“I’m not sure,” he said.
Then, her mouth instantly went dry when she realized the flame was actually a bobbing skull. Right before their eyes, the fire grew from the small speck of light into an explosion of flame, roaring up the side of the barn. Sonja was positive she saw a man on horseback, wreathed in flame, laughing as he ignited the barn.
Tar Face.
“Someone’s lighting the barn on fire,” Frank shouted, immediately heading for the ladder.
* * *
“Fire, fire,” Frank screamed as he and Sonja approached the barn that already had one entire side engulfed in flames.
The supernatural detective glanced around quickly, trying to see if Tar Face was still nearby.
“The well.” He pointed Sonja to the water faucet sticking out of the dirt. “Hurry.”
She ran over and picked up a bucket from nearby and began to fill it.
“Dad, Mom—fire!” he yelled up at the house. “We’ve got to get the horses out.”
Hannah stuck her head out. “Frank?”
“Mom, call the fire department.”
“Is your father down there?” she cried.
“No, not yet.”
“He isn’t up here,” her voice reached a fearful pitch.
“Call the fire department,” he reiterated.
Sonja’s bucket reached capacity, and she darted to the side of the barn tossing water on the flames. That’s when, even among the nervous whinnies of the horses, she heard a muffled cry of what sounded like a person. “Someone’s inside the barn,” she exclaimed nervously, the adrenaline rushing straight to her heart, making her feel as if she were about to take off.
Frank was on it in a flash, pushing on the doors, but they wouldn’t open.
“It’s locked from the inside.”
“Where the heck is Ray?” Hannah screamed as she stepped out of the back door, another water bucket in hand. “We’ve got to get Ray’s help.”
“There’s no time,” Frank shouted.
Sonja began filling another bucket when she noticed the ax sitting next to the pile of firewood against the house. Running for it, she grabbed the tool and handed it to Frank. “Here,” was all she said.
Frank went quickly to work, chopping his way through the door like a mighty firefighter.
Hannah dumped the second bucket on the flames, but it seemed to be doing very little to quench the inferno. The two women formed a team with two buckets, dumping water on the flames as fast as they could.
“I got it,” Frank shouted as he finally got a hole big enough to remove the bar blocking the door. Pushing the doors open, he ran inside and opened all the gates on the stalls. The horses darted out one by one. When he finally got to the last stall, he noticed someone laying in the hay. “Dad,” he shouted. “Sonja, come help me.”
Sonja dashed in as fast as she could and helped Frank lift his father, who was tied at his hands and feet with his mouth gagged, out of the barn. As soon as they reached safety, the whole wall on the burning side of the barn collapsed, sending splinters of flaming wood up into the air.
“Woah,” they all shouted, moving farther from the burning building.
Sonja quickly removed Franky’s gag and began untying his hands and feet as well.
“Thanks,” he muttered through dry and bleeding lips. “I thought I was a dead man, for sure.”
Hannah dropped her water bucket and ran over to embrace her husband. “Oh thank goodness. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Examining him, she noticed the blood running down his face. “You’re hurt.”
“Seems I took a nasty bump to the head,” he muttered.
The sound of sirens could be heard in the distance. “Help is on the way,” Sonja cried.
“Who did this to you?” Franky’s flustered son demanded, trying to talk to his ash-covered father.
The older gentleman instantly went pale. “I-I’m not sure,” he breathed heavily. “I don’t think I could have seen what I saw. It just isn’t possible.”
“What was it?” Sonja leapt in, eager to hear the explanation.
“I-I thought I saw a man all dressed in black on a horse.” He paused, clearly uncomfortable with what he was about to say next. “He had a skull for a head and red eyes.”
“Oh no, he must have a concussion,” Hannah exclaimed.
“I’m sure what you saw has a logical explanation,” Frank noted. “Did you talk to anyone today about Larry’s murder? Ask any questions? Do any investigating on your own without telling us?”
