Out There: A Rural Horror Story

by Cademon Bishop

  The Closest Thing To Hell

  “What!” James said, banging his drink into the table with a room silencing clank. “Who are ya, just-” Jame’s jowls let out a dog-like huff. “You some criminal. Hell, why we doin’ this interview. What kinda thief would want to know about town. You should… no, no!”

  A hefty man in aviators and a sports coat swiveled from the bar. He swayed a finger to the beat of a country tune from a jukebox in the back corner of the bar. A half-empty mug of beer swayed by his pistol holster as he ambled forward.

  “Hey, no need to get in a tangle,” Harvey said. He raised his hands out and shrugged. “I just work for the paper. I have no idea what mister Hale is even talking about. All I’m-”

  The man leaned a beefy arm on the table. “Hey Hale,” The man slid a pack of Chesterfield’s out the front pocket of his button up. “This man causing you trouble? We can lock em up for a few.”

  “Lock him up! Davidson I-” Mayor hale motioned for Davidson to lean in, “this man ain’t from here…”

  Harvey tried to slip out of the booth, but Davidson pushed him back down. “Ay, hold it.” Davidson said, hand still on Harvey’s chest. “Say, ya born and raised here, right? Hale’s probably hittin’ his years.”

  The mayor turned and squinted at Davidson, “Now Officer I- I don’t.”

  “Hale, chill it for a bit, go grab a drink.” Davidson waved him off. The mayor muttered something incomprehensible as he waddled away.

  Davidson pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and let it rest between his fingers. He took all the time in the world as he did so. He flashed a grin at Harvey as he took in his first puff. Harvey saw his own face in the man’s silver-rimmed aviators.

  “Ya from here?” Davidson asked. “Born up in Gales Medical like every one of us. Hell, I bet ya learned to drive down North Main, right?”

  Harvey smiled, “You know as well as I do that those places don’t exist.”

  Davidson hissed and turned away, “Shit… ya are from here.” Harvey nodded. He knew nothing about the hospital but he sure as hell knew about interrogation. “You remember anythin’ about last election.”

  Harvey paused, then remembered his conversation with the mayor, “We haven’t had an election in a good while.”

  Davidson muttered something under his breath, “Right, why don’t ya empty out ya pockets before I let ya go.” Harvey placed his wallet, a pen, a nickel, and a hotel key out on the table—keeping his pistol between his knees.

  The officer stood up, scanned around Harvey’s seat, and patted his pockets, “You didn’t bring a gun?” he asked while studying the hotel key. Harvey’s heart jumped as Davidson picked up his wallet. Davidson’s eyes widened, he sat back down and propped his gun on the table.

  Harvey froze as he tried to form an escape plan, “I… okay, I’m with the FBI.”

  “Oh, so we gotta big shot in this town? You know what happens to shits like you who come strollin’ into our town.” Davidson cocked his pistol. “We were told not to allow outsiders round these parts under any circumstances. Guess what that means?”

  Harvey smiled. The man forgot one of the most important things. Always keep your eye on the ball. Harvey put his hands on his lap.

  Davidson waved at the bartender, “Ay Chelsy call the station.” Harvey leaned forward and grabbed his pistol as Davidson looked towards the bar. “Tell em we finally got some fresh meat… Now what your gonna do is hang tight, we’ll lock ya up, and maybe, just maybe, we’ll let you out.”

  “You all do not understand what you’re talking about. The higher government just took over my mission. I’m a part of you all. You kill me, and you’ll get in trouble.”

  “Weird… we ain’t got word of that yet. Don’t bullshit me, just sit tight, and we will get this all sorted out.” Davidson bobbed his gun to the beat of a song from the jukebox and hummed along with it, “Hmmmm hmm, hmm, hm. Ya feelin’ this song?”

  Harvey listened close and hummed alongside Davidson.

  “Ay hey, look at you gettin’ rhythm.” Davidson’s gun rose at every snare hit.

  “I’m feeling it.” Harvey tapped his foot at the beat, waiting for the right hit.

  “Chelsy, turn that shit up!” The music filled the room. Davidson took another drag of his cigarette. “You like Johnny Cash?” He asked in a haze of exhale.

  “Just sounds like a man and a guitar to me.”

  “Well, if you boil down like that, then you can’t enjoy much. To me, there’s a kinda peace to it.” Davidson’s barrel bobbed.

