No answer. I went up and down the empty aisles and came upon an inner door, announcing. "Ah, I’ve found your sanctum sanctorum."
No reply. It was unlike Lenore to be late.
I tried the eye scan and, to my surprise, was allowed entry to the inner room. So, this is where it all takes place, I thought. But the room was empty of people or furniture, except for a rectangular, metal table and a large machine. The device had an arm jutting out overhead, reminding me of the giant, bug-eyed monsters from the old comics.
Then the doors slammed shut. I sprang for them, but they held fast. I tried the eye scan and a metallic voice told me, "You are unauthorized. Do not proceed further." And then, the machine hummed to life and aimed that bug eye at me.
"Lenore!" I screamed. "In the name of God!" I tried to step out of its angle of trajectory. Each time I moved, its pulsing eye followed, taking a second to lock on me. I shouted Lenore’s name and ducked. The eye again lined up, ready to fire. Abandoning the heavy picnic basket, I dove behind the metal table. I thought it could no longer see me, but the machine checked its memory grids of the room and how far I’d moved before disappearing.
Within a second, it knew precisely where I was. The eye locked and fired. The table wavered beside me. I saw my hands were wavering, too. Then the machine shut down. I stood up and looked about. Everything seemed to have gone back to normal.
"Tim? Are you in there?" Lenore’s voice came over the speakers. I shouted, "Here!" I was saved.
"No response," my wife announced coldly. "Our first experiment with a human subject."
The doors opened. Lenore and another scientist entered, both wearing white coats. "I told you it would work, Jack," she announced. "Disintegrated, just as I’d predicted." Jack went over to the picnic basket and pawed through its contents. He spread the lace table cloth over the metal table and laid out the crystal goblets, the china, and silver place settings. Then he set out the food.
"Hey! Look at me! Can’t you hear me?" I howled. I reached out to the food, but my hand passed through it. My mind raced. Had I become a ghost? But where were my earthly remains?
"Kind of him to bring our celebration dinner," Jack continued. "Let’s see, crab bisque soup, three-cheese tortellini salad with field greens, mussels marinara over angel hair, chicken mushroom almondine, asparagus with hollandaise sauce, stuffed potatoes. Oh look, chocolate mousse and a bottle of Chablis."
As Jack was thus engaged, I saw Lenore slip back out the door. "Excellent," Jack announced, "as the food’s still hot and the wine still cold. I’ll just bring the chairs and …"
He heard the distinct click of the doors being locked and whirled around. Too late! Lenore must have thrown the switch as the machine hummed with life. Not believing I could die twice, I didn’t bother to duck as the eye moved, homing in on Jack standing beside me.
"Lenore, no!" he shrieked.
"Sorry, Jack," my wife apologized, "but since I can’t erase Tim’s iris scans, someone has to take the fall." Jack jumped out of range and the eye followed him. "With you out of the way, I can take full credit for this discovery." Jack sidestepped again and Lenore instructed, "Step away from the table, Jack. ATOM only works on vegetable or mineral components and I don’t want to disintegrate my victory dinner."
With a yelp, Jack sprang for the doors and scanned his eye. But the machine was quicker, nailing him where he stood. Jack’s shape wavered. He looked about and saw me.
"Tim?"
"Jack, you murdering bastard," I spat out. "We’re not disintegrated. Just in a different dimension."
"That bitch lied to me, No one knows we’re here. There’s no way back." He turned to the table. "At least we have this food." And his hand passed through it.
"Wrong! It’s slow starvation for us."
"Ironic," Jack remarked sadly.
"How so?"
"We both wanted Lenore. And we wind up here. With each other."
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THE FAMILY CREST
Plague-torn Hungary - 1347 A. D.
Katalina put one weary foot in front of the other, trying to escape the nightmare that ravaged her tiny village. History would later record that this pandemic plague had spread from China, by ship, to most of Europe, including her native Hungary. But Katalina and her family were simple villagers, who could neither read nor write. So they believed God had visited his wrath upon them, horribly punishing everyone they knew. And none escaped.
