A Haunting of Horrors: A Twenty-Novel eBook Bundle of Horror and the Occult

by Chet Williamson

  Charlie tried to kick a rusted bucket out of the way, and it broke apart around his boot. He listened for the bear, or whatever, but there was nothing.

  Patches of fog still hung here, but drifting a bit, so that areas, and objects, completely concealed only a moment before were revealed suddenly, as if to startle him. An ax handle. A lady’s handbag. Two broken mason jars. A torn picture of the Empire State Building. Part of an old radio. A high-heeled shoe. Pieces of clothing. Charlie was careful not to disturb them. What was scary about the fog was that he wasn’t sure what he would find when it separated.

  Charlie Simpson felt guilty about the flood. Having his name on the creek that had killed so many people, left so many others homeless. His great grandfather had founded the community, then sold the mineral rights to a large portion of the land to the coal companies for a dollar and less an acre. Sold the rights “in perpetuity,’’ the birthright right out from under his great grandson’s feet.

  The Nole Company had built the coal waste dam. Built it damn poorly, for all their money and technical expertise. And that same creek named after his great granddaddy had ripped the dam apart during a rainstorm one night—ripped it apart, Charlie liked to think, in righteous rage.

  And brought down death and destruction to the innocent, people whose last name wasn’t Simpson, and who had nothing to do with that coal company.

  Charlie grimaced as he pushed through the brush with his bare hands. The woods seemed much too quiet for this time of the morning. More and more fog was burning off as the sun penetrated through the top boughs, illuminating the small clearings, but no animals appeared to greet it. Several times he thought he saw the great shadow again, as the fog drifted away in pieces, the gray bulk appearing just behind the white curtain that had been torn away, but each time he was mistaken. Just a thick tree trunk, or a shadow between two overlapping sets of tree branches.

  He’d gone a good distance into the trees before he realized it. He was ready to turn around and get back to his truck when something heavy seemed to shift its weight off to his left. He could hear it; the trees seemed to groan.

  Charlie began to wonder what possessed him to be out in the woods like that. But he could not seem to leave. Even as everything was telling him to turn around and go back, he began stepping forward, slowly at first, then more rapidly, until it seemed he couldn’t wait to meet whatever it was out in those woods.

  The woods seemed to be crashing around him, and so he ran, but forward, closer and closer to the loudest sound, trying not to look back at the source of the other sounds, the echoes, at what he imagined were great trees falling at his heels.

  The woods seemed thicker here, the underbrush heavier, and driftwood and house debris were stacked among the trees. Brush and planks and pieces of sheet metal, and a soupy layer of mist over that, stretching out before him like strata. He felt suddenly trapped, and ran alongside the wall of debris and fog, seeking a way around it. He thought about the large shadowy thing finding him here, and he almost cried out. He turned around, intent on escaping back to the road and his truck, but a thick fence of hickories loomed before him, the brush so thick between them he knew he’d never be able to get through.

  Charlie stumbled around a large tree, falling, sending his hands out to the wall of brush and debris. And found a little girl hung there between two layers of strata, a mummy excavated from the flood sediment, her arms like discolored dough pierced by the branches.

  Charlie beat his knees with quivering fists. “I’m…I’m…” He coughed. “…sorry!” he gasped out, and began to sob.

  He leaned back against the tree trunk and stared at her: a gob of wet rags and a piece of an old white plastic container. Impossible. For he had seen her eyes, fixed on him.

  Charlie Simpson rose weakly and began to walk, numbed to the branches slapping his bare skin through the torn jacket. The fog was almost completely gone now, just a little mist in the air rising off the leaves. He had secretly wished the waste dam would break, had wished it with all his heart. The waste dam up at the top of the hollow had loomed there all his life, reminding him how much his family had given away. He hadn’t thought about so many people getting killed; he lived so high up on the ridge no flood could have gotten him. His imagination just hadn’t taken him that far. He couldn’t have imagined something like that little girl drowning. Could he?

