314

by A. R. Wise

  “Oh, okay,” said Alma as she hopped toward the bathroom. “I thought my underwear was ripped or something.”

  “No, no,” said Jacker. His voice was weak, as if he’d grown tired all of the sudden. “I just have a bad habit of…” He stopped talking and started to lean against the wall.

  “Jacker?”

  He slumped and then collapsed in Alma’s direction. She cried out and hopped to the side as the titanic man crashed down, out cold.

  “God damn it, Paul,” she cursed her ex-boyfriend for his choice of stalwart bodyguards.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Going Upstairs

  Widowsfield

  March 14th, 1996

  “What are those things?” asked Winnie Anderson, the owner of the used book store on Main Street. She was trembling as she held up a letter opener as if it could protect her.

  “I don’t have a clue,” said Walter, the UPS driver that had stopped to chat with Winnie after delivering several packages of books that had been sent to Winnie from a library a few towns over. Walter had pushed his L-Cart, still loaded with boxes, against the inside of the shop’s door to block it.

  Winnie and Walter had watched the bizarre green fog roll down the street minutes earlier, and saw the shadows of child-like creatures running through it. The howls of dogs, and then the breaking glass, had alerted them to danger. Walter decided to go out onto the street to see what had happened, but Winnie had pulled him back into the shop. She had a long-standing affection for the delivery man, and didn’t want to see him hurt.

  Walter had laughed off her concern moments before the first creature tried to attack them. It had charged through the fog on all fours, like a dog, but its body was that of a human. The creature was nude, but its skin was ripped as if something had been clawing at it. Its hands were mangled, and looked like they’d been smashed, with bones protruding from the flesh and hunks of meat dangling off the ends. Worst of all, the child-sized creature had the head of a hairless dog. Foam and blood dripped from its maw and the monstrosity was throwing itself against the glass in a desperate attempt to get into the shop.

  More of the demonic creatures appeared in the fog and started to circle the building. The Anderson Used Book Store was situated on the corner of the street, with floor to ceiling windows set in tall arches three feet apart lining the wall. Within moments, the creatures crowded every window and the fog thickened around the building, eclipsing the light and leaving them in darkness.

  Winnie’s business was suffering hard times, and she’d been trying to save money by turning off the lights during the day, which she now regretted.

  “Where’s the light switch?” asked Walter as he moved behind the counter to join Winnie.

  “Near the front door.”

  “Forget that.” Walter put his arm around Winnie’s shoulder as the daylight dissipated. The darkening room revealed light coming in from up the stairs near the rear of the shop. “There’s a light on up there. Let’s go.”

  Winnie’s modest apartment was situated above the shop. She was certain that she hadn’t left a light on up there, but the wooden stairs were indeed illuminated. She followed Walter as he held her hand and guided her to the stairs.

  The wooden stairs flashed with green light and Winnie pulled her hand out of Walter’s. She took a step back in fear. He turned, but she could only see his silhouette framed by the light from upstairs.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked and held out his hand for her.

  “What’s up there?”

  Walter looked up the stairs and then back at Winnie. Green light flashed again and was reflected in the oil on Walter’s shaved head. “I don’t know, but we can’t stay down here.”

  Glass cracked from one of the nearby arches and Winnie cowered from the noise. She still gripped the letter opener in one hand while steadying herself against the counter with the other. “I don’t want to go up there.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Winnie.” Walter took a step toward her.

  She swiped her letter opener at his hand and he recoiled from the strike. Winnie wasn’t sure if she’d hit him, but apologized anyhow. “I’m sorry, Walter. I can’t go. I won’t go up there.”

  “Why not? What do you think is up there?”

  She shook her head, uncertain how to explain her certainty that something bad was waiting for them upstairs. “I don’t know. I think it’s worse up there. I don’t know why. I just know it.”

  “You’re not making any sense.”

