Petrified

by Ben Meeks

  My skin had a crusty feeling as I climbed out of the tub for a quick look around. I was alone, as I expected. I wish Cearbhall had waited around for me to wake up, but at least now I had found him, even if I had to wait for him to get back. I returned to the bathroom for a shower and got in with my clothes on. I stuck my fingers through the holes in my shirt where the bullets penetrated. I’m going to have to go shopping. I pulled the shirt off and rinsed as much of the blood out of it as I could. I was throwing it out but like so many things in my life, bloody bullet-ridden clothes tended to attract attention, even in the garbage. After rinsing my clothes, I started on my body, working on the tub last. When I had finished, and was double-checking the tub to make sure I didn’t miss anything, I heard the door open.

  “Hurry up in there. I need to get cleaned up,” Cearbhall shouted from the other room. “We’ve got work to do.”

  “Good to see you, Obie, glad you’re okay, Obie, it’s been too long, Obie, we should catch up,” I mumbled to myself as I turned off the water. I pulled open the curtain, grabbed my soggy clothes out of the tub, and stepped out. “All yours.”

  He stepped around the corner in human form wearing a red shirt and a black leather kilt. The shirt looked wet in places, and it wasn’t until I smelled the iron that I realized it was blood. He wasn’t wearing his eye patch, not something I was used to seeing. The skin healed over the eye socket gave his face a hollow look, like a painting with a blank spot in the canvas.

  “Lose your eye patch?” I asked, grabbing the towel from under the clothes.

  “Quit wearing it actually,” he said, stepping past me into the shower. “It got hard to keep up with and I just asked myself one day who I was covering up for. I don’t care who sees it, and I don’t care what anyone thinks about it, so why bother?”

  “Sure. I’m just not used to it, that’s all,” I said. I dropped my wet clothes in the sink and began wringing the water out of them. “Have you heard from Thera lately?”

  “Not in a while. She doesn’t talk to me much anymore. I kinda just do my own thing now,” he said.

  “What is your thing exactly? Does it have something to do with the couple I met at Horton House?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” he chuckled, stepping inside the shower. “I sent all the ultras off the island and started a rumor that Bigfoot is wandering around. Hunters come and I make them see the error of their ways. The gators are fat and happy, even if the hunters aren’t.”

  Having wrung out all the water I could, I put my clothes in the trash and put on what Cearbhall had left out for me. They were loose but got the job done. “What do you do with all their stuff?”

  He swished the curtain open and stepped out of the shower naked. “There’s a little chop shop on the mainland that takes the cars,” he said, grabbing a towel and drying off. “I know a guy that will buy all the guns he can get. Not sure if he collects them or sells them. Whatever he does with them, having the serial numbers scratched off doesn’t bother him. Everything else gets cleaned up and donated to Goodwill. You wouldn’t believe the tax deductions I’m getting.” He dropped the towel and went into the kitchen. “Things like this on the other hand,” he held up the pendant recovered from the man who shot me in the back. “Haven’t decided what to do with them yet, just keep them in the junk drawer for now.” He slid open a drawer and added the item to a pile of trinkets.

  “Quite a collection,” I said.

  He contemplated the pile before slamming the drawer shut. “Yeah, I’ve been doing this a while. Let me get dressed and we’ll go.”

  “Where are we going,” I asked.

  “A little side project,” he said grabbing some clothes out of the closet. “Last week I was out for a run with a few strays in the area. It was the middle of the night and we had come out of the woods beside the road, just jogging, minding our own business. Out of nowhere this big car swerved off the road to hit us. It wasn’t an accident, he wasn’t drunk, just some guy wanting to hurt something.”

  “Did he hit anyone?” I asked.

  “Just me. It took me a few days to track him down but I found him,” he said.

  “So, what, you want to kill this guy or something?” I asked.

  Revenge killings by Keepers aren’t by the book, but they have been known to happen. It would be a little naïve to think a people whose existence centers around violence don’t have the tools within easy reach at all times.

  “I’m not going to kill him. He’s not going to get off that easy, and besides, he shouldn’t even be home right now. This douche likes his toys but if he can’t be responsible with them then I will take them away in the most painful way possible,” he said. “I hired some gremlins to make sure he has car problems for the rest of his life. Of course, I want to get the first shot in myself. Sugar in the gas tank, drain the oil, you get the idea.”

  “You take up your free time with vandalism now? This is what retirement looks like,” I said, crossing my arms.

  “Who said I was retired?” he said.

  “What do you call this then?” I asked.

  “Justice,” he replied. “This guy deserves it.”

  “No doubt, but it’s going to have to wait.” I looked him in the eye. “I came here for something more important.”

  “The guy ran me over, tried to kill me and others just for the joy of it. Making him pay is a top priority,” he said.

  “Something’s wrong with Thera. Holt was taken and I think he is being used to get to her. She came to me yesterday and said she was being cut off from us. I don’t know how exactly. Hob’s place was attacked, a bunch of dust was stolen. I’m not sure what’s going on.”

  “Who’s Holt?” he asked.