  The woods stopped just ahead of him. He was surprised. Apparently he’d circled around—that was the old Taylor place up ahead, or at least what was left of it, north of where he had parked the truck. The flood had hit here hardest, in part because of the cliff southeast of the property. The high waters had poured through the narrows north of the house, washed over the yard, hit the cliff, and come crashing back. The resulting turbulence had moved everything around so that the countryside here didn’t even resemble what it had been before. A good deal of the waste from the dam itself had been dropped here, leaving the fields under eight feet of mud, double that in some spots. In the distance Charlie could just see the top of the rusted tin roof of the Taylors’ two-story house. It had been knocked off its foundations, carried a little ways and dropped, and then filled with mud to its second story. The top of the ground now, and for several feet underneath it, was littered with everything the family had owned. Nobody had come after it, at least nobody he knew. He figured kids might have scavenged here, though—at least Ben Taylor, the uncle, thought that some of that had taken place. None of the neighbors had the heart, even as poor as most of them were, and all the Taylors had died: mother and father and little girl. Reed Taylor had been out west at the time—story was the old man, Alec Taylor, had thrown him out of the house. Charlie didn’t know for sure Reed even knew that all his family was dead. That would be a terrible, terrible thing, he thought, to have something that tragic go on in your family and not know a thing about it.

  Charlie was gazing down the old path up on the left side of the hollow that wound its way to the bottom of the cliff and then up to the Taylor place, parts of the pathway remarkably intact despite the flood, when he saw the bear rise out of the brush and gallop up the path. Brown or black, he couldn’t tell from this distance. It looked kind of gray, and out of focus. Larger than the norm, a good eight hundred pounds, and well over four feet at the shoulder.

  Then the bear appeared to rear on its hind legs, leaning forward as it ran. Charlie squinted but couldn’t see any better. He’d never seen a bear do that before. Running almost like a man.

  It took Charlie a good hour to get back to his truck and on his way again. For a while all he could think of was how hungry Buck was going to be. He didn’t want to think about a bear around Simpson Creeks.

  When Charlie Simpson was driving into town that morning, still shaken by his experience in the woods near the Taylor place, he saw Hector Pierce wandering across the field behind Inez Pierce’s rooming house. The old man was feebleminded certainly, ever since the big cave-in in ‘53. Four men had been buried alive in that, and Pierce the only one to survive—intact, except for a piece of brain missing, left somewhere back down in the mine. But even a man as feebleminded as that deserved a little freedom now and then, not being cooped up in that third-story room all the time like his sister Inez seemed to want. So seeing Hector Pierce out in that field, staggering around, hairless scalp and baby like skin shiny as metal in the morning light, arms out and touching everything he passed, seemed to Charlie something perfectly right and proper, a kind of righting of past wrongs. He found himself waving to Hector, smiling when Hector waved back, and driving on to the store feeling just a little better.

  Chapter 4

  Alicia and Michael were playing down by Sloan’s Lake with the family’s two dogs: Ben, an Irish setter, and Josef, an unusually small German shepherd. Reed watched them for a long time, taken with the progress the two children had made in getting along. When Michael first came, he wouldn’t have anything to do with Alicia—she was just a little kid who cried all the time, got in
his way, and frequently got him into trouble. Both Reed and Carol knew that jealousy was operating at full force here. In Michael’s eyes Alicia was both the “real” child and the baby who got most of the attention. And since Michael obviously hadn’t gotten enough attention when he was a baby, that must have really hurt.

  They’d worked with Michael for a long time on the jealousy, letting him be younger than he actually was if that was what he needed, trying to give him the attention he had missed as a baby, holding him as much as possible, reading him bedtime stories even when most of his friends thought they were too old for that. Reed had participated fully in all of that, and in fact enjoyed few things more than reading to Michael in the evenings. It was something Reed felt very proud of; he had made a real difference in his son’s life.

