by Michael West
Kim knelt down, trying not to look at the old man’s half-eaten corpse. The smell of blood conspired with the thick, musty stench of the corner to roll her stomach. She retched, pressed her mouth and nose against her wrist, and choked back her rising nausea.
You can do this, she told herself. You have to!
She slammed her eyes shut, seeing Tashima and Joss there in the dark, seeing Shelly and Mr. Harvey and who knew how many other imprisoned souls; everyone counting on her. She reached out, blindly feeling the overalls. The denim was cold ... sticky. At last she found what she was looking for. Her fingers wormed inside the pocket, touched the metal ring and slid it free. When she heard the jingle of keys, she exhaled and opened her eyes.
Part of her expected the dead body to reach up and grab her hand, try to pry the keyring from her bloodied fingers. It didn’t. There was no life left in that shell, no consciousness. All of that was behind her, gently squeezing her shoulder, telling her it was time to leave this place of death.
Kim stood and moved away, making quick steps toward the open doorway and the hall beyond. Shelly and Harvey were still at her sides, still feeding her strength. They turned into the hallway and saw three men in suits coming for them.
Actually, only two of the men wore suits, one gray, one blue. The third man, the one standing between the other two, was dressed in a black tuxedo with tails, his diamond cufflinks gleaming in the overhead light.
They were grinning, their mouths filled with yellowing teeth.
Shelly tugged at Kim’s shoulder, trying to pull her back.
Kim glanced at her, saw the fear in her glowing face. The woman’s eyes were locked on the man in the blue suit.
“You should be down in the box office, Shelly,” he told her, then his hollow eyes moved to Kim. “We have people who want tickets.”
For an instant, Kim thought she saw a shotgun in the man’s hands, thought his head was gone above his jaw, the lower teeth attempting to smile despite their missing mates from above; his blue suit suddenly painted red. When she blinked, however, the vision was gone. The man’s hands were folded neatly in front of his clean, pressed jacket; face intact, sunken eyes fixed on hers.
Kim realized who the man was and reached up to cover Shelly’s hand with her own. “It’s okay. Hold on. He can’t hurt you anymore.”
Delbert King chuckled at that.
The man in the gray suit looked to Harvey. “And you, Wilber.” He shook his head. “Son, I expected more from a veteran employee like yourself.”
“Gentlemen,” the man in the tux began, “it appears our staff needs more discipline.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” said King, his sunken eyes back on Shelly.
And then their faces changed. Lips split and peeled away. Yellowed teeth elongated and sharpened into daggers. Dark eyes shriveled and disappeared down the wells of bottomless sockets. Flesh melted from hands, leaving long, bony fingers hooked into claws. The monsters opened their jaws and hanging strings of spittle rode ear-splitting screeches.
Kim felt her foot lift off the floor, felt it start to move backward, but she halted the move. These creatures were just like Anna’s father. Dark scarecrows. Hideous puppets. Mist and shadow. Nothing more. She released Shelly’s hand and grabbed the crucifix that hung from her neck, feeling the metal hum, feeling her bones sing.
“Move out of our way,” Kim told the dark specters.
The managers paid no attention to her words. They jerked forward, their fangs and clawed hands menacing.
“I said move!” Kim yelled, and the ghouls shrank from the massive, powerful voice that boomed from her lips. “Now!”
The ethereal flames surrounding her flared and a ring of blue fire shot forward, striking the managers, pushing them back.
Kim glanced at Shelly and Mr. Harvey, one hand still on her necklace, the other on the ring of keys. “We’re leaving. Do you believe that?”
Shelly squeezed Kim’s shoulder. “Yes.”
“Lead the way,” Harvey said.
They moved forward, Kim taking one deliberate step after another. The manager-things bellowed with anger and frustration, but they were helpless to stop their march. The creatures scratched at them, moldy claws passing harmlessly through their glowing bodies. Another ring of fire erupted, and the creatures seemed to melt from its heat, dissolving into black blobs of sludge that sank quickly into the floor, becoming just another set of stains in the soiled carpet, leaving them alone.