  “Don’t go up there,” she said as one of the windows of the shop shattered. The creatures poured in and their mangled claws scrambled against the bookshelves as they crawled through the darkness.

  “Winnie!” Walter screamed at her as he rushed to the stairs.

  Winnie curled up on the floor and wrapped her arms around her legs to pull them to her chest. She was in a fetal position, staring at Walter as he ascended the stairs into the light.

  “Come on!” He continued to yell at her as he left her behind.

  Winnie closed her eyes to avoid seeing the light. She was warm and comfortable in the darkness, and didn’t want to know what Walter was about to see. She would rather let the demons devour her than witness the truth. She would rather die than go up those stairs again.

  16 Years Later

  March 10th, 2012

  “He’s out cold.” Alma stood in the frigid night air in a pair of sweats and a flimsy jacket. She had her arms wrapped around herself as she stood beside the van where Paul had been sleeping. “I tried to call you.”

  Paul rubbed his eyes as he climbed out of Jacker’s van. “Sorry, my phone died. Stupid thing can’t hold a charge for more than a few hours. Now, tell me again, what happened?”

  “Your friend bashed in my door and then I cut my foot on a knife. He saw the blood and freaked out. He fainted right in the middle of the hallway.”

  Paul smiled. “Seriously?”

  “Yes, seriously. Stop smiling, this isn’t funny.” She tried to look stern, but couldn’t help but grin along with him. She slapped Paul’s chest to get him to stop chuckling. “I can’t believe you made the poor guy stand guard outside my door.”

  “Jacker didn’t mind. He needs something to keep his mind off some shit that’s been going on in his life lately.”

  “I didn’t want you to post guard at my door.”

  Paul stretched and yawned comically loud. “I wasn’t going to leave you here without protection.”

  “So you made your friend guard me?”

  “I sat down there for a couple hours before I decided to call to see if he would come help me out.”

  “You’re crazy.” Alma started to limp back to her apartment as Paul closed the side door of the white van parked beside his motorcycle. It was the only van in the parking lot, which helped make it easy for her to find.

  “Is your foot okay?” asked Paul as he walked behind her.

  She looked down at her right foot, which she’d wrapped with gauze before putting on her shoes to head down to the van. “No, it hurts like hell. I cut the shit out of it.”

  “Come here.” Paul quickened his pace to catch up with her. He knelt beside Alma and scooped her into his arms before she could stop him.

  “No,” she said playfully as he picked her up. “Don’t do this; you’re going to kill us both.” She yelped and pressed her face into his neck as he started up the stairs to her apartment.

  “Stop wiggling or you’re going to knock us both down the stairs.”

  “I hate you sometimes,” said Alma although it was clear she didn’t mean it, at least not at that moment. She wrapped her arms tighter around his neck and enjoyed his smell. His scent was fused with the smell of his leather coat, a mixture she adored. There was no denying how much she loved Paul and she couldn’t stop smiling as he carried her up the stairs.

  “There’s a thin line between love and hate. Isn’t that what they say?”

  “Shut up and take me home.”


  “I’ll carry you in my arms through the threshold like we just got married; and then over the big guy passed out in your hallway.” Paul and Alma laughed at the absurdity of the moment.

  “How did we end up like this?” Alma asked as Paul rounded the corner to head up the final flight of stairs to her apartment.

  Paul shrugged and then kissed the side of her head. His whiskers tickled her cheek. “Like what?”

  “Apart, and then together again, and then apart again. How did we get so screwed up?”

  Paul stopped at the top of the stairs in front of Alma’s broken door. “I don’t know. I guess I’m a sucker for messed up chicks, and you’re a sucker for idiots who don’t know a good thing when he’s got her in his arms.” He tightened his grip around her.

  Alma sneered at him. “Messed up chicks, huh?”

  He grinned as if gloating. “Oh yeah, like really messed up. A borderline mental case.”

  “Shut up and kiss me.”

  He complied.

  “Alma?” said a man from inside the apartment.

