Mind Hemorrhages: Dark Tales of Misery and Imagination

by Dane Hatchell

  “Maria had one just like this,” Will said, closing his eyes as if trying to recall a memory.

  Sheriff Richards picked up the nametag. He already knew what was written on it—his name.

  “Dad, is this Maria’s?”

  “I don’t know, son,” Richards said dryly.

  “Why was your name tag in that envelope?” Will asked, his face twisted with confusion.

  The Sheriff’s heart raced, but he knew he had to master his emotions or he might lose his son forever. An uncomfortable silence passed. The Sheriff stood and looked his son in the eye.

  “I get stuff like this in from time to time. You know we have officers and volunteers that are constantly searching for clues to help us solve crimes. Somebody sent those in case we might find them useful.”

  “What about your name tag?”

  “I lost that a while ago. I tumbled down a hill chasing after a drunk that thought he could out run me after I pulled him over. I got all tore up in the brush, and the name tag got ripped off my pocket.”

  “Who would send a crucifix and a name tag without a note or something?

  “I don’t know. Whoever it was probably forgot to include the evidence report. Probably was Deputy Barbe. That boy would forget his head if it weren’t attached to his shoulders.”

  Will searched the floor as if looking for his thoughts. “I, uh, I think I’ll go home now.” He never lifted his gaze to his father.

  “Okay, son. Tell me, why did you come here in the first place?”

  “I don’t know. Well, I was scared. I was scared and depressed. This is another full moon weekend.”

  Sheriff Richards pulled out a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet. “No person has ever been attacked inside a residence. You know that I won’t be home tonight, so, just stay in and rent a pay per view and order some pizza before it gets dark. Keep the doors locked. I’ll be home in the morning. You know where I keep the shotgun.”

  Will placed the crucifix on the desk. It held his gaze for several seconds. He turned from his father’s desk without saying goodbye. The squeaking hinge of the door as it closed sang through the silence between them.

  Sheriff Richards picked up the crucifix and chain, put it back in the envelope, and locked it in a desk drawer. He knew what he had to do, and he had a plan that he thought would work. It was risky, but he had no other choice, because, She Knows!

  *

  Another full moon and another transformation had occurred from man to beast. The Werewolf was again unleashed into the night. The cells in its body grew accustom to its lunar metamorphosis. It was maturing as a hunting, killing machine. The beast ducked under low hanging limbs, and the scent of pine filled the air as it ran through the wooded area. The moonlight reflected off a small pond and reminded it of its thirst. It ran to the water’s edge and knelt down and lapped the water like a canine. When it finished, it lifted its head and saw its reflection staring back.

  The beast knew that it was looking at itself and not some other animal. It was self-aware. And the spark of humanity inside realized it was more than man, and more than animal. This night, it knew, would prove it.

  The town was in total lockdown. All of the businesses closed before nightfall. Sheriff Richards set up eight different patrol areas to cover the heaviest populated areas. The State Police was in full force for the weekend with men and vehicles.

  The Sheriff rode alone in his police cruiser. For his plan to work, he kept tabs on the various patrols throughout the night.

  At 10 PM, Richards made his hourly checks over the radio. An ‘all clear’ came across from each. His plan could now move forward.

  Richards drove down a two-lane road at the northern most point of the county. He slowed his vehicle, turned at an old broken KOA sign, and then down a dusty, gravel road. The Sheriff killed the headlights and eased down the road until he saw a dim light coming from the trailer. He stopped the vehicle and turned off the engine, then keyed his radio microphone.

  “Mabel, this is Richards.”

  “Go ahead, Sheriff.”

  “I’m heading north to visit Mrs. Mendoza. The rest of her family is away working in Jefferson County. She’s up there alone taking care of the place. I’m going to check on her and make sure she’s okay, and see if she needs anything.”

  “That’s really nice of you, Sheriff. I’m sure she’ll appreciate the visit.”

  “Yeah, well, it’ll take me about forty-five minutes to get there. I’ll call when I’m finished. Richards, out.”

