Night Moves

by Gail Z. Martin

  “Yes. But…she almost didn’t make it. And the doll is out there somewhere. After it attacked Beverly, before we knew what was going on, it approached the houses of several of the other coven members. Didn’t get in, but they saw it, out in the yard. Then it ran off, into the woods.”

  Hot, diggity damn. Just what I really didn’t want to spend my day doing—chasing a psychopathic doll through the forest. But the doll—or whatever it really was—had already nearly killed one person, so waiting wasn’t really an option. At least for once, I’d flipped the script on the horror movies, because it wasn’t the dead of night.

  “All right,” I said. “I need you to get the word out to your neighbors that there’s a rabid skunk in the woods and you’ve called in a wildlife extraction specialist. That way, if anyone sees Donny and me tramping around out there with weapons, they don’t call the cops on us.”

  “I can do that,” Linda said. “I’ve got the coven’s numbers on speed dial, and our neighborhood has a phone tree in case of emergencies. Give me fifteen minutes, and everyone likely to see you will have the word.”

  She took her phone into the other room, and Donny managed to plaster himself even closer than before. He had his front paws wrapped around my leg, and he was sitting on my foot.

  “Dude, ease up. Your nuts are safe,” I murmured. I filched a cookie from the jar on the table and slipped it to him as a peace offering.

  Donny shifted, so his butt slid off of my boot, and he let go enough that I could feel the blood in my leg again.

  I thought about how to chase down a killer doll while Linda made her calls. By the time she came back, I had a couple of ideas in mind.

  “No one’s going to cause problems for you, Mark,” Linda said. “We even put in a word with a friend of ours at the police department, letting them know we had an exterminator at work. I wish there was more I could do, but the truth is, I’m not much without my magic.”

  I thought that was just some fake-humble bullshit, but both the tone of her voice and the look in her eyes told me she believed it to be true. Her admission made me feel sorry for her, if magic was all she thought she had going for her. I didn’t have magic, and I sure wasn’t anybody’s hero or a warrior-against-evil like in the movies. But what I could do, I did. Sometimes, it even made a difference.

  “Can you show me where Beverly first saw the doll?” I asked. “I’d like Donny here to see if he can pick up the scent.” We stopped by my truck to pick up my gear bag because no way in hell was I heading into that forest unarmed.

  Donny perked up at that, although I noticed that he kept his distance from Linda as we walked to the tidy two-story where the attack had occurred. Usually, Donny is overly friendly, but he’d obviously decided that Linda was not good people. If my nuts were on the block, I can’t say I’d have felt differently.

  She led us to a little garden surrounded by a circle of rocks. “In there,” she said, pointing. Donny lowered his head and started sniffing like a bloodhound. Then he raised his head and howled. He tugged on the leash, practically dragging me toward the woods.

  “Go home. Stay inside. I’ll let you know if I find anything,” I called over my shoulder.

  I debated letting Donny off leash, but I knew I’d lose him and not be able to catch up. And while Donny’s a lover, not a fighter, he’s still a shifter, and stronger than he looks. If worst came to worst, he was backup. I hoped it didn’t come to going mano-a-mano with Chucky.

  “Who the hell collects dolls?” I asked Donny as we trudged through the woods, hot on the trail of what I hoped wasn’t a squirrel or a possum. “They’re evil. They burp, cry, and pee. They look like dead children. And don’t get me started on Tickle-Me-Elmo; that fucker was possessed.”

  I didn’t like how the trail led deeper into the forest, but at least we were out of sight of prying eyes and the neighborhood watch. I’d already pulled my grenade launcher, and I had my Glock with silver rounds tucked into my waistband, and a Ka-bar coated with blessed silver in a sheath on my belt. Those weapons could fight off most of the creatures I usually encountered, but knowing that the doll had bested a coven of witches made me nervous.

  “Hey, Annabelle,” I called to the doll as Donny followed his nose. “Come play with me.”

  In response, I heard demented laughter in the high pitch of a child’s voice. A chill slithered down my spine. Donny lifted his head, and his ears pricked up. I leaned down and unclipped his leash, wrapping it around my waist for safekeeping. “Go flush her out, Donny. Find Annabelle, and we’ll get ice cream.” This doll might not be the same as the famous cursed one locked in a glass case in Connecticut, but I figured the name suited her.

