They now had more to ponder. Carl seemed more bewildered at learning the real cause of Tommy Flanagan’s death. He wondered at the time how a healthy, strong young man could have a heart attack. David was just as shocked by the outpouring of information about Nancy and her family.
He felt a strange desire to go talk with her, but this new information and her knowing about Art Finley’s arrest, was pulling at his senses. Something was not right.
The Chief shook his head at the entire story. “Now we know who we are after, a bunch of yahoos that dance naked around fires giving people heart attacks and a three-hundred-year old ghost with a pet demon. Who do we find first?”
Keith walked into the office and stood by the door. He glanced around the room at the four men silently contemplating the priest’s story. “Awfully quiet in here.”
Murphy chuckled, wondering if he would have said that a minute ago. “Let’s get going. We have a long day ahead of us. The horses are out back.”
* * * *
David laughed to himself as he watched the group travel along the narrow path overgrown from lack of use. It reminded him of a Sheriff leading his posse out to find the bad guys. He wished it were that simple.
It was not long until the horses forded a slough draining the swamp evenly into the passing river. The ground became soggy and soft, peat and marsh grass covered the area outside the swamps below the southern slope of Deacon Heights.
Above the peaks of the swamp’s foliage, the slope of the heights reached into the sky like a black wall. Its crest topped by a growth of forest and brush giving the appearance of a large Gia Pet.
Murphy led them single file through the shallow dank water. The sun was bright but the large willows and thick overhanging vines dimmed its light, enshrouding the area in a gray mist. Eventually the drab environment opened to a friendlier patch of dry terra firma edged by small pine and birch. Shallow pools covered with lilies and duckweed fronted the shale and rocky terrain of the near vertical face of the slope.
“We’ll stop here for awhile,” Murphy said, dismounting.
“Thank God.” Father Ahern rubbed his backside as he set foot once again on the ground.
David stretched a rope between two willows and secured the horses to it then helped the priest gathering kindling for a fire. Father Ahern stopped and scanned the wall of rock that confronted them.
“Quite an obstacle,” the priest sounded unnerved by the size of the precipice before them. “And the swamp behind us. It seems we are well protected.”
“Or boxed in,” David pointed out.
“I agree.” The priest nervously twisted the crucifix around his neck. “Not to worry, David, the Lord is with us on our quest to destroy the evil that has befallen this town.”
He turned away, hiding the fear in his eyes. “You know, David, I have preached the word of Jesus and tried to warn of Satan’s undoing. I have seen, heard, touched, and smelled all the good Lord has bestowed upon this earth, yet I must confess that I fear the flip side of all that is good. I am scared to face this beast from hell and I tremble at the thought of going toe to toe with pure evil.”
“The Chief, my Uncle, Keith, myself…we’re all scared, but we must fight this together. If we don’t, if we just run because we are frightened, aren’t we saying we don’t care about all those things created? If we surrender to evil, will we not become evil?”
Father Ahern turned and smiled. “You should have been a priest, young man.”
They walked quietly to the fire where Murphy and Carl sat on a log.
“I’m going to climb up the slope, take a look around from topside,” David said.
Carl peered up, “How long you figure it will take you to hike up something like that?”
“I don’t know.” David looked to the slope, his eyes following the path he hoped to climb. “Probably an hour, maybe less, depends on the footing. I’ll signal when I have a good viewing point.”
Murphy handed him a leather case with a long strap. “Take the binoculars. It may save us some time in determining which way to go next.”
David wrapped the binocular case around his shoulder and headed for the incline. At first, the natural stone provided David a stairway but before long, it changed to unstable and slippery shale.
He inched higher and higher, not knowing where he was on the face of the slope, but he felt he had made considerable progress. A ledge jutted from the face of the cliff just above. Pulling himself onto it, he sat with his legs dangling over the edge, resting. It was harder to climb than he thought and he anticipated another ten minutes to reach the summit.
The view was beautiful. The forest along the outer rim of the swamp opened to reveal fields stretched over the countryside until blending with the horizon in the distance. In the camp below, he saw the Chief and Father Ahern waited at the fire for the brewing coffee over the open flame. His Uncle stood near the horses, occasionally gazing up at his nephew’s progress.
David removed the binocular case from around his neck and opened it. Removing them he scanned the vista then turned the lens until the camp below focused into a sharp image. He kept his arm steady allowing the lens to remain focused as it viewed the reeds and willows dipping their branches of pale green gracefully to the damp earth around the campsite. Then he saw a blur behind the shrubbery.
Several times David wiped the salty sweat from his eyes then squeezed the binoculars tighter to his eyes. His eyes strained to relocate the spot where the shadow had appeared. A deer perhaps or one of the horses, maybe a bear had smelled the coffee on the fire. He watched and waited.
Suddenly a willow branch moved violently until torn from the tree. In its place stood the beast, two black horns spiraled from its scaly head, teeth protruding from hyena like jaws. It walked slowly, bent forward, arms and long talons outstretched as it stepped toward the campsite. It disappeared again behind another large clump of brush.
“Sweet Jesus, protect us…” David said aloud. His hands shook so he could hardly hold the binoculars.