Sonja knew what Frank was getting at. He assumed that whoever had attempted to kill his father also killed Larry and maybe even Sim.
“He couldn’t have,” Hannah responded. “He was here all day.”
The firetruck came into view, pulling up the long drive.
“Someone must have thought you knew something,” Frank confirmed. “They wanted to get you out of the way.” Frank speculated, his mind obviously racing with the possibilities.
Sonja, too, had new ideas running through her head, but she had come to a different conclusion. “No, that’s not it,” she interjected. “He didn’t know anything.”
“Then why target him?” Hannah shouted above the sirens as the truck pulled up, firefighters in full gear piling out.
“I think I know why,” Sonja replied. “And I might have an idea who the murderer is.”
CHAPTER 20
* * *
While the firefighters worked to put the fire out, and the paramedics checked up on both parents, Frank and Sonja found themselves walking out toward the ranch hands’ house.
As they walked, Sonja noticed something among the fresh dusting of snow. It was a small trail of red, leading all the way to the little house near the side of the pasture.
“Blood,” she commented, pointing at it.
Frank nodded as they approached the house. The building was more like a small duplex style cabin, one side designated for each of the two ranch hands.
Stepping up the porch, they knocked on the door and received no answer.
Frank pulled out his police issued pistol that he had packed for the trip and held it low while Sonja pushed the door open from one side.
“Frank,” a weak voice whispered from inside. “I thought you’d be the one to come.”
Sonja peeked around the doorframe inside to see Ray sitting in an old wooden chair, his hand wrapped in a makeshift bandage that had soaked through with blood. His other hand held a tomahawk at the ready, the blade close to his already wounded hand. His face was pale from blood loss.
“Ray,” Frank spoke calmly. “Put down the tomahawk and come with me. The sheriff is going to want to see you when he arrives.”
“Not happening, son,” Ray spit, digging the weapon into his own skin. “How did you figure out it was me?”
Frank nodding to Sonja.
“Ah, still letting your private eye girlfriend do all the hard work, I see.”
“I’m not a private eye,” she replied.
“Hurting yourself more won’t help the situation,” Frank commented, trying to talk the clearly unstable man down.
Ray laughed quietly to himself. “You may be right. I’ve lost a lot of blood, but I’m sure as heck going to try and take you out, Frank. If I can’t kill your dad, I’ll just have to settle for you.”
Frank raised a single eyebrow, clearly confused by the comment. How would Ray, holding a weapon to himself, think he could hurt the young cop standing in front of him with a gun?
Sonja’s mouth went completely dry as she realized the dire nature of the situation—and more importantly, the black occult magic involved. “How did you cut your hand?” She asked.
Ray smiled wickedly, just as Sonja had seen her father do in the nightmare from the day before. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he muttered.
“You mean summoning Tar Face,” she responded matter-of-factly.
Ray’s face went pale with shock. “How would yo
u know that?”
“Was the cow sacrifice not enough? Do you need to add a little more blood each time you use Tar Face’s power? How does it work, Ray?”
“What the heck are you talking about?” Frank butted in.
“A blood sacrifice for each new deed,” she stated, ignoring her confused boyfriend.
The old ranch hand snorted. “The sacrifice of the cow only worked to pull him from one world to the next,” Ray confirmed. “After that, each time I need to use his power, I need to give him more blood.” He looked the strange woman standing before him up and down. “But how do you know about something like that?”
“I have some experience with the occult,” she confirmed. “When we first stumbled upon the burnt shack, I wasn’t sure what I was looking at. But when I noticed the strange carvings in the wood, the burnt spell book, and the cow prints, I knew something supernatural must have occurred.”
“What are we talking about?” Frank insisted again.
“You’re a smart girl. Too smart for your own good,” Ray sneered. “It took me years to track down that book. It’s just a shame it got caught in the fire.”
“How does it work, Ray?” Sonja continued. “Each time you shed more of your own blood, does he come around?”