  Donny took off, and I had to admit that for as dorky as he was in human form, he wasn’t a half-bad wolf. I crashed through the brush after him, figuring the doll already knew we were after her. Laughter rang out again, from a different direction. It reminded me of wind chimes made out of bone, a cold, soulless sound, full of malice.

  Donny suddenly pivoted and started to yip, charging back toward me as I felt something jump onto my back. Cold, hard feet dug into my sides, and out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed the reflection of sunlight on steel.

  I rammed backward against the nearest tree trunk, trying to scrape off my unwanted passenger. One celluloid fist yanked my hair, and I reached up, grabbing the doll by the wrist and pulled her out and away, ducking to avoid the knife. I hurled my pint-sized attacker into a nearby pile of rocks and raised my grenade launcher.

  Annabelle was gone.

  She came at me from the side the next time, and I barely twisted out of the way of her knife. Even so, it slashed across my left bicep, but I knew she’d meant to stab me in the chest. Donny came bounding toward us as we went down, and I found myself wrestling with a plastic toy that matched my strength and then some.

  “Watch out for the knife!” I yelled at Donny, knowing that even in his wolf form, his mind remained mostly human.

  Donny slammed into Annabelle, knocking her off me. She scrambled out of reach, fast, and he went to pursue, but she pulled back a branch and let it fly, walloping him across the face, and got away.

  That hellish laughter echoed, seeming to come from everywhere at once and nowhere specific. Donny turned in circles, scenting the air and whining, trying to get a read. Then he spotted something and started to howl. I went to see and found a bit of torn cloth stuck in a jagger bush.

  “You did good,” I told Donny and patted him on the head. I carefully loosened the piece of fabric and smiled as I saw the way to turn the tables.

  Maybe I was going about this all wrong, I thought. Annabelle wasn’t human, and she could make us chase her all day long. We’d tire, she wouldn’t, and she’d get us.

  Or I could make her come to us.

  I found a small clearing and set down a salt ring big enough for Donny and me. Then I found the recording I’d gotten Father Leo to make for me and hit play.

  “Exorcizamos te, omnis immundus spiritus…” His voice began the Latin exorcism, loud in the otherwise quiet forest. It wouldn’t hurt Donny, but if Annabelle really was demonic, it would play holy havoc with whatever dark energy animated her.

  The laughter came again, brittle and shrill. There was no humor in it, only madness and rage.

  “You don’t like that? Then make me stop.” I used my lighter to set fire to the scrap of cloth.

  Annabelle shrieked.

  Donny gave me a look like I was out of my mind. Sometimes, my mouth gets ahead of my brain. But seconds later, Annabelle stepped out of the thicket, and I had my first chance to get a good look at her.

  She had a round face with molded, painted hair and rosy cheeks. Her body had that Campbell Soup Kid pudginess that had been popular back when the Great Depression meant people went hungry. The red and white jumper over a white blouse was grass stained now, and the hem of her skirt was torn. A necklace glinted at her throat. She’d lost one of her black Mary Jane shoes. One hand gr
ipped a knife that was red with my blood.

  Her eyes glowed with crimson fire, something I was pretty sure wasn’t factory-installed.

  “Come and get me, sweet cheeks.”

  Annabelle ran toward us. “Down!” I yelled to Donny, and like a good dog, he dropped to his belly. Covering his head with his paws wasn’t part of the training. I raised my grenade launcher and fired in the same instant the salt ring flared with protective energy, keeping Annabelle from sailing across it and skewering me with her knife.

  The shell hit Annabelle center mass, throwing her back away from the salt circle with enough force to snap the head and limbs from the body. I threw my arm up over my face as the grenade exploded, and suddenly remembered an important detail.

  Celluloid burns like a mofo.

  “Fuck!” I dropped to the ground beside Donny as Annabelle went up in flames that rose six feet into the air, burning so hot I couldn’t look.

