by Unknown
…"
"Ronny, run! Rarrggh…"
"Guys? What's happening?"
"Ronnnnyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy…"
He couldn't tell if it was Steve or Jason, or maybe both of them. It was too highpitched, too feminine. He'd never heard either of them scream like that before. He'd never heard anyone scream like that.
".. yyyyyyyyyyyyyy…"
"Guys," he sobbed. "II can't see you…"
"… yyyyyyyyyyyyy…"
The scream had turned into one long, warbling wail. Then, almost lost beneath it, was another grunta raspy sort of snuffling sound, like a cross between a bear and a pig. Abruptly, the screaming stopped. The tunnel was silent for a brief second, and then footsteps pounded toward him. The stench grew even more overpowering. Ronny glanced up at the top of the hole, but could barely see the outline. Something hissed in the darkness, a teakettle set to boil or a locomotive building up to full steam. The running footsteps drew closer. Ronny peered into the darkness, trying to determine if it was Steve or Jason.
It was neither.
Whatever it was, its laugh was guttural, like gravel. Both the hissing sound and the stench were all around Ronny now. Suddenly, even as his stomach churned and his nose burned from the acrid odor, Ronny realized what the sound reminded him of. Several years before, when he was younger, Ronny ' s favorite Saturday morning show had been Sid and Marty Krofft 's Land of the Lost. In it, there had been an alien race of lizardlike beings called the Sleestak. They' d terrified him; equipped with huge, black, bulbous eyes, clawlike pincers for hands, scaly green bodies, and pointed heads and tails. But the worst part, the scariest part of all, was the sound they 'd made: a reptilian hissing that went on and on with no pause.
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That was the sound he heard racing down the tunnel. Racing toward him. Then the figure became discernable. Humansized; two arms and legs, and alabaster skinwhite almost to the point of albinism. Ronny blinked, then realized why he could see it. Whatever this thing was, it gave off its own luminescence. Not much, but enough to make out its features. He willed himself to move, but his feet disobeyed him. The creature drew closer, swinging long, dangling arms that hung down past its waist. On the ends of those monstrous appendages were oversized hands with talontipped, bony fingers. The thing seemed to be entirely hairless, and in the middle of its pointed, head was a tiny face; yellow pinprick eyes, a slit for a nose, nonexistent chin, all dominated by a huge, grinning mouth full of yellow and black teeth. Slime the same slime that covered the tunneldripped from its pores.
It was the stench of the creature that broke Ronny's paralysis, a smell so brutally strong and rancid that his eyes watered and burned.
Cringing, he leapt upward, hands grasping the sides of the wall, clutching the slimy dirt. He slid back down. Felt the creature 's breath on the back of his neck. It was close enough to bite him, but for some reason, it didn' t. Instead, it raised its clawed hands and swiped. Dodging the razorsharp talons, Ronny jumped again. This time he found purchase. He managed to get both arms out of the tunnel, grabbed a piece of wood on the shed floor, and pulled himself up.
His head emerged from the chasm, then one shoulder, then both. Suddenly, pain ripped through his ankle. He looked down. The creature's claws were flaying through the skin, and his white sock and shoe had both turned red. It burneda whitehot, searing agony. The monster looked up at him and grinned. Its small eyes grew larger, bulging from its head. Screeching, Ronny slid backward, his fingers slipping in the dirt.
"No, no, no, no…"
The creature lashed out again, slicing through the denim and into his calf. Despite the burning sensation in his leg, the monster' s grasp was ice cold. Gritting his teeth, Ronny pulled himself up higher, kicking out with both feet, freeing himself again. The thing in the tunnel grunted, then roared in anger. Ronny kept pulling. His fingers burrowed deep into the dirt, trying to maintain his grip. His chest lay on the shed floor now, followed by his waist.
Blood dripped from his wounded leg in bright red ribbons. And then the thing spoke, and somehow, that was more terrifying than its appearance.
"You have invaded my home. Forced me to break the commandment." Ronny tried to answer, but found that he couldn't.
