The Hag

by Erik Henry Vick

  Scott arched an eyebrow and glanced down at the demon. “Do we bring this one with us? Set up another…whatever you want to call it?”

  “No time,” said Toby. “Grab his legs, Scott.” They handed their weapons to Shannon and then lifted Benny and carried him to the car.

  “Wait,” said Greg. “How do you destroy the bodies?”

  “No time to explain,” grunted Toby. “We’ve got to move.”

  Greg turned toward Shannon. “How?”

  “We bleed them, then use acid to‍—‍”

  “It’s a base,” muttered Toby.

  “—destroy the remains. We burn the blood.”

  “Would fire destroy the body and the blood?”

  “Yes, but to get it hot enough, we’d burn down the hospital. Now, leave it! We’ve got to clear out of here.”

  Greg nodded but stepped toward the demon. He held out his hands, like a man warming them over a campfire. His face contorted with effort.

  “What are you doing?” asked Scott. “We have to‍—‍” His jaws snapped shut as the demon burst into a bright blue flame.

  The intense heat cracked the tiles twenty feet up and down the hall, and the wall above the demon warped and the paint curled to black shreds. The fire burned bright, and in a matter of seconds, the demon’s body disintegrated to a pile of white ash. As soon as Greg withdrew his hands, the fire disappeared. It didn’t fade or die out, it roared with full force one moment and disappeared the next. The heat dissipated at a rapid rate, accompanied by the faint bell-like sounds of the stone tile cooling and cracking further.

  “Neat trick,” murmured Scott.

  “Thanks,” said Greg, then his eyes rolled up in his head, and he passed out.

  9

  As dawn broke across the water of Lake Genosgwa, Mason stretched and took another scalding shot of coffee. He’d arranged his studio—thick plastic sheets draped over everything, his instruments and materials arrayed and easy to reach, his antique exam table in the center of it all.

  The memory of the woman freaking out when he visited her in the night brought a smile to his face, but the smile faded as he recalled the aroma of her urine. Maybe I’ll shower her before I begin.

  He walked out to the end of the dock, whistling tunelessly. “Are you here?” he murmured. “Are you hungry? Want breakfast?” As with most days, there was no answer, no telltale ripples from the center of the lake, no voices in his head.

  Mason shrugged and turned away, downing the last of his coffee. With a stretch and a final glance out at the lake, he turned and walked back to the cottage, dropping his coffee cup off inside on his way to the garage across the gravel lane.

  It’s going to be a good day. Even if Brigitta isn’t here.

  10

  Tom Walton grimaced at the visitor’s entrance of Millvale State Hospital and parked his car. He sat for a moment, staring at nothing, his mind going back to what had happened in 1986.

  He could understand how the events could have broken Stephen Canton—or anyone. He couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to fight the madman that had killed Gary Dennis, both Elizabet and Mary Canton, and save none of them. Tom bore his own deep wounds cut by guilt’s blade. He never caught the killer—hell, he’d never even been close.

  The old chief shoved those thoughts out of his mind with a sniff and opened his door. He was early for morning visiting hours by at least thirty minutes, but if one of the older staffers was on duty, they might let him in early anyway.

  Walton had been coming to visit Stephen every couple of months since 1986, despite the long drive. He’d seen Stephen descend deeper and deeper into madness with each passing season. He didn’t disagree with Joe Canton’s reasons for packing his grandson up and taking him back to Florida, but it sure hadn’t done Stephen any good.

  Getting out of the car, he stretched his back with a groan. He’d spent far too many hours in the front seat of a vehicle throughout his career, and he was paying for every one of them in his retirement.

  He shuffled into the building via the visitors’ entrance, signing in at the guard station and then taking the elevator up to the third floor—to the most secure unit with the most violent residents. The elevator opened onto a six by six foyer across from the only door—the door that led into the unit. He approached the door and pressed the buzzer, looking up into the closed-circuit camera mounted in the corner. After a moment, there was a loud buzz and a click as the door unlocked.