  Harvey shot on a beat.

  Davidson’s mouth quivered. Harvey slid out of the booth. A man with buzzed hair rose out of his seat and marched towards the front door. Davidson limped to the left from his booth and shot towards Harvey. His shaking hand missed and busted a neon “open” sign in a spray of sparks. Four people and the mayor fled.

  Three others stayed.

  A tan man in a denim jacket popped his knuckles. Harvey dipped back. He grabbed the bathroom doorknob and slipped in. A bullet passed through the top of the door, missing his left shoulder. The bathroom had a smell that only a bar bathroom could have. Soap, piss, smoke, all the works.

  Harvey bolted the door lock. There was a single toilet and a metal-framed window near the ceiling of the back wall. Sirens flashed vivid red and blue lights outside the window. He ducked behind the toilet. Another bullet whizzed past and shattered the window above him.

  “Open up fucker!” A gravelly voice called as someone banged on the door. Harvey saw an eyeball fill the second bullet hole. “The rat’s hidin’!”

  “Kick it in!” another voice called, “Runnin’ away is only makin’ it worse.”

  “Give it up!” The gravelly voice returned. The door shook as a man heaved his foot into the door. Harvey tried to pull back the window, but the metal frame only bent and warped. A piece of glass along the frame sliced his hand. The man heaved his foot again, but only placed a small dent in the center of the door.

  “Sir, this is the Joselean Springs Police, open this goddamn door and put your hands up.”

  Harvey heard two sharp cracks behind the door. The first bullet struck the toilet, shattered the bowl, causing an unending gush of water. Shards of porcelain floated like boats in unfortunate rapids. Harvey wasn’t sure where the second bullet landed.

  Then he felt it.

  He saw a hole in his wrist—pain rushed up to his hand, “Agh! SHIT!” He gasped as he clinched the nail sized hole in his arm. A trail of blood drizzled in the swirl of toilet water. The door flung open, knocking a hole in the drywall.

  The gravelly voiced man was a police officer in full uniform, “Boy, you done it now.” He was about to fire once more when someone shouted from the front of the bar.

  “Ground Support 1848. We have been ordered by the Pentagon to seize control of Joselean Springs, do not retaliate, we will use force!”

  Harvey dipped into the other side of the bathroom as a shot echoed behind the bathroom door.

  “Pentagon my As-” Shots peppered the bathroom door. Harvey couldn’t see any bullets fly through the man, only a body splash onto the restroom’s tiled floor. Blood flowed from the bullet-torn officer, clouding the water on the bathroom floor. Harvey walked over the body and watched two bar patrons dash towards the soldier. The one with the shaved hair said nothing as he pulled in for a punch. The soldier responded with a shot.

  A man with a crew-cut tossed a glass toward the soldier. The man flung another bottle. The soldier shot it in the air like a clay pigeon. The man grabbed two more bottles and hulled them the way a juggler tossing bowling pins. The soldier ducked one bottle and shot the other into a million sparkling brown shards.

  “Sir, please do not resist further, or I will use force. The police have been updated as to-”

  Crew-cut flung a green bottle. Crash. The man ducked behind the counter and grabbed unopened bottles behind the booth. He thew them in a mad frenzy. A bourbon bottle exploded b
rown liquid as it struck a table. Vodka and glass sprayed across the framed photos on the front wall. Liquor and shrapnel coated the ground.

  “Sir I’ll ask you one last time do not-”

  The man hurled a bottle of Smirnoff at the soldier’s head. Snap; Bang. The soldier shot crew-cut in the shoulder. Drops of blood flicked onto the mirror as the man staggered back and plunged to his knees.

  “Harvey S. Becket,” the soldier called.

  Harvey stepped forward; his hands shook in the air. “Here, do-don-don’t shoot!”

  “If you would kindly follow me, we will head out towards our base. Sergeant Stockwell wishes to speak with you,” The soldier glanced at the ground; his gun limped in his hand as he squinted at something by the front wall. His tactical gear jangled as he dashed towards Harvey. “We need to leave now!” He caught Harvey with one arm and yanked him out.

  “Now, what the hell is going on?” Harvey’s question was answered as he watched flames flood the alcohol-soaked floor. He gripped his wounded arm as he fled from the building. A line of bottles popped in a drum line succession. Fire rushed from the windows in a silent explosion. He heard screaming and then remembered. The third man was still in there. The man dashed out. Flames licked the entirety of their body. The person tried to pat around his body as if it would help the fire die down. He collapsed into the gravel—an orange light in the dark.

