by Smith, Bryan
The thing howled in pain and renewed fury as the blow landed with sufficient force to break its jawbone. It lashed out at Luke with its talon-like nails again, drawing another hot line of fire across the middle of his face. Blood spilled from the gash and trickled into Luke’s mouth. But he ignored the pain and swung the flashlight again. This time the rotten bits of flesh and sinew holding the shattered jawbone in place gave way. The jawbone flew away and went skittering across the floor. Now lacking the bottom half of its face, the black wedge of dead flesh that was the creature’s tongue twitched as it hissed at him.
Recoiling in disgust, Luke looked away and noticed the fallen axe. He grabbed it by the handle, got to his feet, and tossed the Maglite on the bed. The situation was far from under control. Greg and the other girl were locked in a struggle Luke had been oblivious to while grappling with the Silas-thing, but now he heard them grunting and banging around on the other side of the room. Because the Maglite had landed facing in this direction, he caught only fleeting glimpses of the struggling figures.
The Silas-thing sat up. The black wedge of flesh dangling below the roof of its mouth twitched as it hissed at him again.
Gripping the axe handle in both hands, Luke raised it high above his head. “Stay down, you rotten piece of shit!”
He screamed as he brought the axe down with all his might, the heavy blade cleaving straight through the top of the thing’s head all the way down to its neck. Bracing a booted foot against the creature’s shriveled chest, he pried the axe out and swung it again, this time redirecting his aim so that the blade chopped through the neck. The head came away from its shoulders and went flying. Luke heard it smack against a wall and fall to the floor.
Somehow, though, the rest of its body remained animate.
It reached for him with gnarled fingers.
Screaming again, Luke swung the axe, burying it in the thing’s chest. He immediately pried it out and swung yet again. This went on for a while. He kept screaming and swinging the axe, how many times he didn’t know. By the time Greg’s hand landed on his shoulder and stopped him from raising the axe yet again, the thing on the floor was in several unmoving pieces.
As he stood there sweating and panting heavily, the shriveled, severed limbs began to disintegrate, as did the remaining scraps of the Santa suit. Within moments, it was all just a pile of dust on the floor. This made no sense in any normal, rational world way. It didn’t seem like something that could possibly be real. But Luke knew what he’d seen.
It’d been real all right.
He’d tangled with the ghost of his father and won. Or maybe it’d only been partly his father. Maybe in death the darkness in his father had become something more like a primal force of evil. He didn’t know. He wasn’t exactly an expert in things supernatural. He didn’t even know if he’d truly vanquished the evil forever. Maybe he’d only earned them a respite, one they’d do well to take advantage of while they still could.
Somewhere else in the room the other girl was sobbing. She was no longer possessed, apparently. He could only imagine this was somehow related to the destruction of the Silas-thing’s physical form. She kept mumbling the name “Spence” over and over, her voice cracking in anguish each time. Spence had to be the dead boy on the floor. Her boyfriend, maybe.
Greg let out a breath, sounding shaky as he said, “Let’s get the fuck out of here, man.”
Luke nodded.
He had no argument with that idea whatsoever.
Together they helped the girl up and guided her out of the room. Her sobbing subsided some as they hobbled down the dark hallway to the staircase. When they reached the foot of the staircase and she saw the body of the other boy, she cried out in anguish again. This time the name that came warbling out of her mouth was Bradley. It was difficult to tell which death distressed her more, but Luke felt she’d seemed a bit more broken up over Spence.
The pretty blonde who’d fled the house earlier was standing outside in the swirling snow, which hadn’t let up in the least. Greg had wrapped the other girl in his coat and had her cradled in his arms.
When she saw her, the blonde frowned. “Is she still possessed?”
Luke shook his head. “No. Whatever had her, it’s gone. It’s over.”
I hope, he added silently.
Greg put the other girl in the back of the Wrangler, closed the door to keep out as much of the cold as he could, and looked at Luke. “Ready to get out of here?”
Luke thought about it.
He turned away from Greg and looked at his former home. There had been good times here, yes, but they seemed so far away now they might as well have happened in another lifetime or not at all. This was only a place of horror now, for himself and anyone else who visited this blighted ground. He thought again about how the Silas-thing had so quickly turned to dust, remembering the stories he’d heard earlier tonight about how it became corporeal again every Christmas Eve.
There was only one way to put a real end to the horror on Haunted Hill.
They had to destroy the evil’s home.
Luke looked at Greg. “Let’s torch it.”
Greg expressed some concern about the bodies still inside. Those boys had loved ones who’d want the remains recovered. He wondered whether they should go inside and remove them before burning the place down. If they left the bodies in there and torched the place, there could be serious legal ramifications.
The blonde girl said, “Just burn it, for fuck’s sake.”
Greg looked at her. “What’s your name?”
