The spasms were coming more frequently now, and that only served to heighten my fear. My connection with Kimberly Forest was nothing compared to Felicity’s, so I could only imagine what they were going through. The one positive thing I was able to attach to the convulsions was that as long as I was experiencing them, it meant that they were both still alive.
The decibel level of the small engine increased with each unsteady step I took until I reached the corner of the oblong shed, whereupon it leapt dramatically. I shot a glance to my left. The large shed was blocking most of the light from the dusk to dawn sentry; however, enough was filtering into the expanse of the backyard to reveal a smaller wooden shed some forty to fifty feet away. My eyes caught a flash of motion, and I saw a flat rain cap flapping in the air where it was hinged atop a vertically mounted exhaust pipe.
I immediately raced for the small structure, limping and stumbling the entire distance as I struggled to deal with the spasms. I was only a few feet away when my entire body froze. I felt my heart jump as I struggled to breathe. My jaw began to clench and blood filled my mouth as I gnashed my already tortured tongue.
With a hard jerk, I fell face first onto the lawn.
CHAPTER 42:
I purposely tensed my body and snapped my head back. I couldn’t allow myself to succumb to the unearthly torture that was ravaging me. I pushed myself up and for a moment, simply knelt in one place. My brain was a tangle of scattered impulses, and I suddenly realized that I couldn’t remember where I was or even who I was.
Confusion had overtaken me, and I was frightened. I didn’t know why. All I knew was that I was afraid. I shook my head, furtively glancing about. There was a loud noise thrumming in my ears, and it was making my head hurt.
Something in the back of my brain kept telling me that I was supposed to be doing something important, something that couldn’t wait. I just had no idea what it was. I tried to concentrate, but the noise was pounding in my head, and it wouldn’t let me think. I knew that if I was going to be able to remember, the noise had to stop. My eyes fell on the shed, and something told me that it was the source. If I could make the noise stop, then I would remember what I was supposed to do. I just knew it. I pulled myself to my feet and started moving.
My left hand was twisted into a tight claw, my own fingernails digging deep into my palm. My forearm was hugged against my chest and was shaking violently. My right hand was threatening to do the same thing. I didn’t know what was happening to me, but I knew I didn’t like it at all.
I stumbled against the small shed, and the noise was now louder than ever. The smell of exhaust was thick in the air as I leaned against the structure, and warmth seeped into my body from the wooden walls.
I pitched myself to the side then reached out with my right hand to grasp the handle on the shed door. I tugged and it moved a pair of inches then snapped back. I tugged again with the same result. I looked down and saw a hasp held securely in place by a padlock.
I yanked on the door, throwing my full weight into the attempt and achieving nothing. I was angry now. I wanted the incessant thrum to stop. I braced myself and kicked the door hard, managing only to send a lance of pain through my foot and up my leg.
I felt myself screaming, but the sound mixed with the maddening drone to become a single, painful chord. I stepped back from the shed, pitching to the right as I stumbled. I stood there screaming at it to stop, but it wouldn’t listen to me.
My heart was racing now, and the pain in my head was becoming almost intolerable. As I stood there bellowing at the small building, my eyes fell on a sheet metal vent screwed into the side of the wall. The noise was pouring from it, and I stepped forward, infuriation driving me into a frenzy. In my rattled brain, the inanimate building was provoking me, and I’d had all that I was going to take. I did exactly what my emotions wanted me to do. I attacked it.
I swung my fist hard, slamming it directly into the slotted porthole. The sharp ribs bit into my hand, slicing nearly to bone, but I felt the vent move. I brought my hand back and drove it into the galvanized metal sheet again. This time not only did I feel it move, but I heard the sharp sound of cracking wood against the backdrop of the drone. For a third time I drew my arm back. In the dim light, I could see blood dripping from the ragged cuts, but I ignored it. I launched my fist, twisting my torso and throwing my weight behind the punch.
