by C R Langille
Growing up with her dad, a Western movie buff, she had spent many afternoons watching Clint Eastwood and John Wayne movie marathons. Her father would pop some popcorn on the stove, then they would settle into their worn leather couch and watch for hours. Her dreams were full of desert vistas, six-guns, and “Leone-esque” standoffs—extreme closeups, squinting eyes, and crazy ballads to crank up the tension.
Driving through the landscape heading toward Canyon Shadows reminded her of a lot of those movies. However, the closer she got to town, the more things felt “off.” The rocks, while still red, were almost too red, blood-like. The clouds that loomed in the distance spoke in hushed tones, threatening storms or worse. Even inside her car with the A/C kicked up, the air felt electrified. Perhaps it was her nerves. Perhaps it was how Garrett sounded on the phone that put her on edge.
She met Garrett a few years back when he and his wife came to town to examine some old paintings. Allison had helped him identify the authentic ones from the fake ones, and they became good friends. Trisha became her best friend and confidant, and during their extended stay in Phoenix, they were almost inseparable. Many times, Garrett tried to interrupt them with questions regarding the origin or authenticity of a certain piece, only to have Trisha hold up her finger and give him the “Allison and I are talking, go play with your old things” look. The thought made Allison smile.
She remembered how over the following years, they found reasons to come out to Arizona or have her come to California, or even to a site Garrett was working, to evaluate an object, carbon date something, or give a second opinion. Allison found herself becoming an expert on all things old, not just Native American artifacts.
She fell in love with their daughter, Madeline. Allison loved the fact that they called her Mad Maddie, and every time she visited or talked on the phone, Allison would tell her, “I’m the rocker!” to which Mad Maddie would reply, “I’m the roller!” Then, they would both yell, “I’m the out-of-controller!”
Her skin tingled, and something in her gut wound tight around her core, tickling her spine. Something was wrong. She started to chew on her red hair.
She had cut her hair short several months ago to try and keep up with current styles and to try and break herself of the habit of chewing on it. However, it had grown back with enough length that she could fit the ends in her mouth and mindlessly gnaw her stress away. She vowed never to cut it that short again. She told her friends it made her look too much like a boy with her angular features and hawk-like nose.
She let an out an emotional sigh and turned up the volume on the radio. She would be in Canyon Shadows soon enough, and she would help Garrett any way she could.
Chapter Twelve
August 20th, 1180
We crossed a great river, and even though the landscape was similar, we had a sense of entering new territory. Our brush with the locals had left us on edge, and we were most thankful to move onward in relative peace.
Sir Geoffrey’s ailment seems to be affecting some of the others. Not two nights ago, I relieved Sir Brian from the watch. As I came upon him in the darkness, I could hear him talking to someone; I swear I heard him mention his guest by name—Gilbert.
If memory serves true, Gilbert was Brian’s father who died a year ago from infection. When questioned, Sir Brian was reticent and quickly made his way back to camp.
The air here is dry yet buzzing, and the heat brings hardship to the body. We are familiar with such heat, similar to the dry lands of Outremer, but this foreign land, coupled with the events which have transpired as of late, are taking their toll upon us. I pray for our fallen brothers and for the mental health of Sir Geoffrey, but most of all, I pray for myself. Let us find this evil and destroy it.
-Sir William Brock
Canyon Shadows, Utah
Jared Barlow smiled as he watched Garrett brush the dirt away from the doorstep, the dirt that he had placed last night. Blood ran freely from his nose, and the mountain-shaped mark on his armed throbbed like a heartbeat, not in tune with his own but beating to the rhythm of something else. The grin only grew wider as he drove away from the motel.
***
“Shit,” Allison said under her breath.
She drove straight through a stop sign while looking at the directions on her cell phone. A moment later, the flashing lights from the sheriff’s Bronco filled her rearview mirror. Perfect.
She found a spot on the side of the road near an elementary school and pulled over. Allison grabbed a piece of hair and started chewing on it.
Kids played outside in recess. Some laughed and pointed at her, enjoying the scene of her pulled over. However, a small group of children was clustered together watching her. They stood, still as statues, away from the other kids. A group of kids playing soccer kicked their ball too close to the strange children. The soccer players argued amongst themselves until the huddle pushed a boy forward wearing a red hoodie to retrieve the ball. As he crept closer, the pod of strange children turned their head as one to look at him.
The boy in the red hoodie stopped in his tracks. Even from this distance, Allison could tell he was shaking. After a moment, he did an 180-degree turn and ran back to his friends.
There was a knock on her driver’s side window.
“Excuse me, miss?”
She jumped a little, startled by the interruption. A man wearing a green polo shirt with a Sheriff’s logo stood outside the car. She rolled the window down, and the hot summer air blasted her in the face.
The sheriff leaned toward the window. He looked around the interior of the vehicle with a long gaze. Allison caught the name, Blackwood, embroidered on his shirt. He pulled off a pair of aviator sunglasses and looked down at Allison.