“Simone Barclay. The dead guy upstairs was my boyfriend, Spence. The other dead guy is Bradley, Karen’s boyfriend. Karen’s the bitch in your jeep. Oh, and there’s Terry, the guy who lost his head in the hallway.”
Greg frowned at the slight note of irreverence in her voice. “Who was Terry to you? A friend?”
Simone smiled. “Sort of. More like a pet. He sacrificed himself to save me. It was actually kind of heroic. A little, anyway.”
Greg and Luke exchanged a look.
Luke knew they were essentially thinking the same thing.
This girl’s a piece of work.
Greg cleared his throat. “If we burn this place, what will you tell the police about us?”
Simone shrugged. “Some strangers driving by saw the fire up on the hill and came up here and rescued us. Couple of black dudes in a truck. They didn’t give their names.”
Luke frowned. “Think your friend will back up that story?”
“She’s not my friend, not anymore. But, sure, she’ll back it up. Why wouldn’t she? No one will believe us anyway if we told them what really happened here. We’ll say we were in there goofing around the way kids do when we were attacked by a psycho who later set the place on fire. The cops around here are lazy and stupid. They’ll buy it.”
Greg grunted. “You seem pretty sure about that. What makes you such an authority on the subject?”
“I’m not an authority on the subject.” Simone rolled her eyes. “But what other play is there? I mean, unless you’d rather leave this fortress of evil standing.”
No one wanted that. In the end, they agreed to take the chance.
The house went up fast, the flames already rising high into the evening sky as the Wrangler made its slow way down the treacherous narrow drive.
Luke popped open a beer and passed another one to Greg, who drank while driving one-handed. When Simone asked for one, Luke’s impulse was to say no, but then she made some obnoxious remarks about her memory getting clearer. Maybe, she said, the guys who rescued her were actually a couple of old white dudes. And maybe they’d been driving a Wrangler instead of a truck.
Greg groaned. “Bitch is ruthless. Give her a beer.”
Luke tossed a can into the back, smiling when Simone yelped at the abrupt appearance of the aluminum missile.
They were nearly to the bottom of the hill when Luke glanced at his friend and said, “If I tell you something, will you p
romise not to laugh?”
Greg glanced at him, arching an eyebrow. “Of course not, but tell me anyway.”
Luke sighed. “I kept wondering earlier if running into you at Sal’s was some kind of divine intervention. Like maybe you were sent by, I don’t know, God or something to steer me out of the darkness.”
Several moments went by before Greg responded. He shifted a little in his seat. Somewhat nervously, Luke thought. “Well, now that you mention it…it’s the strangest thing. I never go out to Sal’s anymore. Not often, anyway. And sure as hell not on a night like Christmas Eve. But I had this weird idea in my head that I had to go there tonight. More of a compulsion. Didn’t know why, but it was bugging the shit out of me. So I hopped in the Wrangler and drove out there.”
Luke glanced out the passenger side window at the swirling snow. “And there I was.”
Greg made an affirming noise. “And there you were, my old buddy back in town for the first time in ten fucking years.”
A derisive snort came from the back. “Gosh,” Simone said, with what they were now realizing was characteristic sarcasm. “Hallelujah. God be praised. It’s a motherfucking Christmas miracle. Except for, you know, the dead people. But never mind them. I’m okay. That’s what matters.”
Greg and Luke exchanged another look.
She’s kind of a terrible person, but what can you do?
Greg turned on the radio when they reached the road, tuning it to an AM station. The reception wasn’t great as the voice of Burl Ives crackled out of the Wrangler’s speakers. Greg left it there and started humming along anyway. Soon they all were, even the girl named Karen, although in her case the sound was emerging between muffled sobs.
The song was “Holly Jolly Christmas.”
Humming transitioned to singing.
Four voices rang out, filling the jeep’s interior as the survivors of that night drove away from Haunted Hill forever.
THE END
Spotify playlist for CHRISTMAS EVE ON HAUNTED HILL: “Drinkin’ with Luke and Greg on Christmas Eve.”
https://open.spotify.com/user/bryandsmith/playlist/4IoEIZKlvp1xEk0B2nZm1B
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Bryan Smith is the author of numerous previous novels and novellas, including Slowly We Rot, All Hallow’s Dead, 68 Kill, The Reborn, Depraved, The Killing Kind, Strange Ways, House of Blood, and The Freakshow. Bestselling horror author Brian Keene described Slowly We Rot as, “The best zombie novel I’ve ever read.” 68 KILL is set to become a motion picture directed by Trent Haaga and produced by Snowfort Pictures. Bryan lives in Tennessee, where he spends the bulk of his non-writing time reading, binge-watching things on Netflix, and having the occasional beer or two.
Visit his home on the web at www.thehorrorofbryansmith.blogspot.com.
CHRISTMAS EVE
ON
HAUNTED HILL
This one is for Trent Haaga, who gets shit done.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR: