“I . . . let me leave, please.” My words were soft. My arrogance had melted in this thing’s presence.
“That would not suit my needs. You have entered my lair uninvited. There will be a consequence to your actions.”
My urge to flee was somehow exceeded by the apparition’s will for me to stay. I felt totally powerless and was afraid to incite its anger.
“This isn’t a game of chess. You won’t be able to outmaneuver me. It is time to negotiate your fate. I warn you, I hold all the trump cards.”
“What do you want?” It took all my willpower to utter those words.
“I need to taste ambrosia once again. It has been such a long time. You can’t imagine how difficult it was for me to hold my touch from Jacobs. You more so. You are here where my vibration dwells. I will require you to feed me for a very, very long time. The suffering will be beyond your wildest dreams, or nightmares I should more accurately say. It shall be a wonderful ladder of experience. The raw succulence of the initial pain. The plateaus of anguish that will delight my voracious hunger. The misery of every one of your nerves crying for mercy. I can hardly wait to begin.”
I was already suffering. Fear had my insides tied in knots. Part of my strength was being sucked out. This thing was feeding even now. “You said we could negotiate. Please—don’t hurt me.”
“It’s simple. Bring others to take your place.”
“I . . . can’t do that.”
“Don’t take the moral high ground with me. I know different. I know what you are capable of, of what you have done in the past.”
“I—”
“Don’t attempt to hide the truth from me. I will end this negotiation quickly, and we can begin the festivities immediately. You know where I’m going with this.”
“How could you know?”
“I’m able know through the entity that resides inside you. You weren’t always at odds with it. There were a good many times you treated it quite well. You even derived pleasure from giving it what it desired. There were three women and two young men.”
I lowered my head in shame. “Yes.”
“And a young boy that was soon to reach the age of three.”
I winced and uttered an almost silent, “Yes.” I lifted my gaze. “It was wrong. I felt like it was wrong while I was doing it. The need . . . the need was strong. I had to use my head to war with my sordid lusts. My head won. Knowledge won. I was able to subdue my conjoined twin.”
“And you have been keeping your companion in its place by taking drugs to dull its power. As penitence you have been traveling the world and destroying my kind before they are allowed a chance to make the next progression. You sought to do that with me today. I proved to be stronger.”
“I had no idea something like you could exists. I would have never come, or at least have been better prepared.”
“Are you ready to do my bidding?”
I refused to answer.
“Allow me to remind you how pleasing the feeding can be.”
A warm, relaxed feeling sprang deep within me and flowed outward though my body. Echoes of the past, short snippets of moans, pleadings, cries, and whimpers reverberated in my head. The melodies of sufferings lulled me into the sensual pleasure of intoxicating, carnal delight.
“Yes—yes you are feeling it now. Your craving is strong. It is always just below the surface waiting for a chance to take over. You need to let it! You need to let go and bathe in the ecstasy that only other’s pain can give!”
My mind swirled uncontrollably, and I knew the tide was about to pull me to a place from which I would never return. I felt nauseated and fought to shake the feeling. I only had one last effort to save myself. “No!”
“Yes! Give into it. Go forth and bring me others! I will share their miseries with you.”
“No!” I powered up the Terminator and tossed it at the ceiling. I turned and ran to the back door, frantically twisted the knob, and ran out slamming the door closed.
I was in the garage. A baby-blue 1960 AMC Rambler in showroom condition waited for a driver. The paint had a mirror finish and the whitewalls were so bright they looked like they had never seen blacktop. My only means of escape would be through the garage door.
There was no way to know how soon the apparition would follow. I ran to the garage door and struggled to lift it. The locking mechanism wouldn’t budge. I redoubled my efforts and my face flushed red from the strain. With a cry of frustration I let go of the handle and took a deep breath. I didn’t see anything in the room to use as a pry bar.
The door from the kitchen issued a series of cracks and pops. It started to buckle from the power coming after me. The only other sanctuary available was the car. Without further thought I lunged for the driver’s side door, opened it, and sat down. I locked the door and reached and pushed the other three door locks shut.
