Stone's Shadow

by Martin McConnell

  Most days, he never thought about the good times. He couldn’t escape the flooding memories of taunts and threats, being called a leper and a nerd. Sickly Scott. In that moment, there on the steps, with the first rap on the door, he forgave all the kids on the playground. He forgave his dad for not coming back. If he would have learned to brush everything off sooner, then maybe he could have come out of his shell. Perhaps a happier life would have kept the demon away. Maybe he'd have met Anna sooner.

  His mom opened the door, beamed, and wrapped her arms around him.

  “I've been missing you, boy. I wondered when you would drop by to see your old mom. Come in.”

  He didn't speak. He listened to her drag on about the house, battling with weeds, the mower not working, and anything else she wanted to rattle about. He listened intently to every single word, and said nothing. If all he could give her was a few hours to enjoy with her only son, then that would have to do. He told her that he loved her before he left, twice. The trip wasn’t for him, but for her. He didn’t want to leave any residue to follow him into the afterlife. He wanted her to hear those words before passing on.

  He climbed down the steps toward the gate, and looked up to see the sun hanging low on the horizon, casting a beautiful display of pinks and purples into the sky above, which transitioned to a dark blue in the east. It was time to meet Paul.

  25

  The long walk to the church was daunting, but not enough to sway him. He saw the smaller shadow creatures that the thing referred to as pups. They raced along the building edges, following him just outside the dim amber glow of street lights. So far, so good.

  Paul stood decked out in black on the church steps like a sentry warding off evil spirits. He puffed away at a cigarette, which he dropped before him onto the pavement. He snuffed it out with his shiny shoe as Scott approached.

  “You ready for this? You look better.”

  “I didn't know you smoked.”

  “Just a few before I do this kind of thing. There's one thing I need to tell you before we start. I don't know what your beliefs are, and for the most part I don't care. But for this to work, I'm going to need you to believe. Doubt isn't crippling, but it interferes. It drags the process out.”

  He handed Scott the jug.

  “Believe in the magic pickle juice. Got it.”

  Paul’s right eye twitched. “Do you think it'll follow us?”

  Scott glanced at the buildings across the street, then around the cathedral. Behind one corner of the stone castle, he spotted a pair of glowing red eyes, which could have been the demon, or the reflection of taillights. He winked at them.

  “It already is. And all of its friends.”

  “Let's go then.”

  They climbed into the Mercedes. Scott rested in the passenger seat, staring at the scenery as they left the city. The drive took forever, but Paul said it would be better if they were away from other people. Just them and the demon, or ghost, or whatever it was. He said he'd never done an exorcism like this before, but he was certain that it would work. God would be with them every step of the way. He didn't care how old the demon was. He would put a stop to it. Tonight. He rambled on about his studies, about the history he had unearthed, but Scott couldn’t care less.

  The car turned off the highway into a state park. Forest closed around them down the pebble paved one lane road. The car rolled into a secluded parking lot. As they got out, the stars above were bright. More stars than he could remember seeing. Something inside him wished that he had taken time before that night to look at them, for such beauty is rarely revealed as a dark sky away from city lights. It could have made the perfect location for a date with Anna. Part of him wished the herbal salad dressing would work, but he knew they didn’t stand a chance. In thousands of years, someone would have tried this at least once.

  “All right, monster,” said Scott. “Show your ugly face.” Paul walked toward the edge of the gravel parking lot, and returned with a lit cigarette hanging from his mouth.

  “See anything yet?”

  Scott scanned the trees and shadows. Nothing. Maybe the creature figured out their plan. Maybe it was scared. Can you frighten something that feeds on fear?

  They stood around for half an hour. Paul smoked two more cigarettes in that time. Glances toward the tree line revealed nothing. No movement. No red eyes. No flashes from the corner of his vision. Nothing.

  The stars continued to brighten, and with every passing minute, more came into view. Chirps and trills came from the dark woods. He sat on the crushed rock, staring up, and finally lay on his back, even though the sharp stone edges poked through the leather jacket and cut into his skull. Paul flicked a glowing cigarette butt toward the center of the lot, and took a seat beside him.

  “How long will this take?” asked Scott.

  “I dunno.” He lit another cigarette.

  “Can I try one of those?”

  Paul squinted at him, and then held the open pack out. Scott sat up, and took a single stick from the box.

  “I never smoked before.”

  “Never too old to start, I guess.” Paul offered him a cheap, plastic lighter. As he fired up the tube while drawing off the colored end, he erupted in a volcanic blast of coughing.

  He took another puff. His throat dried out in an instant, and he hacked in repulsion. He held the fiery stick at the end of his extended arm while he struggled to catch his breath again.

  “Yeah,” said Paul. “I don't know why anyone starts these things.”

