The Hag

by Erik Henry Vick

  Chaz scoffed and blew a raspberry. “What good are you, McBride? What use do you have? Why shouldn’t I just send you home?”

  Raw fear of being sent back blossomed within her like a runaway chain reaction, and Sally didn’t waste any effort trying to conceal it. “Don’t do that, my lord! I…I told you everything! He tricked me, too.”

  “Oh, get up off your knees! You are even annoying when you grovel, Sally. Have some self-respect.”

  Sally watched his feet as he turned and walked away. It could be a trap, she thought. He might just be waiting for me to stand up so he can knock me down again.

  “Get up!”

  His office chair creaked as he sank into it, and Sally let a sigh of relief hiss through her teeth. Moving with great care, Sally pushed up from her squat and rolled her head, trying to loosen the abused muscles in her shoulders and neck.

  “Yes, yes! I’m such a mean boss, I get it. I’m a bastard, okay?”

  Sally kept her eyes averted. “It’s nothing, my lord. I should be better. I should serve you better.”

  “Says the parrot. For Chrissake, McBride.” He drummed his talons on the pad resting on his desktop. “Plant it, Sally.” He waved at the two visitor chairs across his desk with his other hand.

  Sally’s gaze ping-ponged between the two available chairs, but she made no move toward either of them.

  “Sit!” Chaz roared.

  Sally jumped, and with her body on autopilot, she swooped toward the closest chair. She sat facing Chaz, unable to stop her hands from fiddling with the fabric upholstery of the chair.

  Chaz’s eyes narrowed as he watched her hands twiddle and dance. His expression soured into a grimace. “Do you know what, Fuck-it-up?”

  She opened her mouth to speak but found her mouth too dry. She settled for shaking her head.

  “As much of a pain in the ass as he was, sometimes I miss Red Bortha.” A small, nervous-looking smile settled on his lips. “Isn’t that strange? One alpha missing another?”

  “Not so strange,” Sally whispered.

  “What was that?” asked Chaz, throwing one hand behind the mound of flesh that protected his ear hole, the small smile morphing into a grimace.

  “I said it’s not so strange, my lord. You two were…friends.”

  Chaz bellowed laughter, his head thrown back, and one hand on his belly. “Friends!” he gasped between gales of laughter.

  Sally squirmed in her chair as the big demon laughed.

  “Alphas don’t make friends with one another,” said Chaz. “At best, they can develop a working relationship—such as the one I shared with Red. I found him to be…reliable and less irritating than most.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “And that brings me to my reason for summoning you. Brigitta has given me a task—several if you want to know the truth. I will need help. Help such as what Red provided me before those assholes sent him home.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Yes, my lord. Yes, my lord,” Chaz sneered. “What’s the matter with you, McBride? Why are you this way?”

  Because if I were any other way, you’d no doubt beat me to death, she thought. “How shall I be, my lord?” Her voice lacked any emotion, and her eyes drifted to the middle of his desk—safe from his probing glare.

  Chaz curled his lip and spun his chair to the side, presumably so he didn’t have to look at her. “I need you to do me a service.”

  “No sooner named than started.”

  “As I said, I will need help to complete the tasks Brigitta requires in the time that she allows. I need another Red. I need…”

  “Yes, Lord?”

  “I need you to find him. Not Red, of course, we both know where he is. I need you to find me other demons like Red Bortha, someone I can work with without having to fight all the time. That means no alphas, but yet the demons need to be powerful, smart.”

  “Do you have…”

  “Do I have a list of candidates?” Chaz shook his head. “No. Perhaps one of the new arrivals.” He looked at her with a sly expression on his face. “Perhaps the silver-skinned one or someone with similar…qualifications. Do you know her?”

  Sally shook her head once and stood. “I haven’t met her, but I will look into it. And others.”

  “Now.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “One more thing, McBride. Once you’ve found a few candidates, I want you to approach them the same way you approached me for LaBouche, but you will not offer them a partnership.”

  Sally walked to the door, turned, and curtsied—which felt silly, as she was in slacks and tennis shoes. “Of course not, my lord.”