  Alma recognized her father’s voice and fear overtook her. She tightened her grip around Paul as a chill of terror ran through her body.

  “Who the fuck?” asked Paul as he took the last two steps past the stairs that would allow him to see inside the apartment.

  The door was still open and Alma was hesitant to look. She couldn’t explain the emotions that welled within her as Paul carried her to the open door. For some reason, she was terrified of what lay in wait past the door at the top of the stairs. She couldn’t breathe and stared at the door as Paul approached it. Alma knew that her father was inside, and whatever he was doing would traumatize her.

  This had happened before.

  Paul set Alma down gently and then pushed the front door open further so that they could see what was happening inside the apartment. The moths continued to spin around the porch light, incensed by Paul’s approach.

  Alma’s father was in the hallway, perched over Jack’s body. He had one hand on the big man’s throat and the other on his chest, as if he was worried that Jack was dead.

  “I heard someone break down your door and I came to make sure you were okay,” said her father. “What happened?”

  Paul glanced at Alma quizzically. “Is that one of your neighbors?”

  She shook her head as the color drained from her cheeks. When she spoke, it was hardly more than a whisper. “That’s my father.”

  Paul’s expression instantly changed. His brow furrowed and he clenched his fists as he turned back to face Alma’s estranged father. “Oh, mother fucker! You’d better get your ass out of here right now.” He didn’t pause before charging into the apartment.

  Alma was too frightened to intercede, or to warn Paul that her father was dangerous. Instead, she cowered against the wall across the landing from her apartment’s door and watched Paul confront the old addict. The terror that seized her was unlike anything she’d felt since her brother disappeared.

  A memory was trying to return, and she glanced at the stairs as if they somehow played a part. The act of ascending the stairs to find her father seemed horrifyingly familiar, yet she couldn’t explain why. Her throat was clenched, her hands shaking, and it was a struggle to breath. She had no choice but to watch.

  “Back off,” said her father.

  Paul lifted the thin man off the floor and threw him down the hall toward the front door. Paul weighed significantly more than Alma’s father, and stood at least a foot taller. It was like watching an adult manhandle a child. “Get out of here, you piece of shit.”

  “I’m her father! I just came here to help. You can’t do this to me. I’ll fucking kill you, asshole. I’ll fucking kill you!”

  Paul paused and smirked down at the man. He cracked his knuckles and advanced, savoring the old man’s terror. “You can try, old man, but I’ve got to warn you, I’m real hard to kill.”

  “You don’t know who you’re fucking with. You’re dead. You hear me?” Alma’s father staggered away from Paul and leaned against one of the bar stools as he stood back up. “I’m not kidding, man. You really fucked up. I’ll kill you for this.” He still had on the dirty, ragged clothes he’d been wearing when he confronted Alma at the restaurant. His voice still sounded fueled by methamphetamine, and the drug was giving him the courage to face Paul. He held up his fists, and then lunged with a haphazard right hook.

  Paul knew how to fight. He’d been a bouncer for years in a college town and had learned how to subdue enraged drunks and drug addicts. He caught Alma’s father’s strike with a counterstrike of his own. He swatted her father’s arm away and then waited for another attempt. He was toying with the old man.

  Her father tried to punch again, and Paul deflected the strike with another quick shot to the wrist. The old man gripped his arm in frustration and started to scream at Paul. “You think you’re tough? You think you’re a big guy?”

  Paul sneered. “Yep.”

  “Well, big guy, let me tell you what I’m going to do,” said Alma’s father.

  “No,” Paul interrupted the old man with authority. His voice boomed loud enough that Alma’s father flinched. “I’m going to tell you what happens next. You’re going to pack your shit and get the fuck out of town. Now let me tell you why.”

  Her father stuttered when he asked, “Why?”

  “Because if I ever see you again, I’m going to bury you. This isn’t an idle threat, pal. I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.” Paul stared down at the spindly old addict. “I will bury you.”