There was a jingling sound from outside the shed. Keys. The lock jiggled. The doors swung open and a bright flare of brilliance temporarily blinded the screaming teen. A figure stood in the open doorway, a silhouette clutching a powerful Mag light the kind used by cops and firemen. Then the light shifted away and Ronny saw who it was. Clark Smeltzer.
"Oh, God," he babbled, a mixture of terror and relief. "Mr. Smeltzer, pull me up. There's something down there!"
The caretaker crossed the shed floor in four quick strides and glowered down at Ron. His face seemed drawn and haggard, and his eyes were red.
"Hey, man," Ronny pleaded. "Pull me up! Please?"
"I know you. You're the one that beat up my boy a few times. Made me whip him myself, just so he'd go back out and whip you."
Ronny clutched the dirt floor, holding on for dear life. "Pull me up, man."
"You're trespassing."
"Mr. Smeltzer, there's something down here. Pull" Page 60
"You shouldn't a come here, boy."
"What"
Clark raised one booted foot and stamped on Ronny's left hand. Bones snapped beneath his heel. The horrified teenager screamed. Then he stamped on the boy' s other hand, pulverizing his fingers.
Ronny fell into the darkness, a look of disbelief in his eyes. He landed with a thud. The ghoul roared in triumph. Its claws descended. It tore into the teenager like a buzz saw through wood.
Clark turned away from the ripping and tearing sounds, and threw up on a pile of tiny American flags. While the screaming continued, he fetched his bottle of Wild Turkey from its hiding place and washed the taste of puke from his mouth. The screaming stopped, but the sounds of slaughter continued. Clark tipped the bottle up and drained it, gasping as alcohol dribbled down his whiskered cheeks and chin. He tried to pretend he wasn' t crying, and told himself the tears were from guilt rather than just fear.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity (a cliche Clark heard people use in movies all the time, but in this case, it happened to be true) the sounds stopped, and the ghoul crawled out of the charnel pit. Its white skin was streaked with blood and gore, and bits of skin and fabric hung from its claws.
Clark silently wished for another bottle, if only to wash the image from his mind. He' d drunk more than ever these last few weeks, walking around as if with alcoholinduced amnesia. Another lie he told himself, because deep down inside, he remembered everything.
Every detail. Every scream.
The ghoul handed him three wallets. Two were made of black leather; one with the initials vh and the other with kill ' em all. The third wallet was red plastic and stamped made in Taiwan. He didn 't even bother to look inside them; just stuffed them in his pockets.
"That it?"
"They had no other valuables. No trinkets or baubles. Such things are wasted on the youth. Did you know the boy?"
Clark shrugged. "Seen him around. He tussled with my own boy a time or two."
"Indeed?"
"Yeah." Clark ran a hand through his greasy hair. "Him and his two friends. The three of them against my boy and his two pals. They down there, too?" The ghoul nodded. "You hold their coin purses in your hand."
"What about the bodies? You need me to, uh… get rid of them?"
"No need for you to dispose of their corpses. Let them ripen. In a few days they will be like sweet fruit on the vine. Then I can feast, in accordance with the Law set forth by Him."
"What do you mean?"
"My kind is forbidden to eat warm flesh or drink hot blood. We must wait." The creature wiped its mouth with the back of its hand.
"However," it continued, "I had a little taste just now. Just a little, as I killed them. Something to whet my appetite."
Clark gagged, an
d fought to keep from throwing up again.
"You did well," the ghoul said. "What brings you here at night? Were you attracted by these trespassers, or do you have another for me?"
Clark swallowed the lump in his throat. The creature's raspy voice gave him the creeps. Hell, the whole damn thing gave him the creeps.
"I got another. Outside. We got to be quick. I don't want anyone to see me. Would be hard pressed to explain what I'm doing out here this time of night." Page 61
"But you are the caretaker. You are in charge of this necropolis. Who better to stalk its grounds late at night?"
"Necro what?"
"Never mind." The ghoul dismissed the question with a wave of its hand. "Show me what you have brought. I can smell it from here."
They walked outside. Clark had parked his car next to the utility shed. The lights and motor were off. A muffled thump echoed from inside the trunk. He fumbled for his keys, realized they were still hanging from the shed door, and retrieved them. His hands shook so badly that he had trouble sliding the key into the trunk lock. On the third try, the key slipped in. He turned it, and the trunk sprang open.