“In a sense. You see, I’ve wanted to take my revenge for years, but never had the guts to do it. I needed Tar Face to give me that courage. I needed him to become a part of me and give me that killing urge.”
A light bulb turned on in Sonja’s mind and her jaw dropped. “You let him possess you?”
Ray smiled again and nodded. “After I first summoned him, and he killed that nosy deputy, he merged with me. He’s been inside ever since. Each time I need his courage, I have to spill a little more of my own blood.”
“Seems ironic,” Sonja observed. “You’ve lost a lot of blood, just like Larry did.”
“I didn’t know it was that bozo when I killed him,” he snarled.
“I know,” Sonja commented. “That’s how I figured out it was you.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I realized someone had tried to kill Frank’s father tonight, I knew Larry couldn’t have been the original target.”
“And how is that, girly?”
“Well, Larry borrowed a hat out of the barn, without permission—Franky’s hat. It was just getting dark when Larry took off, still wearing that hat. I realized that whoever killed Larry thought that it was actually Franky in the dark.”
“It’s true. It can be almost pitch dark out here if there is cloud cover,” Frank added.
Ray laughed quietly again to himself. “Very astute, and a real shame if you ask me. It could have been all over and done with, but that moron had to get in the way like he always did whenever he came calling.”
“The tomahawk used in the murder belonged to Hank, which made it seem like Hank was the murderer, but I knew that had to be too simple. What intelligent killer would use their own weapon—a weapon with their name on it—to kill someone?” Sonja shook her head. “No, it couldn’t have been Hank. So, who had the easiest access to Hank’s stuff?” She pointed a finger at the bleeding man. “You did. You share this little house with him.”
“Anyone could have waltzed down here and taken it.”
“True, but who knew about tomahawk throwing? Why not the man who was the top competitor in his high school marksmanship club?”
“You remembered that, huh?”
“She remembers a lot,” Frank insisted.
“There was a platform out in the trees, a platform that gave you direct shot to the spot where we found the body. At first, I assumed that whoever the murderer was just hit him from behind, but no. You were at least twenty feet away when you threw the tomahawk.”
“Thirty feet,” he bragged.
“Which is why the tomahawk didn’t go very deep, and why it came from an upward angle. Then you watched as the poor man crawled through the dirt, bleeding to death.”
“None of that explains how you knew it was me. There isn’t any hard evidence.”
“In the picture in the yearbook, you were holding a tomahawk. I also found an old tree with tomahawk marks in it, as if someone were practicing, brushing up on their skills. I could only assume that tomahawk throwing is your specialty.”
“True, it was my specialty in the marksmanship club, but my true passion was for football.” His face twisted into a sinister sneer of anger.
“I figured it had to be something like that. What was it, Ray? Were you angry that Franky got that scholarship and you didn’t? That he didn’t even keep the scholarship and went back to ranching instead?”
The man’s face, for someone having lost so much blood, turned a shade of crimson. “I had a chance at the pros, had a real chance to make a name for myself, but my buddy, my buddy who wasn’t even the quarterback, got recruited instead.” His voice raised to a fever pitch. “There was nothing else I knew, nothing I wanted to do. I wanted to play football. Instead, I got stuck working as a second-rate ranch hand for the very man who stole my dreams away.”
Frank lifted his gun a little. “My father didn’t steal anything. The recruiter picked him out, fair and square.”
“No, that’s a lie,” Ray screamed. “The team coach was his father, and his father talked him up to the recruiter. That’s why he got picked over me. He ruined my life, stole my dream away from me. What did he do with my dream? He threw it away to come back to this little crap town and become a nobody rancher. I couldn’t let him get away with it. I was just waiting for the right time to finally get him.”
“It’s too bad you missed your mark,” Frank said flatly.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Ray smirked.
“No,” Sonja shouted.
It was too late. Ray cut a deep mark into his own arm, blood pouring from the wound and puddling on the wood floor. A searing sound, like flesh sizzling in a frying pan, echoed throughout the cabin. Frank’s eyes grew wide with terror—terror Sonja had never seen in her boyfriend.
