The Shadow Box: Paranormal Suspense and Dark Fantasy Thriller Novels

by Travis Luedke

  We parked our vehicles outside his cabin and gathered in the rear, looking through a chain-link-fenced enclosure. Eight undead—including Irene—milled in circles, groaning and swatting at imaginary flies. Some looked fresher than others. Landry had removed the duct tape and plastic ties, and they wandered freely inside the enclosure.

  I spotted a ninth creature towards the back, lying on the ground and barely moving. It looked pretty far gone—almost mummified—and I assumed it had decayed to the point of being almost harmless.

  “Everything dies,” Landry said. “Even these monstrosities.” He sounded like a kid at Comic-Con as he spoke to us. “Ever since this business started, I’ve been studying these creatures. I call them creatures, of course, because they’re no longer human.”

  His cat, Hawking, which had a sizeable rip in the skin of her back crusted over with dried blood, sidled up to Landry. He eased her away with his boot.

  “What happened to the cat?” I said.

  “One of those things bit her. She was lucky to get away.”

  Collectively we backed off. “Aren’t you worried about infection?” I said.

  “That’s the interesting part,” Landry said. “This happened a couple of weeks ago. She hasn’t exhibited any signs of the disease. For her, it’s a wound. No worse than any animal bite. And it’s healing. This virus—or whatever it is—doesn’t appear to jump species.”

  “Then it’s not a form of rabies?”

  “Doesn’t appear to be.”

  “You remember Jim Stanley?”

  “Sure I do.”

  “I think he was bit by his rabid dog before he turned.”

  “I don’t think there’s a link, Dave. You know rabies is common in these parts.”

  “Then what in hell is causing this?”

  The cat sidled up to me, purring. I bent down to pet her.

  “Careful,” Landry said. “She could still be a carrier, which is why I don’t let her get too close.”

  “Why do you study them?” Ben said.

  “Because I have a curious mind, Ben. I want to see if I can learn something that might help to stop this.”

  “And for that you had to remove their restraints?” I said. “You always were a little off, Irwin.”

  “I like to think of myself as open to possibilities.”

  “I did enjoy your class the best, though.”

  “Interesting. I always thought Ms. Ireland’s class was your favorite,” he said, winking. Then to Ben and Aaron, “She was pretty formidable in the chest department.”

  “Uh-huh,” Aaron said, grinning at me.

  “So how’ve you been, Dave?” Landry said, punching me in the arm. That was one thing I did not miss.

  “Not too good. My wife and I …”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  When the dead things rushed the fence, we jumped back—all except Landry—even though it was impossible for them to grab us. The cat bared her teeth and hissed. Then one of them shrieked in frustration.

  “We’d better get inside,” Landry said. “Once they start going at it, the sound will attract others.”

  Over a dinner of ham-and-cheese sandwiches and root beer, Landry explained what he was doing. I noticed he didn’t have a television set, which irritated me because I wanted to check in with Evie Champagne on the latest. But he did have a generator and a cell phone that he used to provide Internet access to his laptop.

  “We don’t know what’s causing the dead to return to life, of course,” he said. “But we do know a few things. One, there was some kind of event. Maybe an animal virus did jump species—though I still don’t think it was rabies.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because rabies has been around since the Egyptians and it’s never been known to do what we’re seeing now. But it is highly contagious. Decomposition doesn’t cease, as you observed outside. Eventually these things will rot away.”

  “But not before doing a lot of damage,” Ben said.

  “Right. And to Dave’s point, very similar to rabies in that regard.”

  “Why do they want to eat us?” Aaron said.

  “Oh, yes.” Landry’s eyes twinkled the way they used to in science class. “Clearly they’re getting no nutrition from the flesh. They could be doing it because it’s one of the most basic instincts—to stay alive. You see, all life forms have fundamental needs. Maslow talked about a hierarchy. You remember this, right, Dave?”

  “Oh, sure,” I said. “Who could forget Maslow?”

