The Evil Within the Woods

by Kevin J. Fitzgerald

  Lyons smiled.

  These were his trusted D-Men. Hackers. Trained experts in underhanded and devious schemes, helping him carry out that most primal and base of all endeavors: revenge. Lyons watched them a moment, then looked at one of the small TV screens. The screen showed the figure of a small boy sleeping peacefully in a moonlit bedroom. Below the screen was a strip of white masking tape, and written on the tape was a single word: Cragpow. Lyons grinned. The faithful bird-servant had performed well, as usual. So much of the success of their recent break-ins had been insured through the reliability of this one bird. His bird—his creation.

  “Time?” Lyons asked. His voice was deep, and rich, and old—a fat voice.

  “Three A.M., boss.” The D-Men were faithful; but not the best at thinking on their own.

  Lyons checked his watch. The witching hour, he thought. “How are we with the hacking?”

  One of the D-Men looked up quizzically.

  “We’re good,” a second replied and looked at the other. “Boss wants us to hack into a network to discover the names, locations, and addresses of—”

  “‘All God’s Creatures’,” Lyons cut him off. He lit his cigar afresh and toked on it silently. “That’s the target,” he said. He smiled, imagining Theo’s face. Lyons had spent so much time – years – devising this plan, coming up with ways to ensnare each individual animal.

  “Well?” he demanded. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

  The D-Men jumped immediately. They donned their black trench coats, and burst out the rear doors of the van. A strong wind whipped at them as the doors clunked shut behind them. Feet clocked steadily upon pavement as they moved deliberately toward the end of a very particular drive—Theo’s drive. The sounds they made echoed, but were somehow hollow and lifeless, the way something might sound in a movie studio. Gloves stretched over hands, masks were pulled into secure positions, and hats were donned.

  Inside the van, Lyons plopped into one of the seats. It cried out beneath his tremendous weight. The cigar smoldered in his hand as he stared at the screen labeled “Cragpow”. Without thinking, he began to rub at a small scar on his one hand—a scar that looked as if he had been bitten by something long ago. He leaned forward, remembering. As he stared at the small screen, he whispered into the silence of the van in his best Elmer Fudd voice: “You wascally wabbit.”

  Lyons threw back his head and laughed. The sound was loud in the small enclosure, and – outside – the van shook. Lyons toked at his cigar and waited greedily for the show to begin.

  “Is everybody in?” he sang, and smiled. “Is everybody in? It’s about to begin.”

  The D-Men had been sent to do their job, and they would do it well.

  CHAPTER 18

  “Separated”

  Thump!

  Paladin stirred. He heard something. He wasn’t sure where the noise came from, but it lingered along the periphery of his sleep. He sat up, sniffed, and raised his ears. He had been restless all night, tossing and turning. It was as if he had forgotten something—or something was coming. What little sleep he found was broken, disturbed by dreams of running from room to room throughout the house, looking for something he couldn’t quite remember. At first, he thought he awoke of his own accord. But then he realized something had woken him.

  Perhaps it was all the wrapping paper you ate, he yawned. Or maybe it was the wind? Even now, he could hear it outside—howling and thumping upon the roof, tapping at the windows of Joshua’s room. The branch outside Joshua’s skylight scraped like a bony finger. Paladin looked around. The late moon cast a blue glow on the objects in the Son’s room. Toys slept. Clothes lay in piles. A clown stared. Something had obviously been left turned on, for Paladin could see the red glow of a power button in the darkness. He squinted, trying to see exactly what it was. Slowly, he sat up a bit more and shook his head. He was not as awake as he’d thought, for the red power light seemed to move in the darkness!

  Then Paladin froze.

  His breath caught in his chest. Fear gripped his gut. Out of the shadows of the room there loomed before him the menacing shape of a huge bird. One eye burned like a cold ember. At first, Paladin assumed he was dreaming—perhaps latent fears of the night his da was lost surfacing again and bringing with it this evil phantom. A few moments later, however, Paladin realized it was real.

