Still at the kitchen table, Mom’s head rested on her arm. Her hand raised to the boys as they stepped past. At first she appeared to wave, but her fingers precariously clung to the pipe.
Was she smoking it while they’d been gone? Did something transpire in their absence? Did the skin-walker smoke? Anything was possible at this point.
Mark got the chills. While shaking them off, he confiscated the stone artifact and shoved it into his shorts pocket without even thinking. His mother had successfully programmed his mainframe to protect it.
Salem crept from under the table.
“Stay, girl.” Mark’s hand went up. “Stay.”
The dog sat.
Reading and walking since getting out of the car, Hexx lowered the book to climb upstairs behind his friend.
Mark collapsed onto the bed. An invisible hand caressed his shoulder. “Okay, so what do you got?” Suddenly even this was secondary.
A growl boomed from the kitchen.
Hexx’s mouth hung open. He’d been about to speak, but now it seemed he wanted to scream. His eyes darted about the room.
“Mom, you okay?” Mark called.
No answer.
Something climbed the back stairwell. A scraping along the wall came up with it.
Mark sprang from the bed. On an impulse, he grabbed the mirror shard and turned to his buddy. “What’d it say, goddammit?”
“If we know its name, we can defeat it.” Hexx, who hadn’t moved even a smidgeon, nearly hyperventilated.
As if the thing fast-forwarded up the stairs, it was already on the landing, about to step into the bedroom. An outline of the creature stomped toward them. It loomed larger than any human Mark had ever seen. Hands curled like gnarled claws. It snorted. The scent was very much like the foul fountain gunk.
“Come on,” Mark said, clutching his friend by the hand and pulling him into the hallway.
Pushing Hexx behind him, Mark spun around and faced the hulking beast. The mirror fragment poised in his grasp like a switchblade.
The creature thrust a hairy hand on each side of the doorframe, its claws sinking into the wood. Sharp canines jutted from a malicious smile. Its growl reverberated through the room with the power of a forceful drumbeat.
“Don’t lock eyes with it,” Hexx said. “It’ll take over your body.”
Mark gulped, shutting his lids. “Jonathan,” he didn’t know how to finish it. Ridiculously, he entertained a Skeletor reference. It made him feel a little like Jack was there with Mark in spirit, giving him moral support. At a time like this, you could use all the friends you could get. “Jonathan, get out. This is my house!”
When Mark opened his eyes, the beast still flashed its teeth, angling its head from side to side. The claws dug even deeper into the doorframe, splitting the wood, before it charged forward, growling.
Retreating into Tausha’s room, Mark’s knees weakened. Why didn’t it work?
“Now what?” Hexx asked, his back against wall.
Mark wiggled himself out of a state of shock. “In here.” Frantically, he unlatched the accordion gate and forced it open.
The boys scurried inside. Mark slammed the gate and jabbed the down button. His other hand wielded the mirror piece.
Someone rubbed Mark’s shoulder, but when he glanced back at his friend, Hexx had both hands against the walls. She was here—as back up? Moral support?
“I still can’t believe you have a fucking elevator.” Hexx’s voice cracked.
Mark was about to piss his shorts as the coyote-man rattled the cage. Fur pressed against the bars and the odor of musky animal and rotten breath drifted to him. Razor nails swiped at Mark’s face.
Mark managed to slice one of the paws several times before the other one knocked the piece of mirror against the gate, fragmenting it into a glittering mess on the floor.
“Come on, come on.” Sweat dripped down Mark’s back.
The cables jerked into motion.
“Thank God,” Hexx muttered. “Now what?”
“I said his name. Nothing happened.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know, man.”
Mark inhaled deeply, the hint of flowers distracting him for a second.
“Oh, wait.”
The elevator still whirred.
Where would the creature be when they got the gate open? Was Mom okay? Mark’s heart pumped so hard he was sure it’d already ruptured.
“Oh, wait what?” Mark asked.
“Jonathan’s not his real name.”