  “You can disregard the rest of the hierarchy. For these things, all that’s important is the physiological needs. Air, food, water, sex, sleep, homeostasis and excretion. From what I’ve observed, they don’t need water, sex or even sleep.”

  “And they don’t appear to need air,” I said.

  “Really?”

  “Trust me.” I looked at Ben and Aaron.

  “Okay,” Landry said. “And they don’t excrete, as far as I can tell. They eat and eat and nothing comes out.”

  “Where does it go?” I said.

  “Well, there doesn’t appear to be any kind of digestion. Though I haven’t observed it myself, my guess is they fill up and can no longer eat.”

  “Like Thanksgiving,” I said.

  “Maybe they explode,” Ben said.

  “I wouldn’t mind seeing that,” I said.

  “What’s homeo …” Aaron said.

  “Homeostasis. It’s the ability of an organism to regulate or stabilize itself. You know, like temperature and so on. Well, these things are always cold, so I don’t think they’re doing that very well either.”

  “So all that’s left …” Ben said.

  “Is hunger,” I said.

  “Right,” Landry said. “And they are laser-focused on it.”

  “What else have you found out?” Ben said.

  “Well, because most of the higher brain functions appear to be nonexistent, they can’t speak. And I’m assuming they can’t reason either.”

  “No,” I said. “But they can communicate with each other. I’ve seen it.”

  “What about their other senses?” Ben said. “Sight, hearing?”

  “We know they can see. Not well, but they get around just fine. I think they can hear too, because the sound of humans in distress seems to attract them. In order to confirm, I’d have to conduct all kinds of experiments that I don’t have the equipment for.”

  “I still don’t understand,” Aaron said. “Are they, in fact, clinically dead?”

  “That’s the interesting part. They don’t appear to have any of the normal life signs. No beating heart, no breath. Yet somehow they live. I guess they really are the undead.”

  “But how?” Aaron said.

  “We don’t know. There are documented cases of yogis who can put themselves into a state of samadhi, consciously lower their respiration and heart rate to almost-undetectable levels. My guess is, somehow a brain in this state is leveraging some unique ability of the body that we are currently unaware of. Something that allows it to operate in this minimalist fashion.”

  “But why?” I said.

  Landry looked at each of us, took a swallow of root beer and set the can down. “Survival,” he said.

  We decided to stay with Landry for the night. In the morning we could figure out whether it made sense to stick together. Landry was a famous scrounger. For whatever reason, he’d collected sleeping bags and stored them in case of an emergency. Ben, Aaron and I lay in them around the cold fireplace, exhausted, waiting for an uncertain morning.

  As I lay there, I thought about Holly. Was she dead—or undead like Irene? There was no sign of her in that field, and it was my prayer that somehow she’d escaped that fate and gotten to safety. Landry claimed he hadn’t seen anyone in the area fitting her description.

  That’s another need that Maslow should have listed, something the undead were not burdened with. Hope.

  * * *

  In the morning, over hard-boiled eggs a
nd coffee, we discussed our thoughts.

  “I need to find Holly,” I said. “If that means going back to Tres Marias alone, I’ll do it. I don’t expect any of you to follow.”

  “Let’s look at the facts,” Landry said. “We’re fairly surrounded by the undead. I’ve spotted more and more of them over the last few days. We’re not sure if these Black Dragon Security people have things under control. If we’re lucky, they’ve established a perimeter and are keeping it secure.”

  “No one gets in or out,” Ben said.

  “Right. Dave, you could take your chances out there alone, but I would advise against it.”

  “I have to agree,” Ben said. “It’s too dangerous for one man.”

  “Okay,” I said. “So what are you guys saying?”

  “Well, my dance card is pretty open,” Landry said, and drained his coffee cup.

  “Ben?” I said.

  “Aaron and I don’t have anywhere to be,” he said.

  “So all of us go in search of Holly?” I looked at each of them. They nodded. “Okay. I can’t say I don’t feel a huge sense of relief. And gratitude.”

  Landry rose and cleared the table. “We’d better get some supplies together.”