No, not quite.
Kim’s stunned eyes fixed on the thing that stood at the end of the hall. It wore Burke’s familiar face, but she knew it wasn’t her professor. She sensed it, the demon within; the wolf in man’s clothing, covered in blood from head to toe as if he’d bathed in it.
My, what big eyes you have ...
They’d gone black, vacant and soulless, bulging from their hollowed sockets to leer at her with murderous rage.
What big teeth ...
They were clenched together, surrounded by thin, cracked lips. A fat drop of saliva ran down from the corner of the thing’s mouth and hung from its chin on a long, thin string.
The thing came at her.
Burke’s prim British accent was gone. This voice was deeper. Powerful. “All the better to eat you with, bitch.”
It held a knife in one hand.
40
When the auditorium lights came on, Tashima wished she’d been left in the dark.
The gargoyles surrounded her. They clung to the backs of the remaining seats, ready to pounce, their golden claws and fangs gleaming. They stood sentinel at the ends of rows. One of the metal demons crouched at the base of the aisle, horned head lowered like a steer about to charge.
They all stared at her; motionless, inert.
Tashima slowly rose to her knees and crawled across the floor to Joss, her eyes darting from one member of the metallic horde to the next; afraid she would glimpse a sudden rush of movement too late. “Don’t worry, Joss. It’s going to be okay. I’m gonna get you outta here.”
No answer.
“Joss?” She dared to look down and saw him lying still on the bed of fallen chairs; hands on his bloodied chest, eyes on the nearest gargoyle.
“Is it over?” he asked, fear and pain pulling at his face.
His answer came quickly.
The horned statue at the end of the aisle bolted forward, its joints shrieking as it moved.
Tashima grabbed one of the folded metal seats off the floor beside her and scrambled to her feet. The chair was heavy, awkward, but if she could swing it hard enough ...
The golden demon reached out for her as it ran; its sculpted fingernails were long, deadly ice picks aimed at her heart. She could not believe its speed, it seemed to accelerate as it neared. The screech of its movement was almost deafening.
Tashima swung her chair across the width of the aisle and struck the gargoyle’s cheek with the clang of a huge gong. Its head caved until its left eye hid behind its right and its malicious grin became a twisted grimace. It was knocked onto its shoulder, skidding across the concrete, igniting sparks.
Tashima held up the cinema chair, feeling its weight tug at her wrists and forearms.
They’re hollow, like empty Coke cans.
The damaged creature got to its feet and lunged at her a second time.
Tashima swung the seat again, slicing air, hammering the gargoyle’s neck. The thin metal crumpled and the statue fell to the floor with the chair still pinched between its pitted head and shoulder.
She released her grip before the ruined creature could pull her over, her off-balance body stumbling into the row, her unbelieving eyes watching in amazement as the abomination writhed on the soiled carpet, clawing at the chair, trying in vain to grab hold of it and pry it free.
Tashima quickly grabbed another folded seat off the pile and held it up as if it were a Samurai sword, her stare moving from one demon to the next, her hands shaking from the strain, from the fear.
Joss cried out, “Behind you!”
She whirled around, clubbed the advancing gargoyle with her chair, flattened its head.
It fell backward, blindly clawing at the air.
From her right, another living statue tore at her with its claws, ripping through her shirt and drawing blood from her side.
“Motherfucker!” Tashima swung and her chair catapulted the metal beast backward. “How you like that?”
Two more monsters leapt forward. She swiped at them, a murderous expression on her face. Her chair caught one in the chest, batting it into the second. Both fell to the floor with a loud crash.
“Come on!” she screamed at the sculptures, trying to sound fearless, a performance worthy of the giant screen at the foot of the aisle. “That all you got, you fucking toasters?”
One of the gargoyles leapt off the armrest of a nearby seat. Caught off guard, Tashima lifted her leg and kicked it in the nose, feeling a throbbing pain in her foot as the statue fell back.