  But how?—how on earth did a bird this huge get inside the house? He looked around.

  The chimney! his mind screamed. It’s gotten in through the chimney!

  However it had gotten into the house, its reason for being here was obvious: the bird’s single, red eye was trained on Paladin . . . and nothing else.

  Paladin shrank into the corner of his cage, hoping he had not been seen. He blinked rapidly, hoping that when he opened his eyes the nightmare would be gone. It was not. With a chill like a fever that comes in a lonely night, a voice croaked out of the shadow: “Hello, rabbit. Hello again,” Cragpow laughed—a dry, raspy sound like a sidewinder’s rattle.

  Paladin moaned. As if being drawn to the red dot of light, drawn into some wicked scheme the red dot revealed, Paladin sensed he was being watched. Not by the red eye itself; but the light was somehow a window for other eyes. Something – or someone – unseen was watching.

  Paladin was at the door of his cage in a flash. He fumbled with the latch. The large bird did not move. Paladin could feel the weight of its stare bearing down on him. Panic seized him. All reason left. When the latch popped open, he should have dashed under Joshua’s bed. Instead, he bolted for the bedroom door, which was cracked slightly. He ran directly into the doorjamb, cried out, and squeezed through into the darkness of the upstairs hallway.

  Paladin stopped, shaking his head and catching his breath. His heart fired like a jackhammer in his chest. Strange how being out of the Son’s room brought with it a certain calm—like passing into the eye of a storm. He wondered if the whole thing might have been his imagination after all. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply. There would be a nasty bump where he had rammed into the doorjamb. He licked his paw and brushed the fur on the side of his head.

  But he stopped. He sniffed the sir. In the stillness, he sensed something, the way you sense someone is staring at you without even seeing them; the way you sense someone has entered a dark room with you, even when they don’t make a sound. Paladin sensed that he was standing between two large pillars, that he was being surrounded. His head whirled and he backed up, trying to glimpse what was dwarfing him.

  Was it the Father?

  Paladin backed into something tall and cold and rubbery. He sniffed it—he did not like the smell of it at all! From overhead, he heard – quite softly, but distinctly, sounding as if it were broadcast on an old transistor radio – an elahs voice:

  “It’s out in the hallway! It’s in the hallway!”

  Paladin looked to see where the voice came from. The cold, rubbery thing behind him moved. Shadows above him shifted, and Paladin found himself staring into the black-masked face of an elahs! It was not the Father or the Son. But who was it?! With his eyes now adjusted to the dark, Paladin was surprised he had not seen the elahs earlier. He stood right between its two feet—feet that were clad in large industrial boots.

  Paladin froze. The masked elahs stooped towards him, a gloved hand groped greedily in the night. Paladin ran as fast as he could. He tore down the upstairs hallway and made for the stairs. The elahs thundered after him.

  Why, why, why? Paladin thought. Why couldn’t I have been a creature with some kind of sound to alert the household? And where on earth is Bear?! he cursed silently.

  Paladin dashed around a corner and into another huge boot. He fell back, all blackness and stars a moment. When reality bled back into the upstairs hall, Paladin found he was staring into the face of a second masked elahs. Paladin froze, as rabbits will do when cornered. He turned and noticed his back was once more pressed against the wall in front of the banister rail—the way it had been on Chr
istmas morning. That same sensation of being caged swept over him, and he swooned. Below, Paladin saw the furniture of the sitting room—pale and ghostly in the moonlight. He wondered if he could make the long jump and land safely on the couch. He bit his lip.

  Would it hurt? he wondered. What if I miss?

  The first elahs wheeled around the bend, right into the second elahs. The two of them went sprawling like an old Keystone Cops gag. One fell completely off his feet and the other careened into a small hallway table. A crystal swan tumbled to the carpeted floor and rolled into the tiled bathroom, where it shattered. Paladin snapped back to reality. He stared at the shattered swan for a moment.

