Five Days of Darkness

by Greg Hall

  Whatever it was, it was done.

  The moon was high above Henri now, and he wondered why the nine miles seemed to be taking so long. Even with his significantly slower pace, he felt like he should have made it to Cheneyville at least an hour ago.

  The food sack was empty, and Henri’s stomach was rumbling. The rail ties seemed to level out, and it was more comfortable for him to walk. The throbbing in his back seemed to subside for the last half hour, or maybe Henri had just gotten used to the pain.

  A rustling and snapping of branches cried out from behind him. The sound was significantly louder than when Eli came out, he thought. Then he remembered that Eli was never really there.

  Another branch snapped.

  “Eli?” Henri called out, realizing that a part of him believed that the whole interaction was real.

  There was no response. The sound that followed wasn’t human. A deep, guttural growl that Henri felt vibrate through his body. It wasn’t the boy this time. Something big was back there, and Henri could feel its eyes on him.

  Henri didn’t want to wait around and find out what it was, so he took off. He called upon all remaining energy and ran as fast as his sore legs would carry him. It wasn’t long before a pounding on the gravel behind him began.

  The beast followed.

  The tracks turned to the right, and Henri tried to maintain the same speed around the bend. The beast was getting closer. Henri thought it might be a wolf. Wolves weren’t common in these parts, but there was no other explanation. Black bears were common, but they rarely attacked humans. If it was late in the season, you might hear the odd report of a bear attack.

  The beast was gaining on Henri. He wanted to turn to look but was too afraid. He worried that if he didn’t look, then this entire encounter wouldn’t actually be real, maybe he could will it away.

  A light feel on his face. To Henri’s relief, It was an orange glow coming from the distance. Next, Henri could hear the sounds of people talking and laughing.

  Cheneyville was right there!

  Henri pumped his legs even faster. He took the knapsack off and let it drop behind him Sorry, Franklin.

  He swore he could feel the breath of the beast on his neck. It was warm, and it sent a shiver down his spine. A low growl radiated through his ears. Henri didn’t think he was going to make it.

  “Help!” he called out, hoping someone was close enough to hear his cries. He kept yelling and screaming, hoping the sound would also scare away the beast.

  Henri wanted to push himself more, but he reached his breaking point. A snapping jawa was trying to clamp down on his leg. The beast was real and ready to kill.

  Henri was filled with hope when he saw the platform a hundred feet ahead. He only had to make it there, and someone could help him.

  Seventy feet.

  Henry set his focus on the platform and pushed his body more than it was willing to go. Another snap of the jaw.

  Fifty feet.

  Henri swore he could feel the warmth of a fire, somewhere in the distance. He hoped someone would be close. Someone who could rescue him from the beast that is so close.

  Twenty feet.

  The beast was within inches of Henri. It seemed to be playing with him, as if it knew it could strike him at any moment.

  Ten feet.

  The platform was almost within reach. Henri only had a few more steps. He would grab the platform and jump onto it. He continued to call out for help, and maybe, if he could find the fire, it would be enough to scare it away.

  Just as Henri reached for the platform, his foot caught a railway tie. All the hope Henri had found disappeared as he fell to the ground.

  34

  Modeste had lost track of time. She was still sitting against the door, feeling completely helpless.

  In her younger days, when she was healthy, it would have taken nothing for her to contact the Conjurer to bust this door off its hinges. Using that much strength in her current state might kill her. If she used spirit transference, she could get onto the other side of the door, but then she would suffer the same fate as her mentor. There just wouldn’t be enough of an energy cache for Modeste to survive.

  Every human on Earth is a storage of energy. Some more than others. When we pass, our energy remains as a healing source for The Conjurer to use. When called upon by hoodoo healers, The Conjurer can use the available energy to heal those in need. When hoodoo healers need energy for anything other than healing someone in need, their own energy is used. As healer’s age, their life source fades quicker than most.

  Modeste didn’t have much left. She knew it.

  She tried to use the base of her cane to pry the door open. It was of no use. The mahogany wood of her cane was too thin to make it budge.

