Death Head Valley

by David Charlesworth

  A slick mess had been left covering the ground before a large oak and, as Annie raced pass, she slipped and fell, sprawling on her hands and knees. She stood up, shaking, checking her palms. They were slathered with a mixture of blood and muddy soil. Then she saw the remains.

  A large tent pole speared Philly to the tree at his back, he hung a clear two feet from the floor. He was missing a leg and an arm. Each limb appeared to have been wrenched off with a horrific amount of force. The skin where arm met shoulder, and leg met torso, was a ragged trail of gristle and flesh. The removed extremities lay beneath the body, not missing at all, though she wished they were when she saw what had happened to them. Fresh, red wounds were dotted along both arm and leg. Bite marks. Human sized chunks of Philly's flesh had been ripped from the bone by some cannibalistic lunatic.

  She wailed and looked up at his face. His expression conveyed a sense of pain and horror Annie could not even begin to understand. His eyes bulged from their sockets, his lips hung slack and she knew her poor little friend had been alive throughout most of what agony had been wrought upon him.

  'Philly...' she bawled and tried to run again, but her legs had turned to jelly and she had lost all bearings of where she was. The trees had swallowed the sky and in turn, the mountains too. She heard the distant rush of water and staggered in its direction, hoping to find the river and following it downstream, and hoping to find a way out of the valley.

  It felt like an eternity, but only minutes had passed when Annie came across someone hunched by the river. It was a portly woman rinsing her hands. She wore slacks and a plaid shirt, but Annie recognised her regardless. It was the waitress from the diner. Annie stumbled towards her and the woman finally saw her.

  'My God...' she said, shocked and taken aback at being caught wet handed.

  'Please...' was all Annie could get out, her body began to shake uncontrollably, the adrenaline leaving her system. 'Please help.'

  'There there, sugar,' the woman cooed, wiping her hands on her shirt. 'You're alright now, Maisie's here for you.'

  She wrapped her big arms around Annie who fell into the woman's embrace and let her head fall upon her shoulder. Maisie continued to whisper calming words into her ear and Annie felt like a babe who was being held for the first time. She felt her eyelids grow heavy, but something felt wrong, her brain had already made the connection and was waiting for her body to catch up. On the riverbank, there was a shadow that was much darker than those surrounding it. It took a second or two to parse what she was seeing, but it was a bundle of clothes. Heavy duty, black clothes.

  Annie pulled back, staring at the bullish face of Maisie who was smiling now. A genuine, content grin and completely alien to the forced, sad grimace she had put on the first time they had seen her. But there was no way this woman the one responsible for the deaths of her friends. How did she end up here if-

  'All in hand, Maisie?' a voice asked from behind her.

  Annie turned to see a man in a Sheriff's uniform. Under one arm were bundled his own black clothes. His other hand lay upon a holster at his hip, containing within the pistol that had taken Donovan's life.

  'No problems here, Sheriff Montrose. Right, honey?' Maisie asked, tightening her grip around Annie, turning her around and throwing an arm around the young girl's throat.

  'NO! NO! NO!' Annie began to scream as she kicked and thrashed, trying to wriggle free from her captor. Montrose remained calm and undid the latch that held his gun in place, but Annie didn't care. She wanted to reach up and dig her thumbs into his eyes. She wanted to rip his throat out with her teeth. He would have to empty every bullet he had into her chest to stop her. He...

  Her thoughts grew clouded, pressure began to well in her ears as Maisie's choke-hold grew stronger, cutting off the blood to her brain. The world span again, as it had done so many times that night, but finally it brought with it darkness and some morbid kind of peace.

  12.

  'Wake up.'

  A hard shake accompanied the voice that slipped into Annie's fogged mind. She couldn't piece together what was happening at first. Had she been drinking? What was the bad thing that happened? And why was that voice so familiar? She tried to open her eyes and her head spun. It felt like she could hear the liquid in her brain coursing around behind her eyes.

  'We're not carrying you. Get up.'

