Blinded by fury, I mirrored the demon and rushed towards the dark creature of the night, my hammer held up high over my head. I brought it down hard upon the demon, smashing the hammer into its metal-like carapace. I pounded away at it, blow after blow, my fury giving me strength, until the demon was no longer uttering its evil conjurations. Suddenly, a large amount of warm green moss grew over the entity, covering most of it. The glowing red eyes peered dimly from the ground, until they faded out completely as the moss took them over. The earth took back what it spewed forth, and it now lay hidden under a thick coating of moss.
I could still hear the roaring fires of Hell, as the death of the demon had not closed the open gate. The dark shadows seemed to come alive with fresh new evil spirits lurking in every corner. The moths seemed to be approaching me again. I could not fight them all off, there were too many, and my body was tired from the struggle with the demon. I had to escape this now and get help!
The door to the pits of Hell blocked my path up the driveway, so I cut through the forest. I would find the road from there. Running as fast as I could, I felt the huge moths’ wings flapping against the back of my neck, which made me run faster still. My legs were tired and my head swam in vertigo but I had to go on...to get help...before more demons came out...couldn’t...let them...out.....
* * *
Ted Johnson tuned the radio to the local country station that he knew Bill preferred during the drive to work. It was a bright and sunny Monday morning, and Ted was just turning into Bill’s gravel driveway. Ted’s smile quickly gave way to a quizzical expression when he spotted Harry’s pick-up parked there with the driver’s side door wide open. The engine was still running too, so whatever had happened Harry must have been in a hurry to not bother turning off the truck or close his door.
Ted pulled up his old Corolla behind the truck and cut the engine. He looked around trying to quickly assess what was going on here. A shiver passed through him, one forewarning him he best be prepared for the worse. The worse imaginable wouldn’t even have come close to preparing him for the sight he came upon. He stepped out of the car slowly, his old work boots kicking a few loose gravel stones as he walked up to the parked truck. He reached inside and turned off the ignition. As he was getting back out from the truck, he looked up ahead towards the cabin and had to choke back a gasp.
A few feet in front of the truck was a body, or what was left of it. The head no longer held any shape, having been smashed inwards. It was not even possible to recognize that it had once been a head at all. The body lay in a crimson pool of blood that had seeped into the gravel stones surrounding it. Ted then recognized the corduroy sleeve that was partly uncovered by blood. He was looking at Harry Newman’s corpse. With weak and shaking legs, Ted Johnson turned towards his car, and as fast as he possibly could, made his way to it, but not before his breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon splattered the side of his car door.
* * *
Within a few hours, the entire property was crawling with detectives, crime scene investigators, the coroner, search dogs, and the local sheriff. The severity of violence from this very first homicide in Anchor’s Point would make it one for the record books in more ways than one. Not only did the officers find Harry Newman’s body on the property, but also his dog Chester was found on the front porch, lying dead with several broken bones. A trail of blood led away from Harry’s body and into the woods just beyond the driveway.
“We found him Sheriff. He’s dead.” The young deputy stood holding a bloody hammer in a gloved hand just at the edge of the woods.
“Show me,” sighed the Sheriff.
They walked through the woods for about three minutes, along the obvious path that the killer had left. Broken tree branches, bloody footprints and smears of blood on leaves and plants marked the way. They came upon the body of William Prescott, lying on his stomach. The coroner stepped ahead and pronounced the death officially, then turned the body over. Several pieces of grass and leaves stuck to the blood that covered the body’s arms, hands and torso. Alongside these bits of nature were other less natural bits: skull fragments, brain matter and skin. Bill was covered with Harry’s missing face and distorted head.
The deputy turned and went back to the cabin, not able to stomach what he was seeing for the first time on active duty. The coroner examined the large gash on the body’s head.
“I can’t officially determine cause of death, that’s what the autopsy is for, but my guess is that the fellow tripped on that empty bottle of vodka over there and then came crashing down, hitting his head on this huge rock here.” He pointed to a large moss-covered rock that was only a few inches away from the body.