The sound of splintering wood snapped in the air, and the clatter of the sheet metal vent falling inward added itself to the cacophony. My body fell forward as my hand, and then arm, followed the vent covering in through the rectangular hole. I landed on my knees, and my hand automatically began groping the hot interior of the shed.
I jerked my arm back as an intense burning sensation started against the back of my hand, but I immediately thrust it back in and began to feel around once again. I didn’t know what I was looking for or even if I would recognize it by feel, but I had to make the noise stop.
The hair on the back of my neck began to rise once again, and I felt my body beginning to tingle. The muscles in my chest were working into a spasm, and my breath caught suddenly in my throat. My teeth started to grind, and I felt myself shaking.
The burning sensation returned to my hand and I flinched. Trying to ignore it, I forced my arm farther inward, pushing my shoulder into the opening. I continued to grope, and my hand brushed against something flexible. It was the first thing, other than hot metal, I’d felt, so I wrapped my tortured fingers around it and pulled as hard as I could.
There was a cough then a sputter, and the noise stopped. My body instantly relaxed of its own accord, and the hot air that had been trapped in my lungs expelled in a loud huff. I sucked in a breath and fell back on the grass, panting as the tension left my body.
Brand new pains began reporting in to my central nervous system. However, these were all very real and surprisingly, almost welcome. At first, I didn’t even want to move. I just wanted to relax and take in the cool night air. But, my brain was starting to clear, and I heard myself mutter the name, Felicity.
All at once, I remembered where I was, who I was, what I was doing, and even why. Also in that instant, the only thing that mattered to me was getting to my wife. I scrambled up to my feet and started back across the yard, heading toward the lighted path.
Ahead of me was the back of the house. In the shadows of the screened-in porch was a slanted bulkhead. I hadn’t noticed it earlier, but from this angle it was an obvious protrusion extending out from the foundation. I could see light seeping out between the crack where the doors split, and I wondered to myself if it was an entrance to the basement.
I didn’t have to wonder for very long.
I’d made it all of five steps across the lawn when the left hand door of the bulkhead pushed upward then fell to the side with a heavy thump. Light poured out of the opening, and a second later, the right hand door flopped over. Finally, the silhouette of a head popped up. It was slowly followed by a shadowy pair of shoulders and then a torso, as what appeared to be a potentially very large man came up from the depths of the cellar.
In my single-minded quest to shut down the generator, I hadn’t given any thought to what would happen once I did, other than bringing an end to the torture. I didn’t even consider that the monster that was doing this would come to investigate. I suppose in the back of my mind I was counting on Ben to have subdued him by now, but the truth was, I didn’t know how much time had actually elapsed. Ben might not have made it into the cellar yet, and in fact, there might not even be an interior entrance at all.
My first thought was to run in the opposite direction and hope that I could skirt around the large shed, avoiding him altogether. Unfortunately, my body wasn’t taking orders from my rational brain.
My gut, however, was a different story. It was back in full control, and it issued its own set of commands. Fear and anger joined forces, requesting an immediate adrenalin dump from my nervous system. Free of ethereal influences for th
e moment, it complied post-haste. As the hormone injected itself into my bloodstream, I let out a bloodcurdling scream and rushed forward as fast as I could.
The man looked up, obviously startled as he saw me barreling toward him. He hadn’t quite reached the top of the stairs when I took my final step, launching myself into the air for the last few feet. He let out a surprised yelp followed by a heavy groan as I slammed full force into him.
He stumbled backward down the stairs, flailing his arms and grabbing at the stone wall. I glanced off of him, ramming my shoulder into the opposite wall and then fell to the second stair with a heavy thud. I was stunned, but then so was he, or so I thought. As he continued stumbling backwards, I pulled myself upward then pushed off against the wall, throwing myself into him again.
This time, he was much more prepared and threw a large arm up to block my attack. He managed to regain his balance just as I struck and pressed his huge forearm out against my chest. Upon impact, the air was forced from my lungs in a violent huff. With an almost animal-like growl, he thrust his arm to the side, flinging me down the stairs to the slab floor.
