For a brief instant, Will considered doing what he had suggested to Jack and lying. If Rowley was hallucinating, maybe due to lack of sleep, then giving him any name might give him something to negotiate with his delusion.
“Hurry!”
“I don’t remember! I’m not sure I ever even heard it!”
“Will! I need it! She’s right outside the door!
And then, like a distant whisper through the miles of phone wire, Will heard the faint sound of Rowley’s bedroom door creaking open. There was a loud crash, followed by Rowley screaming in open hysterics.
“Oh God! Oh God! Her face! Please! I didn’t do it! Damn you, Jack!”
After that, there followed the sound of the phone being dropped.
“Rowley!”
All Will could hear was incoherent screaming on the other end. It sounded strangely distant, and grew fainter as he listened. Slamming his own phone back on its receiver, he lunged back into his bedroom and frantically yanked on some pants. He then grabbed a shirt and his shoes and started pulling those on as he ran for the door. Whatever kind of breakdown Rowley was having, he needed help.
***
Will roared into the parking lot, and screeched his car to a halt in front of Rowley’s place. Leaping out of the old Toyota, he pelted toward the apartment, noting the lack of light in the upstairs bedroom window. He also saw a lot of other apartment lights were on.
Rowley’s screaming must have woken a lot of people up.
“Rowley?” Will tried the door, and found it unlocked.
Gently pushing the door open, Will slid inside and flipped the light switch. To his relief, the lights came on, illuminating the living room and stairs. Rowley’s apartment looked a lot like his own, littered with the detritus of fast food and college projects, but even worse.
Large empty bottles of cola sat in rows on the coffee table. The wastebasket near the couch overflowed with Styrofoam cups that reeked of cigarettes and old coffee. Of more concern, he recognized a large number of empty packets of stimulants, the type you buy over the counter at convenience stores, scattered around the couch and coffee table…and a little pill bottle that he suspected carried a stimulant of a different sort.
“Christ, Rowley,” Will muttered, looking at the mess. “Have you slept at all this week?”
The mess had a certain manic quality that made him uneasy. Remembering the phone call, he started slowly for the stairs.
“Rowley?”
No answer came from the darkness at the top.
“Rowley? It’s me, Will. Are you okay?”
Only silence, and a dank, unpleasant smell greeted him as he began his ascent. The air had a heavy, swampy feel that reminded him uncomfortably of the graveyard from two weeks back.
“Rowley?”
At the top of the stairs, a flick of the light switch revealed a short, empty hallway. Rowley’s bedroom door stood slightly ajar at the end. Moving quietly down the hall, Will tried to peek into the dark bedroom. He wrinkled his nose at the musty smell that greeted him, and squinted into the dark.
“Rowley? Where are you?”
Unable to see, Will eased the door open and turned on the light.
At his feet, the smashed model of an aircraft carrier lay in pieces on the carpet. Rowley had spent over a month building that thing, and took great pride in it. Will knew that his friend kept the model on top of the small dresser beside his bed, and now understood what had caused that crash he heard over the phone. In his panic, he had thrown it at the door.
An open suitcase rested on the bed itself. Clothes were piled on top of it, and Will noticed they hadn’t even been removed from their hangers. Across the room, he could see through the open closet door that other clothes lay crumpled on the floor, as if knocked off their bar by hasty grabs.
“Rowley?” Will whispered, as he moved into the room. He crept around the end of the bed in order to get a look at the floor on the other side…the only part of the room not visible from the door. “Rowley, it’s me…Will. Are you okay?”
He came to a stop and stared, as the last portion of the room came into view.
Near the window, a large mass of raw clotted dirt covered the carpet. It lay there in a dark lumpy heap that somehow suggested a curled human form. The mound seemed to move, and as Will edged closer he could see that it was alive with large, reddish earthworms. They writhed in and out of the mound, and covered the floor around it.
Rowley’s glasses sat atop the pile.