Metal claws seized Joss, locked around his ankle, pulled him back toward the screen. He screamed out at the top of his lungs, his shrill voice barely audible above the shrieking joints of his attacker. His arms were flailing.
Tashima took one hand off her battered chair, grabbed Joss by the wrist, and tugged hard, adrenalin providing added strength. “Get off of him, you gold fuck!”
The gargoyle’s grip slipped.
She gave another hard yank and Joss’ leg came free of his shoe.
The metal monster lost its footing, fell backward onto stiff, sculpted wings; legs pedaling an invisible bike, clawed hands still clutching Joss’ empty white Nike.
Walls blurred by Tashima as she rushed the auditorium doors. She caught a glimpse of a gargoyle on her left just as it leapt off an armrest, its face and wings buried beneath a gossamer curtain of spiderweb. It missed them completely, rolling down the aisle, and Tashima kept moving, kept dragging Joss toward the exit.
She slammed into the swinging doors and they parted effortlessly. Tashima pulled Joss into the lobby, hauling him across the foyer tile, her eyes still on the auditorium, watching the doors flap closed, waiting for their pursuers to burst out and continue their attack.
When she glanced down at Joss, Tashima saw his eyes pinched shut against the pain, heard him groan through clenched teeth.
“Hold on, babe,” she whispered to him. “Almost there.”
She reached the main entrance, dropped her battle-dented chair, and fumbled with the door handle. It was locked.
“Shit.”
Tashima glanced back across her shoulder. The auditorium doors remained shut. The lobby was empty. But for how long? She pulled Joss over to the other entrance and found them latched as well.
“Fuck!”
She kicked the glass hard enough to fracture it, but the board on the opposite side was unforgiving. She looked down at Joss and saw his eyes roll back in his head, his eyelids fluttering closed as he passed out. Tashima kicked the glass again, feeling her foot throb.
“Kim!”
She ran over to the scuffed, dented cinema chair, picked it up again and swung it into the door glass with all of her might. The etched pane shattered, raining shards. She swung again, hammering plywood, the metal seat vibrating in her sore hands. The nails weren’t budging.
“God dammit!”
Tashima dropped the seat and pounded on the wood with her fists, pounded with rage, pounded with frustration, pounded with fear, then she crumpled to the floor beside Joss and began to cry.
The sounds of a scuffle.
She jerked her head up and her tear-blurred eyes rushed to the auditorium doors.
No.
They came from upstairs, from the hall; a loud slap, then someone crashing into a wall like a wrecking ball while a stranger, a woman, cried out, “Stop! Don’t hurt her! Please! We’ll do whatever you say, just please, don’t hurt Kim!”
41
Tyler Bachman sat in the passenger seat, watching an unfamiliar country road unspool beneath the glare of headlights. He glanced over at the driver’s side, at Perry. The detective had been silent since leaving the fire station, perhaps still mulling over everything they’d told him. If the man was panicked in any way, he let none of it show; drove the speed limit, lights and siren off.
Maybe this isn’t the way to the Woodfield at all. Maybe it’s just the scenic route to the police station. He’ll stick us in an interrogation room and try to get us to recant, change our story to something more believable, more rational.
Tyler didn’t think that was a likely scenario, but no matter how hard he tried; he could not seem to shake the idea.
He looked over his shoulder. Robby was back there, slumped to one side, slumbering in his shoulder harness. The road was a minefield of potholes, but the occasional bounce and thud did not seem to bother him in the least. A folder full of exorcism notes lay on the seat next to him, the red-bound Bible weighing it down.
Tyler’s eyes moved to the silver G & R flask in his own hands. There was water within, blessed by a Catholic priest, meant for a demon. He shook his head in disbelief. There were a few dozen questions he wanted to ask, but one seemed more pressing than any of the others.
“Do you believe us, Detective?”
Perry blinked at him. “I’m taking you to the theater, aren’t I?”
“But do you believe?”
“Do I think there’s a demon on the loose?”
“Well, yeah. Do you?”
