Petrified

by Ben Meeks

  “I’d be happy to. I just made a promise I would see if I could help you. Sorry to bother you.” I turned around, happy to have gotten out of this so easily.

  “Hey, what could you do that the police can’t?” she called after me.

  Crap, I must have been too eager to leave. I should have pushed a little more until she slammed the door in my face. “I handle . . . special cases. I may not even be able to help you. To be honest, my girlfriend has been following your story. She heard the police didn’t have any leads and asked me to check it out. I would just need a few minutes to look around, if you’re interested. Ten minutes and I can tell you. If you don’t want my help, I will be happy to tell her I tried and you weren’t interested. I have a lot of other things going on today.”

  She paused for a moment, looking from me, to the stairs behind her, and finally rested her gaze on the ground. “What would you need?”

  “I need to see where Stephanie was taken from, and answers to any questions that come up.”

  “Give me your driver’s license. Anything fishy and I’m calling the cops.”

  I took out my license and placed it in her hand. She pulled her phone out of a pocket of the bathrobe and took a picture before she handed it back.

  “Top of the stairs, first door on the left,” she said, stepping aside and opening the door wide.

  The room was painted light pink and had all the expected trappings of a newborn girl’s room. A crib sat in the corner beside a changing table. Two windows were juxtaposed on the wall to the right of the crib. I stepped into the center of the room, taking stock of everything.

  “Tell me what happened,” I said.

  “I had put the baby to bed and was downstairs cleaning up. I heard the alarm beep from a door or window being opened. We were here alone, her father was working late again, so I started looking around. I couldn’t find anything open downstairs. Stephanie had started crying upstairs and I was about to go up and check on her when I heard a voice whisper on the monitor and it sounded like someone whipped a sheet, like when you make the bed and hold one end and shake it up and down. I ran up here as fast as I could, but by the time I got here Stephanie was gone.”

  I stepped over to inspect the window. “And you found the window open?”

  “Yes. The first thing I did was look out but I didn’t see anything. I couldn’t have been more than a few seconds behind whoever took her. It’s like they just disappeared.”

  “Tell me about the voice. What did it say? Male or female?”

  “It was a woman’s voice but I couldn’t make it out,” she said. “It was just a whisper.”

  “Where’s her father now?”

  “I don’t know. He accused me of doing something to her. He left and hasn’t been back since.” She folded her arms across her chest like she was giving herself a hug. “The police took me in and questioned me for hours. They should have been out looking for her.”

  I looked out the pair of windows into the back yard. The tree line was about thirty feet behind the house. “Which window was open?”

  “The right one,” she said.

  Unlocking the window, I opened it to look out. While the baby’s room was located on the second story of the house, the back yard was dug out for basement access making it more of a three-story drop. Definitely not something that a ladder could be taken down from quickly or that a normal human could jump without sustaining injuries.

  “Were the windows locked?” I asked.

  “Yes . . . No . . . I’m not sure,” she replied. “I think they were, but I have gone over it in my head and second guessed myself so many times, I just can’t be sure anymore. If they were unlocked, they shouldn’t have been.”

  I noticed a notch on the window sill. It looked like a knife had been stuck in the wood. I put my finger on the mark and had an idea. In my other forms I have non-retractable claws. Sometimes they leave marks on things. If I grabbed this window sill I could leave a claw mark from my thumb on top like this and . . . Sure enough, under the sill there were four similar marks. I lined my fingers up to the marks. The hand that left these marks was smaller than mine but whatever had come here had claws and had grabbed the sill, leaving indentations in the wood.

  I grunted an acknowledgement and closed the window. Ms. Olson was leaning against the door with her arms still holding herself. I walked over to the crib but it wasn’t much to look at, just a bare mattress.

  “The police took the bedding,” she offered from the doorway.

  “Is there anything here that Stephanie had with her that night?”

  “No, the police took everything. Wait, there is one thing. I had forgotten all about it. Her bunny. She wouldn’t sleep without her bunny. Hang on.” She disappeared from the room and returned a moment later with a stuffed animal. “It was in the middle of the floor. I picked it up that night before I looked out the window and carried it into the bedroom when I called the police. It has been there ever since.”

  I took it and turned the small stuffed animal over in my hands. I saw a spot on the side where the fur was matted and greasy. It had a faint smell of rose and spices, but there was something else there I couldn’t recognize.

  “There’s a spot on the rabbit here, do you know what it is?” I asked.

  She looked it over with a confused expression, “No idea. I hadn’t noticed it.”

  “Do you recognize the scent?”

  She gave it a sniff. “Not sure, some kind of perfume maybe? I haven’t smelled anything like that before. What does it mean?”

  It meant that she was never going to see her kid again. I wasn’t sure if it was a good thing the child wasn’t devoured on the spot, at least then she would have some closure, even if she would have been blamed for it. The flapping of the sheet she described had to be wings. Something came in, took the baby, and flew away, leaving marks on the windowsill on the way out. The baby wouldn’t have been taken unless there was a plan for it, and a demon with a plan is a terrible thing.

