by Troy McCombs
"John, are you in there?!" Steera cried.
John turned to the open door. The Sheriff's voice sounded from ground level; he was probably even outside still. But when John turned back to look at the beaked, three-eyed monster, it was gone...
The broken window was now unbroken, too. There were no shards of glass anywhere on the floor or sill.
He left the house in a hurry. Out in the clearing, twenty yards away, Steera was wiping blood out of Lucky's injured ears. He looked up at the only man he'd ever seen come out of the Mayberry House alive twice, stunned. "Jesus Christ, John, what in the hell happened in there?"
John didn't say a word.
***
Lucky whimpered for many minutes; his ears continued to bleed. He, his owner, and Charlie were sitting back in the parked State Trooper SUV back on the gravel road outside the perimeter of the woods, trying to figure out what to do next. John looked withdrawn. His eyes glazed forward with no life in them at all. Neither man spoke to each other for a while.
"I think Lucky needs to see a vet." John didn't blink. The tone of his voice was lifeless.
"Now, I know this is hard for you, but what did you—"
"—Charlie," John interrupted, "don't let anybody near this freaking road again. I'm lucky, and Lucky is lucky, to have come out in one piece at all."
"Did you see something?"
"Whatever I saw—is starting to make sense to me. Starting to. I'm beginning to get vibes about the house. The pieces are slowly coming together."
"Was it a ghost? A demon that you saw? What did it look like?"
"It—it was just like you and I. A living creature bound by the laws of our world, except it wasn't from our world. And yet, at the same time, it was."
Lucky cried. John petted him and smiled. "I know, boy. We're going to get you fixed soon. I promise."
"How could it be and not be? I don't understand."
"I don't yet, myself. All I know is that I've found literal proof of something much more tangible than ghosts. It was there one moment and gone a second later. A second! It opened its mouth and the next thing I know, Lucky runs out of there and a window shatters."
"Opened its mouth? Why?" Steera looked puzzled.
"It was scared when it saw Lucky."
Steera thought about it for a moment...the dog's bloody ears, a broken window, and a creature opening its mouth...no. Breaking glass, dog’s ears bleeding...then a frightened creature...
As he pondered, John slowly began to absorb every word that ran through the Sheriff's head. He was telepathically seeing what the man beside him was thinking. Finally, the answer popped into the psychic's head. He figured it out.
"A sound?" They said it in unison.
"It opened its mouth..." Charlie nodded, his eyes full of interest...
"As if to scream, because it was afraid of Lucky! And dogs can hear very high frequencies humans can't! That's why he heard it and I didn't. That's why his ears are bleeding and not mine. That's why the window shattered. Its entire physical construction, voice box and all, must not be like ours."
Steera smiled. But his smile quickly faded. "But what about those skeletal remains? Why did it spare your life and not theirs?"
John sighed. "It wasn't the same thing that killed those men...at least I don't think it was. Give me time, Sheriff."
Find...Hope...Mary...--the three small, scattered words echoed loudly and unexpectedly through John's head. It sounded like Steera had spoken them, except his mouth hadn't moved.
"Find. Hope. Mary?" John looked over at his partner.
"What's that?"
"Find. Hope. Mary. Were you just thinking those words?"
Charlie looked dumbfounded. He shook his head. "No. And I don't appreciate you trying to read my—"
The flash image of a steel-reinforced brick wall crashed against John's all-seeing eye. He flinched. Blood jet from his nostrils. The headache that erupted felt more like a hemorrhage.
"Jesus, John, are you all right? What the fuck was that?" Steera reached into a pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. "Here. Goddamn, I never seen anybody's nose bleed like that."
John wiped the blood away. "It's okay. It's been happening." Lucky pawed at his shoulder. "Well, Charlie, I think me and my mutt better go before we bleed to death."
"You sure you're okay?"
"Yeah."