  Tom opened the door and stepped into the visitor’s room. It was empty given his timing, but as always, he detected the faint scents of disinfectant, body odor, and urine. He imagined those were the scents common to all locked psychiatric units everywhere—they’d been present in every ward he’d ever visited.

  The door across from him opened and Robert Bunch stepped into the room. “Hey there, Chief! Long time no see.”

  “Ayup,” said Tom with a smile. “Seems I’ve been coming on days you’ve had off for the past little while. How’s life treating you?”

  “Comme ci, comme ca. But I’m not quite ready to retire.”

  Tom crossed the big room, smiling. “I can recommend it, Robert. Oh sure, at first it seems it’s a death sentence, but then the grandkids come ‘round, and it all makes sense.”

  “I’m going to go out on a limb, Chief. Using my amazing psychic powers, I deduce that you’re here to visit Stephen Canton.”

  “Ayup. It’s been a few months, and I thought I’d see how he was getting on. Any change?”

  “Not to speak of, Chief, no.” Robert shook his head. “Sometimes there’s no helping them.”

  Tom nodded but didn’t meet Robert’s gaze. “What he went through…”

  Robert frowned at his feet. “He’s been… Well, Chief, I’ll just be blunt. Stephen has been on a tear for the past two or three days. He’s in a manic phase and is not making much sense.” He lifted his gaze to meet Tom’s. “I hate that you’ve driven all this way for the visit you’re about to have.”

  Walton shrugged and put on a smile. “His father was a friend.”

  Bunch nodded as if that said it all. “Grab a chair, and I’ll go get him.”

  “Thanks for that, Robert. And thanks for letting me in early. I know it’s against the rules.”

  Bunch smiled. “You served the public for a long time, and to me, Chief, that buys you a bit of special treatment.”

  Tom grinned and nodded his thanks, despite disagreeing with the sentiment. He found a seat amongst the plain wooden tables and their matching uncomfortable chairs, grimacing as his back sang out.

  It only took a few minutes, but by the time Stephen shuffled into the room, Tom’s back was a ball of hot agony.

  “Chief! You’ve got to help me!” Stephen rushed toward him, both arms held out in front of him. “He’s in danger, Chief Walton!”

  “Have a seat, Stephen, and tell me about it.” Tom had seen that sort of behavior before—Stephen reliving the night, or at least the days leading up to the night, when his world had ended. The night someone had murdered his wife and his mother.

  With a paranoid glance over his shoulder, Stephen sank into the chair opposite Tom. “I’ve got to be careful, Chief. Some of the staff members are part of it. I can feel it.” He turned his wide, dilated eyes on Tom. “I can’t see them, not the way I could that night, but at least two of them are demons.”

  Tom nodded as if it all made sense. He’d heard it all before—on too many occasions to count. “Do you remember the last time we talked about the demons?”

  Stephen made a frantic shushing gesture. “Keep your voice down, Chief. If they figure out I’m onto them…”

  “Stephen, do you remember what we decided the last time we spoke of demons?” said Tom, but at a reduced volume.

  “Sure thing, Chief.” Stephen darted glances around the empty room. “Uh… Maybe you could…”

  Tom arched an eyebrow. “When the demons trouble you, you are to get a piece of paper and a p
encil and write down everything you can remember.”

  Stephen grinned and smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. “That’s right! That’s…that’s right. That way, you can look into it. You can find the demon that killed my Mary.” As he said his deceased wife’s name, Stephen’s face crumpled.

  “That’s right, Stephen. Did you write anything down, this time?”

  Stephen frowned down at the tabletop. “No. Why is it I can’t remember after you leave? The demons are giving me something to make me forget. It’s in the medicine. Or the orange juice.”

  Tom shook his head sharply. “No, Stephen. We discussed the medicine before, remember? It’s good for you. It checks out, remember?”

  “Right, right, right. Checked by the FDA. Or was it the DEA? Well, never mind all that, Chief.” Stephen leaned forward across the table, his butt coming up out of the chair until his face was inches from Tom’s. “Forget all that. This time, Chief, Greg is in real trouble. You’ve got to help him! He was safe. Dad took them to safety, but now he’s back. He’s right back in the thick of it, Tom! Can’t you help him?”