Ray’s skin began to bubble and turn black, smoke wafting from his body. Soon, all the skin and hair on his head were gone, leaving behind only a smoldering, smiling skull. His clothes burned up and seemed to regrow in the form of a trench coat and a cowboy hat.
Raising up from his chair, a black shadow grew beneath him, made completely from smoke. When the transformation was complete, the couple were face to face with the demonic, red-eyed demon, Tar Face.
“I knew you would be a problem from the start,” the skull’s voice echoed, speaking directly to Sonja. “You spiritually sensitive types always get in the way.” He raised the tomahawk, still in his hand, preparing to throw it. “And now, it’s time for you to die.”
A gunshot rang out in the air and the figure clutched his chest.
“What the devil?” he cried.
Two more shots fired from Frank’s gun.
The skull-faced demon bucked as the first one struck his chest and the second entered his skull, shattering the bone into a hundred pieces—leaving the body headless. He tumbled off the ethereal horse, the tomahawk dropping to the floor before it could meet its mark.
In a matter of seconds, the body began to sizzle again, the smoke and ash slowly melting away revealing Ray underneath. He lay on the floor in a puddle of his own blood. Two bullet wounds were in his chest and another in his head.
The gallop of a horse echoed in the distance, and Sonja spun around half expecting to see Sinful coming forward to take Ray away for good—to take him to hell. For a moment, she was sure it was Sinful. However, when she looked again, she realized it was Sheriff Branson on horseback.
“Is he dead?”
“Yes,” Frank replied, his face pale and sweaty. “I-I was forced to shoot him. He tried to kill Sonja.”
Kneeling next to the body, Sheriff Branson sighed. “What a shame.”
CHAPTER 21
* * *
“Here’s the turkey,” Hannah announced, bringin
g in the large bird, browned to perfection, on a serving platter and setting it in the center of the table. Everyone sat in a designated spot in the dining room, including Hank and Martha who were both happy to be there. Even Sinful Emmy was there, by invitation of Hank in gratitude for her help in the investigation.
Martha had finally broken down early that morning and cried to her daughter about the loss of her boyfriend. Frank, on the other hand, refused to talk about what he had seen out at the ranch hands’ house. His only statement was that he had been confused in all the chaos, and claimed he couldn’t have seen any demon horseman. This disappointed Sonja to no end. She had hoped to finally be able to share her supernatural abilities and experiences with him but ultimately decided to let it go. Franky similarly assumed that his vision of Tar Face had been a result of a blow to the head.
Now (despite some subtle sadness at the table) everyone seemed to be enjoying the delayed holiday and found gratitude for the bounteous blessings laid out before them.
The weather outside had turned even colder, a snow storm moving in and creating a gorgeous blanket across the countryside, the houses, the fences, and the trees. Inside, they had a roaring fire burning away in the stove, heating the room to a comfortable temperature.
“It looks beautiful, Hannah.” Franky beamed, examining the turkey and picked up the carving knife.
“And if you want something a little different,” Sonja stepped into the room with her own special edition Thanksgiving Day dish, “you can try my turkey and waffles.” She set the platter down on the table while everyone’s eyes widened.
The plate had Sonja’s signature waffles laid out in a row, each one perfectly browned to golden perfection thanks to her new-found skill with the cast iron waffle maker. She had added a tiny bit of spices reminiscent of autumn to make them a little more festive for the special occasion. Pads of butter she had cut awaited the chance to be melted into the crevices of the delicious dish.
On the other side of the platter was an assortment of delicately breaded, yet perfectly crispy, cuts of fried turkey, similar to Sonja’s mother’s fried chicken recipe. The breading on the meat, too, included a small amount of the delicious spices to give them that autumnal flavor. A bottle of real maple syrup accompanied the dish.
Turkey and Terror: Book 6 in The Diner of the Dead Series Page 9