  Modeste was fed up with waiting for the Sheriff to return, so she sat on the bed and pondered her next move. As she sat, her eyes were drawn to the headboard. It was a simple design with ten, twelve inch posts evenly spaced apart. Modeste smiled as she realized they were the perfect diameter to fit in her hand. They were the perfect diameter to be made into a stake. She gripped onto two of the posts and began to pull. She tumbled backwards onto the bed as both pieces broke free.

  Modeste looked over to the small table that held the lamp. She grabbed the flint rod that was laying beside it. The flint was meant to light the lamp, but it might work. She ran her fingers along the rough edge of the flint.

  She sat and whittled for what felt like hours. The wick of the lamp was almost gone. Her light would be gone too. Every time she heard footsteps outside her door, she hoped it was the Sheriff, but nobody ever came to the door. The deputy was supposed to be guarding the entrance, but if he was, he wasn’t making noise.

  The stakes were coming to form.. The ends were sharpened to a point enough to penetrate through the bloodsucker’s heart. She would need a knife to perfect the edge, but it would work in a pinch.

  A loud thump came from down the hall. The sound caused Modeste to jump. She rose from the bed and approached the door.

  “Hello?”

  No response from the other side.

  Another loud thump caused her to back away from the door. She held her breath and tried to decipher what was happening on the other side.

  “Sheriff?” Modeste called out. She knew it wasn’t the Sheriff, but she needed to say something.

  The thumps turned into footsteps and increased. Whatever was making all that noise stomped toward her room. Modeste stumbled back farther and reached for one of the stakes. She held one in her left hand and had her cane in her right.

  “What the…” a voice started, but that was brought to an abrupt halt, after another loud thump.

  Modeste’s hand began to shake. She grasped the stake tightly and aimed the sharp end toward the door. It was her only weapon, but if the monster were to enter, she doubted it would be enough. There was no way she would be able to kill the bloodsucker just with a piece of large dowelling. But she was as prepared as she could be, and she wouldn’t go out without a fight. If the monster came in, she was ready to kill or be killed.

  “Deputy?” Modeste called out frantically. Nothing but silence. Seconds felt like minutes. Modeste’s knuckles were white from gripping the stake so tight. She was losing feeling in her hand. Her heart was beating out of her chest. Was this my final moment for her to face the bloodsucker? She prayed it wasn’t. She was a sitting duck and wasn’t prepared to face him.

  The silence persisted. Modeste took a step toward the door. Her cane knocke against the floor and echoed off the bare walls. She rested her ear against the door and listened. She listened and waited for any indication that the Sheriff or the Deputy was on the other side.

  Suddenly, there was a loud bang on the door. It was forceful enough to shake the hinges and send Modeste to the ground. Her cane bounced and landed a few feet to her right. She had kept the stake in her hand ready to use.

  The door swung open.

  Modeste sat up. There wa
s no light from the hallway. The doorway was just a black opening. She glanced to her right at her fallen cane. It was just out of reach, and it was too far for her to make haste and grab it. Modeste readied the stake and aimed it at the black abyss.

  Out of the darkness a ball-shaped object bounced towards Modeste. It rolled, and awkwardly came to a stop in front of her.

  The head of the deputy stared back at her.

  35

  “What’re you doing out here, boy?”

  Henri awoke to his strange new setting. He was lying on the platform, flat on his back. He was staring up at a man of the law. He had a brass badge pinned over his heart with the word ‘Sheriff’ written across the top. The name “Brady” across the bottom.

  Henri sighed as he realized he was still alive. He felt no pain. Considering the chase and fall, he was surprised he felt no new pain. His back was still sore from what David did. His legs were sore from running so fast for so long.

  The town had built a proper seating area with a small roof. It was meant for the tree fallers who were logging the cypress forest and using the rail line to get back to Alexandria. Most of the fallers lived there, and it was cheaper and easier to commute to Cheneyville daily. The well-designed platform was a nice gesture from the town that was receiving subsidies for their trees.