  “Well?” she asked, snapping me out of thought.

  “I’m going to do my best to help you. From what I have seen, I believe this case falls under my area of expertise. I will do my best to find Stephanie,” I said. “I want to stress that we are already ten days past the time she was taken and the chances of a positive outcome at this point are pretty slim.”

  “So you believe me?” she asked.

  “Mrs. Olson, I am one hundred percent certain you are telling the truth.”

  She touched her mouth as her eyes began to tear up, and she hugged me.

  “I said I would only take ten minutes and I’m already a couple over. May I borrow the bunny? It could help me locate her.”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Thanks, I will let myself out,” I said, moving toward the door.

  “Wait, how do I get in touch with you?” she asked.

  “If you need me or have any kind of trouble, there’s a motorcycle club in Dawsonville beside Rock Creek Park. They are called the Tortured Occult, they know how to find me. Tell them that Obie sent you and they will keep you safe and get in touch with me. They look rough but they’re just a bunch of teddy bears. I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

  She followed me out into the hallway. “Okay, please let me know as soon as you find anything.”

  “I will, I promise.”

  She showed me out. Naylet would be happy to hear she was right. The bad news is the trip to the beach would have to wait. It’s always something.

  C H A P T E R • 7

  I parked the truck by the graveyard where we had the run in with the imp. I hadn’t noticed it the day before, but an old road, overgrown with weeds and trees, led up to it from the front of the parking lot. From the growth I guessed it probably hadn’t been used in ten years or more, a perfect place to keep the truck out of sight while I worked. I never liked to park out in the open. Maybe it’s a habit that comes from having a vehicle that stands out, or maybe I am just
paranoid.

  After getting ambushed by the imp yesterday, I was going to be good and sure it didn’t happen a second time. A quick pass around the graveyard checking for fresh scents reassured me that I didn’t have any surprises in store. Nothing stood out, the bones were still sitting crushed under the tombstone. They fell further out of spider shape when I nudged them with my foot. I walked over to get a look at the church. The parking lot was empty, as expected. I shouldn’t have any company considering that Steve would be tied up in the morgue, and with the boss gone the secretary didn’t have a reason to come in. When word got out, the church would become a center of activity. I had a day or two tops before memorial services and arrangements for new leadership would make it impossible to find any clues. I needed to get in and out now while things were still quiet.

  The church was right beside a road, anyone could drive by and see me poking around. The fact that I didn’t see any cameras yesterday probably meant there weren’t any; a small town church like this wouldn’t have much of a security budget. Worse than cameras, though, were nosy locals, word might already be out about Steve burning up last night. Anyone driving by that knew about it might find a stranger at the church suspicious. I found some bushes to stash my clothes in and took the form of an otter. That would be the best way to get in under the radar. I circled the building first and found two entrances, the glass double doors in the front I had used yesterday and a metal door in the back. There were a few windows, most with the blinds drawn. I would have to go in the front. A key would be nice, but I hadn’t thought to get one off Steve when I had the chance, so a rock would have to do. I looked around until I found the right rock for the job. It was the size of a tennis ball and would definitely break the glass. I picked it up and walked on my hind legs to the door. A couple good whacks cracked the glass. Holt can make fun of me if he wants, but having thumbs in all three of my forms is a real advantage. Let’s see him smash a window when he’s taken the form of a Doberman. Maybe if he used his thick head.

  One more solid hit and the glass broke, a little more than I wanted. It shattered into large sharp pieces, raining down jagged shards that could seriously hurt me if I didn’t move. I scurried away just in time to avoid the glass that shattered on impact with the concrete. My first thought was how I would have been remembered. Cedric was ambushed and ripped apart. He killed many of his attackers and bought enough time for his apprentice to get away. A noble death. Oh, and then there was Obie who was beheaded by a plate glass window, just shameful. My second thought was that it was a much bigger hole than I intended. I was going for something smaller than a human could get through. Too late now, better get to work. I put the rock on the inside of the door to make it look like it was thrown through and jumped in, being careful not to hit the door and risk dislodging more glass.

  I did another sweep for unearthly scents. Two hallways lead off in opposite directions. I took the left hallway, passing activity and classrooms. A set of double wood doors at the end of the hall were labeled as the sanctuary. I went back to the other hallway, following it around in a large circle to a second sanctuary entrance. Nothing looked or smelled out of place. I went back to the entryway and Steve’s office.

  I had no choice but to change back into human form. Having otter thumbs is great, but they don’t do any good if you can’t reach the door handle. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway; after the change was complete, I found the door locked. A small matter really. I slammed my bare foot into it, splintering the frame and throwing the door wide open. Starting with the desk, I sat down, rubbing my naked bum in the soft leather. After visiting his home, I thought the garbage I smelled on him yesterday had been from his house. Sitting behind his desk I had a different vantage point. The garbage can under the desk was overflowing onto the floor. The mess was concealed, so unless you were sitting behind the desk or had heightened senses, you wouldn’t know it was there. I wondered if anyone knew that his wife had left him. He was probably keeping up appearances, hiding the stinky stuff out of sight to keep his image intact. Another reason why going public about demons didn’t make sense. There had to be something here to shed some light on the strange behavior.

