Daemon of the Dark Wood

by Randy Chandler

  They took her gently down and took turns between her legs, lapping up her womanly juices. When the ritualistic initiation was over, the bestial god appeared before them and they took turns kneeling at his feet, sucking down his sweet semen.

  Now Jude understood that no single woman could satisfy his prodigious needs. Without her sisters to share carnal duties, the god’s lustful demands would surely kill her. They were his band of brides. It could not be otherwise.

  When it was her turn to swallow his intoxicating nectar, she did so with devout relish. She soon fell back on her haunches knowing that tonight was to be the nuptial celebration. Tonight she and her new sisters would honor him with the bloody revelry he demanded. And at last their group marriage would be consummated.

  * * * *

  As soon as Knott stepped onto the unit, the three staff members at the nursing station lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. They looked at him as if they didn’t know what to say. He needed a shave, a shower and a change of clothes. He knew he looked more like a patient off the street than a doctor. The irony being that his wife was the patient.

  “How’s Susan?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

  With a glance toward the observation window, the dayshift charge nurse said, “She’s resting quietly in her room.”

  Knott kept well away from the window. He didn’t want Susan to see him yet. “And Miss Rampling?”

  “Also in her room. Quiet, but … spooky.”

  “Spooky,” he repeated. “Can you be more specific? In clinical terms?”

  “I’m sorry, Dr. Knott, it’s just that … I don’t know how to put it in clinical terms. The way she looks, the way she looks at you is just plain spooky. Her eyes have this wildness in them, but her behavior’s been nothing but appropriate since … the incident.”

  Another nurse chimed in, “It’s like she’s right on the edge of losing control. But what makes it so scary is the way her personality changed. I knew her when she was here the last time and now she’s like someone else. Almost like she’s possessed.”

  “I wouldn’t use that term, Sandra,” the charge nurse gently admonished her underling. “I think—”

  Knott cut her off: “I’ll see Miss Rampling first. Don’t let Susan know I’m here.”

  * * * *

  Sharyn Rampling was seated on her bed with a book in her lap. She looked up as he entered the room, and the faraway look in her eyes made him doubt that she’d actually been reading.

  “Morning,” he said. Saying Good morning would’ve been dishonest, and he wanted to avoid superficial niceties and game-playing. A good therapist sets the example and hopes the patient will follow it. He sat in the armchair and crossed his legs. He didn’t have her medical chart with him; the chart could be seen as a symbolic barrier between them and he knew she was savvy enough to note its absence. “I understand you’ve met my wife.”

  She narrowed her eyes as if trying to read his face. She said nothing.

  He said, “You want to tell me about it?”

  A slight smile crossed her lips. “Are you sure you want me to, Doctor Knott? It gets pretty kinky. It could be hard for you, you know, to maintain your professional detachment.”

  “I’m not pretending that I don’t have a personal interest in this, Sharyn. We both know better. I haven’t spoken with my wife yet. I wanted to get your perspective first. Please tell me what happened.”

  “I’m sure you read our charts.”

  “No, I didn’t. I got a brief verbal report from staff. All I know is that you were in Susan’s room and that you engaged in sexual activity with her.”

  “You make it sound so cheap,” she said with a coy little smile.

  “I don’t want to interrogate you. Just tell me how it went down.”

  She laughed. “Went down? Is that a Freudian slip or a deliberate use of sexual euphemism to … prime my pump?”

  He felt his face redden. He bit back an angry response and said nothing.

  “All right, Doc, I’ll give you the blow by blow, but I can’t promise I won’t get aroused by it. You probably will too. You sure you want to risk that? Who knows where that might take us?”

  “Something very dangerous is going on here and if we can’t get a handle on it, we won’t be able to protect ourselves. This goes way beyond what’s happening with you and Susan, but you’re part of the big picture and I need you to help me understand it. We don’t have time to play games.”