“Oh crap.” Will gulped for air. “Oh crap, crap, crapcrapcrap…”
He backed away from the squirming conglomeration, his eyes darting from one side of the room to the other. The air still stank of raw earth and rot, and now it seemed like the walls were closing in. He shook his head, as if to clear it, as he retreated to the doorway. Snatching the doorknob, he fled into the hall and pulled the door closed behind him.
Putting his back against the wall, he started edging away from the room. A quick scan of the hallway reassured him the other doors remained tightly closed. Trying to get a grip on himself, he forced himself to recall what Rowley said on the phone.
“He said she didn’t see me,” Will panted to himself. “I wasn’t in there with him and Jack. I slept outside the fence. I’m okay.” He fought to get control of his breathing, recognizing the threat of hyperventilation.
“I’m okay,” he continued, repeating it as a mantra as he backed his way down the hall to the stairs. “I’m okay…I’m okay.”
But was he?
With a sickening clench of his throat, he realized Rowley had already been awake and in the van when he dreamed of the ghost turning toward him in that graveyard. Rowley wouldn’t have seen that part.
Had she seen him after all?
Had she?
“I’ve got to get out of here,” he gasped aloud, backing down the stairs but keeping a watch both above and below. “I’ve got to get out of here right now! Somewhere with people…lots of people.”
A door clicked upstairs, and Will stumbled to run the rest of the way down the stairs. He made it to the bottom step before his foot caught on the carpet and he pitched forward into a struggling heap on the floor. Something fell on top of him, and his heart almost exploded in panic. He shrieked and lashed out, flailing at his attacker before realizing it was the standing coat rack that Rowley kept by his door.
Knowing that didn’t help, as the dank smell of loam seemed to intensify in the now thick atmosphere.
“Rememberr mee….”
It was an exhalation, a sigh that seemed to come from everywhere at once.
Will scrabbled on the floor, fighting his way free of the coats. He rolled to his side and tore at a scarf that seemed determined to entangle his legs. The garment came free with seeming reluctance. Struggling to his feet, he grabbed the doorknob and yanked the door open with such force it hit the wall and slammed shut again in front of him.
A second later all the lights went out.
“Goddammit!” he wailed in the blackness. With a frustrated snarl, he fumbled with the knob before jerking it wide once more.
The fresh air of the night poured in and he staggered outside.
The lights of the parking lot were also out, leaving the entire stretch of asphalt shrouded in varying shades of blackness. It didn’t feel safe out here either. Will knew he had parked his car directly across from Rowley’s door, and headed out into the gloom without hesitation. It only took him seconds to traverse the open space between him and the black row of lumps that represented the line of autos he had parked in.
He fumbled along the side of one car, scrabbling with his key in the lock, before recognizing the one next to it as his. Feeling his way around the back of his car, he made it to his driver’s side door in an instant. His hands groped for the keyhole in the darkness, the jingling of his keys loud in the heavy silence. Only the harsh rasp of his breath provided any accompaniment.
Jamming the key home, he twisted it and je
rked on the door…only to discover he hadn’t locked the door in the first place, but had locked it now.
“Shit!”
Twisting the key back the other way, the lock clicked and he pulled the door open.
Whispers seemed to fill the darkness surrounding him.
Will dove into the car, slamming the door behind him. The keys slipped into the ignition on his first try, his hands instinctively finding the correct place in the familiar car. He wasted no time in starting the car. The engine roared to life with gratifying speed, and he dropped the car into gear with one hand while pulling the knob to the headlights with the other. The lights flooded the darkness ahead of him…
…illuminating the phantom standing ten feet in front of the car.
Will choked at the sight of the apparition, finally understanding what Rowley had meant with his final words.
It was the woman from his nightmare.
She stood there in front of his car, cradling her burnt grave marker in her arms. The specter wore the same old style dress and bonnet that he had seen in the dream, and sported the same full dark hair. But now he had a full view of her from the front, and could see what he couldn’t before.