  “My apprentice. He was working with Cedric before, well, you know.”

  “Your first apprentice. Well aren’t you something?”

  I couldn’t tell if he was mocking me or not, but I had a feeling he was.

  “Can you not? There are more important things going on right now.” I was afraid my visit would bring up some old hurts on both sides, looked like I was right.

  “Fine. So what did she say exactly?” he asked.

  I relayed the encounter on Stone Mountain. “I think I know what’s doing it,” I said when I had finished. “Is the truck outside? I want to show you something.”

  “It’s out front.”

  He led me outside to where my truck had been parked. We were surrounded by what looked like single story seaside condominiums. The area was well maintained, with palm trees planted in strategic locations around the property. My truck was parked across the street beside the dumpster.

  “Take a look at that,” I said, pointing to the bag in the back.

  He looked a little puzzled but reached over and started opening it. “What is it?”

  I didn’t answer, figuring it would explain itself once he got it open. When the knot was undone he recoiled a bit at the stench coming out of the bag. I could smell it from the other side of the truck as well. He rolled the bag so as not to get his hands dirty as he explored to find out what the source was.

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I think that’s what’s doing this,” I replied.

  When the snake head met the light his face fell into a blank expression. He stood still, not saying anything for a moment. Then, not worrying about touching the rotting head anymore, he grabbed it. He starred at it for a few seconds before squeezing it. Gasses bubbled from its nostrils and juices ran from the stump where it had previously been attached. The skull cracked and collapsed under the pressure. His face had changed from blankness to hate, lips curled in a snarl and eye burning into the carrion. When it was as crushed as he could make it, he threw it into the dumpster. It ricocheted off the wall with a splat, and he spit on the ground after it disappeared inside.

  “I’ve fought these demons before. They’re bad for sure, but they aren’t strong enough to mess with Thera,” he said, not looking away from the dumpster. “What
makes you think this is the demon causing problems?”

  “She had a grimoire, and Hob was attacked. Someone stole all the dust he had, Holt was taken, and now Thera is being attacked directly. I suppose the timing could be a coincidence, but I doubt it,” I said.

  He thought this over for a few seconds. “The question is how did this ‘Petra’ know how to find Hob? These demons can turn people to stone, like in the old myths, but they kind of take the memories the people they’ve turned. They know what those people knew,” he said. “We need to find who she turned. Then we will know what kind of trouble we can expect. She shouldn’t have been able to turn Holt. She got her hands on someone that knows you, when we find out who we will know how much trouble we are in.”

  “Actually, it was Naylet,” I said.

  He stood frozen, seeming to process the news before responding. “Well that’s unfortunate.”

  “My cupita was turned to stone and all you can say is ‘that’s unfortunate’?”

  “We have bigger problems than your love life,” he said. “We’ve got to get back now. You check with Hob to see what he can tell us and I’ll check on Livy. We’ll meet back at your place.”

  C H A P T E R • 16

  The sun was just coming up when I pulled the truck onto the dirt road that ran between the fields to the main house. I drove slowly, not because of the condition of the road but because they didn’t know this truck, and I wasn’t expected. I came looking to prevent trouble, not start it. I didn’t really like showing up unannounced but, everything considered, it would be okay. Stopping short of the house, I rolled down the window, looked out into the cornfield, and waited. After a minute, I was pretty sure someone was there. No scent or sound hinted at a presence in the corn but I had a prickly feeling at the base of my neck like I was being watched.

  “I need to see Hob, it’s important. Where can I find him?” I asked the stalks.

  A figure seemed to materialize out of the corn, taking a couple steps out of the field. It looked to be more plant than man: skin that looked dry, the tan color of old husks, with yellow hair fading into brown like corn silk. The face was smooth and looked like a tree that has had the bark scraped off, with two slits where eyes should be but lacking a nose or mouth. A large hound with similar characteristics walked out beside him. These were known as corn demons, although they weren’t demons like Petra. They came from another place that I am told is completely plant, but I’d never seen it. A strange but pleasant race, they don’t talk much, not having a mouth, but more importantly, they don’t cause problems. Hob brought them from Germany to help with the farm. The plant man raised a finger pointing to the barn opposite the house. I gave him a wave and drove over. The two disappeared back into the field in the rearview.

  The barn door was open, light spilling out into a picturesque scene of country nightlife. I parked in the light, no doubt spoiling the scene but making my presence known at the same time. Inside Hob was elbows deep in a tractor. He stood up and walked toward the truck when he saw me, wiping the oil off his hands with a rag.

  “Who is this stranger that shows up at my door? It can’t be my old friend Obie, ja,” he said when I got out of the truck.

  “Sorry, Hob, I would have stopped by sooner but I’ve had a lot of trouble over the past couple days,” I said. “I’m glad I didn’t wake you.”

  “I am out of bed at four-thirty every morning, working by five. You have missed all the excitement,” he said, rubbing the grease from his fingers.

  “So, what happened?” I asked.