The kitchen door splintered with the sound of a crashing tree and bluish smoke began to fill the garage.
The key was in the ignition, a white rabbit’s foot hung from it on a chain. I turned the key and mashed the gas pedal multiple times. The engine turned over for what seemed like an eternity and fired to life. I slammed the transmission into ‘Drive’ and pushed the accelerator to the floor. The car crashed through the garage door.
The Rambler bounced past my car and down the driveway. I slowed only enough to fishtail onto the road. The car sped down the middle of the two lanes as I watched the mighty oaks lining the street pass in a blur. The speedometer’s arrow broke past ninety and the roar from the engine rose and gave me relief that I was fast escaping the horror that sought to devour me.
The stop sign warned that the highway intersected ahead, and I was thankfully near the neighborhood’s entrance. The brakes brought the car to a screeching halt. With no traffic to impede my advancement, a foot to the floor had the tires spinning and the car heading off as far and as fast as the antique vehicle would take me.
*
I had slowed to the 55-mph speed limit and managed to relax after the fifteen minutes of freedom put me miles away from the neighborhood. It was too bad I had to leave my equipment behind, but I would be damned if I was going back and get it. That thought brought a sense of irony, because I would literally be damned by that thing if I did.
A flashing school sign returned me to the here and now and forced me to slow my flight even further. Up in the distance a crossing guard held up a red sign and herded a mass of children across the street. I brought the car to a stop some ten feet away.
Whispering Oaks Middle School was to my right, and children eager to get home boarded a line of buses.
The warmth of my hibernating companion awoke back in my mind. It had been years since I had felt its presence. A sudden urge overwhelmed me to mash the accelerator and run over the children as they crossed the street. My entity gained strength, no doubt, due to my previous encounter and my weakened physical and mental state.
I gripped the steering wheel with all my might. “Go away! Not now. You’re not taking over again. You’re not!” I held my breath and mentally pleaded for the children to hurry along, and cursing that my medication was in the bag left behind.
One group of children passed but another stepped up to follow.
“Damn you I won’t do it. Damn you—go away.” The urge was great. My right leg began to shake as my companion sought to control my foot. “I’m stronger that you. I’ve beaten you before . . . I will beat you again.” I pulled the emergency brake and lifted my right leg over the transmission hump. My right foot now hung over the passenger seat floorboard. “Ha! I win!”
The emergency brake popped free. The transmission shifted into drive. The accelerator met the floor. Squealing tires amidst a fog of burning rubber mingled with the screams of anguish from the children smashing in to steel and chewed up between asphalt and tires. It reminded me of cries from a flock of startled birds. One of the children flew up from the hood and crashed against the windshield. A smear o
f blood mixed with hair remained after the body slid off to the side.
The car burst through the group and came to a screeching halt. It shifted to reverse and hit a fresh body or two and mashed those who struggled to flee and those who would never be able to flee again.
The traffic monitor beat on my window with the stop sign. I was unable to overpower the force that controlled the vehicle. The car lurched forward again and headed toward the children standing on the sidewalk waiting for the bus.
It had all become clear to me now. The car. The entity at the house had resided in the car. I had been tricked to bring the apparition into the world and feed it the fear of the children.
What a feast it had to enjoy.
The crunching of bones breaking amongst the terror filled wails of anguish became a symphony that sent my inner spirit soaring. A twisted lust grew inside me for more. I heard the beaconing of my companion and its words brought decadent delight.
The car came to a stop and the transmission shifted to park. Mashed and crumpled children lay all around. Some wandered aimlessly about in a daze. Others stood and cried while waiting for someone to lead them away. There were many gathered on the other side of the road staring in awe at the carnage, unable to comprehend such a horrific act.
I wet my lips with my tongue, placed the transmission in drive, and sent the Rambler hurtling toward the children to harvest more of the sweet nectar of their sufferings to heighten my drunken stupor. My inner conflict was over at last with my darkness. I had become weary of a battle that sought the approval of society and succumbed to the enthralling waves of joy those others suffering brought. It was sure to hasten my death. A bliss I no longer feared.