I hit hard, rolling across the rough concrete and landing in a heap. I was fighting to catch my breath, and a few more new pains were added to the smorgasbord of aches my body was experiencing. I rolled to the side and looked up, seeing that the man had fully regained his balance and was coming back down the stairs. I’m not sure if it was the angle at which I was seeing him, the damage he had just inflicted, the situation, or all of the above, but he looked huge. He was certainly taller than Ben, and I was sure half again as broad. Suddenly, my original thought about running the opposite direction was looking far better than the option I had chosen.
I pushed myself up to my hands and knees as he lumbered down the last stair. As my head came up, I looked across the dim cellar and saw a nude woman bound in a chair. Her feet were positioned in buckets, and she was covered in bleeding wounds. There was a set of what appeared to be jumper cables clamped to her, one lead attached to her left hand, the other biting into the flesh of her right, upper arm. Her head was lolled to the side, but I couldn’t tell if she was dead or merely unconscious.
The giant wasn’t interested in letting me find out. Before I could pull myself to my feet, a massive hand clamped around the back of my neck. I swear I could feel his thumb and fingers almost meeting one another as they wrapped around to press into my throat. I felt myself lifting upward, and before I knew it, I was completely suspended several inches above the floor.
I couldn’t see him, but I was kicking as I hung there, swinging my legs in an attempt to inflict any kind of damage I could, which considering the situation was probably none. With a hard thrust, he tossed me forward, and I smashed against a metal storage unit.
Rusted coffee cans, jars, and countless other unidentifiable items scattered across the floor with a horrendous crash as the unit toppled. I came down hard on top of it, taking a sharp blow to the ribs as well as hammering my forehead against the edge of one of the shelves.
I was disoriented from the blow to my head, and I was tangled into the now twisted braces of the shelving unit. I struggled to pull free, but I felt like I was going to pass out at any moment. I suddenly had a very bad feeling that I was going to die. There were no two ways about it. I didn’t stand a chance against his hulking size.
I heard a grunt and the sound of shuffling feet behind me. Panic issued its own demand for adrenalin, and I started frantically trying to extricate myself from the tangle of bent metal. My left arm was free, and I sent my hand searching for a weapon, anything at all that I could use to defend myself. It brushed against something that felt like a handle, and I automatically wrapped my fingers tight around it.
A moment later, I felt the large hand against the back of my neck once again. Before he could clamp on, I twisted, flailing my left arm out and swinging along with it whatever it was I had managed to grasp. I had no way to aim, so I simply stretched out as far as I could when I swung. As I rolled, I saw the jagged end of a broken soda bottle raking across his face.
He let out a pained roar and stumbled back a half step. I let out my own yelp as I yanked my right arm free, feeling flesh scrape against broken glass and jagged metal. I continued to twist and tried to pull myself back to my feet. I only managed to make it to a squatting position before he came at me again.
I swung the bottle, but he made a lumbering sidestep, and I barely grazed his arm. He grabbed my left wrist and squeezed as he pulled me up by my arm. My hand opened, and the bottle fell from it, clattering to the floor. His other hand slammed hard into my chest, and I felt myself once again lifted off the floor, literally swinging from my arm as he used it to pivot me around. At the last moment, he let go, and I flew several feet.
Somehow, my feet touched first, and I tried to backpedal but to no avail. I stumbled and continued with the momentum, slamming my back into the door of an upright freezer. I hit hard, rocking it back and falling to the floor in front of it. The door swung open, and a good portion of the contents spilled out on top of me. Abject horror welled up from the pit of my stomach, as amid packages wrapped in butcher paper, was a woman’s severed head, her clouded, dead eyes staring coldly back at me.
I broke my gaze away, looking up as the shadow of the giant fell over me. His face was bleeding, and that just made him look even more frightening.
