The Revenant: A Horror in Dodsville

by Brian L. Blank

  All the muscles in my body quivered and became tense and rigid. "What the hell are you talking about?" I shouted back. "I didn't do anything!"

  Reed simply shook his head in response and took two steps backwards. "Checkmate, Stephen," he said, and nodded to his four flunkies.

  Pulling the cross out of its slot, they set it gently on the ground beside me. I knew if I was to make my move, it was now or forever hold my peace. Three women stood together to the right of the door. If I could break through them, I could take my chances in the tunnels beyond. Maybe, just maybe, I could lose them.

  But I never stood a chance. I let out another wail, one that would have made that marine recruiter out of my past proud, and started for the three women. I was flat on my back after the first step. Reed grabbed me by the back of my shirt collar and flung me to the ground. His four flunkies were on top of me a second later. I tried to struggle, but I could feel the bone in my left forearm breaking and gave up. I would need all the strength I could muster in that arm when the time came for me to save Melissa and to find Sly and to get the hell out of here. And I knew that time would eventually make its presence known.

  "Do it now," Reed said, but I couldn’t see him.

  The chanting started again, while the flunkies picked me up and placed me on top of the cross. They spread my arms to form the proper "T."

  I screamed as loud as I could.

  Where the hell were Sly and his gun?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO:

  Unwanted Answers

  The first spike popped easily through my left hand and into the wood before I even realized what they were doing. Pain immediately shot up my arm and to my brain, informing it that something had gone drastically wrong and to please figure a way out of this. Someone in the room screamed, and as my mind closed down, I wondered if it were only I. One of the flunkies grabbed my right hand--I was fast becoming too weak to struggle against them--and flattened it firmly against the wood. Through the night that was washing over my brain, I looked up into his eyes and thought I could see compassion behind them. He didn't want to be here anymore than I did.

  Another of the flunkies placed the point of the next spike between my right thumb and forefinger. He raised the mallet above his head to strike.

  "NOOO!" I yelled as the mallet swung down--what seemed like in slow motion--and crashed on the tip of the spike. One hit and I felt the point tear through my flesh and out the back. He raised the mallet for one final blow to secure the spike in the cross. Again someone screamed in the room, but I was sure it wasn't me this time. The mallet struck the spike another blow, and now both my hands felt as large as balloons. They wanted to drift up and away from the pain.

  Sweat trickled down from my brow and dripped into my eyes. "My hands!" I screamed. Forcing my eyes open one last time before the light in my brain popped out of existence, I searched for Reed. I thought I could hear his laughter, but I couldn't see him anywhere. Too many watchers dressed in black; they almost formed a night wall by themselves. "Reed! DON'T DO THIS TO ME!"

  The chanting became gradually louder, and I could hear more and more laughter from somewhere within the room. Someone screamed again, and it sounded like a woman's voice. Her voice drifted to me from beyond the chants. "Reed!" she yelled out, "Stop this. I'll do what you ask of me. Just let him alone."

  They tied ropes to my hands, but I couldn't see them anymore. Someone grabbed onto my right foot, and I only cringed, awaiting the pain of another spike. Yet, the pain never came, as whoever it was only secured my feet to the cross with more rope.

  Suddenly, I was being raised into the air, and the cross bearing me rose to its upright position. A vibration shook me as it slammed into place.

  The pain was becoming too much, and consciousness was rapidly fleeting me. But just before I passed out, I recognized the voice of the screaming woman. I tried to squeeze out Melissa's name before departing, and I never knew if I succeeded. The remaining light in my mind died, and so, I felt, did I. The last I remembered was the warm sensation sliding down my legs as I finally let go and pissed my own pants.

  * * *

  Pain brought me back to the cross, but I refused to open my eyes. I wasn't even sure I could have opened them if I wanted to, and ignorance, in this case, was bliss. Also, I didn't wish to see my hands, spread out away from my body and tacked to a wooden dream. The pain was enough to tell me of their existence. Sweat--or was that blood--trickled off the end of my nose. My throat blazed, and I could feel a scream welling up for an encore performance behind the fire. But it died before passing my lips. I tried desperately to push consciousness away from me again.

