He kissed her neck.
Elisa smiled and caressed his strong back.
Something rustled in the night, in the darkness above them. There were no trees, no branches for the wind to blow through, and so she thought it must be a bird. She frowned and pulled away from him, and heard a strange chittering sound.
An animal. Not a lion, certainly, but not a bird, either.
The horses whinnied and stamped their feet, raising dust in the darkness thirty feet away.
“Stefan,” she began.
But he was not looking at her. His gaze was focused past her, and Elisa turned to see what had drawn his attention. Amazed, she could say nothing at first.
A monkey sat on the ground perhaps a dozen feet from them, light and shadow from the flickering fire playing across its face. Elisa smiled, staring at it. Like the lion, she assumed it must have escaped from some traveling circus. How strange and careless that such beasts would be lost and left behind. She wondered how far they had traveled across the parched plains.
The monkey’s eyes were red. She wondered if it was sick.
She took a step toward it and Stefan gripped her shoulder.
“No. It could be dangerous.”
Elisa was about to laugh, to argue with him. It was only a monkey. But then the little thing hissed at him for halting her, baring its teeth. They were remarkably long and sharp.
Monstrously sharp.
And then it spread its wings.
The horses began to scream.
“Elisa, get to the—“
The baby! she thought instantly, though she was sure he was going to say wagon.
The monkey beat its wings and launched into the air, chittering wildly, the sound like a devil’s diseased laughter. It came right at her face and she raised her arms to defend herself, but Stefan stepped in front of her, reached out and grabbed hold of one of the monkey’s wings with his left hand, and its outstretched arms with his right.
Elisa spun and ran, eyes searching the darkness, the curtains of night that enveloped the wagon, for any other unwelcome beast. Wings, she thought. How could it have wings? How could such a thing be born?
And in the back of her mind, she thought it just another shard of proof that God did not exist.
One of the horses had broken its tether. It galloped by, hooves pounding the dirt. Dark shapes clung to its hide, wings spread, claws tearing at the horse’s flesh. Even as she ran, she glanced over and saw one of the monkeys open its jaws impossibly wide and sink those monstrous fangs into the horse’s throat . . . then it drew back with a powerful lurch and the flesh was ripped noisily open. Blood gushed out onto the dry, thirsty earth, splattering the winged monkey.
The horse staggered and fell. The two little monsters rode it down and began to feast.
Elisa threw herself through the flaps at the back of the wagon. The rifle fell over with a clatter and she grabbed it in surprise and relief. On the bed, Jeremiah had begun to stir, arms and legs moving, one hand pawing at his own face. His eyes scrunched tightly closed and then his mouth opened and he began to wail.
“No, baby. Hush, now,” she said, her mind painting the most hideous pictures imaginable. How many of those things were out there in the dark?
Even as the thought went through her mind she heard the flutter of wings and something heavy landed on top of the wagon.
Outside, Stefan screamed her name.
“No,” Elisa whispered. Her skin was flushed, her pulse skipping, pounding at her temples. For a moment she just stood there, shaking, as the baby cried and once more her husband called out her name.
Then she was moving. Elisa scrambled to the bed and scooped Jeremiah up in her arms. He stopped wailing for a moment as he tried to nuzzle her breast, but denied that comfort, he began to cry again. She went to the back of the wagon, rifle in hand. Somehow she managed to cock the gun even as she held Jeremiah—no different in its way than trying to cook with him in her arms, which she had done a hundred times.
The weight up on top of the wagon’s roof shifted. The wood creaked. Then the whole thing shook as the monkey leaped away, the flutter of wings reaching her.
Through the gap at the back of the wagon, she saw it flying away. Toward the fire. Toward her husband.
Stefan was grappling with the monkey. One of its wings was broken, and he held it and twisted, but the thing had gotten the better of him. The firelight danced over them and the monkey bared its fangs, and for the first time, she understood what they were. In the old country they had many names, but here they were called vampires.
Impossible things.
As she climbed out of the back of the wagon she heard the other horse let out a final scream. In her mind’s eyes she pictured it being brought down like the first. Her baby shrieked in her arms and she knew that she had to protect him, no matter what.
Only she could not do that. How could she hold him and fire the rifle? How could she reload once she had fired?
Stefan. She needed her husband.
He roared, trying to beat the first of the winged demons away from him, but then the second was upon him. Its claws raked his flesh, tearing his shirt and the skin beneath.
Elisa screamed his name and dropped to the ground. Jeremiah squalled and beat his hands and feet at her, but she set him down between her knees, shielding him just in case something else should come for them.
She leveled the rifle just as Stefan had taught her, and she fired.
The first monkey was knocked aside by the bullet, its chest bursting open in a spray of blood and bone. The shot took off one of Stefan’s fingers and he screamed, even as the second monkey beat its wings so fiercely that it lifted him off his feet, carried him several feet, and then drove him down to the ground, chittering that gleeful devil’s laugh all the while, claws flashing, digging in.
The one Elisa had shot stood up and turned to glare at her, eyes gleaming red in the night, hissing. Even as she watched, the bleeding stopped and its wound began to close.