The lens found the animal as it reappeared near the edge of the swamp. Not able to stand on his perch, David flailed his arms, yelling like a wild man trying to attract the attention of the unsuspecting trio sitting around the fire. Carl finally looked up and saw David’s frantic waves.
“Looks like he made it in less than an hour,” Carl said proudly of his nephew. “Can’t make out what he’s yelling, though.”
“Sounds like hello,” Murphy said, looking up.
Carl waved back. “Hello, good job…”
David picked up the binoculars looking for the beast. The area was quiet.
Just like my dream on the bus, he thought, watching his Uncle waving.
He felt a strange sensation of déjà vu again sweep over him. Blackness fluttered in his mind like a shade opening, revealing a sunny day into a coal mine. It seemed to purge his memory, his thoughts of a before, remembrances of anything besides Wexford.
Another bending willow tree caught his attention, diverting his thoughts. The beast neared the horses. He took the revolver from its holster and fired two shots into the air.
“Goddamn it, behind you…behind you!” he screamed.
“What the hell is he shooting at?” Murphy stood curiously. The horses began to whinny and stomp their hoofs into the soft earth, tugging wildly at the tied reins. They tried desperately to free themselves from the rope.
“Something’s spooking the horses.” Murphy ran to them.
“The gun fire perhaps?” Father Ahern suggested hopefully.
The beast stood by the terrified horses. Without any effort, it lifted one off the ground as it kicked and neighed wildly until the beast tossed it like an apple against a tree. The sound of its back snapping was horrendous. The Chief, Carl, and Father Ahern now stood face to face with Satan�
�s own.
David could only watch from his perch as the slaughter unfolded. Murphy fired his revolver at the scaly creature as it approached Carl standing frozen in fear. It quickly engulfed him in its powerful, deformed arms before Carl could fire a shot.
David was in shock, his eyes welled, and his stomach turned and thumped against his esophagus, retching from the frustration of not being able to warn them in time.
His mind swam in confusion and nausea watching the beast’s talons slashed his Uncle’s inert body. It tossed him aside and eyed the Chief. Murphy turned to his rifle, firing until it emptied, then he frantically began to reload the revolver.
“For Chrissake, Father, use your gun! Shoot!” Murphy cried out as the animal made its way steadily toward him, blood, and flesh clinging to its talons outstretched to take hold of Murphy.
Father Ahern fell to his knees clutching tightly the crucifix swinging from his neck; he prayed loudly. His eyes pressed shut, awaiting the terrible execution he knew was at hand.
Murphy threw the rifle at the beast. It bounced off it like a gnat against an elephant. He stepped back, realizing the hopelessness of the situation. The witch had returned and taken his wife and now it was his turn, all in the name of evil vengeance. He held out his revolver, a last attempt to thwart Isabel from securing her vengeance on him and take his soul.
Murphy called out to the horrified Father Ahern, kneeling with hands clasped together, head bowed, eyes tightly closed, reciting prayer. “Father, ask Jesus for forgiveness. I have no other recourse.”
Murphy then made the sign of the cross, placed the barrel of the revolver against the roof of his mouth, and then pulled the trigger.
* * * *
David slid off his perch and resumed the climb to the top as the beast casually neared the priest. He climbed, pulled, pushed, and crawled his way along the cliff’s fragile face as best he could. Finally reaching the grass-covered earth of the crest, he knelt behind a large rock and peered at the scene below. To his horror, the animal gazed up the slope at him.
“Oh no, oh no.” The perspiration flowed, his heart banged and his eyes were nearly popping from their sockets. Fear had taken hold of his being as he watched the animal walk effortlessly over the rock formation. It climbed, never faltering, as agile as a mountain goat. Its eyes remained aimed at him with every step.
David pumped his legs as fast as they would carry him along the cliff edge overlooking the carnage and the beast below. His feet led the way, to where he did not know as long as they were moving. He trampled bushes, ran into trees and rocks, tripped over fallen logs, and stumbled into a ravine. Righting himself, he continued putting distance between him and the beast.
He fell again, into a gully filled with fallen leaves and covered with a thick thorny brush. His foot tangled in the thicket, a pain shot through his ankle. He listened for his pursuer as he twisted the foot free but there was no sound other than his short quick breaths.
David wondered if maybe he had lost his pursuer. The sun was closing in on the horizon and he had to find the road back to town. He stood, feeling the warm air of the oncoming summer evening settling on the heights; then he heard branches snapping from behind. David ran.
Shortly, the forest broke away and the terrain became solid rock with a steady downward pitch. David did not slow, continuing his pace until he tumbled, landing upon a paved surface. He lay exhausted and weak until realizing he had fallen on Route Eight; the lights of Wexford shone not far off.
He listened but did not hear the beast. David did not know where it was and was not going to wait for it. Once again, he ran and continued until reaching the stairs of the town hall where he found the police office lights on. Hopefully, Keith was still there.
David rested at the base of the stairs, holding the railing as his lungs filled. They felt as though they might burst at any moment, as an over-inflated balloon, then emptied only to refill quickly.