“Okay, genius, how are we going to find that out now? You want me to call your grandma real quick? You think she’ll wake up from her nap for us?” Mark turned to Hexx and gripped him by the shoulders. “Think, man. Think real hard.”
“What the hell? Why is this all on me?”
“Cause I got nuthin’ right now. Your grandfather had the stories—I don’t know!”
The elevator landed with a thud. With trembling hands, Mark undid the gate.
An enormous shadow hit the doorway. In seconds, the thing would be closing in on them.
Mark felt the ghost brushing past him, her hand on his cheek with firm desperation.
The boys hauled ass through the living room and headed for the back of the house.
Not only was Mark worried for his life, his mom’s, and Hexx’s, but he also worried about the ghost. Although she was already dead, he believed that didn’t matter. Mark’s new revelation: the skin-walker’s power lorded over everyone in this house to some degree, whether alive or dead.
That notion brought with it a new sense of fear.
His eyeball twitched.
Bursting through the swinging doors and into the kitchen, Mark spotted Mom with her cheek pressed onto one of the place mats. Salem rested in the same position, drool pooling on the floor. They were a satiric Norman Rockwell portrait.
Hexx’s shoes squeaked on the linoleum.
The boys expected the beast to raid the room any minute.
When the door swung open, the raven-haired specter staggered toward them. Her face wore no expression. Her limbs bore no animation. Even her nightgown hung lifelessly. Her gaze, blazing red, fixated on Mark, who waved Hexx out of the way. The only way to end this terrible dream was to stop running.
“Stay put. Keep an eye on my mom. Meditate on that name. Summon your ancestors. Figure something out,” Mark sputtered.
Hexx’s eyes widened and he snarled. “Seriously, dude?”
Mark tilted his head and screwed up his face.
Lurching from under the table, Salem barked fiercely, but kept a safe distance.
Before the spirit reached for his hand, Mark knew where she would take him.
Her skin was ice, her grip tight. She yanked him with her.
During the slow descent down the back steps, he struggled to keep his knees from buckling. They stepped in tempo, like some ludicrous wedding march.
Mark’s body quivered.
Still barking, Salem sidestepped beside them, her collar clinking.
Hand-in-hand the couple made it to the fountain. The wet grass squished up through Mark’s toes. Jasmine in the air mixed with the decay festering in the stagnant water.
Sweat drenched Mark’s shirt. Stars flickered in his periphery.
Before he could attempt to regain his balance, she drew him into the fountain. Her arms wrapped around him, her face inches from his own.
Locked in her clutches, he couldn’t move.
Her lifeless skin gradually bloated, turning rank and sprouting leafy goop. When she smiled, moldy rot coated her teeth. Her hair dripped off her scalp. Her cotton nightgown disintegrated in tatters. What was left of her body distended in the fountain, and chunks of her flesh came loose.
Her hands cupped Mark’s cheeks.
“Join us. Become eternal,” she warbled maniacally.
Green water poured from her lips, and she gagged on regurgitated leaves and weeds. Her head twitched like a sick animal.
Mark recoiled from
the stench of her breath.
As she reached for him, bile flooded Mark’s mouth and he retched. He pushed her away and she fell backwards in slow motion. The air seemingly softened her descent into the pool, which hardly rippled when she made contact.
Similar to the eerie stillness just before a violent thunderstorm, the atmosphere stagnated. Even the rustling leaves quieted. The pulsing in Mark’s ears increased in anticipation of whatever came next.
He shut his eyes, praying that when he opened them, he’d be in his bed, tied up in his sheet. Or better yet, that he was in Tausha’s or Dad’s hospital room, asleep on the chair. At least then he’d be away from this place.
When he opened his eyes, another form swirled up from the water. Slime clung to its swampy, matted fur. It glided through the murk, waves sloshing over the wall and onto the lawn.
Mark’s blood nearly jumped through his skin.
Darkness killed the moonlight.
Salem whimpered at the side of the pool.
“Get out of here!” Mark called to her.
Salem yelped angrily in answer.
The monstrous skin-walker bounded out of the fountain. It towered over the dog. His talons reached down and sliced Salem open.
“No!” he cried.