  Chaz nodded to her and waved her away.

  Sally exited his office, pulling the door closed behind her. Once outside, she breathed a sigh of relief.

  9

  Scott had chosen professional paintball guns for them all—ones that included custom electronics to enable full automatic fire and polished two-piece barrels rifled for extended range and accuracy. After the practice sessions using regular paintballs Scott had insisted on, they all felt more comfortable with the weapons, if not confident in their abilities.

  And Toby had been right, the store owner had given Scott a recipe to create his own paintballs—and it was easy. Mike had prepared molds while Benny and Shannon had cooked up the goop that would harden into the shells. When the paintball forms had set up, they’d used syringes to fill the two hemispherical chambers separated by a wall of the shell material with bleach and acetone, then they sealed the holes with a drop of superglue.

  The homemade paintballs broke just as they should, and the two chemicals mixed without a hitch, producing gaseous chloroform. Better yet, the paintballs were easy to use, and all it took to go from semiauto to automatic fire was a flick of a switch—as long as the batteries held a charge.

  Scott tested each of them with their paintball guns, shooting at paper targets deep in the Allegheny State Park, far from known hiking trails and pronounced them “fair to middling.” Afterward, they gathered in Toby, Benny, and Shannon’s cabin, their spirits higher than they had been in days.

  “We need a real test next.”

  “What, on an animal or something?” asked Benny.

  Scott shook his head and chuckled. “No, Benny. We need to test them on a demon—one that won’t kill us.” He turned his gaze on Toby. “Do you know of any that may fit the bill?”

  Toby nodded slowly. “Yeah, I do. I have a story that needs verification, and if she’s a demon, we can test our guns on her.”

  “That sounds ominous,” said Mike.

  “What do you mean ‘a story?’” asked Scott at the same time.

  Toby tilted his head to the left and lifted that shoulder. “Where do you think I get all my names, all my potential demons?”

  Scott tapped his foot. “I’m sure I don’t know, Toby.”

  “A few years ago, I set up a website for people to talk about paranormal events. On it, I built a forum so people could tell me their ghost stories.” Toby turned his gaze on each one of them in turn, his expression solemn. “You’d be surprised how many ghost stories have a demon behind them.”

  “I wouldn’t,” said Benny.

  “Maybe not, Benny. But‍—‍”

  “Wait a minute, just wait a minute. You’re the one behind all those nuts that picket all the Catholic churches?”

  Toby waved it away. “People get all caught up in it. Blame the Internet, if you need something to blame. I never posted a call for anyone to picket anywhere. If they get together on a forum somewhere, I bear no responsibility for that.”

  Grinning, Mike made a shooing gesture at Toby. “My, my, a real celebrity…”

  Toby grinned back. “And autographs are only fifty dollars.”

  “Would I get a discount? I mean, I know someone high up in the organization.”

  “Uh, could we get back to business?” asked Scott.

  Still grinning, Mike waved them on.<
br />
  “Did all of…them…come from tips, from ghost stories?”

  “No. A few have just been happenstance. Others got on my radar either through the media or from law enforcement bulletins. Like the stories about Abaddon. Things like that.”

  “Serial killers?” asked Mike.

  Scott flashed a sour smile. “Easy place for them to hide. Behind the persona of a serial killer—it is what they are.”

  Mike shrugged. “I’m surprised they haven’t called you in on that investigation.”

  Scott’s shoulders lifted and fell, and the gesture seemed to contain infinite sadness. “I would be working on it right now if LaBouche hadn’t…”

  Benny cleared his throat.

  “Tell us about this lady you mentioned before,” said Shannon.

  “There’s not much to tell. She appears to be an old lady, but one who has been old for thirty years or more. On top of that, she lives out away from town—way out in the country and separated from her neighbors by a good bit. No one ever sees her in town buying groceries, and‍—‍”

  “Someone might bring her groceries to her.” Scott rubbed his temples, hunched forward and head bent to obscure his face.