“Would it bother you if I share some observations I’ve made about you and Sleeping Beauty back there?”
“That depends.”
“On ...?”
“On if you think we’re nuts.”
“Not at all. You’ve both had some strange experiences, seen things you couldn’t explain, especially you, Doctor. You’re normally a rational man, but this business with the Woodfield has hit you particularly hard, made you re-think things you previously considered fantastic.”
“Yes.”
“How much do you know about this old theater?”
“Just what Robby’s told me.”
“Well, let’s just say that the place has a bit of a reputation.”
“And not a good one, from what I gathered.”
“You asked me if I believed in this supernatural business.” Perry shrugged, as if it made no difference what he thought personally. “I think there’s no harm in what you’re planning to do.”
“No harm.” Tyler took his right hand off the metal flask and rubbed it down the back of his knee, wiping away clamminess. “Then why am I scared out of my mind?”
The detective smiled. “It’s been my experience that a little fear is a good thing. It’s our first line of defense. Helps to keep us alert.”
Tyler nodded. “How far away is it?”
“Not far. A few more minutes.”
Tyler gazed out the passenger window. The road rose and fell as it twisted through a heavily wooded area north of town, a few houses scattered in amongst the trees. He saw a ranch home with Christmas lights still outlining its gutters and shook his head, wondering if they left them up all year long.
His thoughts turned suddenly to Kim, wondering where she was, hoping she was safe and sound.
From the backseat came a low snarl.
Robby had begun to snore.
42
The Burke-thing rushed forward, teeth bared, graying hair matted in clots. Its dark eyes burned with malicious intent. And in its blood-soaked hand, the box cutter; slashing at the air, flinging tiny red drops onto the walls and floor in every direction.
“Thought you were going to steal them away from me, didn’t you, you thieving cunt? Wasn’t that your little plan all along?”
Kim was tempted to back away, but instead, she stood her ground, one hand on her crucifix necklace, the other on the key ring. Her he
art was racing, but Shelly and Mr. Harvey were with her, feeding her strength. Her mind replayed her encounter with Anna’s monstrous father, reminded her of the ghost knife that passed harmlessly through her arm. Just a shadow, she told herself. It can’t hurt me. It can’t.
“Oh, but it can,” the Burke-thing assured her, still grinning. “It can do that and more.” Then the hand that held the box cutter sliced at Kim’s face, missing her nose by less than an inch, and the demon’s other arm collided with her chest, knocking her free of the spirits’ touch, sending her smashing against the wall.
Kim fought to regain the breath the blow had stolen from her lungs. Air wheezed down her throat, full of broken glass. She winced, coughed up scarlet spittle, and knew she must have broken a rib.
The demon stalked toward her, its blade gleaming in the dim glow of the overhead light.
“Whore,” the thing spat through its wide grin. “They used to stone little sluts like you, little cunting whores, little bitches spawning more little bitches.”
Kim had somehow managed to hold onto the keys, but her crucifix had been jarred free of her grasp. She reached up for it, longing for its power, its strength, and found the sting of the demon’s box cutter instead. The blade sliced its way across her fingers, parting the skin just below her right knuckles; fresh blood warmed the back of her hand. She held her hand out in front of her stunned eyes, watched red rivers flow, felt her stomach slowly sink down a deep well, leaving her hollow and cold.
“Like a stuck pig,” the demon said and it chuckled hoarsely.
This wasn’t like Anna’s father at all, Kim realized too late. Burke was no phantom. He was flesh and bone, and the blade he held was just as real.
Tears welled in Kim’s eyes. The walls seemed to stretch and shrink as if the corridor were breathing. She reached out for the wall, trying to orient herself, and left a perfect red handprint on the cracked and peeling paint. She couldn’t see the spirits, Shelly or Mr. Harvey, couldn’t see her friends, Kevin or Joss. For a moment, she thought she heard Tashima, cursing and calling out her name, but the voice was far-off, muted. She’d been abandoned, left to gasp and bleed her life away in this dank, forgotten hall.