The Sheriff took one look at Bill and then at the coroner and with another sigh replied, “Just bag him up. We got a lot more of this puzzle to put together.”
He hiked up his belt a bit just before he set out on the bloody path back to the cabin. When he got back to the cabin, there was a group of four young men talking to the deputy. “Sheriff, these boys claim to have passed by here last night, looking for some, well snacks, but they claim the place was empty when they came up the front door. No lights or anything.”
The sheriff opened his mouth, took one look at the disheveled hoodlums with their beady red eyes and sighed loudly. “Go to the station to give your statements boys.” With that said the Sheriff returned to his cruiser and radioed for detective Carlyle Walters.
* * *
It was later in the day, after the bodies had been removed, that Detective Walters was doing his third walk-around at the scene. He’d closely examined the perimeter of the property, from the body’s location, to the pick-up and the front porch. He was now inside the cabin, searching for anything else he may have missed the first few times he’d made his round in here.
They had found some skin remnants on the wood stove, those would have to be analyzed and identified to confirm they were indeed William Prescott’s, though matching fresh burn wounds were found on his forearms. The only prints that had been lifted from inside the cabin were those of Bill’s, except on the book that had obviously been dropped on the living room floor near the recliner. Harry’s prints were found on the book, and his name was inscribed in the front cover. Detective Walters walked slowly back to the kitchen. He peered in the sink. The dishes had been washed, and left to drip dry. A single plate, a steak knife, a fork, a chef’s knife, a cutting board and a wok all sat together in the metal “clue” holder.
Detective Walters glanced towards the door as the Sheriff walked in. “Say Sheriff, do you cook a lot?” A small grin started to spread on the detective’s face.
“No ‘Lyle, I can’t say that I do. Martha’s the one with the cooking skills at home. What in the world do you ask me that for?” Another sigh escaped him.
Detective Walters walked over to a small dish that was sitting on the counter, between the sink and the stove. “You see Sheriff, my wife Laura insisted that we take a cooking class together just this past summer. She was tired of the same old thing, night after night. She wanted me to take on some of the household responsibilities...enhance my culinary skills and excite our palates...I think is what she said exactly.”
The Sheriff crossed his arms and stood broadly in the doorway. “Why are you telling me this?” he asked the detective.
Picking up the small ceramic bowl, Detective Walters smiled broadly now. “One of the classes we took was called ‘What not to Eat’. In that class we learned all about the dangers and the side effects of eating natural foods that we find in the most natural of places, like in the forest for example. Mushrooms, being one of the most important foods to be weary of when foraging.” Detective Walters picked up a handful of the wild mushrooms in the small ceramic bowl that had been sitting on the counter. He brought them closer to inspect them and said: “Most of these wild mushrooms have a hallucinogenic effect on people. This variety, the Liberty Ca
p, is no exception.”
The Sheriff looked at the bowl of mushrooms and back at the detective. He took out an evidence bag from his kit near the front door and said to the detective: “I guess we had better bag those for evidence then.”
* * *
From the kitchen, out the front door, there flew a small brown moth. Down the front porch it went, beyond the gravel driveway, past the truck that was being towed away. It flapped its wings through the bushes and the shrubs. It breezed by the shadows cast in the deepness of these woods, until it grew tired and weary of the long flight. It had been away for a while now, and although the makeshift habitat inside the cabin had been amusing, there was nothing better than returning home.
The moth softly landed on a small mushroom, and peered beyond to several hundred more, carpeting the forest floor.
Yes, how great it was to be back home.
SOUL MATES
The street lamp on Mulberry Lane overlooked the tranquility of the warm summer evening. It cast a soft orange glow on the well manicured lawns, the sidewalks, and the quaint neighbourhood that loved its residents as much as they loved it back. The nights here were always calm and quiet. The most one could expect after sunset was the occasional owl hooting at the chorus of crickets that hid in and around the lilac and hydrangea bushes, common in the area. It was indeed a quaint street in a quiet neighbourhood. Everybody knew their neighbours and took pride in the fact that they were a close-knit community.