The duo left soon afterward. John took Lucky to the nearest vet—in New Stanton—fifty long miles away. The veterinarian, a small Asian man with a lazy eye, explained to the owner that his pet's eardrums had, as Rollings had thought, been partially damaged by some kind of strange, high frequency vibration...
And that Lucky would fully recover by next week.
Chapter 5
The following morning began with the sun climbing slowly over the hills of the Ohio Valley, its brilliance not impeded by a cloud in the sky, its warmth radiating the town of Bellsville for the first time in a week. Plants and tree roots sucked in the fuel it offered. The rippling river reflected its gleam masterfully. Birds flew through the sky, their wings flapping against gravity. A gentle wind blew consistently, maybe cooling off too much of the beautiful weather.
John was on his cell phone, still in bed, but dressed and ready to go. “So you'll meet me there? At Nineteenth-Street Park?
The voice on the other end was old and scraggly. "Yes. How about at the bench in the open field? Y'know, where most people take their dogs? I'll be sitting by the big twisted oak near the fountain."
"Sounds good. Give me about twenty minutes, Father."
"All right, bye." Click.
John snapped shut his cell phone and put it in his pocket. Lucky was sitting right in front of him, tail wagging, eyes innocent and curious.
Warf! Warf! Warf!
"Okay, boy, let me get the collar and leash. See if this thing even fits you."
John grabbed them off the nightstand. Both were pink, not a masculine color, but John had obtained them free from his cousin Beth after her Airedale was put down back in '98. He had stored them away in a drawer ever since, just in the likelihood that he ever did buy a dog.
"Here. Let's wrap this on here." John knelt down and stretched the collar around Lucky's neck. It fit perfectly. He snapped it in place and hooked the leash through its loop.
"Okay, let's go."
Lucky barked and ran toward the door, yanking his master with him.
"Lucky!"
They entered into the fresh, raw morning air, the furry leader bolting athletically down the five concrete steps, the lagging follower stumbling awkwardly to keep up. Both relished the pleasant atmosphere. It felt like the first day of spring. Birds sang from the tree branches and children giggled from across the street. John felt revived after a good night's sleep, during which he didn't dream about the Mayberry House whatsoever.
All the better.
His head was clear, his stomach was full, and his bladder was empty.
Lucky slouched down on its front legs as he proceeded, sniffing the scent of another animal's recent trail. He deemed it necessary to stop and smell every fire hydrant, every STOP SIGN, every bush. John was patient with him. He didn't yank on the string once. He took his time, too, exploring the bleak little town that was dying instead of growing. The old Board of Education building, only nine years ago alive with teachers and coordinators, was now vacant, its structure enveloped by stray weeds, its windows all cracked and broken. The old dime store, once a popular business with kids and young adults, was now forgotten and out of business. Jobs were scarce here. Everybody was moving south. The winters were too cold, too long. The advent of cell phones had disintegrated physical human contact. People mostly stayed indoors and played games. When they did go out, they fed their paychecks to the poker tables or slot machines at Jack's Dollar's Casino. Just like any small community, Bellsville was suffering, taking its last breaths, fighting to stay alive.
***
Their walk took forty minutes, twenty more than Jo
hn had expected. He tried phoning Father Henry three times during the way to inform him he was running a little late, but the battery in his cell phone had died.
Nothing like standing a priest up.
Still, he and Lucky were almost there, now crossing through a path into the local park, which, today, was crowded with joggers, bikers, and power-walkers. A ten-foot wide asphalt walkway surrounded by forest, it was the most scenic route in all of Chester County, probably, stuffed with dandelions and lilacs in the summer, immense pines, and a waterfall, whose splashing could be heard by anyone in the vicinity of the park. Many times rainbows formed over the waterfall, and today was one of them. John watched it through a connection of twisted tree branches as Lucky dragged him along. The pink, yellow, and red stripes arched across the sky made the psychic wonder what heaven was really like, and if he was seeing a glimpse of that world right now. Spiritual eye candy. It suddenly reminded him of those two bunnies hopping out of the bush on Mayberry Road, darting up the hill, and disappearing from view.