  Scott tossed the cigarette into the parking lot, following the arc of a burning cherry until his eyes stopped on something dark moving in the bushes. The chirps and trills coming from the forest went silent, and he heard the voice again.

  “Just a bit longer.”

  He scooped the jar up in his arm and grabbed the lid tightly with his free hand. Paul’s head turned toward the trees.

  “You see it, don't you?”

  “Maybe,” replied Scott.

  The red eyes appeared against the black underbrush, and the monster charged toward the two of them.

  Faster than he could react, Scott’s body froze as the tentacles wrapped him. The bottle dropped against his leg and rolled away. “It's your turn now,” said the voice. He was paralyzed. All he could see were two glowing red circles. His lips leaked what he was certain would be his last breath. The monster sucked the air straight from his lungs.

  A splash of cold liquid hit him like a brick. The monster released, and Scott rushed toward the ground, smashing into the jagged rocks below, the mothers of a thousand tiny cuts. A gasp of air ripped into his lungs, followed by a string of coughs. A roar echoed through the trees.

  Paul stood erect. The demon before him flailed and howled. “Stupid creatures,” it sprayed. The monster appeared in color. Huge bat-like wings spread from its back. Its bearlike head showcased enormous fangs as it spewed the reverberating combination of scream, howl, and growl. Its eyes were rings of fire around solid red cores. At the end of each arm, a paw sported six-inch talons.

  “In the name of the father,” started Paul.

  “Shut your muzzle,” it roared. It clutched him by the neck, lifting him off the ground with one arm as the wings flared and batted. Dreadlock strands whipped around its head, and wrapped the exorcist as two tentacles from its shoulders rushed into his gaping mouth.

  A golden glow shined over the penetrating tentacles, as if from a flashlight in the back of Paul’s throat. As he struggled, more liquid splashed from the pickle jar toward the creature. The monster flashed red, and dropped to the ground in a burst of flames. Paul hit the rocks like a sack of rice, the jar like a bomb. Shards of glass sprayed with oily fluid in every direction, setting ablaze a ring of fire around the creature.

  Scott crawled toward the shimmering bits of sharp glass as the demon sprang to its hind legs and ran from one side of the lot to the other and back in an instant, like an excited dog in a small backyard. Its tail and tentacles
whipped in fury. Its voice rumbled. The dreadlocks stretched into long, fiery bull whips that threw rocks every time they scratched gravel.

  It’s not going to work. Scott was stunned by the pelting of rocks, except for his right hand, which shook the pill bottle free from his jacket pocket. As he’d done a thousand times, he popped the top single handedly, and raised the rattling bottle to his face. The creature charged as he sucked down the mix of anti-depressants and muscle relaxers.

  The creature skidded to a stop before him. His body went numb, and he fell. The monster dropped to all fours, folded its wings, and stalked over the top of him. The pills took immediate effect. His heart rate plummeted.

  “Get the hell out of here and leave us alone,” yelled Scott.

  Paul recovered from hacking and heaving to continue the prayer. “The son.” He coughed again. “And the holy spirit.”

  The creature tossed its head toward the exorcist, sending the mass of tentacles crashing against his body. They split the skin on his face and knocked him back thirty feet. It howled at the sky with the sound of a million wolves. Scott grabbed hold by the fur on its chest. His fingers felt nothing, but he could see the mass of hair and twisted flesh in his fist as the creature roared. Cold fire blazed from his grip.

  Paul continued as the creature made a final lunge at Scott.

  Fangs pierced deeply into his neck as he grabbed the creature’s mane with his other hand, fighting to force it back.

  His grip loosened, his fists released, and he floated upward, bathed in golden light, wrapped by shadowy tentacles. His vision turned panoramic, seeing not only the creature, but Paul to one side, the Mercedes to the other, and his own body below, going limp. The creature stood tall and howled again.

  Paul’s chants about the Virgin Mary and Saint Michael stung him. The glow turned from gold to red, and he felt the release of the rage in his gut. He heard thousands of voices, including Serena’s.

  Fire burned over the skin that was now his own. He and the creature whipped toward Paul in unison. He felt the creature, and the creature felt him. He was one voice melting into a thousand others, perhaps a million. Remembering some of Dr. Landers’ lectures forced him to realize what was happening. That divine spark, or motivating essence that couldn’t be pinned down in a science lab, had transferred itself from his body to the creature’s. His movements were no longer his own, but an agreement from all the individual souls composing it, all vying for survival above everything else. He was a single cell in a much more complex spiritual organism.

  Paul showered liquid fire from a vial toward them, and in an instant, he was back in their claws. They squeezed, while their tentacles probed at his spirit, and plucked it out through his mouth. A beautiful strand of gold, amid a shower of sparkles that the pups rushed to slurp up. As each golden fleck danced across the rocks, the dogs of darkness inhaled them. They exorcist’s spirit became part of them as the golden strand was sucked into their belly. Not a single sprinkle was missed; the pups lapped up everything. And as they did, fear disappeared from the exorcist’s shimmering soul, as it had from Scott.