  Michael was playing catch with Alicia now, being careful not to throw the bright red ball too hard, saying encouraging words when she did anything even vaguely accomplished. Reed smiled. Michael was growing up fast. He looked at his wife.

  Carol leaned against a pine tree, her arms folded across her chest. She was smiling, too, until she glanced over at Reed and noticed that he was watching her. She turned to him with a worried look on her face and walked over to where he was sitting.

  She sat down in front of him, blocking his view of the kids. “Enough being the proud daddy, admiring his kids…” She smiled. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “I love you.”

  She grinned and grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him to her lips. “I love you, too,” she mumbled into his neck. Then she pushed herself away, holding onto his shoulders so that he had to look at her directly. “But you’re avoiding me. Something’s bothering you, or there’s something you want to tell me. What is it?”

  He grabbed her around the waist and twisted her around so that she was facing the children too, his chin resting on the back of her right shoulder. “Look at our children, wife,” he said with mock gruffness. “Look at Michael; see how he takes care of his little sister.” Michael was holding Alicia up so that she could see a sea gull on one of the trees more clearly. Both children wore red Windbreakers of the same shade. Alicia’s had a down-filled hood. “Aren’t you proud of him?”

  “I sure am…I’m also proud of the proud daddy, Reed.” Then she twisted out of his arms and stared at him again, examining his face. “Tell me. It’s that phone call you got, isn’t it? I heard the phone ringing from the office, but I was too mad at you to answer it, even if it did wake you up. Was it the phone call? Is that what’s bothering you?”

  “Yeah…”

  “I should have answered it, Reed. I’m sorry…”

  “The phone call was for me, Carol. Stop feeling bad about something that you had nothing to do with. You always..,” He stopped, looked at her, and grinned. “Sorry. But there’s nothing you could, or can, do. My problem.”

  “Want to tell me about it?”

  He found himself looking at his children again. His children. His wife. The core of normalcy, the one thing solid in his life. “It was a call from back home. There’s some trouble; I…I probably need to go back there for a week or so and take care of things.” He looked up at her. “Some problems with my father’s estate.”

  She held his hand. “Who was it that called?”

  He stared at her. “My…Uncle Ben.”

  “Oh…you haven’t seen him in a long time. That’ll be good for you to see him. And it’ll be good for you to see where you grew up; it’s time.”

  “Yeah…I think it is. Seeing Uncle Ben, Charlie Simpson…it’ll be nice.”

  “Reed…can we go with you? I’d like to see where you grew up.”

  “No.” He looked at her quickly. “Sorry…but I think I’d probably better do this by myself. I won’t be there long. A week at the most, I guess.”

  “I understand. Of course.”

  But Reed knew that of course she didn’t. He’d never told her about his past. About his father. About his family. She just knew they’d been killed in a flood while Reed was somewhere else. He hadn’t even told her he’d been running away from home at the time. He just couldn’t bring himself to tell her the story.

  “You be careful, okay?”

  Reed looked at her, at the tightness around her mouth, and wondered if she knew, if she sensed something. But that was impossible. “I will,” he said automatically, hoping she wouldn’t ask any more questions. “I promise.”

  “Is there anything more you want to tell me, Reed?” Her eyes were bright, intense.

  “I could be better…at having a family…” he began.

  “You do fine.”

  He raised his hand. “I know, I know. But I’m not always good at being an adult. I think maybe going back there, seeing where I grew up, trying to dig out why I am the way I am…I think I’ll be a better adult. Things’ll be better for all of us.” What he could not say was that he was afraid not to go back. That if he didn’t go back, his childishness might foul things up so badly between them there’d be no fixing it. If he didn’t go back, he might not have his solid family anymore. His security.

  “You’ve never told me much about your childhood.” She leaned over into his arms and he held her tightly.

  “I know. Maybe I can tell you a great deal more when I get back. Maybe I’ll tell you everything.”