  The two men were stunned a moment, so Paladin ran. He took the stairs faster than he had ever taken them before. He was propelled not so much by his own wits at this point, but more by that primitive instinct: survival. If he had retained his wits, he would have found some place to hide, knowing that – with the noise the two men had created – they would soon be fleeing the house themselves. But Paladin was not thinking; he was just running.

  He reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped, looking this way and that. His breathing was labored and a stitch began in his side. He forgot about the pain in his head from knocking into the doorjamb. His thoughts dogpaddled in a pool of anxiety. For one brief instant – paralyzed and trapped, not by physical bindings, but fear – Paladin found he loathed the world of the elahs. If this were happening in a field somewhere, out in the wild, he could run. But here – in this house – it was the very unknown, the unfamiliar, the alien that inhibited his escape. He grew angry. Paladin took this new emotion and channeled it toward the two pursuing elahs. They barreled down the steps toward him, and he got his first real look at them. They looked like something out of a 1940s gangster movie. Black trench coats cloaked them, their faces were masked, and wide fedoras topped their heads. Black-gloved hands groped the stair rail. None of their skin was seen. They were like shadows, black and swift—almost upon him! Paladin crept away as they came. His mouth hung open dumbly. He looked around the room desperately, trying to map his next move. But, as they reached him, he simply bolted, hoping against hope for some way of escape.

  §

  Joshua woke.

  A noise – faraway and distant – had reached into the deepness of sleep to rouse him. Something like a crash. He sat up and looked around. The room was still. Wind scuffled along the rooftop overhead; a tree branch scratched and tapped upon the skylight.

  Tap, tap… sccccratch… tap, tap, tap…

  Joshua’s eyes adjusted to the dark and he noticed two things: Paladin was not in his cage, and the bedroom door was open. The rabbit had gotten out again. Joshua shook his head and smiled. He pushed back his covers and stopped—he heard something. Muffled noises came from the hallway outside and from downstairs. He attributed the sounds to the wind. But then – distinctly – he heard voices. Not the voice of his father or other family. These were peculiar, hissing sorts of voices. He did not like the sound of them at all!

  Joshua crept to the bedroom door. He did not notice the huge bird-shaped shadow cast upon the far wall. He opened the door and could hear even better. Without a doubt, something was happening downstairs, a struggle of some sort. Careful to not be seen, Joshua crawled down the hall on his hands and knees and looked through the banister. Far below, he saw two large figures dressed in black and hunched over something in the corner.

  Who are they? he wondered.

  Joshua was immobile a moment, trapped between the notion of running to get his father and a morbid sense of fascination over who these figures were and why they were in his house. He gripped the banister rail tightly with two sweaty hands and swallowed hard. His indecision over what to do was finally shattered when he saw what was huddled in the corner:

  “Paladin!!!” he screamed.

  §

  The two figures in black had him. Paladin whimpered. He was just resigning himself to whatever fate these two elahs had for him when he saw – in the dim light of the kitchen window – something which caught his eye. It was square, set low in the door that led from the pantry to the small outside garden of the house. A flimsy rubber flap had been hung within the square and moved back and forth in the late-night breeze. It was Bear’s dog-door! But, how to get to it? It might as well be a thousand miles away!

  The D-Men crept closer, hands outstretched. One of them drew open a sack meant obviously for him.

  Monsters! Paladin fumed. He crouched to the ground, his eyes widening and heart accelerating. He meant to pounce! Suddenly, a voice sliced through the night:

  “Paladin!!!”

  Everyone looked. The world stood still. Standing at the bend in the upstairs hallway, the Son’s eyes were wide with fright. His hands clutched the rail and his cry blanketed the dark room. The D-Men halted, exchanging a confused look. Paladin remained motionless a moment, not knowing what to do. His eyes met briefly with the Son’s before the boy’s voice cut through the silence – bold, commanding, and without fear: “Run, Paladin! Run!”