I had nothing left. I couldn’t even bring myself to move. I knew I was about to die, and it crossed my mind that the Dark Mother hadn’t even bothered to show her face. If I hadn’t been so paralyzed with fear, I might have laughed at the irony. I’d been cheating Cerridwen for so long now that I’d grown to expect her presence at every turn.
And now, at the moment I was about to finally lose the war, she wasn’t even going to be here to usher me across the bridge.
I closed my eyes and waited for the inevitable. My heart was pounding in my ears, and I felt the hot breath of the giant as he bent over me. After a moment, I heard him shuffle away, and then I thought I heard whimpering.
I slowly opened one eye and saw him sitting on the floor in front of me, a scant few feet away, a severed head cradled in the crook of his arm. He was staring at it lovingly, cooing and whimpering softly as he used his free hand to stroke the hair.
I heard shuffling and slowly pushed myself up and looked back to the stairs, my eyes drooping as I struggled to remain conscious. Standing a few feet away was Ben, his pistol stiffly aimed at the large man. My friend’s face was a mask of sickened disbelief as he watched on.
I heard him slowly mutter, “Jeezus fuckin’ Christ…”
The sounds of footsteps thudded above us, creaking on the floorboards in a strict, determined search pattern as backup arrived and entered the house.
Monday, October 7th
2:43 P.M.
St. Louis, Missouri
CHAPTER 43:
“I still can’t believe it,” Ben said, looking over at me. “She seemed like she was okay.”
We were sitting on my deck, looking over the back yard. Leaves were layered in a spotty carpet across the lawn, piles built up here and there. A wheelbarrow and a pair of broom rakes were still lying exactly where Felicity and I had left them in a rush just a few days before. The cover on the compost pile was thrown back, corner flapping in the gentle breeze. Again, just as we had left it.
The sky was grey with a heavy stratum of clouds. It had rained the night before, but it hadn’t been a major storm front, just a quiet, gentle sprinkle.
A cold, endless, and depressing October sprinkle.
The loamy smell of the damp leaves filled the air, providing an earthy backdrop to the pungent aroma of our cigars. I continued staring out across the lawn, absently thinking about work I needed to be doing and finding a million excuses to avoid it.
“Hey, white man,” my friend prodded quietly. “You hear me?”
“Yeah,” I replied quietly, my voice a thin whisper. “Me either.”
&nbs
p; I brought my cigar up and tucked it in the corner of my mouth. I puffed, but nothing happened. I pulled it out and regarded the business end without emotion. I stuck it back between my teeth and reached into my jacket pocket for a match.
My right hand was still wrapped in gauze. Several stitches had been required to close the wounds across my knuckles. There was a hand-shaped bruise square in the center of my chest that had already cycled into several bright shades of purple. My entire body was sore. I didn’t even have to move to feel the aches, and the damp air wasn’t helping. But, it didn’t matter.
I was finding it hard to really care about anything right now.
I fumbled with a wooden match, trying to strike it using my bandaged hand and succeeded only in breaking it in two. Ben reached over and took the box from me, ignited a match, then cupped it in his hand and held it forth so I could re-light my cigar.
I puffed carefully, using my left hand to twist the stogie as I drew on it, then pulled it away and inspected the end, blowing a gentle stream of smoke at the glowing coal.
“Thanks,” I muttered.
“Not a problem,” he returned as he shook out the flame and flicked the charred wooden stub over the railing.
“I need a drink,” I announced.
“No you don’t,” he replied.
“Yes I do.”
“Trust me, white man,” he returned. “You don’t. ‘Specially not right now. Give it some time.”
We continued sitting in silence for several minutes. Several feet beyond the deck railing a small flock of birds were pecking at the ground around one of the feeders. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Emily, our calico cat, stalking them.
“Just doesn’t seem right,” he said.
“Can we talk about something else?” I asked, swallowing hard after the words.
“Yeah,” he said, paused, then offered, “Albright’s pissed.”
Crone's Moon: A Rowan Gant Investigation Page 32