  “Or she shops in a different town. That’s not evidence that she’s a demon,” said Mike.

  Toby twirled a finger through it all. “True on all counts, but it’s still worth checking out. The legend has it that people disappear into her basement on Halloween. Dogs go crazy in her presence. Yaddy.”

  “And you find these…reports helpful?”

  “Ninety-nine percent of them are garbage. But that one percent… Bill Hartman was a one-percenter.”

  “What does it matter?” asked Shannon. “What does it matter where Toby gets his names? They are the names of demons.”

  “Then let’s go check her out,” said Benny. “It’s the only way we will ever know if the story is correct or not.”

  “It’s a long drive—three hours from here. Or more.”

  Scott looked around the cabin. “It’s better than sitting here—even if she is just an eccentric old lady. When should we go?”

  “I vote right freaking now,” said Shannon with a grin. “Besides, I’m hungry, and I’m tired of eating the crap we have here.”

  “You heard her,” said Benny, pushing his chair back. “Last one in the car has to sit between Scott and Mike!” With that, he turned and bolted through the door.

  Shannon turned a bemused gaze on the others. “Sometimes I think he’s still eleven.”

  “Sometimes he still is,” said Toby without a hint of a smile.

  10

  With Mike driving their rented Lincoln, it had only taken them an hour and a half to make the drive from the Agincourt to the turn off one of the myriad roads that connected Route 104 and Lake Road. Everything was in line with the story from Toby’s website.

  “I’m still not sure about this, Toby,” said Shannon.

  “It will be fine. Benny will be right here to help you.”

  Benny bumped his shoulder into hers. “Yeah, right next to you.”

  “I know.” Shannon’s fingers tried to tie themselves in knots. “It’s just that I’ve never done this…”

  “You’ve never created a disguise for someone so far away, but you have done this. It’s okay if it’s not perfect, Shan. This is a test run, remember?” Toby put his hand on the door handle and popped it open. “Get the trunk, Mike.”

  “But if it slips…if I fail…you’ll be exposed. I don’t… What if it goes wrong and I can’t keep you disguised? What if she sees through it? What do I do then?”

  Toby flashed a lopsided grin at her and lifted one shoulder. “Then do whatever you did at Hartman’s house. It seemed to work.”

  Shannon wagged her head side to side. She grabbed Benny’s hand and squeezed. “You can’t go anywhere, Benny. No getting distracted, either.”

  “How can I avoid distraction with a woman like you sitting next to me?”

  Mike snorted and looked at Benny in the rearview mirror. “Smooth, Benny, real smooth. But the time for schmoopy ended when we got in the car.”

  Benny looked at him in the rearview mirror and cocked his head. “I‍—‍”

  “It’s game time, people! Cut the bullshit!” snapped Scott.

  An awkward silence followed, only broken when Mike burst out laughing. Scott glared at him, and Mike held up his hands in supplication. “Sorry, sorry. But really, Scott? Game time?”

  Scott leaned across him to flip open the glove box and punch the button that released the trunk. Without another word, he opened his door and got out, slamming it shut after him and walking around to the rear of the car.

  “Touchy,” muttered Mike.

  “It’s only been a few days, Mike,” said Shannon. “Given what he’s been through, he’s handling it well.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  Toby slid out of the back seat and joined Scott at the rear of the car. He reached inside and picked up his paintball gun and a kidney-shaped magazine full of their special paintballs. “If this doesn’t work…”

  Scott reached into the trunk and pulled out Mike’s Remington 870 and began thumbing shells into the ammunition tube. “I’ve got you, Toby. If it doesn’t work out, Mike and I will come on the run. We’ve got the rifled barrels, so we’ve got extended range, and we’ve got plenty of slugs. It’s not ideal, as you pointed out, and I wish we had your fancy tranquilizer gun as backup, but if the paintballs don’t work, Mike and I will put her down with the shotguns. Or at least keep her busy enough for you to escape.” Scott leaned to the side and peered through the rear window of the Lincoln. “Do you think she can handle it?”

