A Host of Shadows

by Harry Shannon

  In the car, Kenzie said: “Now tell me more about the other missing kids.” He drove slowly, carefully. This old road was poor anyway, and tonight it was covered with slick ice and patches of snow.

  “Started maybe seven, eight years ago,” Doc drawled. “The Bleckas went to get their little girl one morning and she was missing. Everybody searched up and down the valley, but we never found a body. Sheriff Harris was getting on in years by then, and it upset him no end. Maybe ten months later, some migrant workers passing through lost their little boy. Same deal. Search parties, flyers. Shit we even had some television coverage that time. Nada.”

  A grinding, hissing noise: Kenzie felt the cruiser sliding to the right. He gunned the powerful engine and twisted the wheel until he had regained control of the vehicle. He kept his speed down, trying to be as quiet as possible. He searched for the ancient bridge while he listened.

  “Went like that for a while,” Doc said softly. “Then a couple of years ago they caught this drunken tramp down by the railway, and he had some stuff on him belonged to the Johnson boy. Can’t recall what exactly, maybe a sweater and a pocketknife or something. It seems that tramp had been living around Two Trees for years, comin’ out at night to scavenge for food in trashcans. Man, he was some paranoid, pissed-off guy. He broke old Sheriff Harris’s nose when they went to arrest him. Kept on babbling about dead children, refrigerators and ice cubes, something like that. Said he killed ’em, too. Confessed to killin’ ’em all.”

  “Sounds like a paranoid schizophrenic,” Kenzie said. “Crazy as a loon without medication. The state gave him the needle anyway?”

  Doc chuckled without humor. “We’re talking a passel of kids, here, Sheriff. Missing and presumed dead. Guy was screwed, blued and tattooed in a heartbeat. You get it?”

  “I get it. They were happy to have nailed somebody,” Kenzie said. “Too happy to think things through properly. And old Sheriff Harris got to retire with honor.”

  “It bothered me some at the time,” Doc admitted. “I may be just a veterinarian, but I know crazy when I see it. But still, he could have done it. Some schizophrenics are dangerous, right? So I rationalized, anyway. I think we all wanted it to be over with. And for a couple of years it was.”

  “Until tonight.”

  “Until tonight.”

  Kenzie saw the bridge. He shut off the lights and rolled the police cruiser onto the battered wood and steel platform. He winced at the racket the tires made going over the splintered planks. Kenzie reflexively lowered his voice to a whisper.

  “So maybe this is our killer, maybe not. What do you know about Klaus Wachner, Doc?”

  “He was some kind of big shot with the Army,” Doc said. “Worked at one of those Area 51 places, all top secret stuff.”

  “A scientist?”

  “A biologist, I think,” Doc said. “Stuff that’s way beyond me. He worked with defensive materials, weapons-grade chemicals, something like that anyway. Never talked much about it. Likely wasn’t allowed to.”

  Kenzie knew that many serial killers had seemingly normal lives. He chewed his lip as he drove slowly through the cold, oppressive night, then asked the question that was on his mind. “Any family?”

  “Huh?”

  “This Wachner, did he have a family?”

  “Yeah. Wife died in childbirth,” Doc said. “And then his little girl suddenly got real sick and died, too. That was maybe ten or twelve years ago, just about when he bought this spread.”

  “Maybe that’s the motivation for killing kids,” Kenzie mused.

  “What is?”

  “Well, one of them ‘killed’ his wife by getting born, right? Hell, maybe he murdered his own little girl years ago for revenge, and then that’s what started him off.”

  “I could see that making sense to a nut job.”

  “My instincts tell me he’s wrong, Doc. And they never lie.”

  The tension was so palpable time seemed to elongate and compress simultaneously. It felt like they had been driving for hours, but it had only been minutes. Kenzie knew they must be close to the right place.

  “Where are we?”

  Doc peered through the windshield, which had started to fog up from the warmth of their bodies. “Can’t tell,” he said, finally.

  Kenzie risked flicking on the lights. They saw bright, feverish eyes in the roadway. He felt ice run up his spine and the short hairs on his neck jumped to attention.

  “Fuck me!”