Where her face should have been…was just a charred hole.
“Oh shit, Jack,” Will gulped. “What did you do?”
The phantom reached blindly forward, her hand questing in his direction, causing every hair on the back of his neck to scream erect.
“Rememberr mee…”
It was a plea, a demand, and a whispered wail of despair. Her arm seemed to lengthen as it reached toward him.
Will shrieked and floored the gas pedal, causing the car to leap backwards from its space. It rocketed back across the parking lot, tires screaming against the pavement. As fast as the Toyota moved, it still didn’t seem to be putting distance between him and that questing hand at the rate it should. He leaned back in his seat, twisting his head from the sight of the reaching phantom.
Then the car crashed to a stop, slamming into a dumpster sitting next to the apartment building.
“Dammit! Come on!” he fumbled for the shift handle.
For one panic blinded second, the shift refused to budge, and he reached across with his other hand to wrestle with it before remembering to press the little button on the side of the handle. With a whimper, Will realized he was costing himself precious seconds and made himself look back out the front windshield again.
The ghost now stood in the middle of the parking lot, still reaching his direction. She seemed drawn toward him, as if on a tether.
Not even looking back to check the damage to his car or the dumpster, he slammed the gearshift into drive and punched the accelerator again. Rubber burned and the banshee wail of the old Toyota’s tires matched his own as he twisted the wheel and hurtled back toward the wraith again.
“It wasn’t my fault!” he cried as he struggled to control the car. He managed to swerve at the last second, avoiding the ghastly figure, and ran the car up over the curb and sidewalk.
Sparks flew from the undercarriage as it scraped over the concrete. Then the whole body rocked as Will slid the vehicle into the street beyond. The rear end skewed around and he ramped hard on the accelerator, wrestling the wheel to bring the car into line with the street. Smoke rose from the spinning tires. Their squeal echoed through the sleeping community, then the car shot forward as they gained purchase on the asphalt.
The old compact tore down the quiet neighborhood street, the apartments retreating behind him. Street lights came on, and neighborhood windows blazed as the power came back on line. A glance in his rear view mirror showed the spot where the maimed spirit had stood to be vacant.
She was gone.
He was safe.
For now.
“Oh shit,” he gasped, still trying to slow his breathing. “Oh shit!”
Hysteria bubbled right beneath the surface, and Will fought to regain composure as he took stock of his situation. But at the moment, thinking was hard. The mental image of that thing reaching for him seemed to crowd other thoughts away. Yet it didn’t take a lot of thought to realize a few simple facts as he fled into the night.
He couldn’t go home. She had found Jack, and she had found Rowley.
She would find him, too.
Will knew there could be no hiding from something like this. She was a mindless need, drawn to the causes of her condition like a moth to the flame. Only she destroyed that flame when she reached it. Whatever Jack had done had somehow maimed her and bound her to them all at the same time.
“You stupid son of a bitch!” Will hammered the steering wheel, knowing full well the man had already paid for his idiocy in spades. But that didn’t change the fact Jack had also trapped Rowley and Will into the same death waltz with the disfigured phantom. Now Rowley was dead too—and he was next.
She would seek him like a compass seeking the magnetic pole, and she would never stop.
Ever.
Will swung the car onto the main street out of town and groaned as the reality of his situation settled in. Try as he might, he couldn’t run far enough or long enough to get away.
Sooner or later he would have to stop. Then she would come. And when that happened, he knew he only had one chance, and that was to give back what Jack somehow took from her. He had to give her back who she was.
She would find him again.
And when she did, his only hope would be to greet her by name.
Legacy of Flies
The name above the gate read “Magnolia Rise”.
