up, groggy, and covered herself with Peter's shirt. He went to the phone, spoke into the antique mouthpiece.

  "Gladys?"

  His voice echoed and caused subtle motion, as if thrown down a long, wet sewer full of crawling things. Hahhahhuuahhauuhah…"Hello?" There was no answer. Rourke hung up, hid a tremor of concern and began to get dressed.

  "Who was that?"

  "Wrong number."

  Maggie made a face. "How the hell can you get a wrong number with so few to pick from?"

  Rourke met her gaze, willing himself to look calm. "Damned if I know, but some clown did it. Let's get dressed."

  "Hey," Maggie said as she pulled on her jeans. "Want your dinner yet?"

  "Sure. Make mine rare."

  "Peter, what's the matter?"

  "I don't know. It's not unusual to have a problem with the telephone in bad weather, but suddenly I'm worried about Gladys."

  "How do you know it was Gladys? Maybe Michael was trying to get through to see if we're okay."

  He patted her fanny affectionately. "Because the call would still have to be routed through her office, dummy. Go cook." Maggie realized he was right. She thought of Tony again and immediately reached for her clothing.

  Peter cranked once, for Gladys. He tried several times before replacing the phone in its cradle. "Maybe the lines are down because of the storm. That could have happened just as she called me, but somehow I don't think so. There's something wrong."

  Maggie looked back over her shoulder. "Oh, Jesus."

  "Yeah. It may be back again."

  "Let's not stay, Pete. Let's hurry up, have our dinner and then drive on back to town to get Michael. We should all be together."

  "Yes, maybe we should," he said. He smiled. "You have a deal."

  She put the steaks on to broil and went to the sink. Another gigantic blast of thunder. Maggie peered through the kitchen window. "Damn, this is a big one."

  Rourke was looking for his socks. The floor was cold. "Yeah," he said. "Worst I can remember."

  Maggie gasped and put both hands to the front of her neck. "Peter, something's moving around in the yard!"

  "I let Monday out while you were sleeping."

  She sighed and leaned on the counter for support. "God, that spooked me. I guess I saw his shadow."

  "Shadow?"

  She missed the fear in his voice.

  "It looked taller than the dog," she said, "but too small to be a man. Probably just the lightning playing tricks."

  Rourke skulled. The skin at the base of his neck grew taut, and tiny hairs bristled.

  "Wait. I don't like this, Maggie."

  She whirled, moved closer. "Anything clear?"

  "No, nothing clear…but there is something out there. It's all around us."

  She nodded furiously. "I can feel that, too. I thought it was my nerves."

  Rourke took a look outside. The night stared back, sullen and indifferent. "No, this is an energy field of some kind. Negative energy." [evil] He opened the closet and slipped on a heavy hunting jacket. "Maggie, I'm going to get the dog. I shouldn't have let him out. I wasn't thinking."

  "Peter?"

  "Hush. Whatever it is, it might be happy just to keep us in sight and out of the way."

  "Don't go too far," Maggie said, her voice husky. "Monday should be fine. It's you I'm worried about."

  "I'll go armed, lady love. Heavily."

  He took a rifle from the gun rack and loaded it. The front porch: Wild wind, pelting rain, everything slightly out of phase. His lovely little valley smelled like decaying meat. It conjured and taunted — dared Rourke to step down, move closer.

  The wind died, and so did someone he knew/not far/close. A bad death, an ugly death, with more to come.

  Rourke, fragmented by panic, stalled. He had never experienced such power. He'd been totally blocked, yet it had broken through. The night itself felt alive, a cruel and cunning enemy. Peter thought he heard barking to his right, up the hill, and started in that direction. His feet seemed to be sinking into thick pools of mud; hot, sticky tar that weighted him down and clutched at his ankles. Everything rolled in slow motion. He walked and walked, but didn't seem to be getting anywhere.

  An illusion. A try at breaking him down.

  He probed lightly. His vision cleared. He was at the foot of the slope after all. Only his mind had remained near the cabin.

  "Monday? Here, boy!"

  Thunder.

  Vicious hail, heavy rain. Another death. No, two. Rourke retreated a step. Self-hate rose up with a vengeance: [coward! you'd kill a helpless old man, but you won't try to save your own dog? jeremy thought you were a coward. prove him wrong]

  Tune out. Shield yourself.

  [waiting for some rainbow, chickenshit? a little grass? step forward, come on!]

  His head began to pound, picked up speed until it clattered like a jackhammer. It took an enormous effort of will, almost everything Rourke had, just to stand his ground. To take the blows.

  [toot wanna little rainbow wanna little toot?]

  "Stop it," Peter whispered. The voice droned on.

  A savage bolt of lightning struck the earth, came close enough to drive him to his knees.

  Maggie, trying to see out through the kitchen window: She went rigid with terror. A presence, behind her in the living room. Maggie felt eyes boring into her neck, but couldn't bring herself to turn around. The world shifted slightly. She heard a warped version of her own voice, and began to wash her hands. They would not get clean, so she washed them again.

  [what do monsters do, i wonder, come and find dirty little girls who deserve killing?]

  Maggie scrubbed her flesh, scrubbed until it began to bleed; over and over, afraid to look up or look back, even to breathe.

  [get in that car, just go... leave her, leave the dog. fuck them
. you've always lived alone] Rourke blocked with all his might and stole a moment to gather his wits.

  "Monday! Here, boy!"

  Something moved on the hill. Please mutt, let it be you. The shape came closer. Instinct made Peter throw up his rifle.

  [first the thunder and the lightnin' then the devil's reign ... reign ... reign]

  Rourke began to back away. No more, he thought. You've shown me your stuff and it's good. Strong enough to make me think twice about another confrontation on your terms.

  Maybe another time, in some other arena.

  He fumbled with the latch and stepped inside, slammed the door and bolted it with a sigh of relief. Maggie was still at the sink. He returned his rifle to the gun rack and entered the kitchen. "I couldn't find him," he said. A frigid wave, high frequency: [dirty i'm so dirty i'm so] "Maggie?"

  She spun to face him. Spray of dish water; soap bubbles pink with her blood. "Get away from me," she cried. "I'm not clean. I hate you for wanting to fuck me. Oh God, I see now I won't ever feel clean again. I'm so dirty!"

  He slapped her, gripped her hands and held her close. They melted together, trading strength for weakness. "Shhh. You'll be all right, Maggie," Rourke said. "It's not you, it's what's all around us. The force we talked about. This thing is huge. Do you remember what I said? About how I thought it preyed on people? Remember?"

  "Y-y-yes."

  "That is what you're feeling. It is a lie. This thing is not human. And I think it is something that has always been here in Two Trees, deep in the bowels of the earth. It feeds on human misery and pain. That's what fuels it and keeps it growing. I think it has driven everyone within miles out of their minds. Some folks are already dead. Try not to listen to it, Maggie. Talk to me instead. Maybe we can help each other."

  Maggie managed a wan smile. Rourke returned it and felt a tickle.

  The phone rang. He answered. Something spoke.

  It was alive, but not human. It crept down the wires; a sinister whispering, low chuckles, macabre grunts and inaudible words. A clattering freight train in that long, booming tunnel of a dead line. Chants, curses and incantations that mingled with the sobbing of an eerie, rising wind. Hhhahhahhuuuahhahhhhhaauhaa….Rourke smiled and nodded to the air.