The Devil's End

by D A Fowler

  He puffed furiously on his smoldering “coffin nail,” his father’s nickname for cigarettes. Of course, he had every right—he was dying of lung cancer, the direct result, his physician said, of his twenty-four-year, three-pack-a-day habit, and why his son should continue to smoke in light of that was beyond him. But Wayne figured his deadly habit was a slow enough bullet, and who wanted to live past the age of forty anyway? “So you think she’s hot for it?” he whispered to Dennis when they reached the porch.

  Dennis blew a lacy stream of smoke from his lips and nostrils, a wolfish grin appearing on his face. “Guess I’ll find out pretty soon. Want me to call you later with the final score?”

  Good-Sport Wayne smiled and said, “Might as well. I’ll just be sitting around beating my meat.”

  Dennis laughed, tossed his cigarette down on Wayne’s porch and crushed it out with his boot. “Heard you can go blind doing that.”

  “I’m just going to do it till I need glasses,” Wayne said, recalling the old joke. He kicked Dennis’s crushed butt into the grass and went in.

  Dennis returned to the car with a confident stride.

  Lana had finished the Coke Dennis had bought her, and was munching on the ice. She offered some to him, but he politely declined the offer. He had a fever, all right, but ice wasn’t the cure for it. He’d been a “good boy” for too long—and doing a lot of what Wayne had jokingly mentioned, though he would never in a million years admit it to anyone, even in jest—and it was just about time he got some real action. Marla was a regular ice maiden, which in Dennis’s book gave him unspoken permission to go for any available strays he came across, whether Marla and he were fighting or not. He smiled innocently at the sweet piece sitting next to him. After Marla got him back, no doubt Lana would have trouble making any worthwhile friends at school, generously supposing anyone would want to hang around with a hick in the first place.

  “Been up on Beacon Hill yet?” he asked, pulling into the road.

  “I don’t think so. Where is it?”

  “North end of the valley. There’s a scenic overlook on top, where you can see all the pretty lights down here over the treetops. Big deal, huh?”

  Lana smiled. “Oh, I think it’d be real pretty.”

  “There’s something else up there too,” Dennis continued in a deeper voice. “Spooky old graveyard. We all go up there on Halloween in costumes and party. You’ll have to come. It’s really a blast.”

  “Count me out on that one,” Lana said with a shiver. “I’m not a big graveyard fan, an’ I sure wouldn’t be caught in one at night. Especially on Halloween.”

  Dennis gave her a sidelong glance. “You’re not superstitious, are you?”

  “Totally,” Lana confessed. “You won’t catch me walkin’ under any ladders, and I’ve thrown a fair amount of salt over my shoulder. An’ there really are such things as ghosts, you know. I’ve seen pictures of ’em. At least two famous actresses I know of lived in haunted houses, Elke Sommer an’ Linda Gray. What reason would they have to make up stories like that?”

  “Publicity?” Dennis ventured.

  “No, because things really were goin’ bump in the night,” Lana countered. “Or growlin’ behind a basement door, like in Linda Gray’s house.” Lana tapped the upturned Coke cup to get the last few melting squares of ice to slide into her mouth. Dennis turned on the radio.

  “Well, I don’t believe in any of that shit myself. There’s got to be a logical explanation for all that, and pictures can be faked real easy. But, people like to believe in stuff like that, so they don’t go to a lot of trouble to figure it out. When a tree falls in the forest and there’s no one around to hear it, does it make any noise?”

  Lana’s brow creased with confusion. “What does that got to do with the price of eggs in China?”

  “Noises are in our heads,” Dennis said impatiently, wanting to turn the conversation toward more intimate matters. “And nobody really knows what the brain’s all about.” He left the explanation at that and began drumming his fingers on the dash in rhythm to the ZZ Top tune rattling through his speakers. She’s got legs…

  Lana let the subject drop; he obviously wasn’t interested in sharing speculations about the supernatural.

  After turning onto Parish Lane, Dennis turned the music down low. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a very pretty girl?”

