Plebs

by Jim Goforth

  He was in no great rush to have a squadron of genetically modified human flesh chomping freaks rip out his insides, pluck out his eyes or any other thing that wasn't likely to tickle a whole bunch.

  They covered the distance between the bulk of the parked trailer to the greater mass of the huge dilapidated church in the blink of an eye, though it felt painfully long to Corey, breath ragged and heart thundering.

  He didn't look to see if any of those Plebs staring their direction had suddenly launched their way across the clearing, one wrong footed move here could have spelled disaster.

  Out the front of St Agnes it was a death trap.

  Great broken chunks of concrete, fallen timbers, rocks, busted bricks and other pitfalls of indeterminable rubbish were spread everywhere and clipping one of those would have had variable results, none of which were favourable.

  Like the back of the building the front entrance was set a ways back from towering stone pylons bordering an arched structure, the actual door itself also in an arched frame, a giant door well taller than Corey.

  A short set of stairs marched down between the pylons, weeds and scrub crawling over them, cracked and littered with pebbles and broken fragments of debris.

  Vaulting down them at great pace Desiree landed atop one of these scattered rock pieces and twisted her ankle.

  Corey caught her before she went over, but the effort of hauling her upright capsized his own equilibrium and he fell himself, landing on his knees on the stone floor.

  Hard bits of rock, sharp little fangs of broken brick and the unforgiving surface of the walkway made themselves acutely known to Corey, the sudden shock lancing through his whole body.

  Now Desiree pulled him up.

  "Thanks for saving me Sir Galahad," she jibed, still jocular in the face of the disastrous circumstances they were in. "Just don't go killing yourself in the process."

  "Yeah, I'm trying not to," Corey muttered. Nothing seemed to be broken, no busted knee caps.

  "Can you walk?"

  "Limp, yeah. Hobble, probably. Walk, no idea."

  "Better figure it out quickly," Desiree suggested, a note of alarm creeping into her voice. "I think the Plebs are on their way."

  That little bit of warning was enough to get Corey shambling down the walkway towards the door.

  There was light coming through the stained glass (surprisingly unbroken) panes in the towering front door and therefore the illumination cast over the area they were moving into was greater than the dark patch on the steps where they'd both almost come to grief.

  Corey didn't dwell too much on thoughts of what lay beyond the church door or why it was lit up in there.

  What was outside here with them was more of a concern and besides, Haskell and co didn't really seem to be the sorts to worry too much about switching the lights off or other trivial matters like that when they got loaded and went rampaging outside on a brutal hunting expedition.

  The most likely scenario was that the whole lot of the psychotic villains exited St Agnes en masse, leaving everything inside as it was.

  The door was shut, but it was a big heavy door. Easy for it to slam shut itself even if left open.

  Corey hoped it wasn't locked. Again, didn't seem likely. If they weren't going to bother switching off lights or snuffing out candles -the latter appearing more likely, Corey doubted this place had any sort of electricity still happening- then locking doors wouldn't be a high priority either.

  They reached the door.

  While the stained glass panes weren't broken, they weren't without desecration.

  Foul epithets and a variety of symbols including swastikas had been spray painted on them. So too the door itself which also had big gouges out of it, even a rusted segment of metal sticking out of it around three quarters down.

  A doorknocker in the form of a benign Jesus Christ figure evidently used to sit square in the middle of it; now it hung haphazardly, virtually broken in two and charred black as if deliberately burned.

  Scorch marks scored the door around where the religious item once rested.

  Corey grabbed the door handle, visions of it breaking off in his hand and the door standing firm and immovable entering his head.

  Then the luckless Plebs cheated of their Serena feast would be on them, pouring down the steps, between the pylons, around the debris over the walkway...

  Bestial hands snatching Desiree, claws rending flesh, enveloping him and smashing him headfirst through the glass of the door...

  The massive door opened, the handle turning with a groaning sound in his hand.

  Corey staggered inside, Desiree on his heels.

  Something big and dark loomed in his vision, slammed against his head.

  There was a massive flash of abrupt immediate pain and then for Corey, the lights went out.

  CHAPTER 41

  Several years ago, on one of their many reckless jaunts, Corey, Tim and Lee chose to ditch school in order to impress a couple of foreign exchange students from Germany and along with the girls Anke and Ilsa, they’d hitched and traveled far out of town.

  The girls were heavily into occult matters and the like so when Lee foolishly mentioned that old man Henderson's farmhouse way out in the sticks was allegedly haunted and kids were always daring one another to do stupid things in or around it, or laying ridiculous bets on whether anyone would spend the night there, naturally both the German lasses were immediately interested.

  By all accounts not one, but several murders over a period of decades had taken place inside the Henderson residence as well as outside on the property and its cursed premises were purported to contain multiple ghostly presences.

  A group of older guys who'd gone through school several years before Corey, Lee and Tim had even set up their own paranormal investigation society and the Henderson house was a prime spot for them to investigate, complete with all their ghost hunting equipment, looking to capture EVPs or any other evidence to corroborate the existence of spectral beings.