  She knew who it was now. The bastard who shot Donovan. The darkness behind her eyes was replaced by the speckled void of stars in the night sky as she fought her way back into consciousness. Agony followed, the cold cramping feeling of laying on freezing soil. She tried to push herself up, but her hands were bound before her with rope and she promptly fell back to the ground, face first. A laugh went up behind her, followed by a wolf whistle.

  'Cut the shit, Francis,' The Sheriff said.

  'Or what Montrose?' came the second voice. It was dirty and thick. It was the pervert from their stop at the diner.

  'You'll cut the shit or I'll see to it that we drain you first when we get up top.'

  Annie craned her head around, instantly recognising where she was. The rushing water was a familiar waterfall, whilst all around her lay stumps and fallen trees and lumber. Surrounding her stood Montrose, Maisie, Francis, and an old man she did not recognise. They had put their dark robes back on and had their hoods up. Francis was ogling her ass.

  Montrose stepped up and leant down, hooking a hand under her armpit.

  'He's the least of your worries,' he hauled her to her feet, pulling her close. 'You've been doing well up to now. Better than your friends, anyway. Keep your mouth shut and don't try anything cute and this'll be quick and painless. None of us want to drag you up the path there, especially old Arthur, but try anything or say anything and I will break both your legs and your jaw. Understand?'

  She turned to meet the old man's face who nodded and spoke.

  'Better do as he says, honey.'

  'Up to you,' Montrose said and gently pushed her towards the steep path up to the quarry. She staggered forward, knees threatening to buckle beneath her. Maisie led the way. The clearing was full of cars and trucks and Annie realised the whole town had been in on this from the beginning. Her and her friends had never stood a chance.

  Moonlight lit the quarry-side, causing the grey slate floor to almost glow in the natural gloom. The moon, however, held no dominion over the quarry pit, leaving it a yawning black abyss.

  Before the darkness stood its children, another twenty acolytes, all dressed in black robes. They turned as Annie was led across towards them, Montrose strode ahead, raising his arms.

  'Tonight's the night!' he called out. 'I'm sure you can feel it as much as I can. They're here. Tonight we embrace immortality!'

  'What is he talking about?' Annie whispered, mostly to herself. Maisie leant in to reply, but the cultists who were gathered before the pit parted, revealing a shirtless figure who had been forced to his knees, bound as she was. She almost collapsed in shock.

  'DONOVAN!' she cried out.

  He tried to right himself, to straighten his back, but it was too much. She saw the bullet wound in his upper chest had been sloppily cauterised. It was swollen and oozed pus. He was under the thrall of a terrible infection. He stared at her with bleary eyes and smiled, mouthing something before the effort took the wind from his sails and his head fell forward again.

  Hands gripped Annie's shoulders as they drew closer and she was forced to her knees across from her fiancée. An acolyte stepped forward and passed Montrose something pale and cylindrical. He held it in both hands and stared at it, his eyes growing wide with wonder.

  'How's the boy?' he asked, not looking up.

  'Not doing too well?' a guy with a thick moustache answered.

  'He's not about to die any time soon, is he?'

  'Infection'll get him in a few hours, I'd say.'

  'Good,' Montrose stepped forward and placed the item he held between Annie and Donovan.

  She was drawn to it,
though she wished not to be, as its visage caused an intense primal revulsion within her. It was white, and veins ran through it like marble. Upon its surface a relief had been carved, a demonic face with absurdly deformed features. Its mouth was twisted across the left hand side of its face, thick lips parting to show rows upon rows of tiny teeth. A thin, flat nose sat above the mouth and either side of that were two black orbs. They were darker than the abyss of the quarry behind it and if it was not for the wet sheen that caught the light and made them look alive, Annie would have have believed they were bottomless pits.

  'Is it time?' the old man, Arthur, asked. His skin was so thin Annie could trace the blood vessels beneath it. He was on edge and shifted from leg to leg.

  Montrose looked up at the stars.

  'Not yet.'

  'I could drop dead any second! Get on with it!'

  Annie began to cry, the tears finally materialising. They'd been threatening to come since she woke up.

  'Why are you doing this to us?' she blubbered.