  “Roger, out.”

  The radio went silent. Richards was ready to put his plan into action. He had forty-five minutes to kill Mrs. Mendoza, dispose of her body, and return to the campground. He would then radio in that her trailer had been broken into and robbed, and that Mrs. Mendoza was missing.

  He had a body bag in his trunk and plenty of liquid doe scent. He was confident his plan would work. It had worked before.

  Richards opened his cruiser door and exited quietly, then gently pushed the door to. He removed his 40-caliber police issue pistol and slowly made his way toward the trailer. The Sheriff did not plan to shoot her, but he would if he had to make that choice.

  The frogs and the insects crooned in the night. Gravel crunched softly under his boots as he approached and cautiously peeked through the door’s tiny window. The drapes were thin enough for him to see inside.

  Mrs. Mendoza sat on a couch with her back to him. She was alone, reading by the light of a small table lamp.

  Richards placed his hand on the doorknob and tried to twist it open. It was locked, but the door was so cheaply made he knew he would have no problem kicking it in.

  Sounds of feet pounding the gravel approached. Richards turned and saw a dark man-like creature covered in hair leaping for him. He raised his left forearm in defense as the beast crashed him to the ground.

  The Werewolf was on top and sank its fangs deeply into his forearm, forcing an uncontrollable scream.

  He still had the gun tight in his grasp, but it now was trapped between their two struggling bodies.

  The claws of the monster lashed, scratching the left side of Richards’ face. Four rows of torn flesh opened and spilled blood down his cheeks. He was on his back with the Werewolf’s body pressing into him. He knew he could not last long if he could not use his gun.

  Richards thrust his pelvis into the body of the beast, which allowed him to wiggle his gun hand free. The pistol rang out with four quick bangs, and the Werewolf let out a horrific howl.

  The hairy monster rolled off the sheriff, and stumbled away clutching its side. Richards quickly righted himself and fired three more times. This time he missed his target. The beast howled again, turned, and disappeared into the darkness.

  Richards ran to the trailer door. Mrs. Mendoza’s gaze met his through the window.

  “Open up! Damn it! Open up! Open up or I’ll break it down!” Richards demanded while pounding his fist on the thin, aluminum door.

  The door unlocked and Richards shoved it inward, which sent Mrs. Mendoza to the floor. He closed the door and locked it. Mendoza was on her backside with her hand to her mouth. Richards went to the kitchen and grabbed a rag from the counter and wrapped it around his bleeding forearm.

  “What in the hell was that?” He screamed at Mendoza. “What’s wrong with you people? What in the hell do you have going on around here?” Blood ran down his face from the claw marks.

  Mrs. Mendoza sat up, her whole body shook.

  “Answer me!” The Sheriff commanded.

  Mrs. Mendoza raised her right hand and pointed an arthritic finger at Richards. She slowly rose, and took two steps toward him.

  “My people are good people.” Mendoza’s voice was weak and quivered. “Yes, our family is cursed. But God helps us. The Blessed Virgin helps us . . .we cared for Maria during the times of her madness. She never hurt no one. Not ever. No one.”

  Richards’ face was white as a sheet. The tiny needles of shock slo
wed his thinking.

  Mendoza continued to point. Her finger shook wildly. “My daughter was a good girl. She respected her family and loved God . . . until your son came into her life.” Mendoza’s voice gained strength. “Your son put bad thoughts in her head, rebellious thoughts, and she disrespected her family because of him.”

  Richards calmed enough to remember the reason why he came there in the first place. This woman knew what he did to her daughter. He needed to get rid of her now. Time was running out. He hoped the monster outside was dead, or somewhere dying. He didn’t know how he was going to explain the creature to the Feds, but he might be able to use it as an excuse to explain the disappearance of Mrs. Mendoza.

  “Lady, I don’t know what you’re talking about. My son had nothing to do with your family’s problems. Vagabond trash is just vagabond trash.”