  The scrawny coyote lowered its head, sniffed and slithered off into the brush. Meanwhile, Kenzie caught a glimpse of a dilapidated cabin perhaps twenty yards away. He was surprised to see power lines running to it and that a dim porch light was on. He clicked the lights back off and unbuckled his seat belt.

  “I figure we walk from here,” he said. He unfastened the bands holding the shotgun tight against the dashboard. “There you go, Doc. Try not to blow my ass off, okay?”

  After a moment, Doc said, “The devil’s alternative.”

  It was pitch black. Sheriff Kenzie took several deep breaths to calm himself and then turned towards Doc. “What did you say?”

  In the blackness, Doc said: “The devil’s alternative. I’ve got two crappie options. I stay out here alone, or walk into what might be a trap. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.”

  Kenzie grinned wickedly. “Then may as well ‘do.’”

  After a time, Doc sighed and unlocked the passenger door. “Suppose you’re right at that,” he said. “Better than doing nothing. I warn you, though. I may have to go somewhere and clean out my shorts after this.”

  Kenzie thought for a moment. Then he finally said: “Me, too.”

  Doc eased his bulk out onto the dirt road. Kenzie’s eyes began to adjust, and he watched Doc’s massive form as he waddled forward with the shotgun cradled in his arms. “One thing I do not get,” Doc said, softly.

  “Why he called me and whispered where the body was.”

  “You got it.”

  “I suspect he wants to get caught,” Kenzie replied quietly. “Part of him does, anyway. It happens. Might have just gotten tired of waiting for justice and decided to give us a little hint.”

  “Like stepping in pig shit.”

  The air reeked of fecal matter. Kenzie became aware of a small choir, gently chuffing and squeaking. He realized they were passing an enclosure filled with large pigs. Nauseated, he wondered if Klaus Wachner had fed the missing children to the big animals once he was done abusing them. No bodies that way, for sure. Sooooie, pig pig.

  Jesus Christ, that conjured up some awful images.

  Kenzie paused at the edge of the light streaming from the yellow porch bulb. He looked at Doc and swallowed. He dropped his voice to a hoarse croak. “You know how to use that thing, Doc?”

  “Little late to ask me, ain’t it?”

  “You’ve got a point. Now listen, you stay on my right once we get through the door. You cover from the right, I take the left. First rule is we don’t shoot each other, okay? After that, damned near anything goes.”

  Doc cocked the shotgun. The snick of the slide was loud, ominous and nasty. “Last chance. You sure you don’t want to wait for the State Police?”

  Kenzie shrugged. “Shit yes, I want to. But there could be another kid in there, Doc. Or he could be getting rid of evidence while we’re fucking around. Can’t risk waiting another hour for them to get a car down here. Look, it’s my town, my call.”

  “Then let’s do it.”

  And they edged forward by starlight. Kenzie took the Glock from its holster and edged up onto the wooden porch, heavy flashlight in one hand and pistol in the other. Doc stepped to the right of the doorway. The porch moaned under his weight. Kenzie steeled himself.

  “Police!” He kicked at the door, kicked again. The wooden door shattered and flew inwards. Kenzie flicked on the flashlight and jumped into the room, moving to his left. He heard Doc stumble in behind him. Dust flew up and clouded the air. Kenzie sneez
ed and briskly searched the room. Nothing but tattered furniture and mounds of books. He jumped into the small kitchen. It was empty, too.

  “Stay there, Doc.”

  Kenzie flattened himself against the wall and eased down to the only other doorway. He took a deep breath, released part of that air, and tried the knob. It was unlocked. He pushed the door and stepped back out of the way, subconsciously waiting for a hail of bullets that didn’t come. The door slammed against the wall with a loud BANG and he jumped.

  More silence.

  Kenzie played the flashlight through the bedroom. It, too, was empty. Dirty clothes were strewn everywhere, piled onto tattered furniture and lying at the foot of the bed. The smell was overpowering, but this time it was the stench of human body odor and pig droppings. There were stacks of books in the corners and on a shelf, most of them dog-eared and stuffed with markers and slices of Post-its.

  Arcane symbols of every conceivable size and color had been scrawled on the walls with magic markers. Most of them appeared to be mathematical in nature. The letters EMR appeared over and over again, in varying patterns and scripts.

  “What the fuck does EMR mean?”