The ghoul sighed with rapture. "Excellent. You have done well." A terrified young woman stared up at them, eyes bulging from her sockets, big hair plastered to her scalp in a mix of sweat and blood. She screamed around the dirty rag that had been stuffed into her mouth and then secured with a strip of duct tape. More silver duct tape bound her wrists and ankles together. The ghoul cocked its head and studied the woman with obvious appreciation. Its long black tongue slithered across its lips. "She is a pretty one, like a fresh plucked flower. Do you know her?"
Clark nodded reluctantly. "Deb Lentz. Her aunt's buried here. Found her earlier, on my way home from the bar. She had a flat tire, on the back road down near the Porter' s Siding Sawmill. I gave her a ride. Nobody saw. There 's nobody else on the road this time of night."
"You have done well, indeed. Tomorrow, you shall find more spoils."
"More than the normal stuff, right? I mean, this is kidnapping. Ain't like I'm just covering up for you anymore. Shit's getting hairy."
The ghoul laughed. "Yes, yes. More than your usual payment. These grounds are rich in plunder. I shall see to it that you are paid handsomely. Now, away with you. I must take my new bride below."
Clark hesitated, his reactions slowed by the alcohol in his system. The ghoul reached for the woman in the trunk, and she cringed. She tried to scream again, but all that came out around the gag were choking sounds. Snot bubbled from her nose. Her eyes were so wide that Clark thought they might pop. Hissing, the creature traced one talon along her creased forehead. She shuddered at the hideous caress, and then her bladder failed. Clark winced at the stench.
"Goddamn it," he slurred. "Now I got to clean the trunk out, or else somebody will smell it and start wondering what happened."
The ghoul ignored him. It reached into the trunk again and extracted the squirming woman. Flinging her over one shoulder, it started back toward the shed. The terrified woman made squealing sounds.
"There now," it whispered almost lovingly. "You will not be harmed. I have other intentions for you. I fear that I may be the last of my kind. You will aid me with that, just as my other wife has been."
Deb Lentz went limp and slumped over his shoulder, mercifully unconscious. Clark didn' t watch it return to the tunnels. After it was gone, he shut the shed door and locked it tight. The breeze rustled through the tree limbs over the building. Dead leaves danced in the wind, forming mini dervishes. The air felt electric and held the sharp tang of ozone. The hair on his arms and what little remained on his head both stood up. Static crackled. A storm was coming, that much was for sure.
Clark had done some bad things in his life. He knew that he wasn't going to win any awards for Father or Husband of the Year. He' d done bad things. Killed people in Vietnam
some who'd deserved it and some who hadn't. He'd cheated folks, stolen money. Lied. Page 62
Been unfaithful to his wife. But he'd never done anything like he had tonight. Kidnapping a woman from the roadside and handing her over to that… thing. He needed a drink.
Leaving the car parked where it was, so as not to risk drawing attention, he walked back over to his house, crept into the garage, and collected a bucket, rags, soap, and a new stainless steel combination lock that he 'd bought for a different taskbut now had a new, more urgent use for it. He also took one of his emergency bottles of Wild Turkey, which he
'd stashed in the garage's rafters for safekeeping. He took a long pull on the bottle, but barely tasted the alcohol.
Then he returned to the cemetery. He drank as he worked, and the bottle' s contents quickly disappeared. He washed out the trunk as the first rumble of thunder rolled overhead. By the time he was finished, the rain had started to fall, sporadic, but promising much more to follow. Lightning flashed across the night sky. Not wanting to get caught out in the storm, Clark hurried. He drained the last drop of Wild Turkey, dumped the soapy water from the bucket, threw the pail and the empty liquor bottle into the trunk, and slammed the lid. Then he ran over to the shed, removed the old lock, and snapped the combination lock on instead.
How'd those kids get inside? he wondered. Ain't like they picked the lock. He walked around the outside of the building, investigating all the walls, until he found the loose boards over the window. He grimaced.
Got to fix that first thing tomorrow. Wouldn't do for Barry or one of his bratty friends to find it.
Then something else occurred to him. He' d rarely seen the three boys who were killed tonight in the cemetery. Maybe once or twice before, and both times had been when they were mixing it up with Barry and his friends. But his son, along with that smartmouthed Graco and the fat kidthey were in the cemetery almost every day. He looked back at the window and his fists clenched.
Another blast of thunder shook the sky, and then the rain began to pour. Cold droplets pelted his skin, bouncing off like lead pellets. Clark Smeltzer ran to his car, got behind the wheel, and wept. Then he drove back home, sneaked inside the house, and collapsed into bed. Rhonda stirred next to him, and he glowered at her. One of her eyes was swollen shut from when he 'd hit her earlier in the evening, when she' d asked him why he had to go out again. She mumbled something as he slipped beneath the covers, but Clark didn 't answer. Seconds later, he passed out.
Outside, the storm began to rage.
Chapter Eight
Timmy and Doug stared out Timmy' s bedroom window, watching the torrential downpour. Rain fell in sheets and the winds whipped the tops of the trees back and forth like springs. They listened to his mother ' s wind chimes, ringing and spinning uncontrollably as the roaring winds battered them about. Tomorrow morning the ground would be littered with fallen branches and leaves. Both of them wondered if the power would go out, but so far it had stayed on. Timmy ' s digital clock glowed in the darkness. The raindrops beat against the roof like hailstones. The thunderstorm had blown in just after one in the morning, forceful and angry and demanding attention. Despite this, it hadn' t woken Randy or Elizabeth, who slept right through the cacophonous explosions, nor had it woken the boys, because they'd already been awake. Indeed, they'd yet to fall asleep. They' d read comic books and played a game of Monopoly (arguing over who got to be the banker and who got to use the Page 63
car as his playing piece), and had watched Phantasm on the late night movie. The film appealed to them both, not only because it was a horror movie, but because of the protagonist. He was a mirror image of them, complete with a cemetery to play in. Doug had been pretty freaked out by the flying silver spheres, which sliced and diced their victims, and the gruesome, hooded dwarves, and the film ' s ghoulish main antagonist, an otherworldly funeral director known as the Tali Man.
Timmy had just been mad that all of the good stuff was cut out, and wished again for a VCR so he could watch movies unedited. He didn 't understand why Loni Anderson could parade around in a sw
imsuit on WKRP in Cincinnati, but blood and guts weren' t allowed to be shown.
When Elizabeth peeked her head in at eleven and told them lights out, they'd obeyed the letter of the law, if not the spirit. They'd retiredsomewhat reluctantlyto their beds and spent the last two hours talking in hushed tones over a flashlight beam, until the storm interrupted them.
"Well," Timmy said, disappointed, "so much for exploring the tunnel tonight."
"You think Barry will still sneak out?"
"Not in this. Guess we'll have to explore it tomorrow. How's your ankle feeling?"
"Better. I think it will be okay. Still like to know what the hell bit me, though."
"Ah, it wasn't anything to worry about, I'm sure." Timmy was sitting crosslegged in his bed, wearing a pair of plaid pajamas. Doug was stretched out on the floor, in the bed Timmy' s mother had made up for him, clad in his boxers and one of Randy Graco 's ratty old Tshirts, since Timmy's shirts wouldn't fit him. The shirt proudly proclaimed ipw local 1407 and on the back it said, American made is union made. He propped himself up on his elbows and stared out the window again.
"Boy," Doug whispered so as not to wake Timmy's parents, "it's really coming down out there. Look at it bouncing off the yard."
"Yeah. This keeps up, the Codorus Creek will flood for sure. We can go innertubing tomorrow."
"What about the tunnel?"
"We can still explore it tomorrow night. It's probably better to wait for night, anyway. Less chance of getting caught."
"Where will we get the tubes from?"
"Barry's dad has some in their garage. I saw them when Barry and I were looking for his football. Four tire tubes off a tractorbig ones, like you'd get at a construction site."
"Where did he get them?"
"I don't know." Timmy paused. "Speaking of which, you noticed anything about Barry's dad lately?"
"Other than the fact that he's meaner than usual? No."
"He's had a lot of stuff that they didn't have before."
"What do you mean?"