  Apparently they hadn't had an abundance of success. Corey never really heard either way, but whatever the case, mentioning the fact alone that 'paranormal investigators' had been sent to the place was enough to make the girls want to see it.

  Being the only one of the three friends from a relatively stable background and therefore wanting mostly to abide by the rules of his parents (both still alive at the time) Corey really wanted to do the mission on a weekend, hence not having to cut school.

  The girls however insisted they do it on Friday the 13th which just so happened to be the upcoming Friday of the week Lee brought the subject of the Henderson haunted house to light.

  Their reasoning for this was that this date meant things were going to be aligned perfectly with a better likelihood of any restless spirits showing themselves on this particular day. This they attributed to it being such a powerful day for either immense bad luck (if you were the superstitious type) or great fortune (depending on your perspective or perhaps religion).

  Corey was pretty sure that was bullshit; if any ghosts even existed they would show themselves regardless if they were going to, never mind what day it was.

  Reluctantly he agreed that Friday the 13th it was, mainly not to appear weak and conformist to rules in the eyes of the girls and secondly because Tim and Lee would have most likely gone ahead and ditched school to go anyway whether Corey decided to or not. Since they'd generally always been on their adventures together Corey didn't want to miss out.

  Furthermore there was the fantasy notion that Anke and Ilsa might just want to do a little more in the supposedly haunted place than check out ghosts, even though the numbers didn't stack up evenly.

  This was Tim's principal motivation in any case and he was pretty vocal about it to his sidekicks, naturally making them both acutely aware, as always, that even though they were his best buds he would make them sorry if they messed things up for him.

  They all set out early Friday morning, Corey looking f
or all the world like he was off to school to his folks, the others not especially fazed in keeping up appearances.

  None of them had a vehicle, the boys were all sixteen, the girls slightly older and whilst Corey occasionally had access to cars, not today.

  Consequently they walked and hitchhiked along the highway, full of high spirits for the most part and certain the day held loads of promise.

  None of them were concerned about being picked up by an axe wielding serial killer. Corey was more paranoid about getting busted by somebody local who knew his parents and was going to spill the beans that he'd been spotted not in attendance at school.

  Neither happened, but early in the morning and with five in their party, rides were far and few between.

  So they did a lot of walking.

  Which lead to a bit of complaining.

  Not from the girls. They'd enjoyed it.

  They had dressed smart, wearing denim shorts, hiking boots and light blouses, hair tied back; Ilsa with a high ponytail and Anke wearing a long plait.

  Lee and Tim were wearing jeans, Corey long school pants and though the morning itself possessed a chilly bite to it, that wore off as the sun crept out and the three fellows were cursing their attire the longer they had to trek in it.

  Eventually they stumbled upon good fortune in the shape of a jolly little chap with round eyeglasses and a Friar Tuck hairdo driving a battered cream minivan.

  He happily gave them a lift all the way out to Henderson's farm and though they had to suffer his continual stream of chatter from the moment he pulled over and opened the doors to the moment they reached their destination, it was a small price to pay in order to be there much quicker and be out of the gathering heat of the sun.

  He wasn't a local, he was just passing through. He asked no questions, clearly more interested in telling them his various adventures and tribulations than having any concern to know theirs and why they weren't in school.

  'Be handy if he stuck around to give us a lift home', muttered Lee as their bespectacled benefactor bid them farewell and continued on his merry way along the highway, though that was wishful thinking; he obviously had no plans to be returning along this stretch of road.

  Up until that point none of them had really given too much consideration on how they would make the journey home, mostly accepting that hitching would play a factor again.

  Bar Lee's mumbled cogitation they didn't worry a great deal about it now either; they left the roadside, cut through the grass and through fences heading for the former farmhouse old man Henderson once called his.

  The farm didn't make a killing and Henderson began to struggle to make repayments on it.

  Eventually the bank foreclosed on the property, Henderson pulled up stakes and moved on to parts unknown.

  He certainly wasn't the first to suffer ill fortune on the block, but in terms of ownership, he was the last.

  Nobody else was in a hurry to buy into what they saw as essentially a cursed place so the simple house, its barn and its fields sat out in the elements; untended and ownerless and just watching the world drive by on the highway, occasionally visited only by the intrepid ghost hunters and reckless daredevil teenagers.

  Corey, Lee, Tim, Anke and Ilsa got into the house with no problems since plenty of others had been here prior and hadn't cared a whole bunch about how they entered the premises.

  There were loads of different ways in.

  The electricity had long been cut off so it was fairly dark inside despite it being broad daylight and that lent a suitable air of atmosphere to the whole ghostly vibe.

  Corey had been glad they weren't there at night though the spook factor would have been impressively maximised, might have even driven the girls into seeking some sort of physical comfort though Corey doubted that.

  The girls were the ones super keen on catching some paranormal activity, the guys less so, they were motivated by other aspects.

  To begin with it was fun, a little bit daring and exciting, not just being in an alleged haunted house, but also skipping school, hanging out with moderately attractive girls and trying to top each other’s attempts to impress them.

  Then for Corey, the thrill wore off.