  “But it is a game, don’t you see? We’re being played. Your wife and I are game pieces. You are too, in your own way. You’re the knight the queen sacrifices in service to the king. That’s it in a nutshell. That’s all you need to know. The game’s afoot and there’s nothing you or I can do to stop it. Not that I’d want to, not anymore.”

  Knott sighed involuntarily. “So what happened between you and Susan was orchestrated by …?”

  She twitched her nose and a look of alarm suddenly came into her face.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “I smell him,” she said, losing a measure of her condescending composure. “His scent is on you.”

  “Him?”

  “Don’t play innocent. You know who I’m talking about.”

  “Your woodland god. Pan. Or Dionysus.”

  “Where have you been?” She said this sharply in a scolding voice.

  Determined to keep the dialogue on track, he ignored her question and asked, “What precipitated your encounter with Susan?”

  “The scent was on her too, but not as strong as it is on you right now. But it was more than that. It was the way she looked at me, and in her words as well. We connected. There was this unspoken subtext. It was, I don’t know, biblical. You know, like Whenever two are gathered in my name, I am there too. Something like that. But we sure as hell aren’t talking about Jesus. Now you tell me. Where have you been? The scent wasn’t on you last night. Something happened, didn’t it? Something big.”

  “I went along with a search party,” he said. “We found one of the missing women.”

  Her eyes widened. “How … was she?”

  “Dazed, disoriented. Abused.”

  “God.” The old fear flashed in her face, then quickly vanished. “It’s really happening now. We’re living the myth. Or it’s living us. Any way you slice it, we’re fucked.”

  Then she hungrily sniffed the air, taking in as much of the lingering scent of the beast as she could, and gave him the most demonic grin he’d ever seen.

  * * * *

  Knott entered his wife’s room, his heart rapidly knocking against his ribcage. He did his best to keep his voice from shaking as he said, “Susan? I need your help.”

  She was lying on the bed with her eyes shut and her hands folded over her abdomen. Except for the hospital gown she wore, she might’ve been a pretty corpse dolled up and laid out for viewing. She didn’t move.

  Knott went a step closer to the bed. “Susan?”

  Her eyelids fluttered, then opened.

  “How are you?” he asked softly.

  “You’re the doctor,” she said, “you tell me.”

  “I don’t honestly know. I need you to help me understand what’s happening.”

  She sat up slowly, regally. She looked at him, her face serene. “You don’t have it in you.”

  “Don’t have what in me?” He fought the urge to cross his arms over his chest.

  “Understanding. You’re not equipped for it. You’ll never see beyond all your psychiatric nonsense. Those silly shadows on the walls of your pathetic little cave.”

  “I believe I can if you’ll help me. Give me a chance. I’m here as your husband, not your physician. Please.”

  “But you’re not my husband. That marriage was a sham, a cheap imitation. I’ve already moved on, little man. I don’t expect you to understand. But don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll find a new cavewoman to replace me. A cute little thing with perky tits and a worshipful smile. Like that tight-assed little
nurse with the great big crush on you.”

  “Why do you feel this need to hurt me, Susan? You were never like that before.”

  “That’s just it. Before. This is after. And it’s nothing like before. I don’t need a headshrinker. And I certainly don’t want to be married to one.”

  He didn’t let his feelings show in his face. He soldiered on, undaunted. “Do you understand what happened to you last night, why you were compelled to run outside naked?”

  “Go away, Trey. Really. This is boring. Go play doctor with patients who might actually need you. I don’t.”

  “I’m not going away. I won’t desert you, Susan.”

  “Don’t do me any favors, you stubborn ass. Stand there all day then. You won’t get another word out of me.” She zipped her lips in pantomime.

  Outside the window a blue jay raised a ruckus. Susan turned her face toward the window in rapt attention. She nodded as if she understood the bird’s hostile squawking.

  Knott stood there a long moment, then said, “I’ll see you later, Susan.”