Perhaps it was the suddenness of the old man’s appearance on the street that caused the street lamp to go out, or perhaps simple coincidence, but the lamp did go dark as soon as the old man staggered aimlessly in the middle of the street, a look of confused stupor on his pale face. His eyes wandered the deserted neighbourhood and then closed for a few moments, his mouth trying to form words that never managed to escape his body.
As his feet struggled to keep him moving forward, Walter stumbled for a few more steps towards the sidewalk. His foot found the edge of the curb, making him lose what little balance he had left, and sent him stumbling down. Both knees hit the cement hard, hands scrapping against the unforgiving surface. His body now lay unconscious and sprawled on the sidewalk. The shadows played on the man’s wrinkled face and the night closed in around him as he moaned softly “Rose...”
* * *
The two boys were walking home after a night at the movies, horsing around as young boys often do, laughing and playfully heckling each other all the way. As they turned onto Mulberry Lane, Jay stopped abruptly when he saw the man’s body crumpled on the sidewalk. He froze in place and grabbed Donnie’s sweater, holding him back.
His friend looked at him. Not having seen the body, Donnie got angry and said, “Come on, this is a new hoodie!” Jay’s surprised expression told Donnie that something was wrong. His own eyes followed Jay’s gaze until they spotted the crumpled thing on the sidewalk. When he realized that what he was looking at was in fact a man’s body, he started running towards it.
Jay followed close behind, both boys reaching the man at the same time. They stood over him for a moment, unsure if they were looking at a dead body or a living one. As Jay held back, Donnie bent in closer and looked at the old man’s face.
“It’s Walter Goodman from up the street. He looks pretty banged up,” said Donnie.
Jay looked quickly around, unsure of what he was expecting to find on the lone stretch of street. Most of the houses were dim, their occupants already retired for the evening. “I’m not sure we should stay here, maybe we should go get help.” Jay began.
Donnie chuckled to himself and looked up at his friend. “Are you kidding me? Don’t you know what this old fart drives? A Rolls-Royce, Jay...and do you know what that means?” Jay’s anxious expression quickly morphed into a wide grin as he caught on to Donnie’s scheming train of thought. He hunkered down closer to old Mr. Goodman, reaching towards his sweater vest pockets, adding “Hey mister, are you alright?”
Donnie looked up to make sure nobody was watching. Jay was searching for the antique gold pocket watch that he’d always seen Mr. Goodman wear. When he didn’t find it in his vest pockets, he pulled the man from his side onto his back, so he could search his pant pockets. As the man was rolled over, his eyes flew open, and his wrinkled and spotted hand grasped Jay’s wrist with a strong hold. The suddenness of his awakening made Jay jump and snatch away his hand.
Mr. Goodman’s eyes were not normal looking. They were looking over the two young boys’ heads, out to the distant sky above. Donnie nudged his friend and said: “Dude, what’s wrong with him? Look at his head!”
Jay leaned closer to the man, trying to get a better look at Walter’s head in the darkness. He had a large gash on his forehead, just above his left eyebrow. The cut seemed quite deep, and his blood was still moist on the side of his face. Jay quickly went through his pockets again, while Walter mumbled away, the only discernible word they could make out being “Rose”. They knew Rose had been his wife, who had died about two years prior.
“Donnie, he’s got nothing on him and he’s obviously pretty messed up in the head. Let’s get out of here before someone shows up or sees us and thinks we did this to him.”
Donnie stood up and smiled broadly. Jay knew that look all too well. “What bright idea did you get now?” he asked his friend.
“Jay, if he’s here, that means nobody is at his house.” The boys never looked back as they ran down Mulberry Lane towards Mr. Goodman’s house.