  The cry loosened invisible chains around Paladin and he broke for the kitchen entrance, dashing between the frozen elahs’ legs. Paladin heard their confused and angry curses as he made for the pantry door. Paws exchanged the warm stability of carpet for the cold linoleum of the kitchen floor, and Paladin found himself sliding more than running. His legs sprawled from under him the way you or I might feel if we ran onto an ice rink at full speed. He cried out comically. Before he realized he could not stop himself, Paladin slammed headlong into the pantry door just below the dog door. He shook his head, stunned. Behind him, black figures entered the kitchen. For an insane second, Paladin forgot what he was doing and just sat there, letting the elahs draw closer and closer. Everything moved in slow motion.

  “Run, Paladin! Run!” the Son’s voice called again from somewhere beyond the elahs. In the same moment, Paladin looked and saw the Son’s figure appear behind the elahs, small and frightened out in the sitting room.

  Then something else appeared.

  Like a bolt of black lightning, a huge bird swooped over the Son’s head and even the heads of the two approaching elahs. The massive creature dived into the kitchen and went straight for Paladin. A single red eye glowed!

  Without a moment to spare, Paladin put his two front paws on the ledge of the dog door, and kicked with his strong back legs. For seconds that felt like hours, Paladin hung half-in and half-out of the door. His head, forefeet, and dewlap all tasted the wonderful air outside—but inside, his legs pumped furiously to catapult him over the edge to full escape. Nails scrambled against the smooth wood of the door but found no purchase. From behind, the loud cawing of the wicked bird grew closer and closer. Paladin seemed to feel the flap of its wings! Tiny sounds of struggle escaped him. Then – with ridiculous ease for how long it had taken – Paladin’s legs found the lip of the dog door, and he toppled over the edge and onto the brick steps of the house outside. Above him, the bird slammed into the kitchen door. Paladin looked and saw the two D-Men appear in the window of the kitchen door, frosted and dreamlike through the condensation of the wintry air. They fought with the lock, cursing. Inside, Paladin heard the Son calling for the Father now. He scrambled backwards and toppled over the edge of the topmost step, tumbling end-over-end to the bottom. His body screamed in pain. Paladin got to his feet, and the noises from behind got suddenly louder. Paladin looked and realized the elahs had the kitchen door open now. They were coming—their feet were on the steps!

  Paladin screamed and ran faster than he had in his entire life. He tore up the driveway through the dark. Around him were no sounds of life; only the whisping sound of wind in the bare branches overhead. The night air that had seemed cool and inviting just moments ago seemed cryptic and foreboding now. Tiny nails made slight clicking sounds along the paved drive. The driveway itself seemed long—too long, perhaps elongating as he ran, the ways things will in a dream. Paladin cast one haphazard glanc
e backwards, but there suddenly came from before him a huge and heavy sound. The world disappeared in a swallow of blinding light.

  Paladin froze. From somewhere along the edges of the light, Paladin saw more of the figures in black emerge from a huge elahs-peilo blocking his escape. His panting quickened. He went to bolt for the dark woods bordering the drive, but a stinging sensation exploded in his hindquarters. Paladin cried out and stumbled. His hind legs suddenly no longer wanted to cooperate, and he half-limped, half-ran to a stop in front of the elahs-peilo. He collapsed in a heap, heaving with exhaustion and fear. Paladin could still see and hear, but he could not move. Before long, there seemed to be very little Paladin understood or registered about what was happening. The world went grey.

  A few things he did comprehend.

  Towering figures of black were all around.

  Paladin heard one of them mutter, “Nice shot.”

  From further away, another said, “Pick it up. Hurry!”

  Paladin had time to notice the big black human letters on the side of the otherwise-nondescript white truck. That was when he was struck with a numbing horror. He had seen those same markings before; although back then, Paladin did not know them as letters. Back then, they had only been a series of swoops and lines on the side of the elahs-peilo that ran down his da on the black strip so long ago.