  “Maybe that crazy old negroe was right,” Sheriff Brady said aloud. He was talking to himself but spoke loud enough for Henri to hear.

  “I’m alive,” Henri stammered in return, then realized what the sheriff had said. “Modeste?” Suddenly, Henri remembered the beast, so he scurried to his feet and anxiously looked around to nothing but the sheriff judgingly staring back at him.

  “You know the witch?”

  “She’s not a witch,” Henri replied. “She’s a friend,” he continued cautiously..

  Henri watched as the Sheriff approached him hesitantly. The Sheriff’s right hand was resting on his hip. Henri could see the sidearm strapped underneath. The hard leather strap that locked over the handle had been loosened.

  “What have you done?” Henri asked.

  “You can vouch for her?”

  “Of course. We have been traveling tracking a killer. A monster.”

  “Huh, is that right? She wasn’t lying?”

  “What did you do?”

  “I just have her contained. She’s safe and comfortable, but I needed to figure out what to do with her,” the sheriff said with a smirk.

  “Why? Why did you lock her up?”

  “Technically, I didn’t lock her up. She’s just not allowed to leave her room. Look, she was spewing nonsense about a monster. Said it took her daughter a few years ago. I didn’t want the townsfolk to get riled up.”

  “Wait, what? It took her daughter?”

  “You didn’t know? Thought you two were traveling together? This is why I don’t believe anything they say. They lie, you know.”

  “Who?”

  “Negroes. You can’t trust them.”

  “Take me to her,” Henri ordered. It came out more forcefully than he had expected. He tried to hide the fact that he surprised himself. His demand worked. The Sheriff motioned for Henri to follow him and they walked towards the town square.

  As they walked from the platform, Henri took one last look towards the train tracks. He hesitated at first, but he wanted one last glimpse, to see if the beast was still lurking somewhere unseen. Henri turned to follow the Sheriff and left the previous night’s events behind him.

  When they arrived at the room, it was already too late. It was empty, and all that remained was the deputy’s head staring up at both of them. There was no sign of Modeste. Although it was a horrid sight of the stranger’s head who stared back at Henri, he had seen so much recently that his stomach was getting stronger.

  It wasn’t something he was proud of, oddly.

  “What the hell happened here?” Sheriff Brady asked.

  “She told you there is a monster. Here is your proof.”

  “Or the witch did it herself. We locked her in here, and this is her vengeance.”

  “No. We have been tracking the monster all through Louisiana, and you left her like a sitting duck.”

  “Can you blame me? The woman is a witch. Look what she did. She had a spell on you.”

  “I’ve seen what the monster is capable of. As terrible as it is, it can be even worse,” Henri said. Henri was beginning to realize that Cheneyville was too big, and no matter what, there was no way he could cover all the ground by himself. “We have to find her.”

  “You can look for whatever monster you want, but right now, I’m looking for your murderous witch friend.”

  Sheriff Brady knelt beside the head of his deputy. The way he looked at it made Henri think this wasn’t the first time the Sheriff had to deal with such a horrid scene. The Sheriff grabbed the head by its blood-soaked hair. He lifted it and stared into its empty sockets .

  “Where’s the body?” the Sheriff questioned..

  That was bizarre, and Henri hadn’t thought to question a missing headless body. He was more concerned about Modeste than where the body had gone. They both looked around. There was nothing in the hallway. The only sign of blood was the remnants from the head. Henri didn’t know much about anatomy, but he was sure the artery in the neck would surely spray blood, had it been cut. This was eerily similar to the scene at the Boyd home.

  “If it is the monster you say it is, we need to put a bullet through its head,” Sheriff Brady said, setting the head back down. “Sleep tight,” he whispered to the deputy’s head, then unbuckled his sidearm. He held the Browning model 1910 out for Henri to admire.

  Henri wasn’t impressed. He didn’t much like guns and felt strange being around them. He always found they gave people an unfounded sense of power. Sure, they might be able to kill,, but Henri always worried it could do more harm than good. He thought more harm could come to innocent people when guns were involved. They made him feel uncomfortable, and he worried about the people who so easily relied on them.