  This is new, thought Tom. He’s worried about his son before, but it’s always been that version of Greg that existed back then, that version of his son who got lost in the woods on the night of the murders.

  Stephen turned his head to peer at the door that led to the rest of the unit. “There isn’t much time, Chief. I know what you’re thinking right now, but it’s not true. Well, it is true, but it is not true right now. I mean, it has been true…you know, before. But right now, it’s not true.”

  Tom bobbed his head in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. “I’ll keep my eyes peeled. Can you tell me what I’m looking for, Stephen? Your son’s, what, eleven?”

  “No, no, no, Chief. That’s how old Greg was the night the demon took my Mary and ate my mother. That was in 1986,” said Stephen in the tone reserved for the very old and the very young. “He’d be thirty this year. No! Thirty-two. I can’t give you a description. I haven’t seen him in a long, long time. I told my dad not to bring him here.”

  Tom sat as still as if he were carved from stone. “Thirty-two, you say? Not eleven.”

  “No, not eleven. But I get why you would think that, Chief. As I said, what you’re thinking was true before but not now.”

  “What am I thinking, Stephen?”

  Stephen looked him in the eye and winked with exaggerated slowness. “You think I’m trapped on that night. You’re thinking I don’t understand what’s really going on, that reality and Stephen Canton are quits with each other. Most of the time, that’s true. I’m sure you’ve already figured that out, Chief. But in this case, it isn’t. Greg is in danger.” Stephen whirled to his feet, sending the chair skittering across the linoleum floor. “Why didn’t he stay away, Tom? Why did he have to come back? He’s too much like his mother!”

  “How do you know he’s back?” Tom spread his arms wide, palms up. “I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, Stephen, but you haven’t been outside of this unit in a long time. Has Greg called you?”

  Stephen waved it away. “All I can tell you is that I know, Tom. And yes, I know I’m crazy. I know I’ve spent the last twenty-one years in a loony bin. There’s no reason for you to believe me, Chief, but you have to anyway. You’re his only hope! You’ve got to find him and put him back on a plane to Florida. Make him leave, Tom. For my father’s sake, get Greg the fuck out of New York.” Stephen hung his head, seeming to deflate in on himself. “Tell him…tell him to never come back here.”

  11

  “What you do not understand, Dan Delo, is that I don’t care about your excuses.” He stepped close to the purple demon and shoved his V-shaped mouth into Delo’s face. “I gave you a task—the recall of the demons in that part of the state—and you always have the overriding responsibility to kill these hunters when you see them.” LaBouche poured his anger and disgust at Chaz’s ridiculous sexual exploits into his expression. “You failed at both.” He wasn’t treating the demon fairly, but he couldn’t be bothered to care.

  Dan Delo pulled his head away, keeping his expression as close to neutral as possible. “I did what I could. They carried new weapons—they shot gas pellets, and I‍—‍”

  “And you didn't stop them!” LaBouche bellowed. “Or did I misunderstand you? Are the hunters all dead?”

  Dan shook his head, a sour expression in his eyes.

  “I see. Then you must know where the hunters are hiding. Can you lead me back there?”

  “How could I know that?” Delo sneered.

  LaBouche’s hand rocketed forward and staggered the purple demon back a step. With deliberation, LaBouche stepped forward to fill the space. “You should have followed them!”

  “But Herlequin’s rule! The police‍—‍”

  “Are you unable to keep yourself from the vision of the police? You possess wings, you massive fucking oaf! You should have flown above them, followed the hunters who escaped your pathetic attempts to inflict harm.”

  Dan Delo lifted his chin but—wisely—kept his mouth shut.

  “Because of you, I had to scramble. I had to send a single demon to the hospital where they took the one you injured. I sent the one embedded in the police force…and, now, he’s dead. He’s not only dead, he’s gone, and I must send more demons up there to root around trying to pick up the trail.”

  “Gone?”

  “Gone. As in ‘sent back home.’ All because of your incompetence!”

  Dan’s face writhed, and he opened his mouth several times but didn’t speak.