  Someone softly sobbed below me, and a few minutes passed before I realized the voice hadn’t come from my own imagination. I forced my eyes open a crack to a dimly lit room. Candles burned on the walls around me, and the lights had all been shut off.

  "Eddie," I whispered, my voice cracking so badly I didn't know if I'd been understood. "What happened up there, Eddie? Where has God gone?"

  Eddie stirred beneath me, and I tried to open my eyes wide enough to see him. At the ropes at my feet was only a shadow. He placed a cool hand on my thigh, and it felt so good. "Eddie?" The shadow moved back a step.

  "No," a woman's voice replied. She sounded defeated. "It's me. Melissa."

  The name ping-ponged through my mind, and I knew I should have recognized it. But she only dangled on the edges of my dreams. I tried to force it forward, but the weakness was too strong.

  "I'll get you out of this," the woman said, and the shadows moved closer to reality. If only I could see her. "You won't die, Stephen. I'll see to that."

  "Melissa?" I said her name aloud. Almost there now, I thought. She's almost there, just beyond the outskirts of my mind. I tried to repeat her name, but my throat dried shut.

  "I love you, Stephen," the woman's shadow said. "Always remember that."

  I rocked my head back and forth while her shadow danced below me. "Where am I going?" I forced the words out, over the sandpaper in my throat.

  Laughter echoed in my ears, and another shadow became visible behind the first one. This shadow floated.

  I tried to scream at it, but all that came out of my mouth was a fit of dry coughing.

  "Leave him alone, Reed," the woman's voice said, soft, passionless. "Haven't you done enough?"

  The floating shadow laughed again. And the walls around my brain came crashing down. "Reed." I croaked. “I remember you.”

  The first shadow put her cool hand back on my thigh. Melissa's hand. I knew her now, and my own heart cried out in shame. "Get away, Melissa," I whispered to the first shadow. Her hand was cool, not cold. Cool. Maybe, just maybe, all was not too late.

  Reed floated in front of her shadow, and she backed away from me--from him.

  "I am your savior," I said to her as the shadow disappeared. "I am."

  Reed laughed, and his shadows jerked in spasms.

  "Leave her alone," I spat out at it.

  Reed floated away from me. "Don't worry, baby," its voice said. "You'll see him again. But later. I'm not ready for him just yet."

  The shadows were gone, and I was left alone with my candles, burning. I tried again to push away consciousness.

  But a new shadow appeared at the back of the room, blocking out the light of the candles behind it. Reed’s voice was in the room with me again, though from behind this new shadow. "Why, Sly," he said. And the shadow moved toward me, silently. "I can't wait to hear what you have to say to our savior." And he laughed.

  "Let it alone," the new shadow said.

  "Sly?" I whispered to the movement below me. "I knew a Sly once."

  The shadow moved too close, and I couldn't see him. "Fight it, Stephen," he said. "This is a force that can be beaten."

  What was he talking about?

  The edges of darkness closed in on my brain. Maybe I could sleep. If only I could--

  "I betrayed you, Stephen." The shadow said, moving out to whe
re I could see it. "But I guess you figured that one out entirely on your own by now, didn't you?" More laughter from beyond my thoughts. "Not the purpose, though, but the results that count here. Right?"

  "Eddie?" Where was I? What happened to the music?

  And, as if to answer, another bolt of pain shot through my left arm. I was on the cross; I had been crucified for my sins.

  "No." The shadow moved out of view. After a long pause, he continued: "Reed cornered me a couple of nights ago." Another pause, but only seconds this time. "He said that if I brought you here, he would allow Melissa to leave. Whole." The shadow moved out in front of me.

  "Sly?" I asked it. Was that its name?

  "I wasn't going to let him have you."

  The shadow cleared and I could see its face. "Sly?" I knew him. "Sly, where is she? Where's Melissa?" The reason I was here.