  “Why Tres Marias?” Ben said, helping to clean up.

  “Because I haven’t been able to reach Holly,” I said, “and I don’t think she knew I was coming up here. I’m guessing she thinks I’m still down there somewhere. It’s a long shot, but I don’t have anything else to go on.”

  “Can’t reach her?”

  “No. That’s what disturbs me. I keep calling and texting.”

  “Cell service has become worse than usual since this thing started,” Landry said. “Not sure what that means.”

  “We do have one problem,” Aaron said. “I don’t think there’s nearly enough weapons.”

  “We won’t last five minutes out there without some real firepower,” I said.

  “I think I can help you there,” Landry said.

  * * *

  Landry didn’t say anything as I drove my truck over a narrow, bumpy dirt road deep in the forest, towards I didn’t know what. Ben and Aaron followed in the motor home.

  “I still don’t see what all the secrecy is about,” I said.

  “Just a precaution.”

  We arrived at a clearing that had been defined by hundreds of rocks arranged in a circle. The ground looked as if it had been swept. An enormous concrete birdbath stood in the center. In it stood Diana, holding her bow and arrow, with a dead stag at her feet.

  “Are we communing with nature now?”

  “Look hard,” Landry said.

  The surrounding trees were dense, and it took me a few seconds to realize a house stood before us, camouflaged in paint. If you looked at it the right way, you’d swear you were looking at nothing more than shadows in the trees.

  “No way.”

  As I squinted through my windshield, the front door opened and a rail-thin man with a white ponytail halfway down his back and a long Rip van Winkle beard came towards us. He was dressed in khaki cargo pants, a bright Hawaiian shirt and flip-flops. But for the AR-15 slung over his shoulder, I would’ve taken him for an ancient surfer named Moon Doggie.

  Landry hugged the man like they were long-lost brothers. “Boys, this is Guthrie Manson.”

  We shook hands and exchanged greetings.

  “Why don’t we all go inside. Caramel put the tea on already,” Guthrie said, and led us into the secret house.

  The place resembled something inspired by Tim Burton on a Thomas Kincaid bender. The furniture, though handcrafted, sat askew. Not a single piece was level. There were tables and chairs with five legs. The angular sofas were covered in colorful cushions made from bits of paisley, velvet, satin and an American flag.

  The rugs looked expensive. In addition to lace curtains, there were heavy blackout curtains pinned back with metal chains.

  From the ceiling hung hundreds of potted plants intermingled with little calaveras dressed as mariachis, circus performers and politicians with top hats. But what struck me was the light coming from what I assumed were hidden skylights. The room absolutely glowed.

  As we headed towards the kitchen, a woman appeared in the doorway. She looked to be around the same age as Guthrie. She also had long, white hair that reached her tailbone. She wore a loose-fitting blue muslin skirt that lingered above the floor and a filmy blouse with no brassiere.

  “This is Caramel,” Guthrie said. “Honey, meet the guys.”

  Again we exchanged greetings, then sat at the large kitchen table made from unfinished pine. As we talked, I couldn’t take my eyes off Guthrie’s beard. I tried imagining him eating soup.

  “I appreciate you helping us out,” Landry said as Caramel set out the tea for us.

  “Thanks, darlin’,” Guthrie said, squeezing Caramel’s hand, then slapping her on the butt as she returned to the kitchen. “So, Dave. Irwin tells me you need to find your wife over in Tres Marias.”

  “I’m hoping that’s where she is. This tea smells interesting.”

  “It’s jasmine,” Caramel said as she joined us at the table.

  “These are bad times,” Guthrie said. “Seems like you can’t go for a walk anymore.”

  “Can I ask what you folks do out here?” Ben said. It was a question I’d been dying to ask.

  “We grow pot,” Guthrie said. Ben almost did a spit take. “Purely for our own consumption, of course. And a few friends.” He and Caramel gazed at each other like teenagers.

  “Is that why the house is camouflaged?” Aaron said.