  “Where is my Maria? I found her crucifix and your tag together while searching for her. What have you done to Maria?” Mrs. Mendoza charged forward. Richards grabbed her right wrist and forced her to her knees.

  “Where is my Maria? She never hurt no one. What did you do to her?”

  Richards squeezed tighter. “Stupid woman, your daughter was pregnant. My son knocked her up and wanted to marry her. He said he was going to get a job and skip college. I couldn’t have that. I couldn’t have her ruin his life.”

  Mendoza’s eyes widened and swelled with tears. “Maria, my Maria . . . tell me where is my Maria . . . .”

  “Maria is at the bottom of an abandoned well. Don’t worry, you’ll be joining her shortly!” Richards pushed her down to the floor and grabbed a silver sword from a display by a bookshelf.

  “I’ll leave enough blood so that they’ll think that beast killed you here and carried you off.” Richards raised the sword. Mrs. Mendoza closed her eyes and prayed.

  A loud thud hit the door. Richards spun about. Another crash and it burst open. The Werewolf sprang forward, its claws going for his jugular. Richards was startled but managed to raise the blade and pierced the rushing beast directly in the heart.

  The monster screamed like a hound of hell, its momentum knocked Richards to the floor. The Werewolf fell on its side, writhing in pain and defiance. One loud last gasp and a long breath exhaled out, and the beast went limp.

  The Sheriff lifted himself from the floor and pulled out his pistol. He kicked the man-like figure to check for signs of life, and then rolled it on its back. This was not a cougar, or a bear, not anything that God could have created. Hair grew from every pore of its skin. Its fangs stuck out from the mouth even though it was closed. The thick, black nails on its paw-like hands looked sharp enough to cut through cowhide.

  Richards looked about, accessing his situation. Mendoza held a rosary, still on her knees, and praying softly. He needed to act now.

  The Sheriff turned to the body of the beast to pull out the sword. He stopped cold as the body started to transform before his eyes. The hairs started to return inside the skin, and the teeth and claws retracted. The beast slowly transformed into a human. The frightening animal characteristics softened, revealing the dead body of a beautiful, young man.

  “Oh no . . . God, no . . . Will . . . .” Richards whispered, feeling his whole world coming to an end. His little boy who had grown into a man was dead. He had been the one that killed him. Tears rolled down his face. Richards fell to his knees next to his son.

  Mrs. Mendoza stopped praying and moved over to him. “My ancestors were cursed many years ago. For what, I do not even know. But your son chose the curse. He wanted to be like my Maria.”

  Richards knelt in silence and covered his face with his hands.

  “Maria’s curse is gone, and your son’s curse is gone. But you . . . your curse is just beginning!”

  Large beads of sweat formed on Richards’s brow as liquid fire ran though his veins. The wounds on his face and arm healed from the inside out. His whole body felt inflamed, then energized. His teeth suddenly felt too large for his mouth.

  A woman’s scream pierced the night. The howl of a savage beast followed. The frogs and the insects went silent. The nocturnal animals of the woods hid in fear.

  End

  Bad Vibes

  I was in a middle-class subdivision dotted with eighty-year-old houses covered in lap siding with peeling paint. Massive oaks shaded the road and had sucked out the life of the once green yards now barren of grass. Moss hung like spider’s web from the gnarled limbs that twisted toward the sky. My name is Lucas Mayor. I’m one of the best-known particle physicists in the world, but I’m better known now for my psychic adventures.

  Mailboxes had long ceased to exist down the street making it hard to determine the address I was in search of. Victims of rowdy teen’s joyriding on a drunken weekend night no doubt, and the erosion of time. I rolled down the car’s window and came to a stop. The banana-like scent of a magnolia fuscata spilled into the cab and brought its delightful smell.

  For a moment I transported my thoughts back in time to where dogs barked, children laughed, and lawnmowers’ growled in the background. That all had ended abruptly the week the unspeakable horror was first discovered. A horror so terrible that all the families had abandoned their houses and no one was ever brave enough to move back in. Something evil had driven them out.