  He paused in the doorway and said, “I love you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  * * *

  At first, Julie was only dimly aware of the rustling movement downstairs. She came out of her writing trance long enough to identify it as the sound of Angela putting away groceries, bumping about the kitchen, slamming cabinet doors in an apparent display of anger. That woman sure can hold a grudge, Julie thought. That was okay. She would make it up to her later, make her understand that a writer has to write when the deep channels finally open up and the words and ideas come flooding forth with single-minded vengeance. And the writing was good. The best she’d ever done. What she had here was not just another horror tale. No, this was serious literature. This was art of the highest order. Once she’d opened herself to the darkness within, the words flowed out of her and onto the page with frightening ease. Almost as if someone else were dictating the sentences. The way the story was writing itself, it would almost be an act of plagiarism to put Julie Archer down as the author.

  Footsteps on the stairs. Damn.

  A knock on the door. “Jools? I don’t like this. I don’t like being locked out.”

  “Sorry, Ange. I can’t stop now. I’m in the zone. You have to leave me alone for now. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

  “If this is how it’s going to be, I might as well go back home. Fuck this shit.” She kicked the door.

  “Please, Angela. Try to understand what this means to me.”

  “I know exactly what it means. It means you’re a selfish bitch.”

  “Go! Away!”

  “Fuck you, no!”

  Julie stood up and faced the locked door. “You’re spoiling everything.”

  “No, Julie, you are. And you know what? I’m not going to let you. No fucking way.”

  Angela began to batter the door, probably throwing her shoulder against it.

  “Stop it! You’ll hurt yourself, goddammit!”

  She didn’t stop. She threw herself against the door again and again.

  Julie started sobbing as she went toward the door to unlock it. The door came open with a sharp crack of metal and wood and Angela crashed to the floor. Julie shrieked in surprise. She hadn’t thought it would be so easy to break down the door.

  Angela jumped to her feet and Julie fearfully backed away. Neither of them paid notice to the crow cawing right outside the window. Angela’s eyes blazed at Julie’s nakedness, her face a twisted mask of madness.

  “Daddy’s gonna kill me,” Julie said with a glance at the splintered wood where the door’s top hinge had been.

  “I’m gonna kill you, you bitch.” Angela grinned maniacally as she advanced.

  The crow cawed louder still.

  Julie looked around for something to use as a weapon.

  Angela was on her before Julie could grab the hardback dictionary off the desk.

  As Angela bulled her to the floor, Julie thought she could hear the eerie shriek from last night’s phantom visitor in the rasping cry of the crow. She stopped struggling and gave in to Angela’s rough sexual assault. Soon she was shrieking in orgasmic abandon. All the darkness that was inside her came out in a violent rush and Julie gave it expression in ways that would’ve shocked even the most jaded connoisseurs of extreme horror.

  * * * *

  Leaving word that he was not to be disturbed for anything short of the end of the world, Rourke retreated to the solitude of Sheriff Gladstone’s office in hopes of catching a badly needed catnap. He was so tired he couldn’t think straight. He felt as if he’d become one big throbbing raw nerve. He figured a twenty-minute immersion in the blessed unconsciousness of sleep was just the soothing balm he needed to get him through the tribulations and trials of the coming hours. With a glance at his wristwatch, he sat behind the sheriff’s big desk for a soporific timeout.

  He leaned back in Gladstone’s chair, propped his boots on the desk, pulled his hat over his eyes and tried to surrender himself to peaceful slumber. He gradually tuned out the low voices and ringing phones in the next room—in effect, turning off the world—and drifted away.