  The compliment quickened Lana’s pulse. “Once or twice,” she answered modestly. Actually she’d been told dozens, maybe even hundreds of times—including ego strokes from relatives—but she thought it would sound conceited to say so. If she’d known Dennis better, she might have told the truth anyway—she was naturally cocky—but she didn’t yet feel comfortable enough around him to flop out her whole personality. The great teenage dilemma: Who am I with this person?

  “I’ll bet a lot more than that.” Dennis winked. “You know you kinda look like Jodie Foster? Ever thought of becoming an actress or model?” He was launching into his favorite tried-and-true strategy: pump up the girl’s ego, make her feel good in one way—and more than likely she’ll return the favor in another way. Simple psychology. Or was it biology…?

  Lana dismissed his question with a laugh. “Are you kiddin’? I can hardly memorize my own phone number, let alone a whole script. An’ I’m too short to be a model. I’m only five-four.”

  “Well, I bet you still had about a hundred boyfriends back in Tyler, huh? Am I right or am I right?”

  “Only one, actually.” Lana sighed. “Greg Abbott. We used to write songs together…well, I’d write poems an’ he’d put ’em to music. He played the piano. You should hear him do some of Elton John’s stuff. He’s really good.”

  Dennis nodded as if impressed, but what he wanted to know was how far Greg Abbott had gotten with his girlfriend, not how well he played the piano. “So you two really liked each other a lot, huh?”

  Lana wasn’t sure what Dennis was getting at, but she didn’t want to spend the time talking about her lost boyfriend. “Sure, but now he’s there an’ I’m here, an’ that’s just the way it is. I mailed him a letter yesterday, tellin’ him I thought it best if we just go on with our lives and give other people a chance. We can’t change the situation, so we might as well. You think that sounds cold?”

  Dennis didn’t answer. They were approaching the top of the hill.

  Carrying the squirming rabbit against his chest, Jay followed Nancy down the forbidding path to the grotesque garden of death. After several minutes of milling around, seduced to one spot after another by Nancy’s flashlight beam, they stopped before a flat stone marking the grave of Earl James Cunningham, who had died only two days after his forty-eighth birthday.

  “We’ll do it here,” Nancy announced, lowering herself to a kneeling position. Jay, already feeling guilty about the rabbit’s fate, did likewise. Nancy set the flashlight down on the stone and took ten items from a large cloth tote bag: a grease pencil, her father’s hunting knife, five short candlesticks, a lighter, the black-hooded cape, and finally, the ledger.

  Jay watched in uneasy silence as Nancy ceremoniously donned the cape, opened the ledger, and began to duplicate the markings within it onto the headstone with the grease pencil. As she worked he began to sense another presence very near—not just one, but several presences—surrounding them as shadows, observing their activities with keen interest. He started to say something about it to Nancy, but he couldn’t find his voice.

  When she was finished drawing, Nancy took the lighter and began burning the bottoms of the candlesticks so that they would stand upright in pentagram formation on the stone. That done, she lit them and sighed with satisfaction, then smiled up at Jay, looking very much the witch she was aspiring to be. Jay didn’t return the smile. He looked down at Thumper, who had suddenly become statue-still, as if he too were aware of the phantom spectators.

  “Put him in the inn
er circle and hold him down,” Nancy commanded.

  Offering the helpless creature silent apologies, Jay did as he was told, wanting to close his eyes until this was all over, but he was too afraid. If the outer circle of shadows started closing in on them, he wanted to know.

  The flames began to dance wildly on their wicks as Nancy began reading the incantation from the ledger, her voice taking on a foreign, almost hypnotic quality. Jay didn’t want to hear the sounds being intoned: they made up the language of Hell and spoke entreaties to the damned. Beneath his hands, Thumper still seemed paralyzed, and probably was, by fear. On some instinctive level he might know more about this infernal ceremony than they did.

  There was one other vehicle parked on the scenic overlook, which Dennis recognized immediately as belonging to Jay “Pizza Face” Gorman, Marla’s best friend’s boyfriend, nicknamed Pizza Face (behind his back) because of his severe acne problem. There were no occupants in sight, but he thought he could see the Dodge Charger rocking slightly. Choosing a spot on the left, he pulled in and switched off the engine. He needed another cigarette. “Let’s get out and take a little walk,” he suggested, grabbing his pack off the dash.