  “You can’t threaten me, you piece of shit. I’m her father. I’ll always be there for her.”

  Paul smirked and took a step forward, which forced Alma’s father to back up. “Not if I bury you.”

  “You’re insane.”

  “Maybe,” said Paul. “Now get the fuck out of town. Or do you want to try and hit me again?”

  The old man rubbed his wrist and Alma could see that it was already turning purple where Paul had hit him. He turned to her and pleaded, “Alma, baby, don’t go back. Let him die. Okay?”

  She couldn’t answer if she wanted to. In fact, she only then realized that she’d been humming a tune as tears streamed down her cheeks.

  “Alma, you’ve got to promise me. Don’t go to Widowsfield. Let him die!” He advanced threateningly, but Paul caught the old man by the shoulder. Her father winced as Paul forced him to the stairs.

  “Get out of here.”

  Paul shoved her father down the stairs and the old man fell to the concrete. His head smashed against the railing and he gasped in pain and shock, but then crawled to his feet and darted away.

  “Get your stuff,” said Paul to Alma as he still stared down at the fleeing old man.

  She couldn’t respond and continued to cower against the wall, humming a tune as she wept. Paul turned to her, concerned. “Babe? You okay?”

  Alma shook her head and finally stopped humming. She buried her head in her hands.

  “Oh shit, honey. Don’t worry. I’m here, okay? I’ll always be here.” Paul rushed to cradle her as Alma sobbed. “I’m not going to let him hurt you.” He put her head against his chest and held her. “I’d do anything to keep you safe, babe.”

  “He’s never going to stop,” said Alma. “He’s just going to keep coming back, over and over.”

  Paul tried to hush her. “It’s okay. I’m here for you now.”

  “I have to go back.”

  “Go back where?” asked Paul.

  Alma didn’t want to say, but knew that it was time to confront what had haunted her all these years. Saying the word felt like a curse and she hardly had the strength to utter the name of the town, “Widowsfield.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Amid Chaos

  Widowsfield

  March 14th, 1996

  Walter saw the creatures attack Winnie, but there was nothing he could do. He was too frightened to save her, and retreat
ed up the stairs to the apartment above the book store. He slammed the door shut behind him and then locked it. He wasn’t content relying on only the deadbolt and started to pile up whatever he could find against the door.

  Winnie cried out in agony as the monsters tore her apart. Walter apologized over and over as he barricaded the door, but she’d done this to herself. Winnie had chosen to stay down there. She had time to get up the stairs if she wanted to, but she insisted on staying where the creatures could get her. Walter didn’t have time to save her. He would’ve died too if he tried.

  He continued to apologize to her as he piled whatever he could find against the door to keep the creatures from devouring him. Then he heard someone gagging in the room with him.

  Walter spun in terror to see who’d made the sound, but there was no one in the room with him. Winnie’s apartment was sparsely furnished, with only a rocking chair and couch in front of the television stand. A TV tray was situated beside the couch with a Reader’s Digest opened and face down on top of it. There was a bland rug between the couch and the television, and there was a small pile of white foam on it.

  He took a trepidatious step toward the bubbling mass.

  A woman’s body appeared on the rug, followed by a zinging crack of green electricity that coursed along the metal legs of the TV tray. The electricity popped in the air and was then gone, leaving behind the body of a choking ghost. Her mouth was open, purple lips rimmed with foam, and she stared at Walter before reaching out to him. Her eyes were bloodshot and her wet hair clung to her cheeks.

  She was trying to ask for help, but Walter was too terrified to do anything but gape at her. The woman finally succumbed and her head fell back hard against the floor, but instead of thumping down, her head seemed to sink through the floorboards. The rest of her body followed, as if it had suddenly dissipated into vapor, and all that was left of her was the white foam on the rug.

  “Oh Lord,” said Walter. He made the sign of the cross and kissed his knuckle. “Lord have mercy on my soul.”