  Toby smiled with one side of his mouth and rubbed a hand through his hair. “Probably.”

  “And you feel comfortable risking your life on ‘probably?’” He arched an eyebrow.

  Toby made a show of examining his weapon. “Seems like we are all risking a lot on probabilities and chances.” He scuffed his foot in the gravel alongside the road. “Anyway, what other options are there?”

  “We could try the frontal assault. I still say‍—‍”

  Toby chopped air with his hand. “No, that’s plan B. We need to know if Shannon can do this or not. We need to know if these paintballs work and if we can make the paintball guns deliver. This demon is weak, Scott. Or senile. Or both.” He shrugged. “It’s better to fail against one such as her than one such as Brigitta.”

  Scott’s only answer was a grunt. He rapped his knuckles on the rear quarter panel of the car. “Get a move on, Mike!”

  From inside the car, Mike grumbled something, but he popped his door open just the same and slid out. Scott tossed the loaded shotgun to him and began loading the one issued him by the NYSP.

  Toby walked to the open rear door of the car and leaned inside. “Are you two ready?”

  Shannon took a deep breath and let it trickle out. A look of concentration settled across her features, and Benny’s eyes glazed over.

  “I’m making…you into a…teenaged girl,” said Shannon in a breathless, halting voice.

  “Swell. At least make me cute. And I’m talking prom queen cute.”

  Shannon giggled. “Toby as a cute 16-year-old girl, coming up.”

  Toby chuckled and turned away from the car. “Everyone ready?”

  “As we’ll ever be,” said Mike.

  “One sec,” muttered Shannon. She leaned forward in the seat and stared at Toby for the space of three breaths. “Okay. Poof, you’re a prom queen, but without a prom dress circa 1976. I put you in modern clothes. Get busy.”

  “You made me Sissy Spacek? I hope you left the pig’s blood out of the image.” Toby arched an eyebrow at her, a wry grin dancing on his lips.

  “Sissy Spacek? The actress? Pig’s blood?” murmured Benny.

  “Movie reference, Benny,” said Shannon. She pointed at the house. “Go, Toby. This isn’t as easy as it looks.”

  Toby nodded
and turned toward the dirt road that led up to the house. The house sat on top of a hill, with a cleared space around it such that it had a good view of the road in both directions. He tried to climb the slope as he imagined a teenage girl would.

  He was about halfway between the road and the house when the screen door creaked open and banged shut again. Toby lifted his gaze toward the house and plastered a fake smile on his face. The owner of the house was a demon, no doubt about it.

  She stood about five and a half feet tall but had the blockish body of a Russian powerlifter—barrel-chested, chunky legs, long arms. Her skin was gray and thick like an elephant’s but giving off a vague impression of tree bark. Her breasts were large and pendulous, and her belly was thick and round.

  The demon’s face was elongated, its bone structure out of scale with the rest of her. Her jaw was long and drooped down over her chest, giving her a perpetually shocked, open-mouthed expression, while gravity appeared to have stretched her cheekbones and ocular cavities such that her eye sockets were no longer almond-shaped, but elongated vertical ovals.

  Toby couldn’t see any details around her eyes or her mouth; what appeared to be black smudges or thick black smoke, obscured both parts of her face. “Great,” he muttered.

  The demon had German Shepherd ears, and they swiveled toward him as he spoke. “Who’s there?” she asked in a querulous voice. “Whoever you are, I need nothing you have to sell. I won’t buy anything.”

  Toby fought to keep a smile plastered on his face, wishing he could judge where she was looking—either at him or down at the road toward where they had parked the car. “I’m not selling anything, ma’am.”

  “Then why are you here? Who gave you permission to come onto my property?”

  Toby gestured at the road behind him with his left hand, but in a vague, distracted way, keeping his right hand—and his paintball gun—hidden behind his back, just in case she could see through the illusion. “My car…” He continued walking, fighting the urge to glance back at the trees edging the road and hiding the rented Lincoln. He knew Mike and Scott were working their way through those trees, getting to the edges of the property and getting a better vantage on the demon.