  Rifling through the drawers turned up nothing but office supplies. The large desk calendar had a couple notes on it but nothing that looked important. I found the page of the calendar for last month in the garbage with some ketchup stains on it. I unfolded it on the desk, noticing right away that Steve’s schedule had freed up a lot since last month. The first two weeks of this calendar had something on almost every day then tapering off for weeks three and four. That’s when I saw it:

  P.V.T.

  MOCA GA

  3 PM

  The handwriting looked like the note I’d found at Steve’s house. If his wife made the appointment she might have some insight to who P.V.T. is. The other mystery was Moca, GA. I had never heard of that town before. Maybe it was in south Georgia somewhere. I didn’t get down there often.

  My thoughts were interrupted by the familiar sound of tires on gravel, someone was coming. Looking out the window I saw a patrol car rolling up to the church. There may have been more clues here but I was out of time. I ripped the note out of the calendar and shoved the rest back in the garbage can, being careful to cover it back up with some of what was on the floor. Didn’t want to leave any clues as to what I was looking for. Time for a strategic exit out the back. I tried the side door, hoping it wasn’t a closet. I was in luck, it opened into a classroom. From there I made it back to the hallway, out of sight of the lobby. The metal door I had seen outside had to be in the sanctuary. It was my best chance to get away unseen.

  There were no windows, not even the fancy stained glass ones, so the room was dark except for an emergency light mounted on the left wall. Rows of pews stretched out in front of me, facing a pulpit with a pew on each side and a large cross on the back wall. I found the door I had seen from the outside hidden behind a curtain. I moved the curtain and pressed the handle stepping out into the bright summer sun. I squinted as my eyes struggled to adjust to the light.

  “Police, don’t move,” a voice shouted.

  Without hesitation I grabbed the handle and retreated back into the building. The door slammed behind me and locked. Why did I do that? I should have run for it. I could have easily outpaced him in the woods and changed forms, effectively disappearing. While they were out chasing me it would have been no problem to circle around to the truck and roll it out quietly before more cops showed up. Now they would be calling for backup and have their guns out. Making a run for it now could get me shot. I needed another plan.

  The best way to get past cops that are looking for you is to be someone else, in this case something else. I moved back through the hallway toward the front door, stopping just out of sight of it. I crumpled up my clue and shoved it in my mouth, tasting the paper and stale ketchup, and changed back into an otter. Moving down the hallway I didn’t see anyone outside but I knew someone was there—they wouldn’t leave the front unguarded. Being careful around the broken glass on the floor, I hopped through the hole in the door and walked into the sunlight. A police cruiser sat caddy-corner to the building.

  “Police, let me see . . . What the hell,” a voice said from the direction of the car to my right.

  I turned to see an officer with something between surprise and confusion plastered on his face, pointing a pistol in my direction. He must have reacted to my movement before putting the pieces together of exactly what was happening. I stopped and stood on my back paws, raising my front paws in the air, I couldn’t resist. I could make out the scents of two people. I am sure his partner had already told him he had spotted someone inside which explained why his attention was split between me and the door. He kept looking over like someone was going to jump out of the door at any second. I couldn’t help but laugh, which sounded like a lot like a human laughing after breathing helium with a few squeaks thrown in for good measure. Lowering myself down on all f
ours I headed off toward the hill and the safety of the brush. I spotted the other officer at the side of the building with his gun trained on the door I had tried to come out of a minute before.

  I made my way up the embankment, disappearing from sight into the bushes. I found a hidden spot where I could see the parking lot. I couldn’t risk driving away with cops around; it would attract too much attention. I would have to wait them out. A few more patrol cars showed up, followed by a black Explorer. A man sporting a righteous mustache and wearing a polo shirt and khakis got out of the Explorer. He adjusted his pants around his portly belly and draped a badge on a lanyard around his neck. They all took strategic positions around the building but didn’t go in. Shortly after, a woman in a sedan drove up and parked in the back. She didn’t get out of the car but the mustached man went over, chatted for a few minutes, and took a key from her. Must be the secretary. That’s when things got exciting. A few stayed in the front but most went to the side door where I had been spotted. They unlocked it and poured in, shouting commands at the empty church. It was kind of funny, really. Part of me wanted to be there to see their faces when they figured out no one was there.

  The shouting died down and a few officers trickled out here and there. They would no doubt do an extensive search to find me. The man that showed up in the Explorer was talking to the first two on the scene. I could tell from his hand motions and body language that he was talking about the otter that came out and went up the hill. He gave the hill a questioning glance before walking over and appeared to be looking for tracks though I doubted he was an expert tracker. It’s not hard to follow tracks in eroded dirt. When he found them, he stood looking at the hill in thought. After a minute, he walked off in the opposite direction toward the road. When he got to the entrance to the parking lot he stopped and examined the ground again. I wasn’t worried about that. After so many cars coming in there was no way he could pick my truck tires out.