The End
The Sins of the Father
The morning dew kissing the grass covering the hills in Willow Creek glistened in the arms of the rising sun. Antonio Garrett’s heart swelled to the magnitude of the beauty of the towering ponderosa pines and Douglas firs dotting the landscape. This was all an alien world compared to the suburban sprawl where he normally made use of his trade. The next week would earn him an additional week of vacation, a reward for reaching twenty years working as a surveyor for the state. Retirement no longer seemed to be a dream so far down the road that it wasn’t worth planning for.
His boss gave him the assignment to survey the area for a new oil-drilling rig on the morning of April 1st. Antonio laughed, thinking his boss was playing a joke on him. Drilling for oil in the liberal land of fruits and nuts, also known as California, had become anathema long ago. The assignment turned out to be genuine. The permit had been granted by the Federal Government as a means of repayment on the debt owed to the People’s Republic of China, indicating that black gold had more value than U.S. green.
All Antonio had to do was find an area a little more than a hundred acres square with land flat enough to accommodate a drilling rig. A pipeline would eventually be built once production proved itself, carrying the oil over to the nearby Pacific coast, where tankers owned by China International Petroleum would line up to receive. A hundred acres seemed like a lot of land to destroy to pay China back the blood money the country owed. In reality, the size was equivalent to a postage stamp on a 10’ by 10’ envelope.
Believing to have found a perfect location, he was unexpectedly disappointed when his trek over a hill led him to a sparkling stream snaking through the terrain. The permit specified there were to be no natural waterways within the boundaries of the drilling area. Antonio unrolled the map provided and confirmed his location with his GPS. The map showing no indication of a stream meant that the mapmaker was in error. This made his job exponentially more difficult. What other misinformation did the map contain?
Something short and brownish rustled through the tall grasses by the stream’s edge. At first, Antonio thought it was a wild boar seeking to quench its thirst. He lifted the field glasses dangling across his chest to his eyes, bringing more questions than answers.
The animal wasn’t a hog, and as much as he tried to convince himself it was baby bear, he couldn’t. The unusual creature walked bipedal as man, resembling a chimpanzee in body size. What on Earth would a chimp be doing out in Willow Creek? Sequoia Park Zoo was the nearest zoo in the area, but he hadn’t been aware of any recent escapes. The winters were too cold for the animal to survive in the wild. This poor thing hadn’t been out on its own long.
The hairy little beast stepped into an opening void of foliage. It wasn’t a chimpanzee or any other type of ape, and it certainly wasn’t a monkey as it had no tail. Instead, it was quite human-like in its facial structure and mannerisms. It had a thick brow and wide nose similar to artist’s renditions of what Neanderthal man must have looked like. Its facial hair matched the length of the hair on its head, and blended down covering its whole body except for an area of the upper chest.
The Bigfoot legends are true! Antonio thought. Everyone far and wide knew of the elusive creature, teetering in intelligence somewhere between man and beast. Willow Creek had been a hotbed of Bigfoot activity in the late ’60s with the Patterson-Gimlin film, capturing the creature in broad daylight for fifty-three seconds. Tourist can even book a room at the Bigfoot Inn and visit the Bigfoot Museum while enjoying a stay in the town of Willow Creek.
The tiny Bigfoot playfully grabbed at small insects leaping in the grass, convincing Antonio that this was not a hoax. Even though he knew that Green Activists would create any diversion necessary in order to stop the coming oil project, including pulling a stunt using Bigfoot.
The only camera he had was the one built into his cell phone. It was good for up-close pictures, but failed miserably when it came to capturing images from a distance. With visions of one hundred dollar bills raining from the sky, Antonio sneaked down the hill toward the stream, using the trees to hide behind along the way.