  A godawful shriek nearly made my ears bleed, and Donny whimpered in pain since he had far better hearing. Father Leo’s voice was still chanting the exorcism rite on speakerphone as the recording played on. I set the grenade launcher down next to Donny, told him to stay, and drew my Glock, then stepped over the salt line.

  I had my gun aimed at the heart of the fire, in case Annabelle or whatever controlled her rose from the ashes. Just for good measure, I fired a silver round into the scorched and melted doll torso that was rapidly turning into a pile of goo in the middle of the flames. One leg lay a few feet away, and I kicked it into the fire and then did the same for its mate. The arms followed.

  I went looking for the head. Somehow, I feared that if all of Annabelle didn’t burn, we wouldn’t be free of whatever unholy energy possessed her. Then I saw the doll head, lying next to a rock, a few feet away. The blinking eyelids were open, and one of the glass eyes had shattered on impact. No trace of red fire.

  Just as I was about to punt the head into the bonfire, I saw a metallic gleam among the leaves. It was the doll’s necklace, and something about it made me think of the amulet the lamia had worn, although the designs of the two were very different. Since I wasn’t going to touch the damned thing, I used a twig to lift it, then sent the head flying with a satisfying kick. It landed in the fire and sent another plume of flames high into the sky.

  Who the fuck ever thought it was a good idea to give children exploding dolls?

  I carried the necklace back to where Donny waited in the salt circle. He had dared to raise his head, and when he saw me, he let out a mournful howl.

  Since I didn’t want to burn down the woods, I used a container of holy water to douse the flames, then made sure I salted the charred remains and sprinkled iron filings and some colloidal silver over them, just in case.

  “You’re through,” I said to Donny, using the same command I gave Demon when he was free to get up. Donny glared at me but padded out and nuzzled against my leg in a move that was more Labrador than lobo. I reached down and scratched his ears. We both needed a little reassurance, and as long as I thought of Donny as a wolf-dog instead of a person, that totally wasn’t weird at all.

  While I waited to make sure the fire was out, I studied the doll’s necklace. It was in better condition than what we took off the lamia, since it hadn’t been directly in the fire. That might also mean it was still active and dangerous, so I wasn’t about to take any chances.

  The medallion was stamped with a rune made of straight and crooked lines, and I knew I’d seen something like that before, but my brain just wasn’t making the connection. I put it into a lead-lined pouch I carried in my bag for things like this and resolved to go see Father Leo as soon as I dropped Donny off back at the store.

  Once the embers were cool, I bound up the cut on my arm and called Linda to give the all-clear. She sounded so genuinely grateful that I could almost forgive her earlier icy attitude. Donny and I walked back to my truck, and he was bounding and wagging his tail, happy to be alive.

  He was absolutely fuckin’ adorable, and while that had won over Blair and Chiara in his guard dog job, I could just imagine how his behavior went over with the rest of the pack. Shifters, in my opinion, take themselves way too seriously, especially the wolves, who like to strike poses on rocky outcroppings in the moonlight like they’re in some angsty teen love story. I found Donny’s love for life to be refreshing.

  “Come on, buddy,” I said, opening the door for him to climb in. “Let’s go get that Happy Meal, and a vanilla cone to go with it. You’ve been a very good boy.”

  7

  Donny was extremely happy when I dropped him off at Hamilton Hardware. After all, he’d helped track and fight a killer doll and had just wolfed down a burger and fries. Hell, I even held the ice cream cone for him. He deserved it.

  The details of the attacks kept bouncing around in my head. There was a common thread, there had to be, but I was missing it. So when I pulled into the church parking lot, I hoped the good Padre had gained some insight, because I sure as hell hadn’t.

  My phone buzzed before I even got out of the truck. One message was from Chiara and another was from Simon. I’d sent them the photos of the lamia’s necklace.

  Chiara’s text said, “Norse runes. Used by the Vikings and the early Germanic people. Looks like a spell, but translation is iffy.”

  Simon didn’t waste words. “Viking runes, revived usage by the Nazi Thule in Hitler’s quest for occult objects. Appears to be a control spell. Be careful.”

  Nazis. Germans. That was the piece that had been just outside my grasp. The killer doll was German. The runes were Norse/Viking/Germanic. I’d seen runes like that before and should have recognized them, but I just hadn’t made the connection. And Howie at the surplus shop said someone was looking for vintage German stuff.