  "I didn't think you'd come through the mirror!" There was anguish in his voice now. "You weren't really supposed to follow me. You were to be too damn scared to come through that mirror!"

  "But I did." And now I was dying. I would soon be dead.

  A shadow moved forward from the back of the room. "Enough," it said. It reached for Sly and took him by the arm. "Let's go, Sly." And Sly retreated, lost in his own shadow once again.

  Reed became barely visible through a cloud. "I'll be back for you later," he said, that warm, friendly smile shining through the haze. "Don't go anywhere." He laughed, and I understood him.

  "Wait," I said.

  It turned. "What?"

  I hesitated. "Why?"

  Reed shook his head, as if in disappointment at my question. "I only wanted for you and my sisters to have some fun after my untimely death. To come alive again." He gazed up at me for a moment’s silence. "But you went and stole my girl from me," he added, at length, still shaking his head. "I saw it happening and tried to stop you." Another pause. "It got too far. And now it's too late."

  My eyes focused on him. "What happened to Tabby?" I asked. "That wasn't Randy, was it? That was you I saw walking away from the boarding house that day. Wasn't it? That was you!"

  He moved forward, raising a fist. "Shut up!"

  "It should be you hanging up here, Reed."

  "That was your fault!" He lowered his fist and smiled again. "Now I deal out the justice." And he turned and vanished through the rear door with Sly.

  Alone now, I could hear my own hoarse breathing. I thought for a moment that the sounds came from someone else within the room. But only the candles flickered around me. I wanted to sleep--to lose the light and forget my pain. As if to oblige my wish, darkness began to creep in along the edges of my inner mind. It felt so good.

  Wake up!

  The darkness disappeared. "Who's there?" I asked, squinting ahead, in search of more shadows. Why didn't they leave me alone?

  Get off the cross, you wimp.

  The voice didn't come from the room; someone had broken inside my head. "I can't," I answered it.

  Those are only nails in your hands, not boards, for Christ Sake.

  No. "I can't."

  Push out with your right hand. Doesn't it hurt bad already?

  "Nooo!" I pulled out with my right hand, straining against the rope that held it in place. The pain instantly doubled, then tripled, but the nail slid through my hand a fraction of an inch.

  You see?

  Screaming came at me from all directions. Someone was in trouble. Sly was in trouble. It wasn't just me screaming.

  You have to pull hard now. With your wrist, against the rope.

  I yanked with everything I had left in me, and consciousness began to fade out again. But the nail slipped; I could feel it slide easily through my flesh. Almost there now. Hang on. Relaxing only for seconds, I tried again. My hand pulled free and slid out of the rope holding it to the cross, flinging in front of my face and spurting blood out into the air. I saw the red briefly--and choked.

  Now the other hand and you're free.

  "I hear you." Positioning my feet on top of the rope that held them, so I wouldn't go crashing headlong onto the floor, I reached over, and with the help of my freed right hand, pulled my left hand through the nail that held it. I jerked it forward, and it, too, slid right out of its rope. As it pulled free, another spurt of blood shot out on onto the ground below.

  I didn't fall forward. Another rope I hadn't felt held me around my waist. I felt it with my hands, or what was left of them. A rope had been strung through my belt loops on my jeans and around the beam of the cross. My fingers groped at the knot tied in front of me, but they didn't want to grab hold.

  "Just do it," I said, through a grimace of pain. My hands weren't a part of me anymore, severed by my brain in an attempt to cut off the pain. Willing it, I forced the tip of a finger into the bulk of the knot--and pulled. A bolt of pain shot up my arm, but I kept my concentration on the rope.

  That a boy!

  The knot loosened--not much, but enough to give me hope. I strained harder, ignoring that added agony, and the first loop slipped out of the knot. Without hesitation, I squeezed my thumb and forefinger on the next loop, and tore the knot loose. I fell forward, my feet slipping out of their ropes, and belly-flopped onto the concrete floor below.