  “That’s better,” said LaBouche. “You fucked up. You deserve this.”

  With a sour expression, Dan Delo nodded. “How can I make it up to you?” he grated.

  LaBouche grinned. “I’ve got an idea…” He put a banana-yellow hand on Dan’s shoulder. “Do you know where Lake Genosgwa is?”

  12

  “Um, a bunch of demons… Up ahead,” said Greg. He pointed through the windshield. “Up by those cabins down the road.”

  “Well, it was too good to last anyway,” said Scott from behind the wheel of their rented Cadillac.

  “That’s the Agincourt Resort?” asked Greg.

  Scott grunted and swung the car in a lazy half-circle across the road. He pointed the nose back the way they’d come. “How did they find us?”

  “Maybe they have someone like Greg,” muttered Shannon in a sleep-slurred voice. She was in the back seat along with Mike, Benny, and Toby—wedged in like sardines, but no one had expected a sixth passenger.

  Scott gazed at Toby in the rearview. “What next? Any ideas?”

  Toby’s sigh was all the answer he needed to give.

  “Pennsylvania?” asked Shannon. “We’re close to the border.”

  Scott shook his head. “My badge buys us nothing in Pennsylvania.”

  “I’ve got an idea,” said Greg.

  “There might come a time when your badge buys us less than being in another state gains us,” said Toby. “But for now, I agree with you.”

  “Then we could get lost in New York City for a few days,” said Shannon.

  Scott wagged his head to the side. “There’s always that.”

  Toby sighed. “I bet there are hundreds of demons in Manhattan alone. They can probably rent an apartment in some boroughs and never leave home while eating all they want.”

  “I own a place we can go,” said Greg.

  “But I could hide us until we found a place to stay. We could keep low profiles after that. Room service, take out.” She twitched her shoulders and stifled a yawn.

  “Do you guys know where Lake Genosgwa is?” asked Greg. “I own a lake house there.”

  “No, I don’t think the City…” Scott turned his head to look at Greg. “What did you say?”

  “I own a lake house on Lake Genosgwa. The place’s been empty since 1986, but we’ve paid to keep it up. No one knows I’m in New York. No one would know if we stayed at th
e house. I’ve got a car, too, though I don’t know if it will start.”

  “How did you come to own a house up here?” asked Toby with a trace of suspicion in his tone. “I thought you lived in Florida.”

  “I do. I inherited the place from my grandfather. It’s where…” He choked up and shook his head.

  “It’s where his mother and grandmother died,” said Benny in a weak voice. “We can’t ask him to stay in that place.”

  “No, it’s okay. I was planning on going down, anyway. To see the place, maybe put it up for sale.” Greg wiped his eyes with both hands. “But if we need to lie low for a few days; it’s the perfect place. We should stop somewhere random on the way and pick up supplies, but once we’ve done that, we can pull this beast into the garage and lie low in the cabin. No one will look for you at the lake.”

  “And you don’t mind staying there?” asked Shannon.

  Greg shrugged, his face wrinkled up with discomfort. “I won’t know that until we arrive, but twenty-one years have passed. If it bothers me, I’ll go into Genosgwa and rent a room at the hotel. You can stay at the lake house as long as you want.”

  Scott flicked his gaze to the rearview mirror.

  “If you’re sure, Greg, that would make our lives easier,” said Toby.

  “I’m sure.”

  “Won’t they be able to find us there?” asked Shannon. “Eventually, I mean?”

  “Maybe,” said Scott with a shrug. “But the delay in finding the Agincourt leads me to believe they are finding us through mundane methods. Investigation rather than divination.”

  “Sure,” said Toby. “I could probably find us at the Agincourt.”

  “I definitely would have found us,” said Scott. “All it takes is time and shoe leather to find someone in a motel. Or anywhere that involves people outside of the conspiracy to hide.”

  “Conspiracy to hide,” murmured Shannon. “I like that.”

  “I don’t,” said Scott sourly.

  “Can you get us to Genosgwa?” asked Greg. “I can give you directions from the town center.”