  As Lee brought forth his standard supply of marijuana and set about tempting the ladies into a smoking session in the Henderson house, it became apparent that for once Corey was something of a third wheel.

  Anke hadn't made much of a secret of being attracted to big burly Tim Hayworth, and Ilsa and Lee appeared to have made some kind of connection that left Corey out in the cold.

  When Tim was around Corey was kind of used to being in his shadow when it came to girls, but he was also used to having Lee in the shadows with him.

  This time though Lee and Ilsa hit it off and whether intentional or not, four of the five were neatly paired off, leaving Corey regretting he had even taken part in the whole stupid idea.

  So while the other four sat around on the wooden floor of what used to be the living room, smoking, laughing and carrying on, apparently with all thoughts of their original plans forgotten, Corey wandered off.

  He left the house and debated heading back to the highway, wondering how long it would take for any of them to realise he was gone if he caught a ride. He would probably be back in town and about ready for school to call quits on the week before a single one of them gave him a second thought.

  Instead, he went into the barn.

  That hadn't really even been on the cards, but somewhat compelled, Corey eventually altered his trajectory after acknowledging he’d left his bag inside and entered the barn.

  For a barn it made a good hay storage unit.

  The place was packed with bales upon bales of hay, some piled virtually to the roof, others strewn erratically on the floor, coming loose from their twine restraints and leaving pieces everywhere.

  There wasn't too much else to it, Corey couldn't see a great deal of room for many animals existing here aside from maybe poultry.

  No wonder old man Henderson was struggling to make ends meet, he had a surplus of hay and straw and not enough demand for that.

  An old wooden ladder off to the left led up to a loft where surprise surprise, there were more bales located.

  Nice place for a roll in the hay, Corey thought, albeit with a touch of resentment.

  It indeed would have been, if Corey had a partner to share it with.

  Alas, he didn't.

  The two girls that came along in the group were pretty clear in their choices of current beaus and luckless Corey wasn't one of those.

  Instead he was out in a straw stuffed barn on his lonesome, being incredibly witty to nobody but himself.

  On a whim he climbed the ladder and clambered into the loft.

  It was dark in here too, but not so ridiculously dark he needed additional illumination; cracks in walls all around the barn let in slivers of sunlight. Not too much, but enough so the place wasn't drowned in shadows.

  Being out here at night though, that would be a very bad idea.

  With no available electricity the only means of light would have to be provided by flames and fire, incendiary things like cigarette lighters, candles. Bad idea.

  One clumsy foot kicking over a candle, one slippery hand dropping one and this whole construction would be a blazing inferno.

  ‘Well, this could be pretty cool’, Corey mused to himself, ‘if everybody was here and not just me. Right now it's just me, skulking up here like a petulant child trying to run away from home and hiding in the hayloft’.

  Suck it up Corey, he decided.

  ‘Should be happy that somebody is finally giving Lee the time of day. He's your best mate, he and Tim and while Tim does just fine with the ladies Lee doesn't.

  So be a man about it, let Lee have his good fortune and go tell the others to come check this joint out.’

  Then something appeared in the loft. Something that shouldn't be there. That didn't or shouldn't exist.

  A
bloodied figure at the back of the loft, standing...no, drifting...amidst the bales.

  Not solid and not seeming to be fully formed, clad in simple overalls and a plaid shirt, burning eyes in a dark streaked face.

  Corey could see right through the miasma that appeared to constitute this gruesome entity and massive bolts of shock and sheer terror clobbered him in the chest.

  The drifting shapes head toppled off its shoulders and its torso split in half.

  Corey Somerset literally jumped in a terrified panic for the ladder, slammed his head against an overhead beam and knocked himself stupid.

  The total disbelieving horror was still driving pulsations of fear through Corey as he swam up through a whirlpool of throbbing pain and attempted to battle through a veil of darkness.

  The agony racking his skull was relentless, the fear equally so.

  He'd sure clobbered himself a good one, wondered how he was still alive.

  The bloodied ghost...

  His eyes snapped open, flickering dancing dervishes of orange light creating some more torment for his head as they punched cruel little blades into optical orbs that had been swathed in darkness for who knows how long?

  Had Tim and Lee even found him yet? Had they too witnessed the gory spectre?

  Then he realised that he wasn't back in his memories of old man Henderson's barn.

  He was somewhere infinitely worse.

  The orange glows of light were cast by candles, scores and scores of candles set up all around the area where Corey found himself.

  All around the walls inside the St Agnes church, sitting on tables, pews lining the walls, on window sills, throwing misshapen and grotesque shadows across floors.

  Corey had a good view of the whole main body of the Spots interior for he was seated on a chair up where old Father McCoy would have given his rambling sermons to the masses back in the day when the church was an active place of worship.

  He was off to the right, facing down the hall to where the great front door stood.

  He wasn't merely sitting in the wooden chair; he was comprehensively tied to it.

  Ropes lashed his feet to the front legs of the chair, wrapped and knotted around his ankles, yanked so tight the circulation was bound to cut out sooner or later. The same ropes extended up from the back legs of the chair and to his wrists which were pulled behind him and the body of the chair.