  Harvey knew the man was beyond saving. He watched flames devour the roof, he’d seen destruction like this his entire life. All color was sucked from the night, leaving only white, orange, and black. He saw the skeleton of the building prod from the roof. The ceiling collapsed as they entered the jet-black army vehicle. Harvey watched the reflection in the car's glossy door. Embers spewed like confetti as the roof tiles fluttered inward.

  Harvey glanced at the right mirror and watched the building fade.

  The military base looked like a state fair. Rows of white tents glowed in the field. Sturdy RVs surrounded the camp, and a dozen men walked between the tents. Six towering spotlights lit the camp as if it were a stadium.

  The soldier stepped forth and gestured him into a tent on the right.

  “Dr. Manson?” the soldier stood in formation next to Harvey as he spoke to the doctor in the tent. “One of our men has been shot.”

  “Let me see.” Dr. Manson slipped on her thin-rimmed glasses. Harvey held out his wrist, “OH that, jeez, I’ll see that this gets patched up.” She guided Harvey over to a stretcher.

  Harvey looked at all of the doctor’s assorted instruments and grimaced, “How much is this going to hurt?”

  “Not much while your under.” Dr. Manson shot something into Harvey’s arm. Harvey faded into darkness.

  It felt as though Harvey blinked, and a second later, his arm was wound together. He lifted his head up to see his left arm wrapped in a tight white wrap.

  “Ah, Harvey… is that right?”

  “Correct.” Harvey said as his eyes struggled to adjust to the light.

  “Good, good…” Dr. Manson’s face was in a manila folder as she scribbled across some paperwork. “You should be able to see Sergeant Stockwell in a few minutes.” She prodded at Harvey’s wrist. “Does this hurt?”

  “Ah, SHIT!”

  “I’m assumin’ that’s a yes.” Manson gave light tugs to the end of each finger and posed each ligament as if Harvey were an action figure.

  Harvey turned away at the pain. Someone familiar lay on the cot beside him. Harvey’s eyes took a second to adjust as he tried to piece together who it was. He caught sight of the man’s denim jacket, his camo baseball cap, his T-shirt with a skull with roses on it, and patch on his jacket which said ‘Red Acres Inc.’ The semi-truck driver, Al, rested in the bed next to him. A large bandage stuck beside his ear. Harvey slipped out the playing card Al gave him when he first got here.

  “AL Bellisario?”

  Al woke up with a cough, then squinted at Harvey, “Well shit, if it ain’t, uh, Harley.”

  “Harvey. So, what’s got you stuck in here?”

  Al swiveled upright on his cot, “I saw someone needed savin’, so I tried to help. Ended up smackin’ the back of my truck into a telephone pole. My head smacked the window. I managed to get to the hospital, then the army picked me up and are repairin’ me and my truck. What got you here?”

  “I got shot trying to interrogate, then this soldier came over.”

  “You should be good to go.” The Doctor grabbed two pills bottles off a foldout table. “Now listen, unwrap and wash that thing morning and night with water and don’t you dare think about using alcohol or hydrogen peroxide, that’ll slow it down.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Harvey rose like a waking mummy. Dr. Manson gave a quick call to the soldier outside. The soldier helped Harvey pivot off the table. Harvey clung around the soldier’s broad shoulder and waved to Al as he shuffled to a central tent at the end of the rows. His feet occasionally limped, making him look like a marionette controlled by a soldier.

  Sergeant Stockwell emerged between the tent’s curtains, “I’m glad you’re finally here.” His Rolex watch glinted under his suit cuff as him and Harvey shook. “Now, I know this may have been sudden, but the Pentagon ordered that we send our entire operations here.”

  “Why did the police here think I was some threat?”

  “They were told to not allow anyone from outside in. Word didn’t get around, I guess. You still on your mission?”

  Harvey slid his free hand into his pocket. “I’m still searching for the devil, I mean target.”

  “Devil, weird choice of name, but not far off… could you step in for a second?” The two slid inside the tent, a brash white light filled the room as a construction lamp lit a foldout table. A white arcade booth sized machine stood inside the tent. “Would you happen to know about this?” Stockwell trailed a finger on the blanket dust over the machines screen. A map of Joselean Springs in the center of the monitor.