“No,” she tried to whisper, shaking her head.
All she felt was cold, now, as though ice had begun to form around her. Except at her knees, where Jeremiah squirmed. He was all that mattered now.
From Stefan there came another scream and when she glanced over she saw the winged demon stripping the flesh from his face. A keening wail filled the air and at first she thought it was her baby.
Then she realized it was her own voice.
Elisa scooped Jeremiah up and staggered back toward the wagon. Things flitted in the night sky above her and she could not force herself to look up. The rifle was forgotten on the ground behind her, useless. The baby went quiet in her arms but she felt his heart beating rapid fire against her chest and knew it was terror that had silenced him.
She reached the wagon, pushed back the flaps, and began to climb inside.
A screech stung her ears. Claws scraped her shoulder and her arms. She felt the leathery wings of one of the monkey things against the back of her neck as it attacked. With one hand she reached up to bat it away, and only then did she realize her mistake.
It was not after her. Not yet.
The thing’s paws gripped Jeremiah’s arms and tugged him from her arms. He slipped out so easily, as though she’d barely been holding him at all. Elisa felt her heart go dead, clenching with emptiness as she spun, screaming, and reached for her child.
She grabbed her baby’s left leg. Hope sparking inside her, desperate, mind on the brink of madness and knowing only that she had to get Jeremiah back, she reached out and took hold of the other leg.
“Let him go!” she screamed, and she began to back up against the wagon, trying to pull her baby in with her.
The monkey stared at her with red eyes and snarled. It dug its claws into the baby’s arms and beat its wings, pulling at him. The skin of his arms tore and blood began to run like tears down over his body. Jeremiah shook, wracked with pain and gasping for air, but so overwhelmed he was unable to cry o
r shriek.
The monkey laughed.
“No!” Elisa cried, and she pulled, beyond all reason now.
The thing hissed, fangs bared, and beat its wings harder, tugging at Jeremiah again. The baby’s left leg twisted in Elisa’s hand and she heard the bone snap like dry wood.
Horrified at what she had done, she loosened her grip, just for a moment. The monkey pulled him from her and then it was flying up, up into the darkness, cloaked in blackest night, only the pale skin of her baby visible for a moment, until Jeremiah, too, was lost in the dark sky.
Numb, she stared after him –
– until that terrible, devil laugh, that chittering, came once more, all too close. Elisa looked up and saw three of them moving toward her now, all splashed with blood from the horses and from her husband. A fourth remained on Stefan’s corpse, nuzzling his throat, face painted with his gore. Slowly, the others moved toward her.
Elisa had nowhere else to go. She climbed into the wagon and sat on the bed, realizing only when she glanced at her hands that her hands and face and clothes were sprinkled with her baby’s blood.
She waited.
Wings fluttered. Things thumped on the roof. Red eyes gleamed as they watched her from the openings at the front and back of the wagon.
But they would not enter.
For long, long minutes she thought they were only tormenting her. Then the wind blew and Stefan’s rosary swung in the breeze and her eyes focused on all of the crucifixes inside the wagon. Her mind went back to the legends of the old country, and she understood.
Elisa had no faith. She had never believed in God, or the Devil.
It was Stefan’s faith that had saved her.
If she could wait, they would give up and leave her in time, or morning would come and they would retreat from the sun. If madness did not claim her first.
Shaking, she reached out and took the nearest crucifix from the wall, a tiny thing carved of ivory. Her fingers traced the Christ figure, imbued with her husband’s belief, his certainty. Stefan had bought this cross for her when Jeremiah had been born, so that God could watch over her baby.
God, she thought, jaw tight. Tears slid down her cheeks and sobs wracked her body. The sound of her baby’s bone snapping was still in her ears, the feeling of him still warm against her, the smell of his blood all over her.
He existed, after all, the Lord did. But He was a demon in His own right.
She held the cross in her hands and she rocked on the bed, refusing to look at the red eyes glowing in the darkness outside. Elisa hummed softly to herself, and waited for morning.
“It don’t mean a thing, if it ain’t got that swing.”
Chapter Eleven
The need to pee got the best of Gayle. Despite her desire to hide away in the closet forever; she left the safety of the darkness and dared her bedroom. The room was empty, devoid of dolls and whatever it was that had scratched at her door. Her bed was a mess and her clothes were scattered all over the floor. For a second she thought how upset her mother would be and then she closed her eyes and swallowed hard, remembering the sound of her mother’s scream and the sudden impact that had shook the floor beneath her.
Gayle closed her closet door and looked more closely at the wood in the moonlight. Whatever had been whispering to her had scraped thick gouges into the door. She stepped back and gasped when she saw that her name had been carved there.
She left her bedroom, walking as softly as she could, her heart beating far too fast. A few small signs of her flight from the porcelain monsters remained in the hall, fragments of colored dust and a small piece that clearly showed an ear.
Gayle managed to make it down the stairs without falling, but her body trembled with every step. Her parents were down there. She’d seen them and had thought for sure they were dead when she came across their bodies. But she had heard their voices after that, when she was hiding in the closet, and so now she wondered.