  'You wouldn't understand,' Maisie said.

  'You're not from the valley,' Montrose added. 'You never had the dreams. Never heard the call. Never heard them. We have neighbours here. You can't see them or feel them, but we can hear them. It's like listening in to a conversation in the next room by putting a glass to the wall. And let me tell you, the walls here in the valley are real thin.'

  She baulked. Her body was trying to cope with the lunacy and failing miserably. Her friends were dead, the love of her life was dying. And because of what? Lunatic devil worshippers in the woods?

  'Why though?' she repeated, knowing full well she would never get an answer that could justify what they'd done.

  'Why?' Montrose said. 'Immortality. We offer a sacrifice of blood and death. The death of your friends and their blood, and then we offer a vessel for our neighbours. That way they can commune with us. And then, as a reward, we'll be granted eternal life.'

  'Soon I hope!' Arthur yelped. 'I'm old as shit and about to fuckin' die! Get on with it!'

  'You're not going to die, Arthur. Shut up,' Montrose snapped.

  'Fuck you!' Annie spat. 'You killed my friends to make-pretend that you'll live forever. Fuck you! Kevin and Bilbo and... oh God! Philly! You bastards ate him. You ate parts of him while he was still alive. You sick bastards.'

  Montrose furrowed his brow and looked around at his fellow zealots, confused. Then, in turn, they began to cast accusatory glances amongst themselves.

  'Ate?' Montrose asked. 'Who? Which one was Philly? Who killed this “Philly”?'

  The congregation shook their collective shoulders, mumbling their innocence about the suggested cannibalism. They raised their voices, claiming it was against the rules. Against what they had been told. The blood was sacred and for spilling only. Never to be consumed.

  'That was the weird skinny kid, wasn't it?' Maisie asked.

  'Yeah. Not seen hide nor hair of him,' Francis added.

  'You might be suffering from a bit of stress there, miss,' Montrose said to Annie. 'We're not cannibals. That's not our M.O.'

  She lowered her head and forced her eyes closed. She felt her nails digging into the palms of her hands, wishing they were driving into that son of a bitches eyes instead. She blinked and saw the cracks in the ground and remembered the badge she found.

  'Connor!' she gasped. 'It was Connor!'

  It made sense. She had wondered how he could have survived. He'd be a wild beast, wouldn't he? Hunting and eating anything he could get his hands on. There were still lost tribes in the Amazon who practised cannibalism. Its taboo was a social construct, after all. It had to be Connor.

  Montrose laughed as the acolytes snickered.

  'Connor Finlayson? The wild boy of the woods?'

  'He's real. He's out there!' she said.

  'Starting to sound like old Jimmy there,' Maisie said. 'He never heard the call. Too many bad dreams of his kids, I think.'

  'Connor was a real person,' Montrose continued. 'But he's long dead. He was one of the first kids we tried to use as a proxy for our neighbours... nothing came of it though. We didn't have the process figured out and now he's down there-' Montrose pointed behind him, to the quarry's pit, '-With your friends.'

  Besides him, framed by the darkness, Arthur was staring up at the sky. He blindly reached out for Montrose's arm and yanked it.

  'Stars are right! Do it now!'

  Montrose nodded and pulled a small, curved blade from his robes. Annie tried to kick herself up, but multiple hands gripped her shoulders and pushed her back down. Instead she began to scream as Montrose leant in and without a word, drew the sacrificial knife across Donovan's throat.

  Almost thankfully, in his addled state he barely seemed to notice. He coughed once and after a seconds delay a torrent of blood began to cascade from the grievous wound, soaking his chest and pooling around him. Annie continued to scream as the blood began to make its way towards the hideous totem before them and vanish. The notion that the statue was absorbing the blood was ridiculous. It was trickling through a crack beneath the thing. It had to be. The idea that Donovan's blood, his essence, was being drank repulsed her to the core. He twitched, kicking as the deluge at his neck slowed and finally stopped. Then he crashed forward. Dead.

  'Well?' Arthur snapped.

  'Well what?' Montrose said.