  Holy shit.

  I checked the time and realized that I could just make it over to Howie’s before closing. I texted Father Leo that I’d be back, in case he wondered why I’d pulled in only to leave again, then I high-tailed it over to the surplus store, and got there right before Howie was ready to lock up.

  “Hey, I have a question about that guy you kicked to the curb, the one looking for old Nazi stuff,” I said.

  Howie gave me the once-over, and I realized that I was covered with grass stains, wolf hair, and mud streaks, my left arm was tied up with a makeshift bandage with blood seeping through, and I probably smelled of smoke and burnt plastic. I quickly brushed a hand through my hair, in case there were twigs or leaves stuck in it.

  He sighed. “Anybody but you, Mark, and I’d tell them to take a hike. C’mon in. Does this have to do with your side job?”

  Good thing I wasn’t a superhero, because I apparently sucked at having a secret identity. Then again, if I hadn’t told Howie what I did, with how often I bought cases of combat knives, he probably would have turned me in to the feds.

  “Yeah. And there’s a chance that guy has something to do with it. What do you remember about him?”

  Howie went back behind the counter, his home away from home. He leaned back against the wall. “Guy was in his thirties, bodybuilder type. White. Of course, white—looking for Nazi shit. Wore a goddamn Death’s Head ring, can you believe it? But he didn’t look like those skinheads on TV. No shaved head, wasn’t wearing biker leathers, not tatted up, at least, what I could see.” He frowned. “Except one, on the inside of his wrist.”

  “Do you remember what it looked like?”

  Howie nodded. “Yeah. Didn’t think it was much of a tattoo, to tell you the truth. Just a bunch of lines.” He grabbed a pen and drew several of the Viking runes I’d seen on the amulets. He slid the paper across the glass, and I pocketed it.

  “Any idea what kind of vintage stuff he was looking for?”

  Howie snorted. “He wanted anything that came from Wewelsburg.”

  “All I know in German is ‘sauerkraut’ and that Oktoberfest drinking song,” I replied. “What’s the big deal about Weeblesburg?”


  “Ever see that Raiders of the Lost Ark movie? The part about Hitler collecting witchy stuff was true. Bought a whole castle to store it in and remodeled the place with all kinds of creepy shit. And the castle was Wewelsburg.”

  “Did the guy happen to give you any way to contact him—before you threw him out?” This was all suddenly worse than weird random monster shit.

  Howie snorted. “Yeah. I threw it away.”

  My panic must have shown in my face. I had no way to trace the guy who was probably our best bet to be the puppet master.

  “Good thing I don’t empty the bin up here much,” Howie said, with a grin like he’d just pulled a fast one on me. He bent down and picked up a small waste can, digging through crumpled receipts and some mummified orange peelings. Howie retrieved a stained and slightly damp card and handed it over. I’d never been so grateful that he didn’t chew tobacco. Despite the abuse it had suffered, the plain card was still readable.

  “Abel Hendricks.” There was a phone number and an email, but no street address. Still, the card was the lead I needed.

  “Thanks, Howie. If the guy’s ever dumb enough to come back, call me, okay? And be careful—he could be dangerous.”

  “Already knew he was dangerous. He’s a Nazi-lover, ain’t he?”

  I let Howie get back to closing up shop and pocketed the card, then headed back to the truck. Before I started driving, I called Chiara and gave her Hendrick’s name and info, to see what she could hack. Then I filled Simon in on the connection to the Weevils castle and asked for what he could find out about Nazi witches. For good measure, I texted a photo of the doll’s necklace and Hendrick’s tat to both of them. I also picked up a couple of pizzas and headed for the rectory to see Father Leo. I had the feeling we were in for a long night, and that it wouldn’t be long before Hendricks made his next move.

  I’d barely caught Father Leo up to speed before the phone calls started.

  “Mark, what did you do to Donny?” Chiara asked. “He’s being squirrellier than usual, which is saying something. Blair said something about having to take him to the vet’s, and he locked himself in the bathroom. What gives? He need a rabies shot?”