Her golden coat fell open, crimson gushing forth, spraying onto the ground. The dog scratched at the creature while she coughed up a slobbery blob. Gnarled black hair slid away, uncovering the lifeless shell of a face.
Was that a Halloween mask? Why had she swallowed it?
The hulking beast chucked the bleeding pet aside, her intestines spilling from her gut. Blood oozed everywhere.
Mark’s eyes teared. Thinking of what might happen to him if he fainted, scared him conscious.
When he turned his mouth dropped open.
His mother racked a shotgun, aiming it at the creature. The cracking sound echoed across the yard, making him flinch. This should really give the neighbors something to report to the police. She fired and pumped the gun’s chamber repeatedly until the shells were spent. All the while, the skin-walker’s wounds reddened for mere moments before closing back up like time in reverse.
Mom ditched the gun and it clattered to the earth, settling in a wet patch.
Now what? There had to be something else to do.
Then he saw it—the sledgehammer propped against the siding of the house.
Mark slogged through a tangle of weeds and grabbed the handle. It dragged him down as he tramped across the grass.
The creature growled, lording over the yard like a massive tree.
Mark swung the sledgehammer in front of him. It whooshed with each swing as he advanced. “Leave my family alone, you bastard!” The adrenaline pumping through Mark’s veins had him feeling like Thor. “Whatever the fuck your name is!”
The beast’s feet were still rooted to the earth. Its glower drilled into Mark.
“Don’t lock eyes with it!” Hexx yelled from the open window.
“Oh my god!” Mom cried.
But it was too late. As much as Mark tried to control his arms, the resistance was too strong. His limbs were jelly as they lowered. His hold on the sledgehammer loosened, despite what his brain ordered his hands to do.
The odor of animal sweat assaulted Mark as the distance between him and the skin-walker dwindled. Mark’s feet weren’t lifting from the ground. He couldn’t close his eyes. His voice hitched in his throat.
Scenes from Mark’s life flashed through his mind. Deep sadness attacked him as he listed all the things he’d never do. He hadn’t even decided on a career path. Forget about college. Worst of all, he was going to die a virgin. Moisture entered his nasal cavity.
As the claw reached for him, Mark surrendered to his fate. This was it. He prepared to taste his own blood, to watch it spew mercilessly from his veins. Maybe he should’ve run, run all the way back to St. Paul where none of this shit ever happened.
The wolfish face wasn’t focused on him anymore. Its eyes bored into something or someone behind him, freeing Mark’s gaze. His arms and legs still weren’t obeying his brain’s commands. The sledgehammer weighed heavily, slipping from his grip and onto the grass.
Sensing a presence at his back, Mark swallowed hard.
An unseen hand thrashed at the beast’s hold and Mark fell sideways, landing painfully. The pipe knocked against his hip and he shouted. His fingers slipped between the walls of cotton, touching the stone stem as he jerked into a spasmed fetal position. With great concentration, he pulled the object out and studied the surface. He noted the markings—some symbols he couldn’t quite make out…but his mother had called it engraving.
He felt the ghostly presence with him, and saw the script in a way he’d never seen before. A series of letters popped out at him.
It’s in the blood, came into his head. What’s in the blood? That made no sense.
In his periphery, fierce yellow eyes loomed closer, regarding the pipe with keen interest.
As if invisible tethers fell from his body, Mark regained mobility. He scrambled to his feet, the stone artifact seeming to come alive in his hand, becoming slippery with metallic smelling liquid. It grew sticky and stunk like charred iron.
Hexx gnawed on his knuckle.
Mom’s knees knocked together.
“Here, catch.” Mark pitched the pipe at his friend. “Any idea what Howahkan means?”
The monster’s ears perked at the sound. Its golden eyes launched daggers.
Hexx intercepted the pass and rubbed the artifact to inspect the markings. “Holy shit! What if that’s his name?”
The creature’s shoulders hunched toward Hexx, while the hips angled in Mark’s direction. It appeared conflicted in deciding which kid to rip apart first.