The thumping within his chest held a steady beat, like a runaway train careening along a stretch of track. He rested on the bottom stair, allowing normalcy to return to his overtaxed system. His arms and legs scratched and torn from his flight through the forest–his clothing had not fared any better.
His ears strained to hear. The pounding of blood through his arteries echoed through his brain. As it leveled off, he noticed there was no sound at all, no automobiles, night insects, or laughter from Kelly’s around the corner; nothing. He called up the bit of extra strength he had left in his legs and climbed the stairs.
At the entrance to the office, David cautiously pushed open the swinging door that separated the waiting vestibule and office. It was quiet and reminded him of Mrs. Toomey’s house. Across the room, from the Chief’s opened office door, a faint light from a desk lamp illuminated the office. David approached while constantly moving his eyes in all directions. He once again sensed a strange surge of suspense, that ‘something is wrong’ sensation.
At the doorway, he found the telephone smashed and strewn across the floor. Keith lay across the desk on his back, arms outstretched, crucifixion style. A silver blade penetrated his chest, impaling him to the wooden desktop. His head cocked toward the door with his eyes open and dull as if watching David approach. He reached and closed them.
A chill went up his spine, realizing he was alone against the witch and her demon. The only people who had known about the return of Isabel were gone, except for him. He now wished they had enlisted the help of the State Police or at least told someone, anyone. Leaving Wexford was the only option but Nancy, along with as many others as possible had to be warned of the beast.
David jumped in Keith’s patrol car, turned the key, and left for Kelly’s.
The car went slowly along the quiet street. The only sound came from the tires rolling over the paved surface. David steered into the middle of the street allowing a better view of all sides.
The usual level of voices and laughter was missing from Kelly’s as was the pinball machine, television, and pool table. The business was like a graveyard except for the flashing Bud Light neon sign, the only source of light over the bar.
David left the car in the middle of the street and went carefully to the door of Kelly’s. Pushing it open, his mind tried to register the vision that greeted him. Bodies littered the area; tables and chairs and an overturned pool table covered the floor.
Blood mixed with alcohol and beer painted walls and ceiling. Alongside the smashed telephone booth lay a decapitated body wearing a blood-soaked apron with a large green shamrock in its center.
David gagged and backed out, vomiting before reaching the patrol car. His head swam in nausea. He could not tell if Nancy was among the dead but felt compelled to find her, take her away from this madness. The tires poured smoke as he pushed the accelerator to the floor and prayed she would be home.
Chapter Nineteen
Destroyer
Insects seeking warmth steadily circled the light illuminating Nancy’s front porch. Occasionally one would defy the heat and land atop the bulb, quickly falling to the bottom of the fixture, dead among many others; instantly baked. The light also illuminated the front yard down to the sidewalk and curb where David sat in the patrol car.
He studied the house and the darkened yards on both sides. It was too quiet, the other homes along the small street were dark, vehicles sat in driveways, and the evening breeze stopped rustling through the treetops. Except for the zapping bugs burning on the light, the street seemed dead.
David walked to the front door, alert for any surprise movement. He found the door open a few inches and pushed it open further, allowing the porch light to enter before him. Its rays fell upon the stairway across from the door and dimly brightened the adjacent living room.
His eyes barley made out the image of Nancy’s photograph upon the mantel. The shape was like a shadow in a frame b
ut her eyes glowed from the reflecting porch light.
“Where the hell are you?” he whispered at the photograph.
“I’m here,” she answered from behind, startling him. He fell to the sofa then rebounded quickly to his feet, staring wide-eyed at Nancy in the room’s entrance. She was nude.
“What the…what are you doing?” His heart raced from fear and anxiety. Her sudden appearance was more than his speech and thought patterns could handle. They just would not work together.
“Why are you naked? Everyone at Kelly’s, is dead, a beast is…”
“Come, come, David,” she replied with a sensuous grin that brought a stir from deep within. “Are you that confused you can’t think straight, or are you really that naïve?”
He circled back to the front door, near the stairway. “You’re with those Satan worshippers, that’s how you knew Finley was in jail, you were at the farm when he was caught.”
“Give that man a prize. You are correct, sir. What an amazing wit you are,” she teased him sarcastically, her voice suggesting she knew a secret and he did not.
She stood in the middle of the living room where the porch light displayed her beauty in all its glory. Her eyes were like small pools of oil, shiny and deep above a sensuous mouth with lips moist and open. The body moved like a cat, sleek, shapely, firm and inviting.
She knew David was resisting but his will was waning. His mind opened, becoming tranquil, his emotions desirous of her. She felt his desire. Lifting her breasts, she offered them, beckoning him to taste their dark, erect nipples.
He drifted close to total surrender. Nancy’s eyes reached into his swirling mind and tugged playfully at his manhood, pulled at his sexuality to yield, take her. He felt the rise of an erection, his hands moved toward her breast, his eyes unable to leave the swirling pool of blackness of her eyes luring him to predestined penance. She was confident and content.
Another insect fried against the porch light. The split second flash twirled David’s mind from the near-fatal trance. He shook his head, removing remnants of the spell, assuring himself nothing happened in the time spent within her hold.
The Banshee Page 10