  Out of dreamy darkness came Alice Marsh, her eyes as flinty and flirtatious as the eyes of a ruthless love goddess, her plump lips pursed in the pout of a succubus sent to suck a man dry and leave him shriveled and spiritually impotent for eternity. Trapped behind a desk in a dank chasm, there was no place to run. Not that he really wanted to, because what man could resist such a woman’s otherworldly charms and daring sexual advances? Alice relieved him of his pistol, stroked it seductively, ran her tongue around the rim of its muzzle, smiling all the while, and then she peeled off her uniform, jumped on top of the desk and performed a series of unnatural acts with the glistening gun. He watched her through his hat as she moved her hips in provocative gyrations, each thrust threatening to dislodge his sanity. Like a vaudeville vixen whose time center-stage has ended, she suddenly directed his attention stage-left, where a monstrous dog was fornicating with a faceless woman with scrawny blood-streaked flanks. “Jesus God, I can’t watch this,” he complained, “I’m an officer of the fucking law.” Alice smiled and said, “From your lips to God’s dog’s ear, fucking law.”

  Coming awake all at once, he yanked his feet off the desk, removed his hat from his face, and catapulted himself out of the chair.

  “Christ,” he said, wishing he could disown his unwanted erection. “No rest for the fucking wicked.”

  * * * *

  Fresh from a steaming shower, Knott collapsed naked onto the bed and covered his eyes with a forearm to block the daylight seeping in around the bedroom’s closed curtains. His body was weary but his mind would not rest. It insisted upon replaying grisly images of the search-party fiasco and of the subsequent horror he and Deputy Rourke had witnessed in the cave. Most disturbing of all was the cruel image of Sarah Melton with that demonic dog humping her from behind and the physiological effect that god-awful mental picture was having on him right now.

  As much as the act of bestiality shocked and sickened him, so did it now arouse him. The hot shower had coerced a semi-erection from him, and the vivid memory of the dog violating the dazed woman now brought his hard-on to full term and forced him to consider the possibility that he himself was a sexual deviant. (How else to explain why he should be so aroused by such a vile act of perversion?)

  He covered his erection with a pillow and told himself that he was still feeling the unnatural effects of his circuitous encounter with a supernatural being. Surely that had to be the explanation. Didn’t it? While it relieved him of some responsibility, the idea was far from comforting; that such an entity could have so devastating an effect on his wife, his marriage and himself (not to mention its effect on all those other poor souls) was in itself shocking and dispiriting. Knott had never before in his life felt so helpless, so defenseless—so at a loss as to how to proceed from this untenable point.

  As a man
who doubted the existence of God, Knott was duly surprised at how quickly he’d come to accept as fact the existence of a mysterious creature with seemingly supernatural powers. While he supposed it was possible that the entity’s ability to wreak all manner of havoc on human lives was a rare but naturally occurring phenomenon, he didn’t really believe it was. Having been affected by some measure of the thing’s influence and having witnessed its more overwhelming effect on others, Knott was inclined to believe the unknown creature was, in fact, some sort of supernatural being. And even if the thing was not supernatural, it most certainly was unnatural—as unnatural as sexual intercourse between different species.

  God, but he wished he could get that obscene image out of his mind!

  He lifted the pillow for a peek at his penis. Shit! Still raging hard. He was tempted to flog the damned thing into submission, to punish it for its lasciviousness, but that would be more of a lewd reward than punishment.

  He got up, made himself an icepack and went back to bed with the icy remedy applied to his insistent organ. It hurt like hell at first, but soon enough a cold numbness set in. His erection ebbed, and finally he was able to go to sleep. He took with him the dream-image of Susan as the sweet-natured person he’d married, rather than the coldhearted run-with-wolves woman she’d recently become.

  * * * *

  Julie Archer read aloud the words she’d just written. The lines of dark characters on the laptop’s glowing screen came alive in her mouth and she tasted each pungent word, slowly savoring the supple language and getting inside the word-spawned images, wallowing in them much the same as she had wallowed and bathed in her lover’s warm blood.

  Angela’s blood was cold now. Her eyes were glassy, the left one already gone a little milky, reminding Julie of the clabbered eyes of Mister Whiskers the morning she’d found the beloved housecat dead and stiff as a stuffed animal in a taxidermist’s shop.