The Bubonic Plague, carried along by fleas on the backs of rats, had now become pneumonic. As soon as Katalina’s mother’s cough began, she drove her daughter from their hut. "Go now! Into the woods! Find a place where this sickness hasn’t been. It may not be too late!" And without a scrap of food or a change of clothes, Katalina had obediently run into the forest to begin her journey.
A journey with winter coming on and without destination. A journey that might well find the illness had spread ahead of her. A journey through the countryside made by a friendless, young girl, unprotected and starving.
She avoided the swollen, rotting corpses along the way, with crows pecking at the remains, and managed to find berries and roots. When she encountered a waterway, she drank. Katalina wandered aimlessly until she came upon an estate beside a river.
"Stay away from crowds! From houses," her mother had warned. "The finer the home, the more people sick inside."
Katalina was starving but, as an obedient daughter, she was about to pass the opportunity by, when a large man, with shaggy, black locks and piercing dark eyes, blocked her path. Dressed in finery, a bejeweled, golden medallion held around his neck by a heavy chain, he had have come from the big house and she stared at him in wonder. He boldly returned her stare and then fell upon her, pinning her down, tearing at her clothes. She was no match for his strength and, when it was over, he rolled to one side.
She rose to her knees, scrambling away through the fallen autumn leaves. He growled at her in a raspy voice, "Don’t make me chase you!" But Katalina staggered to her feet and fled toward the river. She’d no sooner gained the bank, when he was upon her again and struck her. While she lay there dazed, he snatched her up, then tossed her over his shoulder, like a sack of meal. And he marched up to the house.
Once inside, he tossed Katalina into a corner and laid out bread, cheese, and wine. "I am Count Rakosky," he proudly announced, indicating the medallion. Eat! Drink!" he told her. "I have to leave. People will die out there tonight, in the dark. Stay inside! If you go onto the grounds, you will be mistaken for prey!" He crushed her to him in a savage embrace and his medallion, with its rubies glowing like red eyes, bit into her cheek. Then he strode outside, his boots leaving muddy tracks across the floor..
Hungrily, Katalina sat down to the food, wondering all the while what had become of the count’s family and servants. She hoped their disappearance wasn’t due to pestilence, the gathering of crows an ill omen.
Curling up in a corner, like a dog, she waited, remembering how it had been back in her village. The doctor had gone from home to home, dressed in tight, leather breeches and a tall, black hat and coat, his face covered by a large-beaked bird mask. This costume was supposed to protect him from the plague and he’d taken care never to touch his patients. Instead, he’d point at them with his cane to indicate they should be turned over for further inspection or taken to the mass grave.
And every day the villagers would gather in the little church to pray for deliverance. But no matter what they did, one by one, almost every villager had succumbed to what they took to be God’s vengeance.
Katalina waited for the count’s return. Darkness fell and she waited still. And then with the rising of the harvest moon, the hunter’s moon, everything became bathed in silver light. It was then the howling began. A terrifying sound, like wolves, first one and then another. It wasn’t long before a human scream tore through the night, then many screa
ms from different throats. Those wolves were hunting! Hunting people! Right outside the front door.
She could hear scratching on the other side of the portal and a child’s plaintive voice reached her ears. "Open! Please! The wolf is coming!" Katalina put her hand on the knob. Should she open the door? Would there be time to save the child? While the count had instructed her not to venture outside, he’d never said anything about not opening the door. So the brave girl turned the knob and pulled the door open. A small boy lay on the step, his tiny hand desperately reaching out to Katalina.
But before she could draw him to safety, a huge wolf leapt onto the stoop and fastened its fangs in the child’s neck. The boy sagged and, with a tiny whimper, was dragged backward onto the grounds. Katalina saw there was no help for it. The child was lost! She slammed the door and threw the bolt. Trembling, she moved to the window and peeked out between the heavy drapes.
She could see the animal savaging the child, using its forepaws as hands to clutch the remains. And then the wolf paused and drew itself erect like a man. It turned its huge head and stared right at her. By the moon’s silvery light, the girl saw the brute wore a heavy chain around its hairy neck.