  For over a decade, more than twenty children had vanished from surrounding counties. The story was always the same: the child had been abducted while playing outside in their own yard. It wasn’t because of irresponsible parents the child had turned up missing. The children had always been under the watchful eye of a parent or relative just seconds before disappearing. What some had mistaken for a simple impromptu game of hide and seek turned into a frantic search and rescue madness. One mother left her four-year-old in a chair on the porch while she walked to the end of the driveway to get the mail. The child was never seen again. Not a single clue left behind. Gone. Vanished. As if he had dissolved into thin air.

  As mysterious as the abductions had become, the perpetrator turned out to be very ordinary. A disabled Korean War veteran that had suffered from six months as a prisoner proved to be the greatest monster the state had ever known.

  Albert Dooley led a modest life living alone on a disability pension from the US Army. An archived newspaper article I found reported he was quick to offer a smile and a wave to his neighbors on the rare occasion he was seen meandering around the yard or washing his baby-blue 1960 AMC Rambler. Other than that, not much was known about the man.

  A dog exposed the unseen darkness that dwelled within him when it brought home a ghastly treasure of a child’s severed foot.

  The police were immediately called along with the FBI. Within hours the area had teamed with officials searching to connect the pieces to the puzzle. A shallow grave hastily dug before a rainstorm had exposed the monster that lived among the good citizens.

  By the time the authorities surrounded Dooley’s house, he had already made two quick cuts to his abdomen. He sat at his kitchen table and had pulled out his own viscera. His intestines were neatly swirled on a silver platter and topped with whipped cream from a spray can and adorned with a cherry at its peak.

  The sun gleaned off a car’s window parked at the end of a driveway up ahead and pulled me from my thoughts. That could only be my contact, a representative of Simon, Roberts, and Ferguson, LLC. The group consisted of lawyers with cash to invest in the real estate market.

  I continued down the road until I reached the driveway. The gravel was loose in the entrance and two holes a few feet apart made the car bounce up and down four times as I turned in and parked next to a black sedan.

  Charles Jacobs jumped out of his car, eager to greet me as I fumbled with my door lock to get out.

  “You’re Lucas Mayor, right? I’m Jacobs.” Jacobs darted his gaze about the area and licked his lips.

  I stretched a bit and milked a yawn while ignoring the man. The music of living creatures was noticeably void as the gentle breeze
blew through the bright green leaves of the oaks. A spirit of sadness hung about the area making me feel as if I was on a sinking ship and the last life boat was a hundred yards away.

  I finally turned toward Jacobs. “I sense the full truth of the situation has been hidden from me.” I can smell deception from one hundred miles away.

  Jacobs dabbed his brow with his handkerchief and haphazardly stuffed it in his front pocket. “Uh, I’m not sure what you mean by that. You spoke to one of the partners. I don’t know what he told you.”

  I pulled out a pack of breath mints and used my bottom teeth to separate one on end into my mouth. “Mr. Roberts told me the local superstitions had kept people from returning to the area after the bodies of the children were discovered. He made it sound like it was all bullshit and all he needed from me was my certification the area was clean. I sense that it’s not going to be that easy.”

  “What’s the big deal? Just look things over a bit and we’ll get a reporter to do a story where you give us a clean bill of health. We’ll roll in the dozers and break ground on Lazy Lake Estates. It’s going to be a golf community, you know.”

  “Sounds like an expensive investment.”

  “The bosses got the land for real cheap. Half of the lots already have pending contracts for purchase. They’re just waiting for the go signal. That’s your job. I hear they’re paying you well.”

  “I have no qualms with the payment. I just don’t like being deceived. There has been a fair amount of deception concerning this matter with me, hasn’t there?”

  “Hey buddy, I already said I don’t know what they told you.”

  “Fair enough. Would you please tell me why my services are needed? Why not just ‘roll in the dozers’ as you say?”

  Jacobs dropped his gaze to a large gray rock on the ground and moved it about with his shoe. “We tried that once. Things didn’t go so well.”