  “As I have said on the phone, Eric was killed. He was finishing up the processing for the day when we were attacked by many demons. It was over only a few seconds after it started. Some of the corn demons responded but they were overwhelmed.” He smiled, putting an arm around my shoulder. “What is it the children do, showing and telling? Come, I will show you the damage and you can then tell me about your trouble.”

  We hopped into the truck and headed to the barn on the back of the property behind the fields, the processing center for his operation.

  I didn’t feel like going into all the details, so I kept it short and sweet, “There’s a demon that . . . well . . . it’s new to me. Closest as I can tell it is like the old Gorgon myth. Snakes on its head, wings, some nasty poison.”

  “It turns people to the stone with the glowing yellow eyes and black snakes on the head?” he asked, placing his hands on his head and waving his fingers in a decent Petra impression.

  I nodded as I parked in front of the barn. “Yeah, pretty much exactly. Cearbhall said they take people’s memories?”

  “Not exactly,” he said. “They don’t take the memories, they take the people, the entire life, past and future.”

  “What does that mean, how do they take a future?”

  “As far as I can tell, this demon is a kind of parasite. It takes in the memories, ja, but it also prolongs its own life from the life force of the victim. Do you know of children going missing? The little babies?” he asked.

  “Actually, for the past year, human infants have been disappearing. Naylet had me look into the most recent case a couple days ago.”

  “Come, let me show you something,” he said, getting out of the truck.

  I got out as Hob slid the door of the barn open. It looked the same as it did a few days ago except the back door had been busted in. It was boarded up as a temporary fix. There was broken wood on the ground and claw marks on some of the posts. In the center of the floor a dried grey pool of ogre blood marked the spot where Eric had fallen, surrounded by darker pools of demon blood. Hopefully, he took a few with him.

  “They came in through the back,” he said, holding a hand out toward the smashed up door. “It seems at least six demons attacked together but the gorgon wasn’t with them. Eric never stood a chance. They carried off the dust that was ready to go out, ten crates in all. I am told they were many hounds and athol. They were led by an imp with a bad leg. Once they secured the dust the athol flew off with the imp, leaving the hounds to keep us busy.”

  He led me to an industrial style freezer and opened the door. I was hit with a blast of cold much stronger than I expected. Walking inside was like stepping into a blizzard. Multiple fans moved the frigid air so forcefully it seemed to cut straight to my bones. Demons hung upside down, including the hound and a half I had brought him a few days before. They were covered with ice and frost.

  “These are the demons we were able to kill from the attack,” Hob said, pointing to a row of three hounds and one athol. The athol looked a lot like an imp but was man sized with wings instead of a second set of arms. People called them flying monkeys because they looked so much like winged gorillas with crazy eyes and big teeth. “This demon isn’t working alone. It is organized and with that much pixie dust it will be very dangerous.”

  He was right about that. Ten crates were enough to do just about anything. Petra had to have a plan for it, and that plan seemed to involve Holt.

  “They knew where to find you because of Naylet? Because Petra knows everything she knows,” I asked.

  “This Petra doesn’t know what Naylet knew, she is Naylet. At least a part of her is,” he said.

  “So Naylet is still alive then?”

  “No, Obie, she was sucked up,” he said. “She may still exist, but only as part of Petra.”

  “Right, but they could be separated? You’re the one that says magic can do anything. I would just have to restore Naylet’s body and put her mind back into it. What would I have to do to do that?”

  “The body you can do. If you kill the demon and put its blood on one who was turned, they will be restored, but they will not be the same person. I’ve seen it before,” he said. “You should find another way.”

  “When you say not the same person?” I questioned.

  “It’s like they have amnesia, there is nothing in them,” he said. “I would help you with anything, except for this. I will have no part of it.”<
br />
  That seemed easy enough. I just had to kill Petra, which I had to do anyway. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Oh no, but the problem will come later. The blood brings the darkness. The few that have been restored all became murderers and such,” he said. “You should not use the blood. Good things do not come from it.”

  That wasn’t reassuring. It’s possible that if the body was restored without the mind that was what happened. If the person’s mind was restored they couldn’t be corrupted like that. They would know who they were and have the same values as before. That was the key for successfully restoring Naylet.

  “Ok, what about getting her mind back. Is there a trick to that?” I asked.

  “As far as I know it can’t be done.”

  A corn demon appeared in the door to the barn. It raised a hand to its head, its long leafy fingers positioned from its ear to where its mouth would be if it had one. Then it pointed in my direction.

  “You have a call,” Hob said.

  We drove to the main house where I found a rotary phone with a fifteen foot cord off the hook. “This is Obie,” I said, pressing the phone to my ear.

  “Glad I found you,” Hank said. “We found the car. It’s parked in the Belleview apartment complex. I’m looking at it right now.”

  “That sounds familiar.” I reached in my pocket and pulled out the letter from Steve’s wife I had found on the counter at Steve’s house. She wrote her address as 1703 Belleview. “Let me guess, it’s in front of building seventeen?” I asked.

  “Yeah, how’d you know?”

  “I have to make a stop by my house to get Cearbhall and then we will be on the way. Just hang tight and keep an eye on things,” I said. “We’ll handle it together when we get there.”

  C H A P T E R • 17