  The smell of the human spirit became food, and the scent of fear became sweet and delicious, while hints of lavender oil burned their snoot. Burned flesh on their skin added fresh scars to the collection of deformities hiding beneath the fur. They coalesced as a creature of the night that would live forever.

  In the distance, the glow of the city guided them, but it wasn’t created by street lamps or apartment lights. They saw in a new spectrum. It was the glow of fear, of a terror that was only inches away in the future. A hot-spot for the spirits of the weakened and desperate, not to mention every other annoying creature that could see down the road of time. The meddling beasts.

  They raced toward the light, in search of a feast that would be served very soon.

  Paul’s voice resonated in the hive mind. The ancient ones had long drifted into obscurity, while fresh souls were the loudest. The priest’s mind refused to quiet. He speculated that the monster couldn’t see the disaster coming, but followed the traces left by other spirits who could. Hunger drove the creature, not forecast or precognition. It was an instinct, a pursuit of the golden glow that lead to sustenance. New voices weakened over time, becoming quieter and less influential. The creature was all of what remained from digested strands of human soul. All of them worked together toward a singular end: ensure the pups were fed.

  They rushed toward the light. The pups chased, struggling to keep up. The city erupted in a fountain of terror as they neared. Just a bit longer. The ground shook. Buildings fell, and they gorged themselves on dying corpses, lapping up every last bit of energy before moving on. Others had beaten them to the buffet, but there was enough for everyone in the wake of the worst earthquake ever to hit this tiny college town.

  After the incident, they crawled into the sewers while the chasers of rot and decay finished off the leftover masa. They found a dark hole, and dropped into a comfortable ball on the ground. Just like physical creatures, a heavy meal necessitated a long nap. A well deserved nap. The extra drain from absorbing so many terrified souls put the creature down. The pups nestled against it.

  A young man, like so many others, lost in college life. Worries hung on his mind about the future, and about his failure at relationships. He was stalked by a homework assignment due the next morning, but chose to drink with his friends instead of finishing.

  They watched from a distance, scurrying along the walk. The man’s head flashed their direction, and they froze. Waiting. Just a bit longer.

  The young man looked away, and they continued sniffing about. The pups were hungry again, but not strong enough to kill if spotted. They sniffed and licked at fragments of stale fear on the walk, following the hope of a good meal.

  The creature dug at the sharp sparkles of concrete. Every tiny crevice held tiny bits of rage, fear, and pain. A spark or two popped up from each scrape, and bounced toward the pups. They felt the stare of a human and froze again.

  A few sparkles jumped from the man’s body, and the moment he looked away the pups rushed after them. The foolish man turned to watch them again. The creature stared back, furious at his curiosity. A shower of golden sparkles erupting from his nape could mean only one thing. They had been spotted. He fixed his eyes on them, and they on him. Food for the pups. Keep looking. Just a bit longer.

  It was the first time he saw us, and it was the last.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I had a ton of help crafting this book, and it would be wrong not to point out those who helped the most. First, to the city of St. Louis for providing a mental playground in my college days to explore the dark avenues this book showcases, from the concept of the monster to the coffee house, from my studies in philosophy at SIUE to the post-adolescent angst that allowed me to meet so many diverse individuals. You will always be my “old stomping grounds.”

  To my writing friends for providing wonderful feedback: Mattias Ahlvin and Camille Singer. And while I’m at it, the rest of our Writing Challenge group on twitter, who continue to inspire me with their persistence to develop their craft every single day.

  To Caryn Larrinaga for taking an early look at this text and sharing her thoughts as an accomplished horror author.

  To Mandie Hines for her thorough commentary over the final beta review. I think she wrote as many words in notes as I had story.

  Thanks also to a couple very special horror readers who found me on Facebook, and provided insightful commentary from a horror fan’s perspective: Leanne Pert and April Morgan. Your responses to the beta read were quick and full of awesomeness. I hope you are both doing well.

  As always, my family, friends and peers who continue to support my work.

  And not least, every single reader who purchased this story. You are the lifeblood of authors. Keep reading, and keep searching for great stories. Thank you all.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Martin McConnell holds a Physics degree
from SIUE, and when he isn't writing speculative fiction, he's motivating other authors, stargazing, reading, or playing Kerbal Space Program. He avidly encourages everyone he meets to seize control of their dreams by driving their own plot. You can find him on twitter @spottedgeckgo, or at his website writefarmlive.com. If you would like to receive updates on his future projects, send him an email at spottedgeckgo@gmail.com.

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