She became lost in a pair of green eyes and sharp cheekbones covered in a few days of dark scrubble. Allison found the beads of sweat that slowly traced their way down his face to be very fascinating.
“Ma’am?”
His deep voice reminded her of old cowboy movies, of when the hero was trying to court a young lady, forceful but not overbearing. She loved his…
“Excuse me, ma’am? Can I get your license and registration please?” Dan asked.
A rush of blood swept through her face and chest. That’s when she realized he was going to give her a ticket.
“Uh, yeah, sorry, I am. Uh, shit, oh sorry, I didn’t mean… Crap!” she blustered.
Allison fumbled in her bag for the required documents. Sheriff Blackwood leaned back and pulled his ball cap off his head. He ran a hand through his shaggy hair which caught her attention. What was it about this guy? Here she was about to get a ticket, and she was swooning, literally swooning over him like he was a piece of meat. This was definitely not her M.O. Allison straightened her back, let out a slight cough, and handed the sheriff the documents.
“Here,” she squeaked.
“Thanks, miss...” he looked at the license. “Miss Montgomery.”
She merely smiled back at him and wished she could turn the car back on and bask in the nice cool air conditioning. Sweat was starting to roll down her face and chest.
“Do you know why I stopped you?” he asked.
She hoped it was because he wanted to take her on a personal tour of the town. The thought made her blush even more, and she tried to compose herself. As she berated herself for acting like a high school girl swooning over the latest teen vampire storybook hottie, she tried to come up with something intelligent to say, something that involved more than a jumble of nonsense and one-syllable words.
“Um, no.”
Way to go, Allison, way to go. Very eloquent.
“Well, Miss Montgomery, I saw you shoot through the stop sign back there. Not very safe. Give me a moment while I run this license,” Dan said.
“Okay.”
She watched him walk back to his vehicle, admirin
g his broad shoulders and perfectly shaped ass, then slapped herself on the forehead.
***
Dan returned to his police Bronco and searched the database. As the information was still coming up, he couldn’t help but smile. He knew that Allison liked him. Over the years, he found he had a certain effect on women. It had to do with his bloodline.
They found his features irresistible for some reason or another. Yet, with Allison Montgomery, something deep down called to him as well. Something in her core pulled at his unlike anyone he’d encountered in his lifetime. It was strange, and he didn’t like strange. Dan would have to watch himself around her. With everything else that was going on, her appearance and the feelings that arose within him weren’t a coincidence. Dan found her fiery red hair to be attractive, and her big eyes were deep enough he could swim in them. The way she fidgeted around and chewed on her hair when she was nervous was cute. Dan never found anything cute. Indeed, something was strange.
The computer chimed at him letting him know the search finished and the information requested awaited his perusal. He gave it a quick once over. Not seeing any outstanding warrants or the like, he got out of the vehicle and moved to her window.
“Well, Miss Montgomery, I’m in a generous mood, so I’ll let you go with a warning.”
Her shoulders relaxed, and the strand of hair in her mouth fell away. Dan couldn’t take his eyes off the tan line that paralleled her tank top.
“Wow, thank you so much. I just, I’m looking for, my boss... Eh, I mean my friend,” she stammered.
Dan grinned. He enjoyed seeing her squirm. Letting his guard down and going against protocol, he dropped down into a crouch and met her at eye level.
“Well, Miss Montgomery, which is it? Your friend or your boss?”
Dan didn’t care; he wanted to keep her talking. He was in control of the situation, and the feeling stoked his fires. Her presence made him let go of his duties and enjoy the moment.
He had to be careful.
“He’s my friend. I just call him boss. Force of habit I suppose... Please, call me Allison.”
Dan’s reply lodged in his throat when the nearby school’s bell rang, announcing to the children that recess was over. They both looked over to the school ground and watched the kids run back to class; however, the small cluster of kids continued to watch Dan and Allison, the sacrificed soccer ball still near their feet.
“What an odd bunch of kids,” Allison said.
“You have no idea. This town’s full of them,” Dan said standing up.
“What do you mean?”
“Small town. Full of odd people.”
Dan continued to stare at the schoolyard. It had begun affecting the children, which was something new. He would have to report that to lower management.
“Thanks again, Sheriff Blackwood.”
Dan looked back at her and let a smile escape his face. The overpowering sense of attraction fought with the feeling of unease brought on by the children’s behavior.
“No problem, Miss Montgomery.”
“Allison, please,” she said softly.
“Allison. Who are you looking for? Perhaps I can show you the way.”
“I’m looking for Randall Childers’ antique shop.”
Dan placed his hand on her car door, his fingers inside the vehicle. He felt like he invaded her territory and made the first move. Small as it may be.
“Not a problem. I was headed out that way myself. Follow me, and I can lead you there.”
She reached out and placed her hand on his, and his body jumped as energy ran from her body to his. The shock disappeared, and the feeling of her soft fingers was nice and welcoming.
Strange indeed.
“Thank you for everything,” she said.