  “That and the fact that we’re pretty much done with people. Present company excepted, people are no damn good. Right, honey?”

  “What if someone tries to break in and …” As I said this, two nearly identical men who looked as if they’d stepped out of a Spartacus episode strode in, both armed with AR-15s.

  “These are my sons, Jerry and Frank,” Guthrie said. “Named after the two greatest musicians who ever lived.”

  Caramel, who looked like a doll next to the giants, scooted over and hugged them. “Are you boys hungry?”

  Landry swallowed the last of his tea and stood. “So let’s have a look at that cache,” he said.

  We left our tea and followed Guthrie to the back of the house. We had to step past a pack of maowing cats.

  “Jerry and Frank?” I said to Landry.

  “After Jerry Garcia and Frank Zappa.”

  “Way before my time.”

  I looked out a window and found Caramel outside watering a fruit tree and smoking a joint the size of a Cuban cigar. One of her sons patrolled along the perimeter.

  Guthrie got out a set of keys and unlocked a steel door that stood in a heavy steel doorframe. “This is it,” he said.

  We found ourselves in the middle of a thirty-by-thirty room filled with hydroponic equipment. Hundreds of marijuana plants were suspended all around under bright lights. But that wasn’t the amazing part. All along the walls were weapons. There were rifles, shotguns, AK-47s, AR-15s and other powerful hardware.

  “Are you kidding me?” I said.

  “When it all goes down, we’ll be ready,” Guthrie said.

  “Is this stuff legal?” Aaron said, picking up a worn Uzi.

  We stared at Aaron. Red-faced, he put the weapon back.

  “One thing I will warn you about,” Landry said as he examined a shotgun. “And they don’t talk about this in the movies. These weapons are heavy without any ammo. So choose wisely.”

  “Seriously, Guthrie?” I said, picking up a Rambo-like weapon.

  “MGL six-shot grenade launcher. Bought that from an ex-cop I know in Arizona,” he said, handing it to me. “Unfortunately it only came with one crate of grenades. Got to make those last.”

  Poring over the weapons, I found a strange-looking long gun.

  “Good choice,” Guthrie said. “That’s a Kel-Tec KSG twelve-gauge shotgun.”

  �
�It’s so short.”

  “Yep, it’s a bullpup.”

  “I like it.”

  The twins helped us load the truck and motor home with weapons and ammo. As we got ready to leave, Landry embraced Guthrie and Caramel.

  “Can’t thank you both enough.”

  “Happy to help,” Guthrie said. “Strange times, my friend.”

  I walked over to shake hands. “Do these undead bother you way out here?”

  “Nope. Smell of the cannabis, I guess. Who knows.”

  “You take care,” Landry said. Then to us, “Back to my place for some target practice.”

  “So how do you know them?” I said as we drove back.

  “Guthrie and I go way back,” Landry said. “High school, in fact.”

  “You guys were high-school friends?”

  “When we turned eighteen, I went to college and he went to Viet Nam. When he got back, he was totally changed. Like a lot of guys back then.”

  “What about Caramel?”

  “I think he met her at a McGovern rally.”

  “Who?”

  “Never mind.”

  * * *

  We grabbed our weapons and waited near our vehicles. Though I was comfortable with my axe, I felt safer with the Kel-Tec. Landry surprised us by selecting an AK-47, and Aaron chose a handgun. Ben stuck with his Remington shotgun. We didn’t know what Landry had in mind. I was thinking cans and bottles sitting on an old wood fence. He thought otherwise.

  As we waited nervously, Landry unlocked the gate to the fenced enclosure. Though I’d already shot a couple of these things, the thought of gunning down what was left of my mother-in-law did not sit well.

  “Wait,” Ben said. “I mean, we’re just going to … shoot them?”

  “They’re not human, Ben,” Landry said.

  “But there are laws, dammit!”

  “Ben, I appreciate what you’re saying. But if we’re going to survive, we have to be able to kill these things on sight without hesitation. It’s the way it is. And we need to be quick because the gunfire will attract more of them.”