Katalina gasped, clutching her belly with both hands, as she realized, attached to that chain was the count’s gold medallion. Its rubies gleaming like animal’s eyes.
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I SEE DEAD PEOPLE
Edinburgh, Scotland – 1828
"Of course, you see dead people, William," the inspector said. "You’re the grave digger. You see a new corpse each time you plant one of them. That’s your job."
"No, sir," the old man whimpered. "Not those condemned to cemetery care. It’s those what accompanies them."
Inspector MacTavish’s eyes narrowed. "What are you saying, man?"
"It’s the others, I tell ya. The ones what look murdered. They gather at ma cottage. After dark. For six days now!"
"Ruffians? Have they threatened you?"
"Noooo" the old man insisted. "Them what’s dead! With their bloody wounds agape. Such a crowd makes it hard to get into ma house."
The inspector sighed, thinking, What with hanging those body snatchers last week. Then all the claims of missing persons. And now this.
"Best call it a night, William. Go home and sleep it off."
William snorted, watching the inspector disappear into the darkness. Sleep it off, ma foot! I ain’t had any yet. He needed to visit the pub as being drunk was the only way he could force himself past those apparitions. Then, once inside his cottage, he’d be safe.
But he drank too much at the Horse and Rider to traverse the woods and it was the little orphan boy, Tommy, who helped him home. The child supported William, holding the lantern aloft, and they soon reached the part of the cemetery where the grave digger’s cottage stood. The boy stopped, listening.
An eerie moment it was, with the full moon above and an owl hooting in the distance. Then came a rustling sound, as if feet were shuffling over dead leaves, snapping twigs. And suddenly, they appeared, at least ten shambling corpses, men and women in different stages of decay. They came to stand by the cottage door.
William was too drunk to care, but Tommy shrieked, "In the name of God, let us pass!" A mournful howl rose up and the revenants parted, making a clear path to the door. The boy quickly trotted William into the cottage, bolting the door against the night. He led his charge to the bed, then cowered on the floor to await morning.
At dawn, the boy saw it was safe to leave and ran all the way to the police station. "Oh, Inspector, sir," he began breathlessly, "I’ve seen dead people in the cemetery!"
"You, too?" MacTavish snorted. "That’s where they’re supposed to be."
"No! Walking about! And howling!"
The inspector squinted down at Tommy, thinking the boy was too young to be in his cups. He listened carefully as the story tumbled from Tommy’s lips, then went to interview William.
"Don’t remember the boy being here," William muttered, "but I’d come from the pub."
"Yesterday, you said dead people come to your cottage after dark."
"Aye," William insisted, "looking like they was murdered."
"If I were to be here after nightfall, would I see them, too?" When William nodded, MacTavish declared, "Then, come dusk, it’s here I’ll be."
The inspector, true to his word, returned just before dark to wait with William. They sat silently, taking turns from a bottle, listening. Then the woods became oddly silent, save for those strange, rustling sounds. Steeling himself, MacTavish went to the door and threw it open.
He was horrified to see a small crowd of walking corpses, shuffling toward the cottage. They drew nearer, coming almost close enough to touch, and stopped. MacTavish found his voice and demanded, "Why do you come here every night? What do you want?" In answer, the rotting dead opened their mouths wide, emitting that same mournful howl. Then they paused as if awaiting a response from MacTavish.
MacTavish retreated until his back was pressed against the door jamb. "I cannae understand. What do you want?" Each of the corpses raised up an arm to point at William. MacTavish grabbed William and shoved him inside. Then he bolted the door.
"They want something," MacTavish insisted, "badly enough to drag them from their resting places. And it has to something to do with you." At this, William glanced guiltily at the inspector, who snapped, "Think, man! Jog your memory." But the gravedigger made no reply.
With the door stoutly locked between themselves and the revenants, the inspector drew back the dirty window curtain and looked out. He was startled to find one of those dead faces pushed up against the glass. Worse yet, he recognized the corpse as the farmer, Magnus Johnson.