When he feared venturing any closer might get him discovered, Antonio peeked from behind a thick, black oak and focused on the young Bigfoot. It was definitely male, as genitalia never lie. The hominoid seemed to be quite pleased with his hunt, munching contently on a frog, the evidence a leg hanging down from the corner of his mouth.
Antonio was just about to snap the picture when the image suddenly blurred. He looked up to see a mountain of a hairy beast standing nearly seven feet tall and only a few feet from him. The mother of the young Bigfoot looked none too pleased at his interest in her child.
She lowered her head and stared Antonio directly in the eyes. She peeled her lips back and showed beast like teeth that were as long as a lion’s.
He was two steps into a frenzied retreat when her fist caught him between the shoulders, knocking him face first onto the ground. He spun around as fast as he could, and held his hands out before him.
“No! Please! No! Let me go. I won’t hurt you. Let me go!”
The Bigfoot towered over him with her chest heaving.
“No!”
She reached down and grabbed each of his arms around the biceps and lifted him straight into the air until eye level. Her head was twice as big as his. Antonio was afraid she would be able to open her mouth wide enough to swallow his head whole.
Instead, she increased her grip so tightly he thought she would pinch his arms in two. He couldn’t control his screaming, which only increased her ire.
The Bigfoot lowered his feet to the ground and put her foot across the top of one of his. She lifted him back toward the sky.
Antonio instantly felt his ankle start to separate from his foot, and seconds later, it tore free. Blood squirted down in quick pulses from the stump.
He screamed so hard that his vocal cords ruptured, filling the soft tissues with blood. But the pain didn’t stop there as his left arm tore away from the socket of his shoulder.
She held him in the air by one arm alone. Antonio’s chin dropped to his chest with the onset of shock. The Bigfoot held the detached arm and slapped him in the face with his own hand, trying to keep him conscious.
Ant
onio dry heaved, then spit up what was left from a quart of orange juice and a protein bar he had for breakfast.
She let him fall ungracefully to the ground.
Antonio slowly drifted to the sanctuary of unconsciousness, though not in time for him to feel his other arm rip from his body.
*
In the black void of night silhouetted amongst a million shimmering stars, a S-70C Firehawk helicopter circling 300 feet above ground cut through the serenity of the sleeping forest.
Three mercenaries under contract with Redwater USA along with the private pilot had unsuccessfully scanned the area using night vision, seeking to find a suspected killer bear in Willow Creek.
“We’ve been up here for nearly two hours. Don’t you think it’s time to call it quits?” Austin said, to Jefferson, the team’s leader, over the open channel radio through the headsets.
“Might be . . . might just be time at that. I’ve seen nothing larger than a rabbit so far.”
“That there bear is hiding in his cave somewhere in a deep sleep. They don’t wake up during the night. That’s where the saying ‘sleeping like a bear’ comes from,” Juice, the roided up ex-Marine said.
“No, dumb-ass. Bears hibernate during the winter, and that’s where the expression ‘sleeping like a bear’ came from,” Austin said.
“Bears hunt at night as well as day time. When I was at Boy Scout camp, one came through and helped himself to the hotdogs and buns. It had to open the ice chest to get the hotdogs. Bears are pretty smart, you know,” Jefferson said.
“Well, he’s outsmarting us right now for sure. I say we put down. It’ll be light in an hour, and we can track him the old fashion way,” Juice said. “I love the thrill of the hunt.”
“I was really hoping we could take care of this from up in the ’chopper. Once we’re on the ground, a hiker, or worse, a Wildlife agent could run across us. Do you know how fast we would be hauled off to jail? We aren’t permitted to hunt bear, especially with these fully automatic AR-10s. The Chinese are paying us to take care of the problem and get the hell out. They don’t want us to get caught,” Jefferson said, looking away from the viewfinder toward his companions. “Besides, I wanted to try out the M60 machine gun. My dad hunted antelope in Vietnam during the war from his Huey. I’ve got Polaroids of his kills to prove it. I’ve always wanted to do that.”
Mind Hemorrhages: Dark Tales of Misery and Imagination Page 4