She had to know.
Gayle walked into the room where she had last seen her parents and found no sign of their bodies. Instead she saw the sofa upended and cast to the far wall. A deep red splotch soaked slowly into the floorboards. That’s where Daddy was… Her heart slowed down, seemed to almost freeze in her chest, and she sighed out a breath from numb lips.
Her mother had been on that sofa earlier. There was no sign of her now, but the simple floral pattern of the fabric was black and wet with blood.
Gayle ran through the house, eyes wide as she searched every room. Frantic, she called for her parents, but there came no answer. When she at last allowed herself to admit that she was utterly, completely alone, she crumbled to the ground, rocking back and forth, a soft whine escaping her throat. Tears fell from her eyes, and she tasted the salt on her lips.
It was the sound of the horses that brought her back to herself. They were agitated, and their ruckus was enough to reach her in her despair. A spark of hope ignited. The horses would carry her away from the farm, let her find help, someone to search for her folks.
Gayle shook her head to clear it and stood up, swaying slightly as she headed for the back door. She stepped out into the darkness, the moonlight pale and ghostly. The barn was a hulking shape, little more than a black silhouette in the night. She looked around, afraid that little figures might scurry from hiding, that the porcelain people would return. Then she took a deep breath to steel herself and ran for the barn.
The wind picked up and kicked grit into her eyes and mouth. She squinted and ran faster.
A voice on the wind stopped her cold.
“This is Kansas? What happened here? Where are the fields of grain? What happened to the rivers?”
It was the same voice that she had heard outside the closet, that knowing, insinuating, commanding voice. After those words the voice paused and Gayle listened until she realized that other, weaker voices answered.
The monster was here, yes, and so were all of the porcelain dolls.
Gayle craned her head and tried to hear the man’s words. Whatever the doll people said was lost to the wind, only the low chatter of their voices reached her ears.
“No, of course I don’t care,” their master said. “Everyone here is going to die. It’s just strange to find it changed so much.”
The man’s laugh was ugly and frightening and more than a bit crazy. “Then again, after all I’ve been through, becoming this, and then being spirited off to your world, who am I to say what’s strange? Monsters and witches and talking tin men . . . people from around here, well, their minds would just snap if they’d seen what I’ve seen. Ah, but I do miss the Emerald City.”
Then there was silence as the wind shifted, blowing from behind Gayle now and toward the barn, from which the voices issued. In the near darkness she saw him for the first time, a pale, lean man with wild hair and eyes that glittered in the darkness. He was still far away, but not so distant that she couldn’t see him tilt his head back and sniff the air like a hound before turning to look directly at her.
“Well, we have company.”
Gayle froze, breath caught in her throat.
He took two steps toward her and stopped, facing her in the moonlight. She could see his clothes, plain and outdated, but functional. She could see his face, with the broad nose and the cruel, thin lips.
“It is so nice to finally meet you, child.”
The man’s face twisted into an ugly smile and his impossibly sharp teeth glinted in the night.
“What have you done to my folks?”
Gayle barely even recognized her own voice.
“They’re here. Resting. Soon they will be back, but I can take you to them now if you’d like.”
His words dripped with false sincerity, like that awful man who’d come by in the spring promising salvation from all the evils of the world if only her father would give him money. Gayle shook her head and blinked her eyes against the sting of grit and unshed tears. He was lying. The worst part was that she wanted so
very much to believe him.
“What did we ever do to you? Why did you hurt my folks?” Gayle screamed, her voice cracked and dry, even as fresh tears came and washed the dust away.
His eyes narrowed into angry slashes against the chalky backdrop of his flesh and he took another step toward her. She stepped back to compensate, to keep him away, and with a flick of his wrist he gestured toward the porcelain dolls, a silent command that set them in motion.
They rushed to attack her.
“I need them, child. The smell of their blood was maddening. You’d understand if all you’d had to feast on was the vile broth from the veins of monkeys and dwarves.”
The dolls ran across the rough ground, their feet silent in the dirt, faces gleaming in the moonlight. Gayle fled, running away from the barn, her home, and everything she knew.
“Bring her to me! Bring her alive and still warm!”
Gayle ran for her life, small legs pumping beneath her, her vision blurred and her breath hitching in her chest. The smaller dolls fell behind quickly, but several of the larger ones kept pace and began to gain on her. And far behind them all, moving with the casual grace of a natural born predator, the pale man followed.
She had almost made it to the road when one of the dolls managed to snag her foot. Her arms flew out as she fell. Her cry of fear was cut short when she hit the ground, and the wind was knocked out of her.
They came at her in a wave, tiny delicate figures and larger, stronger dolls that grabbed with cold fingers. Gayle caught her breath and screamed again, a wail of disgust and terror, as they started moving in, the impossibly animated faces grinning gleefully.
From a dozen yards away the pale man watched, nodding his satisfaction, his red eyes burning brightly against the backdrop of the moon.
Bloodstained Oz Page 6