He shot her another grin and gently removed his hand from her touch.
“Just follow me.”
***
Garrett drove to a nearby mini-store to get something to eat and drink. Having to clean his room so the maid wouldn’t call the cops caused his stomach to whine with want. He parked his rental and walked into the store. A bald man with a blood-stained V-neck T-shirt and a handlebar mustache smiled at him as he walked into the store. The look in the man’s eyes made Garrett’s skin crawl. “Rough night?” the man sniggered.
“Excuse me?” Garrett asked turning to get a better look. The mysterious mustachioed man continued to walk by, absentmindedly scratching at a scar on his arm. “What did you say?” Garrett asked. The tone in his voice dropped and turned ice cold.
The man continued to scratch at his arm, drawing blood. Blood trickled from his nose. Through a teeth-clenched smile, a smile that showed both pleasure and pain, the man spoke, yet his voice didn’t sound like a man’s voice. Maddie’s voice channeled through the man’s mouth.
“Mommy’s coming, Daddy. She’s coming to play.”
Garrett stopped as if he’d walked into a wall. He watched the stranger, eyeing to see if he made any sudden moves while trying to process what happened. No one else was nearby, no one to verify.
“What the fuck are you?” he whispered.
The man cackled loudly, so loud that Garrett clamped his hands over his ears. He pushed past the man into the parking lot and open air. The noise immediately abated. Looking back into the store, the bald man was still there, still bleeding from his arm and nose, still smiling.
Garrett ran to his rental car. Keying the ignition, the vehicle fired to life. The radio turned on.
“Mommy’s coming, Daddy! She’s coming soon. She wants to play with you. SHE WANTS TO PLAY WITH YOU FOREVER!”
Garrett stared at the radio as if it were a pit viper, ready to strike. After a moment, he reached out with a shaky hand to turn the radio off but snatched his hand away from the controls the moment the power cut off. He glanced back to the store. The bald man made his way toward Garrett’s vehicle but was walking slowly. Throwing the vehicle into gear, Garrett sped away from the mini-store, leaving the strange man behind.
***
Jared Barlow watched Garrett drive away. Muscles in his face screamed in protest about the unnatural grin his mouth had twisted into. The voices continued to talk, some in languages he didn’t understand, some in languages he wished he didn’t understand. Beneath it all was the voice. The voice of He that lived beneath the mountain. His voiced offered promises and wrath, pleasure and pain. His voice overpowered all others. The voice both soothed and frightened Jared.
You will be tested again soon. Continue to be faithful, and you will be rewarded.
“Yes, yes.”
Soon this mountain will no longer contain me. I will be free.
“Yes!”
Beware the Star, beware the Spirit; kill them. Find the Host.
“It shall be done.”
Chapter Thirteen
September 2, 1180
A dream perhaps? My father was standing over me smiling and laughing, his eyes darker than a storm cloud. His skin falling off his bones; a horrible advancement of the ailment that took him to his grave. He never said anything, only laughed, yet I could feel a malevolence in his presence; something old and evil. I do not think it was my father. His life was one of mirth and merriment.
Once awakened, I found another fearsome sight—Sir Geoffrey staring at me, much like my father in the dream. As I rose from the ground, I drew my dagger; paltry, but at least something solid to wield.
Sir Geoffrey was my friend, but I could not help but feel his desire to harm me. Words cannot explain. Although still tethered to a nearby tree and his hands bound, something told me he was still very dangerous.
Another curiosity; I swear to all that is holy that I fell asleep further away as well. How I ended up as close as I did, I know not, nor do I wish to find the truth.
Sir Geoffrey finally wandere
d back to the tree, leaving me in peace. He said one thing, “Time to meet your father, for you are next Brian.”
-Sir Brian Marcell
Beaver, Utah
Troy pulled into a gas station in Beaver. He was running on fumes, both in the literal and figurative sense. The stop would be good to try and clear his head and maybe get some caffeine in his system. He left the nozzle of the gas pump in his tank and stepped away, lighting a cigarette.
Time moved too fast, and he couldn’t remember much of what happened. The trip from Brigham played back in his mind with fragments of images. Something kept him straight and on the road because he never crashed or drifted.
Small packs of mosquitoes buzzed around his face. He took a big puff of smoke and blew it outward, sending the bugs scattering. More of the insects gathered around the fluorescent lighting under the metal coverings of the gas pumps. Troy liked summer, but the bugs were annoying.
The pain in his head grew the closer he came to Canyon Shadows. Not only that, but a small irritating patch of skin constantly reminded him of the mark on his arm. It looked too close to the symbol on the front of the book, but Troy did his best to ignore that factoid. Much like his headache, the mountain symbol on his arm throbbed in a dull aching pain.
More images of his trip flashed in his mind’s eye. He remembered stopping in Nephi to clean his face at a fast food restroom. How the blood smeared his face still eluded his grasp. He had looked like a vampire who went on a binge, not caring what kind of mess he made.