  'Where are they?' Francis asked, Arthur's nervousness rubbing off on him.

  'It can take a while. You know that.'

  Annie watched as the last of Donovan's blood vanished into the stone. Her tear ducts had ran dry. She felt cold and calm. She was next on the chopping block, she knew it. But she would go down fighting. She demanded vengeance and given the opportunity she would kill every last bastard there, though she'd settle for just Montrose. He held the knife. He pulled the trigger. He was in charge here. She would make him suffer before she'd let him die.

  'It's not working!' Arthur cried out.

  'You can feel them! I know you can! We all can!' Montrose protested.

  'Might be the girl they want,' Maisie said.

  'O.K. then,' Montrose nodded to two of the acolytes and they stepped forward, seizing Donovan's body. They hauled him to the lip of the quarry's pit and tossed him over the edge. The world went quiet for a moment and then came the echoing splash of Donovan joining the countless others within the pool below. Another secret to be forgotten in those dark, consuming depths.

  Arthur turned back from the darkness at his back as he spoke.

  'Open her up. Let them in.'

  Montrose vanished behind Annie and brought the blade to her throat. She tried to fight back, but the arms held her fast. Donovan was gone. She thought, feeling the fight leave her. Not just dead, but gone. Lost, just like she would be, and all of their friends, and somehow that was worse. Their bodies would never be found. Their parents and loved ones would never know what happened to them. Knowing their demises, no matter how horrific, would have given their family some kind of closure, at least.

  'What if it doesn't work?' Francis asked.

  'It will. It has to. We'll make them manifest tonight. Somehow,' Montrose said. Annie read between his words. He would be willing to drain every last member of the cult in an attempt to summon the neighbours he spoke of if he had to.

  Annie looked into the face of the idol. Then past it, past where old Arthur stood on the cusp of the quarry's pit. She saw a hand reach up, over the lip of the abyss and her heart leapt. For the briefest of moments she thought it was Donovan. He'd survived, somehow, and was back with blood on his breath and vengeance boiling in his veins.

  Unfortunately she was right on all points bar the hand belonging to Donovan.

  It was heavy set and encrusted with filth, the fingernails were black with grime. It brought with it a heavily muscled arm which was covered by ragged clothing that was too tight and had burst in several places. Then the figure's head came into view.

  He wore a grubby white cloth wrapped
tightly around his face leaving a mop of short and unkempt hair hanging over the edges. Two holes had been ripped out of the canvas for eyes, but the shadows rendered them as dark pits which reflected only the slightest glimmer of moisture from within. Below the holes, daubed with blood, were two lines that twisted around the side of his face as a mockery of lips.

  Annie's eyes flicked down to the idol, then back at the intruder and realised the mask was a tribute to the dark deity portrayed within the stone before her.

  Someone saw their new, uninvited guest and screamed.

  Then things devolved into utter madness.

  13.

  The figure rose up behind Arthur, dwarfing the old man who cried out weakly as he was scooped off his feet and effortlessly held above the masked man's head. He was suspended for a moment, before being brought down across his extended knee. Arthur was broken in half, the back of his head near enough meeting his own ass as the sickening echo of his breaking back cracked across the quarry.

  Behind Annie, Montrose dropped his knife and went for his pistol. The figure cast Arthur's broken body aside, flinging him nonchalantly into the pit.

  Gunshots blasted above Annie's head, deafening her. Blossoming red wounds erupted on the killer's broad chest and he staggered slightly before falling flat on his back, just shy of the drop.

  The zealots drew back in after their initial, panicked retreat. Annie's hearing came back and she heard them yammering on, quizzing each other about the stranger's identity. Annie knew who it was though. The legends were true. He'd survived when they had tried to use his body for their arcane magiks, and he had survived in the valley all this time.

  Maisie approached the fallen killer, a heavy hunting knife with faint remnants of blood on it in her hand. Francis followed, holding onto a boar hunting spear.

  With all eyes on the body of Connor; Annie reached forward for the knife Montrose had dropped. She slipped it between her knees, blade up and began slowly working on her bonds.