  Another scream joined mine, echoing from some corridor beyond the far door. Sly, I thought. I had to get to him. Using my elbows as support, I got to my knees. Holding my hands out in front of me for easy viewing, I knew I'd have to try the fingers to see if they would still perform for me. They were both covered with enough clotted blood to prevent me, mercifully, from seeing the entire extent of the damage. I couldn't see through them, and for that I was thankful. The blood from my left hand had oozed onto the wrap around my forearm, staining it with a deep purple.

  "Come on, boys," I cajoled my fingers. "Time to show me your stuff." I tried all ten at the same time, and grimaced again at the additional pain. But they moved. I clinched my hands, and flexed them open--more than once as an attempt to keep them loose. They would move for me now, but how much longer before they stiffened for good?

  Another scream reached me from beyond the door. "Got to hurry," I told myself, and at the same time I willed my body to stand upright. I rose to my feet, and stood, staggering, for a minute to get my bearings. The closed door loomed only twenty feet in front of me. Holding my hands against my shirt to prevent the blood from flowing, I stumbled forward toward the back of the room. A thought questioning how much blood I had already lost started forward in my brain, but I pushed it away. No time for that now.

  The doorway was ahead of me, getting closer and closer. Far away screams echoed on the other side. "Sly," I whispered. "I'm coming, Sly."

  Did someone behind me chuckle? I turned, but no one was there. Only the candles, burning down to nubs now, glared back at me.

  Reaching the doorway, I placed a bloodied hand on the doorknob and turned it. The door opened, rather easily, I thought, and in front of me now was a winding stairway going down. A dim, but visible, light was apparent near the bottom of the staircase, where it disappeared around a corner.

  A sickening moan crawled up the stairs toward me--the moan of someone lost and who has lost all hope.

  "I've got to go down there." I took the first step, and almost lost my balance. Stopping for a moment to gather my wits, I imagined myself lying at the bottom of the stairs, my face mashed into the concrete floor. I would have to use my hands for support. No railing was there to help my cause, so I spread my arms--into a "T" again--and balanced myself. One deliberate step at a time, I descended the stairway, leaving a double trail of blood on the wall behind me. Pain ricocheted through me like someone blasting nails up my arms. "I'm not dead yet," I said. I closed my eyes and felt my way to the bottom.

  Not realizing I had just polished off the final step, my knee buckled and I fell forward when attempting to lower myself one more level. My instincts forced me to land with my hands--palms forward--onto the concrete floor. I let loose with an
agonizing scream when I landed, a scream plenty loud enough to be heard down many of the corridors around me. "Got to shut-up, Stephen," I admonished myself, still cringing with the pain.

  Using my elbows as support again, I jerked back to my feet. I swayed precariously back and forth, and I realized I would only fall once again if I didn't gain some momentum moving forward.

  A straight corridor with concrete walls confronted me, lit every twenty feet by a dim, bare light bulb hanging from above. Shaking my head, I tried to disperse the cobwebs that stretched across the inner reaches of my mind. Reality was making its comeback, and I didn't want to lose it again--not at this critical stage of the game. I sighed deeply, and started forward.

  About fifty yards down this lower corridor the concrete walls ended ahead, I could barely see, and was replaced by jail cell bars lining both sides. These bars continued as far as I could make out. When I reached them, I had to give up my balancing hold on the walls, as I could discern movement behind the bars in the corner of my eyes. I refused to look, as I didn't wish to know what horrors rested there.

  A wave of darkness washed over my brain for a second, and I lost my balance, forcing me to have to grab onto one of the bars for support or tumble to the floor. The second my hand grabbed hold of the steel, someone seized my wrist. I pulled away, screaming, and whatever had me screamed along in unison, though releasing me at the same time. A young boy of about six cowered in the rear of a ten-foot cubicle cell. He whimpered quietly at me while I stared in horror through the bars at him. Obviously afraid of me, he covered his eyes with his arms to hide.

  Other cells around him held more people--men and women as well as children--and they came forward when I passed them, reaching out to touch me. When I looked at them, they spoke, most of them, pleading for me to release them.