  “Beats me.”

  “And speaking of paranoid schizophrenics,” Doc said, “I think this guy has gone totally bat shit.”

  “Believe it,” Kenzie said. “But where the hell is he?”

  Doc found a light switch on the wall. One lone bulb flickered on; it dangled from a worn black wire right in the middle of the ceiling. The light cut in and out, giving everything a strobe-like flicker. Kenzie searched the room while Doc stood guard. His movement stirred the powder coating the books, bed and clothing. Soon the air was foul and cloudy with dust so thick it hurt to breathe. Kenzie sneezed a second time.

  “My fucking allergies. My nose is running.”

  “Be glad of it,” Doc replied. “This guy has need for some industrial strength deodorant.”

  Kenzie felt his stomach sink with disappointment. He’d found nothing to link Klaus Wachner to the dead boy except for the presence of pig excrement in the boot print. Hell, it was arguable he’d not even had probable cause to search the premises. For the first time in his long career, Kenzie’s instincts appeared to have let him down.

  Doc coughed and spat. “Are we seriously fucked here, Sheriff?”

  Kenzie nodded reluctantly. “Looks like it,” he said. “And I don’t mind telling you I’m pissed about it. This guy is wrong, I can smell it.”

  Doc sniffed. “Me, too. Literally.”

  “I really like him for the murders, Doc. I think Klaus Wachner called me tonight and lured us here.”

  Doc seemed dubious. “And because he blamed his own kid for his wife’s death in childbirth, he got pissed and poisoned her?”

  “Maybe. That kind of flies, doesn’t it? Stay with me on this. Then let’s say the guilt started to eat him up, so he had to kill other kids to justify what he did, then it goes on and on.”

  “Maybe. But why the two-year break?”

  “You got me there.” Kenzie frowned. “One other thing I don’t get. Why didn’t he leave us one last clue? Did he bring us this far for nothing?”

  “Beats me,” Doc said. “But I know one thing, Sheriff. I could sure use a drink.”

  I’m sorry, boy

  , Kenzie thought. I don’t know what to do next. I wish you could talk to me. He holstered his weapon and took one last look around the bedroom.

  Suddenly, Doc swore. He’d gotten his foot snared in a throw rug. Irritated, he kicked it out of the way; lost his balance and just barely caught himself in the doorway. “God damn it,” he grunted, “let’s get out of this dump.”

  “Wait,” Kenzie said softly. “Look at this.”

  He rolled up the rug and used it to wipe a thin coating of dust away from the floorboards. Saw a brass handle.

  “Is that a fucking trapdoor?” Doc whispered.

  Kenzie drew his sidearm again. He held a finger to his lips. His skin went cold and damp with perspiration. He motioned for Doc to aim the shotgun and then eased the trapdoor open. The hidden hinges squeaked like the gate to a graveyard. More powder scattered and swirled through the beam from the flashlight.

  Doc looked terrified. “Oh, you go first,” he said, trying to inject some humor. “Really, I insist.”

  Kenzie saw stairs leading down into what appeared to be a large basement. It must have taken years to hollow out this enormous a space in the hard, rocky ground. He held the gun even with the flashlight and dropped into the hole. He eased down the steps, searching the basement with his tired eyes.

  “Doc,” he said, “come down here. You’re not going to believe this.”

  “Devil’s alternative,” Doc muttered. He took one last look around the house, which seemed even more terrifying than before now that Kenzie was no longer in sight. He forced his bulky body down the steps.

  “You’re right. I don’t believe it.”

  Klaus Wachner had hacked out a laboratory beneath the old cabin, added electrical power and then plastered the dirt and rock walls well enough to hang blackboards. The symbols were everywhere again, the letters EMR appearing over and over. Doc shook his head and whistled.

  “Hell of a lot of trouble to go to.”

  Kenzie nodded. “But a great place to hide bodies. You see another light switch anywhere?”

  Doc searched the wall nearest the steps. A simple dimmer switch lay half-buried between two chunks of stone. He dialed it up and three rows of recessed ceiling lights came on. So did some kind of generator. Something started to hum, so low they barely noticed it.

  “What the hell is this place?”