  “This will put an end to it, “ Sherif Brady said, gently handling the gun. “ I will kill the sunna bitch that killed Teddy,” he lowered his eye once again to the head on the ground.

  “We’re going to need more people. Everyone in town should be on high alert.”

  “No! I will not have the town in a panic. If you’ve been hunting this thing all along, you’re the best one to track it.”

  “Listen. I’ve been tracking it with Modeste’s help. I can’t do it on my own.”

  Sheriff Brady checked the magazine to make sure it was loaded and ready. He stared at Henri with a confidence that made Henri wary. There was something about the man that prevented Henri from trusting him.

  Henri knew many people who had difficult pasts. Some of them committed atrocities that were never to be talked about again. Henri knew this from confessionals and, although he tried his best not to judge, it always made him uneasy when he came across men of a particular type. He wasn’t supposed to judge, but when his own safety was placed on the line, it was hard not to.

  Many men confessed to killing people during the civil war. And although most felt their actions were justified, they still felt the need to talk about what they witnessed. Henri thought that what happened after the war was even worse. He heard about the lynching, the public hangings of the black folk, and stories of those who burned alive. Some who confessed weren't looking for forgiveness or penance, but almost used the opportunity to brag about what they had done. They believed so fully that they were doing His work, they wanted to share it in the confessional.

  Sheriff Brady reminded him of those men.

  “Let’s go hunting,” Sheriff Brady said, with a smirk.

  The knot in Henri’s gut wound even tighter.

  How to Kill a Bloodsucker

  Part III

  36

  Modeste wandered the city of Cheneyville.

  She couldn’t get the image of the deputy’s
decapitated head out of her own head. The lifeless eyes that just stared back. The mouth gaped in a silent frozen scream as though the deputy was trying to scream before his head was removed.

  Bloodsuckers weren’t generally known for such horrid displays of revulsion. Of course, they killed many and either left bloodless bodies behind, but it was usually about sustenance over the physical gratification of taking a life. They weren’t into grandiose gruesome displays. Modeste knew that these actions of this bloodsucker weren’t typical, and it clearly didn’t think it would get caught.

  When the bloodsucker was hunting children in New Orleans, it used caution when hunting. The kids went missing and were never seen again. Their bodies were never found, which is why Modeste still held onto a glimmer of hope that maybeTiara would return. She couldn’t make sense of why bloodsucker had changed its pattern.

  At first, it seemed to hunt black people solely because it knew the law wouldn’t care about missing negroes, but now that her and Henri showed up, it was on a rampage. Modeste thought the bloodsucker was just playing with her, knowing that she was weaker than itself, and not a real threat.

  It was enjoying every moment of it.

  That thought was petrifying. The idea of a bloodsucker killing for pleasure chilled Modeste to the bone. Back in that room, she was a sitting duck. He tore the head from the deputy with ease and left it there to taunt her. It was not threatened or the least bit intimidated by her in the least. Everything it did now was just to provoke her.

  She still had the two stakes she made while imprisoned in the room, but now she had them strapped to her, one on each leg. It was the only weapon she knew that could kill a bloodsucker. Marie had told her of other rumored ways, but nothing was as proven as a stake through the heart. One of the more persistent rumors involved removing the bloodsucker’s head and burning its body. Sure, it might work, but a stake through the heart seemed like a more reasonable and efficient option for Modeste.

  She could hear the sounds of people in the distance. As she got closer to the town center, the voices multiplied. She knew what the monster looked like and thought it would be easy to pick him out of a group. Modeste knew she would be safer amongst the crowd instead of hiding in the dark. Unfortunately, she knew she stuck out like a sore thumb. As she approached the crowd in the town square, it parted ways, opening a path for her to walk. Everyone stared as she passed by. In order to search for the bloodsucker, she would need to blend in, to go unnoticed. That was not going to happen in Cheneyville. It was common for her to be stared at, but Modeste was usually able to take it on the chin. This time, it made her feel even more unsafe. Without Henri, she was completely alone.