by Botha, Johan
“No!” he shouted out loud, rousing him from the self-induced trance.
He ran out to the balcony and took in gulps of air with tears coming down his face.
He’s never going to get over this, Beth thought, and she loved him even more because of it. She hated herself for falling in love with Peter, but the truth was, she’d loved him all her life. She had to let him go when he met Juanita, clearly he never saw her as anything other than a best-friend and confidante. But as Beth came into her own beauty, she had hoped he would have seen her as more.
Now, seeing him so broken, she wondered if he would ever look up and see her.
Knowing that he’d want to be alone to adjust to his new living situation… and everything, Beth walked out the door.
On the balcony Peter closed his eyes but as he did so, saw her fall again. He opened his eyes and hit the wooden post that supported the roof of the balcony.
The house shuddered and Beth turned back to see what he’d done now. She just couldn’t help herself.
The pain in his hand brought him back to reality and when he looked up he saw Beth standing there. She had grown into a real beauty, Peter thought appraisingly, tall and lean, her long brown hair streaked by the sun and pulled back in a high ponytail. He had looked upon her face nearly every day as far back as he could remember, and yet it just struck him how beautiful she really was. Other men noticed, he saw that. Rob had been flirting with her since he hit the continent. She’d never had a boyfriend that he could ever remember.
She was his die-hard friend and partner in crime. When he met Juanita, things changed a little, but they still met for breakfast once a week before his EMT shifts and there seemed to be no jealousy between the two women. They got to be great friends as well. Beth was devastated by her loss.
He smiled at Beth, somewhat ashamed of his behavior. She moved to embrace him and he relaxed in her arms.
“It’s good for things to come out, Peter. You know that Big John, Lettie and I are here for you. We are your family now. Please talk to us if you need to.” Her voice was soft and tender.
“I know that I have been an asshole over the last few months…maybe this thing that happened is a sign that I am drinking too much. Maybe it was just a dream that I had.”
Beth considered his statement and nodded her head, remembering the ashes, and teeth, wishing it weren’t true.
“I’ll make us some lunch; you must be starving by now.” Beth said and turned around to go to the kitchen.
“Thanks that would be great, I could eat a horse.”
Beth made coffee while Peter sat on the balcony.
The cops apparently found nothing unusual at the house, or evidence of an attack in the grove and it seemed to Peter as if they didn't believe his story.
"I don't believe it myself." he muttered and could feel the hair in his neck rise.
"Coffee's ready!” Beth shouted from the kitchen and he realized how thirsty he was as he hobbled back to the huge kitchen. He had a nagging- bad feeling and he couldn't help but think that this was the beginning of something horrible
“Here, eat up. You need to build up your strength and rest as much as possible." Beth henned over him as she dished up a late brunch of bacon and eggs with toast.
"Thanks, it looks great." he said as he attacked his food with fork and knife.
"I know that what you told me and the police sound unbelievable, and I don’t know what that is that you gave me. Maybe the police can figure it out. All the same you must be very careful." Beth sounded very worried. “You don’t want to ruin your reputation… you know how this village is…”
"Don't worry," he said in a soft voice. "I'm ok."
"I'll stay over until your leg is better, if you want,” Beth offered, looking up at him over her plate, “I have a lot of writing to do and can just as well use your computer if you don't mind."
“No problem. You’re lucky Juanita left it here.” It seemed easier to say her name from in this house.
“I’m thinking of taking a little trip to the mountain,” Peter said slowly, testing the waters, “I think that’s the answer to what happened here will be found there." He said as he looked up from his plate and pointed towards the mountain range with his fork.
Beth felt a cold chill go through her. “Well, you think you are going to leave me behind?”
The sun was high in the sky and threw its orange mane like a cloak over the top of the mountain, coloring everything in bright colors. It didn’t look nearly as frightening as it did a few days earlier. Peter felt his bravado grow as the wound on his leg began to itch.
Chapter 8
The day went on in quiet rest… like the calm quiet before a storm, as if the fight from the day before had sucked all the energy out of the earth and they all had to lay low until the world had the power to turn once more. Peter and Beth sat together in the living room, Beth working on the laptop he borrowed from him, Peter resting his head on her shoulder, gazing out the windows, planning his trip to the mountains in his mind.
Beth opened the browser on the laptop and went to the browser history as she would automatically do with her own laptop. A shiver went down her spine as she read what had been searched. Although a long time ago, it was evident that it was not Peter who had searched there particular things…
“Peter, if you don’t mind me asking, who was the last one to use this laptop?”
Peter looked up at her and didn’t have to say anything. Beth instantly knew the answer.
Beth didn’t know if she should have kept quiet, but before she could close the window, Peter peered at the screen.