Soon, he and Lucky crested a hill and walked past a sign, which read: Mannor Animal Park. Please clean up after your pet. If you do not, you WILL be fined for littering. Thank You.
They proceeded around a curve, until they left the tree-shrouded area of the park. Stretched before them now was a huge, wide-open field jammed with people playing with their pets. Lucky went ballistic when he saw the different breeds of dogs running after sticks, balls, and Frisbees. He tried to run toward them, barking, but barking was all that John allowed him to do.
"No, Lucky. No!" He had to hold the leash tight. Lucky was no poodle.
Thirty yards straight ahead, a man in thick, mars black clothes (foolish attire in this kind of weather) was sitting on a bench, watching the animals play. The glasses sitting across his nose looked like they were going to fall down the entire time. He was an older gentleman, probably 62, thin, his hands rippled with wrinkles. He wore a meek smile and a clerical collar on his clergy shirt. He seemed tense and uncomfortable.
"Father," John greeted, sitting down beside him.
Henry looked over. He pushed up his glasses.
"John Rollings. How are you doing? I haven't heard from you since you moved back here." His voice had a strong, grainy quality to it.
Lucky forged ahead, but couldn't get out of the restraint. Instead, he choked himself on the leash.
"Yeah, and I haven't been to church lately, either, Father. I apologize, really."
"It is okay.” The priest glanced up at the sky. Obviously not too exquisite in his eyes. “It doesn't matter if you come to church or not. God does not command it. You're serving him by doing what you're doing in life—freeing spirits."
John gave his own meek smile. "This new case I'm on is really exhausting, especially mentally. Not so much spiritually, but mentally. Physically. Physiologically. Yet, it's the biggest case I've ever been on. Ever. I think I've finally found the one."
"That's good, but don't let it get in the way of your health.” Henry coughed into a wrinkly fist.
"Father, whatever is in that house is not a spirit. It's a living organism. Or organisms. In the flesh. How can this be?"
Father Henry suddenly looked disturbed. "John, I'm going to tell you why I don't think you should be investigating this case. People come to me all the time complaining that the devil makes them sick, or that demons make them sin. That all evil comes from one source. But who's to say that fallen angels are the only source of evil there is? Just because God created heaven and earth doesn't mean we're alone in this vast, empty space we call the universe. Who's to say aliens don't exist? Who's to say He even gave them life if they do? I have strong convictions in Christ, the Son; God, the Father; and the Holy Spirit. But do you know just how many different religions there really are? They all believe in something different. Does that mean they're wrong? No. In fact, there is a little truth in all of them. Some people believe in multiple Gods. Who's to say Christ is the only one? Maybe Christ is only the God of this district. What if there are others? Egyptians believe in the Sun God Ra. Some Hindus believe in a four-armed woman Goddess named Kali. Every story or belief must begin somewhere, and most began some time long, long ago. That proves to me that we don't know as much today as we probably did then. Who knows what else might be lurking out there, or even in this world? These things you said you see—what if they're a part of a different district, a different plane of existence? That would make them exceedingly dangerous to us. Only our Lord knows what they are. Perhaps He created them, perhaps He didn't. There are things I believe He keeps secret from even his highest regarded angels. Who knows? There may even be alternate places crawling with beings even God is afraid of...and you may have just discovered them."
Everything the Father was saying was a wake-up call for John. It was all so obvious, yet so far-fetched, he'd completely passed the theory by. He had been so involved with the spiritual world for so long, he forgot about such beings as fairies and Bigfoot and the Mothman and the Chupacabra. These things didn't haunt the houses he cleaned. These things were far more rare than anything he had come across. Now they were lying in his lap.
"What do I do then, Father? I can't just leave the investigation behind. I have to dig deeper. If I turn my back on it now, the world will never know about this monumental legend. No other haunted house, job-wise or study-wise, has had this much impact on me. The true, in-depth story of the Mayberry House will take the world by storm."