  They got out of the car, and Dennis made sure he was downwind from Lana—who’d earlier informed him she was allergic to cigarette smoke—before lighting his Marlboro. He puffed on it greedily for several moments, then nodding toward the Charger and smiling, took Lana’s hand and pulled her with him, his intention to intrude on the illicit activities in the backseat quite clear. Lana shook her head emphatically and tried to break free, but Dennis refused to let go. He wanted her to get an eyeful; maybe it would arouse her lust.

  But the backseat—as well as the front seat—of the Charger proved to be empty. Lana finally succeeded in yanking her hand away. “It’s not nice, trying to sneak up on people. Why would you wanna do that?”

  He looked around at the shadowy shapes of the trees, listening for the sound of nearby moans. He heard one, but it came from Lana.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m cold,” she complained, wrapping her arms around herself. “An’ I really don’t like this place…it’s spooky. Now why did you pull me over to this car? You thought we were gonna see some people naked, didn’t you? Were you tryin’ to embarrass me, or what?”

  Dennis heard nothing but the invitation to share his body heat. “Come here, stand next to me if you’re cold,” he suggested softly, moving up to her and enfolding her in his arms. She tensed noticeably, but didn’t try to pull away.

  He stroked the small of her back. “You miss your boyfriend?”

  Lana could feel his heart beating, faster, faster. He was obviously getting turned on. Red Alert. Do you miss your boyfriend? Translation: Do you miss his touches, his kisses, his whatever else you’d gotten used to? ARE YOU HORNY?

  “No,” she lied, attempting to put some distance between their bodies.

  Dennis clutched her tighter. “Hey, there’s no reason for you to fridge up. I’m not gonna bite.”

  “That ain’t what I’m worried about,” Lana snapped, breaking free from his grasp. “I don’t know what you had in mind when you brought me up here, but all I’m interested in is talkin.’ I don’t even know you.”

  Dennis now grimly realized that the fringe benefits he’d hoped for wouldn’t be so easily obtained. But what the hell; his main purpose in being with the hick anyway was to make Marla jealous. Some kids at the drive-in had watched her get into his car in front of the printer’s across the street, but for all they knew, she was going to be with Wayne. (At least some were undoubtedly stupid enough to think that.) Dennis wanted to find Jay and whoever was with him—probably Nancy, which would be absolutely perfect—and let them see him with a strange girl at the overlook. Nancy would break her neck rushing home to call Marla. The clincher, though, would be for him to have his arm around Lana in the hall at school when Marla walked by. “Hey, what are you getting so upset about?” he asked innocently, spreading his palms in a pretentious gesture of confusion. “I was just trying to keep you warm. Jesus.”

  Lana didn’t quite believe him, but she felt stupid nonetheless. “Sorry, I don’t want you to get the idea I’m a prude…I’m not. But we did just meet, you know, and I thought you were gettin’ some funny ideas. This place…and here we are all alone…”

  “Forget it.” Dennis puffed some more on his cigarette, soothing his nerves with the drug. So he wasn’t going to get his rocks off—he didn’t need to hear the bitch expound on her virtues and sob about being afraid he was going to rape her. “Anyway, we’re not alone—there should be at least two other people up here. Wanna go look for them? I’ll introduce you.”

  Lana shrugged. “I guess so, long as they’re not, uh…busy.”

  Jay realized that Nancy had stopped speaking, and when he looked from the sacrificial animal to her hood framed face, he saw by the candlelight that it was sheened with sweat. She had put the ledger aside and had taken up the hunting knife, clutching the handle with both hands, the gleaming tip pointed downward. Jay imagined he heard a dozen intakes of breath as their corrupt audience anticipated the plunging of that razor-sharp blade. Jay held his own breath, and at the moment of the blade’s descent, involuntarily squeezed his eyes shut.

  Accompanied by a shuddering jerk, there was a squeal of pain from Thumper, and warm blood splashed on Jay’s left hand. He immediately withdrew both hands from the rabbit, his eyes reopening just in time to see a brilliant blue flame flash around and through the rabbit’s body. A second later something hot and wet smacked into Jay’s face.