What’s that?” he asked and started reading the browsing history.
“You know anything about this?” Beth asked.
“Yes. Juanita was obsessed with the Tokoloshe. She has always been. She has boxes and boxes of research documents and articles about it. I never asked her why though. I guess we all have our little obsessions don’t we.”
Beth clicked on one of the links. As the website opened, she was appalled at what she saw. Images of mutilated bodies crowded the screen, with captions of how they died. Most of their organs were cut off and the women were left to bleed out, their breasts cut off. This was the work of witchdoctors, the work of Sangomas.
“No…” Beth couldn’t believe what she saw.
Peter took one look at the screen and looked away. “As I said, she was obsessed with the Tokoloshe and all it entailed. It was all research.”
“But this…” Beth couldn’t tear her eyes away from the screen. It seemed so cruel! So… unnatural.
“That is why she was so intrigued. It is amazing how the sprits can fuck with your head.”
Beth wasn’t sure what he meant by that and she could sense that Peter didn’t want to talk about it. It felt like there was something that Peter knew but was not telling her.
“Did she ever tell you why she researched all these things?” Beth pointed at the screen.
“No, she didn’t. It was pure research that was all it was. Pure research.” Peter said it as if he was trying to convince himself that what he was telling Beth was actually true.
“Oh.” Beth knew that this conversation was over and closed the browser history.
She closed the laptop and placed it on the table. With Peter’s head still on her shoulder, they both dozed fitfully on the couch as the sun went down.
The phone disturbed their upright slumber and it startled them both and a cold eerie feeling came back to Peter. Something about that sound…. His memory flashed back to the family home and the phone call he got… drums??
Beth went to answer, stumbling slightly as she arose on still numb legs. As she picked up the earpiece she could smell the newness of the plastic. She knew that she was the first one to ever answer it and hoped that there would not be any more bad news…she was quickly disappointed.
Peter could hear Beth gasp as someone spoke to her on the other end. She switched on the table ligh
t when she came back into the living room, her face was pale and drawn, eyes wet.
"Oh, Peter you won't believe what happened." she said as he got up to support her. “Johan from next door was killed by some maniac and left in the field by the river."
"What?" Peter said with shock in his voice.
Something pulled his eyes like a magnet towards the mountain.
"We’ve got to get out there!" He jumped up and pains shot through his calf causing him to sit down again.
"There is also a girl missing and they are still looking for her. Apparently Johan had arranged a party for the seniors that have just finished school."
Beth was starting to calm down and looked at Peter as he got up again grabbing the keys for the van from the table.
"Maybe we can help them with the search." he said as he walked out to the barn where Big John parked the van.
“What about your leg?”
"Fuck my leg. Let's go."
Beth took the wheel and they took a shortcut through the farm.
****
Rob gazed up at Guardian mountain and spat on the ground at his feet. This place is cursed, he thought to himself, every time I’m here, it means death.
He turned back to the scene before him.
Chaos.
Crying teenagers gathering on the road, worried looking families, the villagers are talking. Volunteers gathering, even at this dark and ungodly hour. This is the devil’s hour, Rob jotted in his notebook, next to the sketch he drew of Johan’s body in the field. Gruesome.
I came to this no-place, place to get away from this shit, Rob thought to himself, but it does make for Pulitzer Prize fodder…
For such a small place, this kraal had no shortage of stories, and most of them happened right here. First Juanita, now this…Johan… and still a missing girl.
Rob sidled up to Station Command and took furious notes on the search plans, knowing in the back of his mind how this story was going to end. These scenes always ended the same. Rob knew it better than anyone here.
****
It was 2010 and Rob was already a seasoned reporter for a paper in Sacramento. He was living the dream, he thought. He had a modern condo with a coastal view, and a beautiful bride, his son Spencer (named after Spencer Tracey, the actor) was 2 years old and was already showing the swagger and good looks that promised the Star quality needed to make it in this world; at least in Los Angeles World. Rob was on the verge of something awesome. He could sense it.
Then he got the letter. The first one, he thought was a prank. Typed out on computer paper in multiple fonts in multiple sizes, it was meant to LOOK like an old-timey ransom note – meant to disguise handwriting, but printed out with a printer. Weird 21st Century Shit. Rob thought.
The content of the letter was even weirder- it was a threat, a personal threat:
You think you have it all, you think you understand everything, don’t you pretty boy? You think you are safe from the real world? You aren’t! Your paper is shit and you peddle dreams to the dream weavers in the world. Print the truth you liar or you will pay the consequences. I will show you the way – find the truth here:
And then there was an address- the rough part of town – Rob “Googled” it and the address was that of an old factory that had been shut down years ago.