Janie Galtz fought the urge to swallow as she peered up through her windshield at the name written in gilded metal scrollwork. It reeked of wealth, power, and old money—all things she had little experience with. Even though the entire neighborhood in this north Houston exurb consisted of wealthy estates and upper class mini-mansions, this was the real deal. The massive, plantation style palace slumbering back amongst the trees could comfortably lodge presidents or kings.
Her battered Honda couldn’t have looked more out of place parked in front of the Taj Mahal.
Janie reached over to the seat beside her and retrieved the invitation. Its parchment colored envelope and elegant lettering reassured her. She wasn’t intruding, she had been invited. Even if it made no sense, especially considering her one, remote tie to this place, this had been an action on the part of the Danfords. And even more surprising, the invitation seemed cordial as well.
It simply stated that Ms Jacqueline Danford and Ms Rosaline Danford requested the pleasure of her company on May 17th at one in the afternoon, and they looked forward to discussing a matter of mutual advantage. It went further to state that the house was in the process of being refurbished, so to dress informally. Everything about the invitation seemed calculated to avoid the intimidation natural to receiving an unexpected greeting from someone so far up in the social stratosphere.
But it still made no sense.
Even though she had never met or spoken with a Danford in her life, she should be one of the last people on the planet they would ever invite over for a chat.
“Miss Galtz?”
Janie flinched in surprise, then realized the voice came from a small speaker concealed in the left column of the gate.
“Oh! Oh yes,” she recovered. “I’m Janie Galtz. I have an invitation to meet Jacqueline and Rosaline Danford. I’m sorry, was there a button or something I should have pressed?”
“Not at all,” the rich feminine voice chuckled as the gates started to swing open. “Not at all. I’m the one who should be apologizing, dear. Our regular staff is a little busy and I forgot to have somebody on duty watching the gate. Just pull in and park in front of the house. I’ll be there to meet you.”
Janie nodded. Then she felt foolish, realizing there wasn’t anybody to see her.
Okay Janie, calm down, she scolded herself. They already know you’re poor. Let’s try not to convince them you’re an idiot as well.
&
nbsp; The young woman eased the Honda through the entrance, watching the gates as she slid past. She never trusted automatic gates not to start closing before she got through. But these remained obediently ajar. Janie suspected that car eating gates were for cheap apartment complexes like hers, while these operated with the same conspicuous quality of service as any high priced butler. Nosiree, no scratching and gashing from these fine fellows.
Having cleared the gates, Janie fought to relax and idled down the drive as she took in the view.
The magnolia trees lining the driveway were in full bloom. Their large ivory flowers glowed like pale stars against the dark green of their waxy leaves. The trees were artfully spaced to give the impression of a forested lawn without being gloomy or claustrophobic. Thick St. Augustine grass covered the grounds in a lush emerald carpet, dotted here and there by lacy white benches, colorful flowerbeds, or small fountains.
The great house rose from the center of this garden-like paradise like an alabaster palace. Massive white columns dominated the front exterior, where a sweeping stair ascended to the elevated front porch. Two large exterior chandeliers hung from each end of the colonnade, and Janie could only imagine how they must blaze at night.
This was the home of people who measured their wealth in the billions.
And if Grandma had been telling the truth, they were her blood relatives. Although that relation came from a long ago encounter on the wrong side of sheets.
Janie had never given it much thought, just considering it another one of Grandma’s little tales. Grandma had told a lot of them. It had nothing to do with her life, and after Grandma died she never thought of it again. So when the elegant invitation arrived in the mail, she had stared at it in blank stupefaction. It took her a moment to place the name. Then she remembered the claim from her childhood and that bewilderment turned into a frightened astonishment.
Was it true?
Was she really Ronald Danford’s granddaughter?
And if so—so what? She had no claim to anything from the Danfords. Why in the world would they be inviting her to visit? Hell, why would they even want to acknowledge she existed at all? She was nothing to them. Everything on the property around her drove home that fact. She would be dealing with people so far over her head they almost counted as another species.
Shades: Eight Tales of Terror Page 11