  “Saw this movie once,” Doc said. “It was about some guy supposedly had this beautiful mind. Turns out he was all messed up. Thought he worked for the government, but he didn’t. He had nonsense written all over the walls; map coordinates, sketches and diagrams and numbers and letters. But none of it meant anything. Looked an awful lot like this.”

  The air was still thick with haze. Kenzie fought back another sneeze. He pointed at a handle buried in the wall. “What’s that?”

  Doc lumbered over, transferred the shotgun to one hand and tugged hard. Nothing happened. “Don’t know,” he said. “This metal is colder than a well digger’s ass, though.”

  “Try again.”

  Doc rested the shotgun against the rock. He grabbed the handle with both hands, put his formidable weight to work and tugged again. Kenzie heard a crisp snapping sound, like a branch breaking. The door boomed and began to move outward. The generator sound grew in intensity and moved from a hum to a low rumble. Doc pulled one last time, and yet another room was revealed.

  “Well I’ll be damned.”

  It was some kind of homemade walk-in freezer. Doc stood silently, inadvertently blocking the doorway. Kenzie crowded closer and peered around him to look inside.

  The two men were momentarily speechless. Kenzie groped along the interior and exterior walls, searching for a new light switch. At the same time, he splashed the flashlight beam along the interior of the freezer.

  What he found made him drop the flashlight in alarm. The freezer went dark. Kenzie and Doc tried to step out of the doorway at the same time. They wedged themselves together, almost comically. The Sheriff turned sideways and escaped back into the cellar.

  “Jesus fucking Christ!” he exploded. “What the hell was that?”

  Doc rubbed his face. “That,” he said, “looked to me to be a freeze-dried child. A little girl, to be precise.”

  Kenzie paced the cellar, rubbing his arms to rid himself of goose flesh. He was revolted. “Do you recognize her, Doc? Is she one of those missing kids?”

  Doc had gone green, too. When he spoke again, it was with an eerie calm. “No, she’s not one of our locals, Sheriff. Unless I miss my guess, that’s Klaus Wachner’s dead daughter in there.”

  “And I thought I’d just about seen it all,” Kenzie said. “Did you notice any othe
r kids, or just her?”

  “Just her, I think. And them words.”

  “Words?”

  “Latin words. Almost the same as upstairs,” Doc said. “E-something, M-something and R-something.”

  Kenzie blinked. “You saw words, though? Upstairs it’s only the letters. Let me see.” He elbowed Doc out of the way and went into the freezer on his hands and knees, searching for the flashlight.

  “Sheriff,” Doc asked quietly, “where’s the fucking shotgun?”

  Kenzie sensed something in Doc’s tone and his guts clenched. “You left it by the door,” he said. His voice echoed slightly in the freezer. His hand closed on the handle of the flashlight just as Doc said: “I know. And now it’s gone.”

  Kenzie had a premonition then, something he could not have explained. He sensed his life was nearly over. He hesitated a long moment, and then turned on the flashlight.

  The little girl was nearly naked and encased entirely in some kind of special, bluish ice. Her eyes and mouth were closed. She looked perfectly preserved. Her genitals were artistically covered, and her little hands still had manicured nails.

  “Sheriff,” Doc said nervously, “did you hear me? The fucking gun ain’t here anymore.”

  Kenzie didn’t answer. He raised the beam and examined the three words carefully. His throat tightened up, and he felt his bowels begin to loosen. He knew what they said, even though it had been many years since he’d studied Latin. He slowly backed out of the freezer, hand on his own weapon. He turned in the doorway and got to his feet, his eyes searching the cellar. Nothing but flickering light and powdery air.

  “Doc?”

  The big man was sweating profusely and his eyes were wide with terror. He didn’t answer. Kenzie slapped him on the back. “Doc, it says E Moritus Revoco. Does than mean what I think it does?”

  Doc nodded his head. His eyes were fixed on the stairs leading up out of the cellar as if he already knew what was coming.

  “I know the whole passage from somewhere,” Doc said. “It says ‘from the dead, I summon thee, from the dust I recreate thee.’”

  The trapdoor slammed shut, and more dust flew. Someone or something slid the locking bolt into place. Klaus Wachner had completely outmaneuvered them. Kenzie tried his cell phone. The walls were too thick to get a signal.