Quickly, he scanned the other faces and found them to be neighbors from outlying villages who came regularly to sell goods and vegetables at the Edinburgh faire. As far as he’d known, they’d been in good health and now they were all dead. And then it struck him, these must be the missing people. "Has there been thugs roaming about here at night?"
"No thugs," William muttered. "Only that toff coming by the cottage just to chat and give ma coins for the pub. Didn’t think I recognized him, but he were that doctor from the university."
And everything fell into place. MacTavish called for men and shovels. "Look for disturbed ground. I suspect when the grave robbers’ supply ran short, they began snatching people and selling them to the university. Then after dissection, their remains were dumped here." Not adding, while the caretaker was drunk!
One of the constables discovered uneven earth in the far corner of the cemetery and he blew his whistle, alerting the others. A mass grave was soon unearthed and the Inspector stood at the edge of the pit. "The missing people," he observed. "It’s a pity we cannae hang that murdering Burke and Hare twice."
And you, William, how could you have believed a university doctor would come to this cemetery by night and pay for your company?" The caretaker sheepishly hung his head. "Not to worry," the inspector said. "These victims needed you to speak for them. And you did. We’ve given them justice. Now pray they come to you no more."
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PARROT WITH A CANDLESTICK
Brooklyn, New York - 2000
"Stop! You’re killing me!" cried the voice at the other end of the phone. It was a woman’s voice, high and hysterical.
The 911 operator asked, "Ma’am, tell me your name and the nature of the emergency." She heard a man’s voice bark, "I’m going to bash your head in!" Then another voice shrilled, "Kill her, Joe! So we can be together!"
"Ma’am, is there someone there with you?" But the only sound was a thud. Thinking it might be a murder in progress, the operator asked that a patrol car be dispatched to the address on the screen.
Sirens wailing, police cars raced through the night. They located the two-story private home, with all its lights blazi
ng and the front door open wide. Announcing themselves, they entered to discover a blonde woman lying on the living room carpet, a blood-smeared, silver candlestick beside her.
And, guarding the body, was a large, bright-green parrot. Obviously a pet, the bird hadn’t tried to escape through the open door and was now demanding a treat. It was if he’d just performed a trick and expected a reward.
"Gandolph wants a cracker!" was all he would say. An orange cat crept across the rug and the bird flapped its great wings, blocking the cat from escaping through the open door. Completely cowed, the cat slipped under the couch.
Different teams streamed in, gathered evidence, and then trooped out again. The steady traffic and the flashing lights attracted the neighbors. Two detectives arrived and began questioning everyone they could catch. Mrs. Kelly, who lived across the street came over and offered to care for the pets.
"I take them when the Marlows are on vacation. Gandolph and Marmalade are used to me. That’s Lynn Marlow," she said, gesturing toward the victim. "I saw her husband, Joe, pull up two hours ago. I’ve no idea where he is now."
Harry Jeffers, the taller of the two detectives, noted this in a small book.
"Would it be all right if I take the pets?" Mrs. Kelly asked. "I’ll need the carriers. They’re stored in the laundry room." Jeffers sent a uniform to get the carriers, inspected them, then handed the crates to the woman. She addressed the parrot. "Gandolph, get Marmalade. We’re going bye-bye."
Gandolph cocked his head. Mrs. Kelly repeated the request. The bird fluttered over to the sofa and barked in a deep male voice, "Come out! Come out!" To Jeffers’ amazement, the cat crept out and sat obediently before the bird, while Mrs. Kelly opened the door to the cat’s crate. Once Marmalade was settled, Gandolph was tucked into the second crate. "If you want me, I’m right across the way," she told Jeffers and, picking up the carriers, departed.
Josh Harmon, the other detective, turned to his partner and quipped, "I’m betting it was the parrot, in the living room, with the candlestick."
And the search began for Joseph Marlow. Based on remarks made by various neighbors, they learned Marlow had a mistress, Marsha Mangan, on the other side of town. In no time, they had an address. The two investigators set off in their car.
Tiny Tales of Terror Page 8