He considered calling the cops first, but his investigative reporter side got the best of him, and he grabbed his camera and drove off to the destination without a single thought.
It was dark by the time he got there, and he reached out for his cell phone to call Beandre, his wife, but there was no signal. He got out and saw the open side door.
Rob was excited. What could be waiting for him? Is this a drug house? Gang activity? His heart was beating faster and harder now, and the fact that he hadn’t called the cops nor told anyone where he was going suddenly seemed very stupid.
The door opened with a prolonged screech as the metal protested his entrance and gave him a last chance to retreat. Rob adjusted his camera and entered the dimly lit factory.
In the middle of the room was a heap. Wider at the bottom, narrow at the top, a pyramid under a shroud: blue, plastic tarp. Rob looked around the cavernous space before he moved closer and the room seemed abandoned. He heard a buzzing noise, flies, somewhere, a bad smell- he pulled his t-shirt up over his nose.
It did not help.
He continued to advance on the odd pile in the room.
Rob walked a few steps closer, ten steps more, twenty steps, until he was just five feet from the mysterious and stinking heap. There on the ground in front of him was a folded piece of paper. He stopped and took a photo of it.
Rob bent and picked it up, recognizing the weird multiple-font print, his name on the front. He opened the folded paper to read the inside text – printed large and in bold.
“Demons.” Was all it said. Rob looked forward to the pile. The buzzing of the flies seemed louder the closer he got to it. He snapped another photo before he approached.
Three more steps, four more. Then he reached forward and grabbed the corner of the blue tarp. Rob swallowed hard and pulled the tarp off the heap in a dramatic sweep.
Hundreds of flies filled the air as they lifted off the pile of decomposing bodies, and flew out at Rob, filling his hair and mouth as he shouted out in horror.
Seventeen bodies were later counted by police, as the investigation of the “Archangel Killer” began. The Archangel Killer took special interest in Rob and his life… judging him and finding him to be unworthy.
****
Peter and Beth joined the growing crowd of volunteers and Emergency crew on scene near Guardian Mountain.
Johan's parents were overwrought. Tracy’s parents had gone out of town, and were quickly coming back.
Tracy was still missing.
Johan's father, Pierre, was not only a farmer but also had a successful lawyer’s practice in town. According to the cops, Johan’s parents got home from their date-night at 1am, and began looking for Johan, as the party had ended at midnight.
One boy was passed out by the pool and when woken, told Pierre that Johan and Tracy were not seen for most of the evening. Someone had seen them walking in the direction of the river.
Pierre knew about his son’s reputation and decided to go and look for him. He and the boy took a strong searchlight and headed for the river. On the way down he passed the kraal where his workers slept and woke two of the most reliable ones up to help with the search.
The bakkie they used also had hunting lights mounted on the roof and Pierre was sure that if they did not see Johan and the girl then at least the kids would see them.
It was after 2 in the morning when they found the mutilated body of Johan.
Pierre, a big man with broad shoulders, standing over six feet two in his shoes, cried like a baby, seeing his only son lying there with his body full of scratches and the entrails hanging out from him. Only when he held the body in his shaking arms did he notice the missing penis and screamed, giving vent to all the anguish in him.
The police tried to cordon off the area, around the grieving father, but they shook their heads as they tried to discover the edges of the murder scene.
There was carnage everywhere it seemed, a gut here in a tree, a piece of what? There in the weeds…God Almighty, the young officer thought… this … who could do this…
When they arrived on the scene they found Pierre still holding his dead son in his arms and only after one of the paramedics gave him an injection to relax did he let go.
Two of the cops vomited when they saw the boy on the ground. The officer in charge called on the radio for backup and one of the others took Pierre home so that they could break the ghastly news to his wife.
Chapter 9
Pierre woke up from a fitful, drug -induced sleep. The doctor had given him an injection at the crime scene that knocked him out. He knew he should be grateful, but all it gave him was a few hours to dream of his first born’s
mutilated body. Who would do this? Pierre’s heartbeat pumped faster in his chest. He was going to find out.
Was it one of his past law clients, unsatisfied with his services? Someone that envied his farm, his land? Surely it had to be personal with this amount of…. Heinous, anger that was taken out on his handsome son Johan. Pierre started to cry again. He shook himself and got to his feet, looking back at his still sleeping wife, eyeing the bottle of pills and glass of water at her bedside.
He grabbed his cell-phone and punched in the number for his number 1 farmhand, Ross Mulestand.
“Get a crew together” Pierre demanded over the phone, “We are gonna find this motherfucker ourselves.” He punched the red button on his phone and stomped into his closet to get dressed for a man-hunt.