"Is that what you plan to do? Write a book about it? Y'know, sometimes ignorance is more useful than truth. It keeps people in order. In the 30's, when I was a boy, there was a radio broadcast about the end of the world. Something about alien spaceships invading earth. Several people believed it was real, and killed themselves because they were so afraid. Massive panic erupted everywhere. Ended up, it was all a fictional tale based on an H.G. Well's novel, intended for fun and nothing more. Now, I know that doesn't apply to you. People today aren't what they were then, but I don't feel the world's ready for a realization yet, at least not of this kind. Not of this magnitude. You may be asking for more trouble than you can handle."
John checked on Lucky, who had stopped tugging at the leash and was now sitting comfortably, still watching the other animals play in the field.
"What would you suggest I do, Father Henry?"
Henry replied immediately: "Tear down that house. If you want it to be safe, get someone to bulldoze it. You don't have many choices. I got a bad feeling about this one. I don't get many of those, not even when people claim to be possessed." Lastly, Father Henry checked his watch and said, "I must go now, John. God be with you. I will pray all goes well."
This was the first time Rollings had ever seen this devoted man of Christ on edge. The fear was visibly evident in his trembling hands, his twitching eyelids. He stood up slowly and sauntered away, hands behind his back. As he went, the fear John was feeling from him gradually faded away.
Chapter 6
The following morning, John was awakened by the distinct sound of two sources lying on his nightstand: the radio alarm clock (the song Free Falling by Tom Petty began playing), and the rippling shrill of his cell. They both blared through the room simultaneously, too precise to be coincidental; then again, John didn't believe in coincidences.
He answered the phone. Lucky, lying on the floor, yawned.
"Steera, is that you?"
"Yeah, it's me, John. I'm up here on Mayberry Road. Three local neighbors teamed up together and tried to burn the house down last night. It's a mess. Two just dropped dead, and one caught himself on fire at the last minute for—I don't know what reason. Four firemen went into the house to extinguish the flames. None have come out. The flames eventually went out by themselves. The structural damage—Jesus, there isn't any!"
John went to turn down the noisy radio. He grabbed the wrong knob, and turned it all the way right, accidentally flipping through a variety of different stations. Suddenly, an idea blazed into
his head (that's why the phone rang at the exact same time the alarm went off!). He knew the perfect way to explain what was happening in the Prestillion House.
"I figured it out, Charlie, when I met Father Henry yesterday. I know what's wrong with the place. I have to show you in person."
"Well, all right, but I might be called off this case soon. That means you, as well. The state commissioner is looking into this. I heard rumors that the FEDS might show up. So, if you're coming, you'd better leave now. And please leave your dog behind."
"I'll be there in five."
"Alright. I'll wait for you at the road turn off. Like I said, it's a mess here."
John flipped his phone closed.
***
Two and a half minutes later, John stopped at the bent STOP SIGN before Robin's Pike. Police car sirens screeched in the distance. They sounded close, and then closer. By the time John looked both ways and started up the hill, a slew of cop cars and one unmarked car came speeding down in the adjacent lane toward him, their lights flashing. They passed without stopping at the sign and proceeded toward the highway. Rollings proceeded up Robin's Pike, around The Devil's Elbow (the sharpest turn in Bellsville), and across the dilapidated Red Winston Covered Bridge, whose recent paint job already looked centuries old. Many more vehicles passed him—not cop cars, fire trucks, or rescue trucks, but shiny black Mercedes's with Government plates and tinted windows.
"You gotta be kidding me!" He watched them recede in his side-view mirror. This wasn't just a local matter anymore. The big fish had come to town.
He soon arrived at the entrance to Mayberry Road. However, there wasn't much of an entrance. The blockade was nearly impassable. The entire road leading back to the woods was crammed with all kinds of personnel, even military. Two convoys were parked alongside the closest driveway. Men in camouflage stood around, directing traffic with glow sticks. Nobody was allowed to enter the restricted space. Surely not such a low-paid psychic.