  On the left had bar filled up to 76%, and the top had a row of seven squares, each showing a different date and weather. A colony of red dots pulsed in the dead center of the map. Harvey nodded, “You’re not going to believe me, but there’s an entire platoon of these demons.”

  “A platoon? How big?”

  “Thirty…”

  Stockwell froze, “You sure?”

  “I mean, that’s my low-ball estimate. There was probably more.”

  “Fuck!” Stockwell swept his papers off his desk. “Goddamn! Shit!” He made an obscene verbal trail as he stormed out of the tent. Harvey slipped out. He could see a line of soldiers all peeking out of their canopies, a couple of them swiveled their heads in a nonverbal, ‘are you seein’ this shit?’ gesture. The Sergeant walked over to one of the armored RVs and gave it a swift kick. A hollow thud drummed thought the RV. “Bitch, Ass, Shit!” Harvey stifled a chuckle as Stockwell made a few hops holding his foot and shouted something unintelligible, then he stumbled back to the pavilion. The audience of soldiers vanished into their tents. “Crap,” he whispered under his breath. “It’s fine. The pressure meter was incredibly high. I should have known-SHIT!” He slammed a fist into the side of the machine. The screen flickered in response.

  “What are those things?”

  “They’re beings from hell! And somehow, it’s gotten worse, everything has gotten worse. I told them we should have come a year earlier.”

  “How did it get worse?” Harvey asked.

  “I don’t know. God! It’s hard to explain. I thought it was a glitch. I told them to send a bigger group. They didn’t want the news to spread because why the hell not, but, as we have seen from the console, things are much worse.”

  “Will the whole place explode when that thing reaches 100?”

  “We don’t know! Why don’t you go out and ask the demons? We don’t know! We’re just here with little to no explanation.”

  Harvey glanced at the arcade machine shaped computer, “What is this machine for?”
/>
  Stockwell rested his head in his hand, “We built those things about fifteen years ago. They read an electromagnetic energy, I don’t know the specs of it, some wiz-kid fixed all those up by turning them to some energy around here. I think his name was Dylan, no, Donny?”

  “Donald?” Harvey said.

  “Yeah, Donald. He’s around here somewhere. We got three people to agree on keeping guard on this town and watch these three machines we built. One of the men died, the other two just kinda stopped caring about it. The last response we got was from a week ago. It was the first one in almost four years.”

  Harvey looked at the trampled tarp-covered ground, “Thanks for sharing all of this. Is Donald nearby?”

  “Hang on. What news do you have?” Stockwell opened a small red cooler from under a foldout table and brought out two beers. “I didn’t bring you here so I could give you a talk and then smack your ass on out.” Stockwell slid a beer across a spray of papers.

  Harvey snatched the bottle, “Well, all I got is that central hole and some person who is rumored to be the devil.”

  “Let me see him!” Stockwell said.

  “I don’t have the paper with me, but,” Harvey explained all the details he could from the paper to Stockwell.

  “You sure they have the target right,” Stockwell rubbed his short, trimmed hair. “I was expecting someone, I don’t know, bigger?” Harvey shrugged and said that was all he had.

  The two shared a few more beers, talked about their difference in work, what it was like in the Pentagon, and-

  “Say, you gotta wife,” Stockwell mused. His speech slurring. In the middle of their conversation, or rather water cooler chat for lack of a better word, Stockwell pulled out a bottle of Southern Comfort.

  “Nope, can’t say I’ve ever had much luck with women.”

  “Ahh, cheer up!” Stockwell lifted himself a foot out of his chair and smacked Harvey on the shoulder, “you’ll get er someday; it’s the girl, you know… Get her one day.”

  “Yeah? Sure…” Harvey’s mind retreated towards Debbie. He hardly knew her, but that didn’t stop the memories of her from shotgunning through his heart. Stop it, just stop… don’t be a baby, toughen up, Harvey thought. she’s just one person, you killed her, you, you forced yourself on her. Practically assaulted and killed someone. How does it feel, huh, you finally admitted it? I didn’t… I did neither of those things. Sure, what’s left of it is nothing, but you did both when you put it together, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up. Harvey got up from his chair, hesitated, then sat right back down. “Hey, Stockwell, before I leave, I had something I wanted to ask you?”