Lying on the cool sidewalk, Walter’s eyes had become wider now, his ramblings faster and still incoherent, though panic was apparent in his weak voice. He managed to turn himself onto his side, his eyes following the boy’s feet, pounding the pavement swiftly, moving farther and farther away from him. He reached out his scraped right hand, trying to somehow catch the boys in his weak grip, but it was too late. They were yards away now and in only a few minutes would be on his front lawn. Walter moaned loudly and cried out “Waaait....” as the boy’s silhouettes disappeared in the shadows of the night.
* * *
The last time the two young boys had seen Walter Goodman had been at The Ketchup Stain Diner about a year and a half earlier. The boys had gone in for a spot to hide out while they skipped classes. Walter had sat a few booths away from them, eating his lunch at his regular booth.
Two waitresses stood behind the counter. Glenda paused from wiping the counter and sighed, “Poor old Walter.”
“Why?” asked Abigail. She was a newcomer in town and had not known of Walter’s hardships.
Glenda leaned close to Abi and whispered, “Well, he killed his wife six months ago...”
Abigail’s eyes grew wide in disbelief. Walter seemed like such a quiet and soft-spoken old man. “What? He killed his wife? Why isn’t he in jail if he did?”
Glenda pulled Abi towards the kitchen doors, where she could be sure their voices wouldn’t carry into the dining area. “He didn’t do it on purpose, of course. Rose had been prescribed a new medication for her arthritis pain and he gave her the wrong dosage.” She shook her head, “Poor guy probably couldn’t even read the prescription bottle. She slipped into a coma, and died in the hospital about a week later. He hasn’t been the same Walter since.
“He used to be so cheery and smiling, came in every morning for a coffee and to read the paper. He still comes in now, but not as often though. When he does manage to get himself out of that house, he talks about Rose like she was still living there with him.”
She gave Walter a pitiful glance. “I asked him about it once. I asked if he feels that she is watching over him.” Her eyes grew wider as she turned back to Abi. “Well let me tell you he scared the shit out of me that day! He told me that she was still living there with him, still nagging him like when she was alive. Only now he can’t leave as often because she forgets where he’s gone to and nags him even more!”
Abigail glanced over at Walter, eating his tuna sandwich at his window booth and turned again to Glenda. “Sounds to me like he’s losing his mind.”
Glenda looked at Walter. The old man returned her glance, nodded and quickly smiled at her. “That’s what I’m afraid of Abi, I think he is too.”
* * *
Donnie and Jay reached Mr. Goodman’s two storey home only a few moments after leaving Walter on the sidewalk. They glanced around, making sure that no eyes would fall upon their wrongdoings. They ran up the driveway, crouching near the hedges, perfectly lined in a neat row. The night had settled on the property. Long, thin crawling shadows, formed by the tall maple tree branches on the front lawn, danced away on the white siding of the house. The only source of light was the soft glow of the street light.
Jay hurried up the few stairs leading onto the front porch of the house. His mind was set on finding that antique gold watch that Walter had always carried on him, except for tonight. He had decided it would be his, and nothing was going to stop him from getting it.
He crept up while Donnie, still in the driveway, examined the old man’s most prized possession, his shiny Rolls-Royce. Donnie noticed that the car had started to show signs of aging. It was still in good condition, but just like Walter, it had lost its luster and shine since Rose’s passing. The once polished and waxed silver paint was now a dull grey interspersed with rusting specks. The leather seats that used to be so shiny were now faded and cracked. Donnie remembered the car in its glory days when Mr. Goodman would come to pick up Donnie’s father for work at the accounting firm. He remembered his parents talking about the Goodmans and how they had lived a modest life. Their home had been well kept and maintained, and though still in good shape, it now paled in contrast with the newly built and renovated homes on the street.
Donnie was admiring Walter’s treasured car, when he heard Jay call to him in a hushed but frantic voice. “Donnie...Come here, quick!” Jay was standing at the front door, nervously peering in. He then looked back at his friend and motioned him to come closer. When Donnie reached the stairs, he asked “How did you open the door so fast?” Jay shook his head and then started “I didn’t. It was like this when I got here. Looks like someone already passed Go.”
Dark Tales for Dark Nights Page 2