In that moment of hesitation, Mark mustered his tapped energy reserves and leftover brain cells. Hexx’s guess was all they had. “I command you, Howahkan, to leave at once.” The word choice rang foreign to his own ear. Were they an echo from some superhero movie? A Saturday cartoon? He continued without over-analysis of whether or not he pronounced the name correctly. “Howahkan, you are banished to the realm from whence you came, never to return.”
Each time Mark enunciated the words, the skin-walker sank lower to the earth, hacking and clutching its neck. The eyes ran with blood. And so did its mouth. Wailing and howling, it crumbled to its knees.
Mark motioned to Hexx and Mom on the sidelines like a preacher urging his flock to sing louder. “Say it with me. Leave, Howahkan.”
The three of them chanted, Hexx slapping his thighs in a steady rhythm.
What remained of the raven-haired apparition submerged into the pool.
The creature threw its head and arms back, its body collapsing inward like its organs and skeletal system degenerated. A loud groan faded into a single pant, as if an ancient god begrudged it one final exhale before leaving earth forever.
The trio now shouted the command Leave Howahkan as a swirl of mist descended on the fountain. A hum of ethereal voices and a ghostly echo of drumming spread across the yard. After the mist swept down, it twisted back up, disappearing into the night.
What was once the giant monster was now a flattened husk.
Uncontrollable rage consumed Mark. He went to pick up the sledgehammer and noticed a pair of feet, translucent and fading in and out. The golden-haired ghost, although her image faint, had been quicker at seizing the tool. Like a queen honoring a knight with Excalibur, she presented it to him with an encouraging nod. Mark hefted the hammer up with both hands. It slipped from his grasp as he struggled to line up his grip more firmly. If only his palms were bigger, wider.
He charged at the fountain. Each footstep squished beneath him.
As he swung his weapon, hunks of marble clunked on the ground or splashed into the water. He whacked, clamping his hold on the handle each time, until a flood spilled out onto the grass. Then he kept shattering the perimeter of the structure until only hunks of rock remained.
Groaning with exertion, he swung at the floor until it cracked, separating like Teutonic plates.
He attacked the figure in the center. Surprisingly, each blow whacked so deafeningly that Mark’s head pounded. Whether it was a goddess or a mermaid, whatever it was tumbled in fragments. The mossy pieces piled at his feet until there was nothing left.
He staggered away, his arms shaking.
A siren shrieked in the distance.
Mom and Hexx hadn’t moved one iota, watching him like two zombies.
The spirit had stood by, her stance relaxed. She blinked away tears, her lips forming the words I love you, Mark and turning to walk back to the house.
He was stunned. Her lips had unmistakably formed his name. All of his cells did a jig. A warmth brewed inside of him. His brain finally registered this as having been real, the amorous connection validated. Even though she’d gone before he’d returned the words, they’d always share an eternal bond. He didn’t worry if he’d see her ever again. Peace overwhelmed him, followed by what can only be described as self-acceptance.
Once his gaze followed her inside, he regarded the fountain. Utter destruction.
The sledgehammer toppled from Mark’s grasp, his palms blistered raw.
After tottering across the grass, Mom clasped her son’s hands.
Time had slowed like a series of freeze frames.
With an understanding and pride in her eyes, something Mark had never seen there before, Mom raised his hands to her lips. “Nice work, sweetheart.”
Mark slumped, allowing the moment of standing there with his mother to bleed into every pore of his being. Who knew if her unconditional acceptance was fleeting. Whatever the case may be, he tucked this into permanent memory—the place that doesn’t fade like a passing dream, but can be recalled at will in crisp detail. For the first time, he saw his mother like never before. Her hair cascaded in sweaty tendrils around her shiny face, her furrowed brow and tired eyes. All of it was beautiful. The disciplinarian persona had peeled away, leaving a vulnerable, maternal gentleness.
The awe of it brought a tear to Mark’s eyes.
Mom touched his cheek and turned to the house.
Hexx ran across the yard to Mark, casting a pained glance at the slaughtered pet as he passed her. “Shit, man, your dog.”
Fountain Dead Page 21