  Lana came to a stop and hung her head. “On second thought, I really oughta get back to my mom’s car. If you want, you can follow me back to my house and—”

  Her words were cut off by a distant terror-filled scream followed by abrupt silence. Lana jumped about two feet in the air, a surprised shriek escaping her own lips. Dennis felt his guts tighten. “Jesus Christ. What was that?”

  “I think it was just a screech owl.” Lana gulped, her heart pounding. “But it’s kinda hard to tell ’em apart from a real person screamin’. Which do you think it was?” She wanted to discuss the matter sitting safely in Dennis’s car with the doors locked, but her feet were cemented to the ground.

  “It came from the cemetery.” Dennis took a final deep drag on his cigarette and let it fall to the ground. “I’ve got a flashlight in my glove compartment. I’m going to go check it out.”

  Lana shuddered. “You’ve gotta be kiddin’. Let’s go call the police an’ let them check it out.”

  “Fuck the cops,” Dennis muttered, heading back toward his Monte Carlo. “You just sit tight, lock yourself in the car if you want to, but I’m going down there…that scream sounded pretty human to me. It was probably just Jay and one of his football buddies playing around, jumping out from behind tombstones at each other, yelling boo and shit. But you never know.” He tossed the keys down on the front seat and grinned. “If I’m not back in an hour, then you can call the pigs.”

  Lana balked. “An hour!”

  “All right, ten minutes,” he amended. “Fifteen tops.”

  He took his flashlight from the glove compartment and headed for the path.

  Kneeling among the tombstones in the moonwashed cemetery, Nancy removed her hand from Jay’s mouth. He maintained his silence with difficulty, because he could still feel the hot, wet slap on his face, like an echo of touch. Nancy quickly put everything back into the tote bag and was now rising to her feet. “Come on, we’ve gotta get out of sight. Someone might have been on the overlook and heard you scream.”

  Jay clambered to his feet, looking morosely at the rabbit’s still form. “We just gonna leave it there?”

  “Forget about the stupid rabbit,” Nancy hissed over her shoulder as she hurried for cover. “Come on, we’ve got to hide. Now.”

  Jay didn’t think
he could stand to touch Thumper now anyway. Suddenly he wanted to vomit, but he hurried after Nancy instead, in no way inclined to touch his own face either. The last thing he needed right now was to learn that his brother’s beloved pet had died for nothing.

  Lana was about to beat it for the nearest phone when she finally saw Dennis emerging from the trees fourteen minutes later, holding the flashlight in his left hand, a large white object dangling from his right. She rolled her window down and leaned out.

  “What’s that? Did you find anybody?”

  “No, just this,” Dennis answered thickly, lifting the thing higher. Something was dripping from it.

  Lana stared, horror-struck. “Is that a rabbit? What—”

  “Found it laying on one of the flat grave markers. It’s still warm.”

  It was then that Lana realized what was dripping on the ground—blood. She thought she might puke. “Oh, that’s horrible! An’ it’s not even a wild rabbit. That’s the kind they sell in pet stores.”

  Dennis considered telling her about the strange markings he’d found on the stone surrounding the animal’s body, but decided against it. That would only bring up the subject about spooks again, and he still didn’t care to discuss it. He didn’t even want to think about it. If Jay and whoever wanted to get their kicks by killing white rabbits in the old cemetery, that was their problem. He tossed the limp body into some underbrush and walked around to the driver’s side.

  “Why would somebody do that?” Lana wailed as soon as he got in the car. She stayed well over on her side this time, scrunched against the door as if trying to sink into it.

  “Kinky thrills,” Dennis shrugged. “You name it, somebody out there does it for kicks.”

  Lana wanted to find whoever had killed the rabbit and kick their heads off, which would be no less than what they deserved. She and Dennis hadn’t heard a screech owl. They’d heard the scream of a human being, not emitted from personal injury, but expressing a primitive conquest over a defenseless animal. The idea disgusted her totally. She clenched her fists. “Got any idea who it was?”