  Then suddenly the children were there, and there Josef was, yawning in Reed’s face. Alicia was laughing at the dog, but Reed was suddenly uneasy, staring into the dark open mouth, the pink lips, gums, and enormous tongue, the long, sharp teeth. He pulled away. Then he sneezed.

  Carol laughed. “Your cold’s getting worse, Reed. I’ve never known you to be sick like this before.” Then she looked at him seriously again. “You’re still losing weight, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “How much so far?”

  “I don’t know. Almost thirty pounds I think.”

  “Reed!”

  “I’m okay—I needed to lose the weight anyway.” He made a false smile, even though he knew she would recognize it. “I was getting fat.”

  “You’re making yourself ill, Reed…” Then suddenly they were overwhelmed with thrashing legs and wet fur, barks and giggles.

  Carol, Michael, and Alicia were laughing, all three wrestling with the dogs. Reed smiled as he watched them, determined to remember exactly how they looked at this moment, wanting to hold them, to join in.

  But each time the German shepherd swung near, Reed pulled back, thinking of its teeth. He wanted to warn them of its teeth, to tell them it might not be safe, but he held himself back. It was a foolish fear. Josef was the gentlest of dogs. They would not understand.

  Chapter 5

  That morning the woman with the bright face and hair had come to Hector Pierce’s window, awakening him from his frequent nightmare of suffocation. He had been trying to claw his way up out of layer after layer of earth, each succeeding layer covering the one he had just broken through so that it seemed he’d never reach the top. But finally the sun had penetrated, and it had been her face shining at the window.

  Hector had been thrilled; he had not seen a woman so close in years, none except his sister Inez, and particularly none who had looked at him so kindly. The woman’s hair glowed, as if her head were on fire.

  He’d pulled himself out of bed and was again amazed at how difficult it had become, harder every morning. His body was slow to do what he wanted, stubborn and disobedient. He wanted to smack it sometimes like a bad child, whip it into shape.

  Finally he was able to get himself dressed. Inez would be out shopping, he knew, and most of the boarders at work. There wouldn’t be anyone around to stop him. He stood in front of the ornate hallway mirror—it used to belong to their mother and it made him a little sad to think about that—touched his face with stiff fingers, and, deciding that it would more than do, felt like bounding down the stairs, dancing his way out onto the front porch in order to impress the woman. But the body was too
tired, and he had to make do with ambling slowly, his right hand clutching the railing with a desperation that did not seem to belong to him.

  When he stepped out on the porch, he could not see her anywhere. He turned around, struggling with his body, finally letting his head lead his body into the turnings, but she seemed to be nowhere near the porch. He walked down the steps cautiously, then turned around to look back at the boardinghouse.

  It was then he remembered that his room was on the third floor. The bright-faced woman must have been standing on the roof of the porch to look in on him. He grinned broadly, then laughed aloud.

  She wasn’t on the roof now, and Hector looked in vain for a ladder. Probably flew, he thought, then chuckled again. He started walking toward the field in the back of the house. He didn’t know why he was going there, but knew that was where he had to go.

  He had to climb over the low fence one of Inez’s boarders put up some years ago. Or had that been his father? He couldn’t remember. Actually, he might have put it up himself. It was a difficult obstacle for him, and he almost fell on the other side. He was always terrified of falling, afraid he wouldn’t get up again.

  The field had been a garden at one time, their mother’s garden; he did remember that. Inez hadn’t kept it up, said she was too busy tending the house. He might have planted the garden himself if he were able. It seemed a shame to have it go to waste.

  Off in the distance, on the far edge of the field where the willows covered the creek bank, he could see something glowing. A face turning to smile at him. He began to walk faster.

  He was surprised somebody hadn’t come after him already. They usually did by now. Inez didn’t trust him out by himself, said he’d kill himself outside. Hector didn’t understand how that could happen, even though Inez seemed to be right about a lot of things and he usually bowed to her judgment. But he really didn’t know what she was talking about—“his accidents,” she always said. And anyhow, Hector didn’t care this time. He had to find that woman.