Grave Intent

by Deborah LeBlanc

  Michael shook it. “Michael Savoy.”

  “Okay, brother Mike.” Dango squared his shoulders. “Let’s see where this old road leads tonight.” He closed his eyes, flipped open the bible, and jabbed a finger at a random passage. He peeked at it, then tilted the book to one side so the colored lights from his bike glowed over the pages. Dango squinted and read, “The perverse in heart are an abomination to the Lord, but the blameless in their walk are His delight.” He frowned, studying the page, and chewed on his hairy upper lip.

  Michael swept a nervous hand through his hair and looked down the road. He needed a ride, not a bible lesson.

  “Ah, okay, I get it now,” Dango said, a smile easing onto his face. “See, you’re walkin’, and it says right here, in their walk, so that’s gotta mean since you’re walkin’ it’s cool. You’re, uh—” He glanced at the passage again. “His delight—blameless.”

  Confused, Michael asked, “So does that mean you’ll give me a lift?”

  “Damn straight,” Dango said with a grin. He closed the bible and stuck it back under his vest. “Hey, you hungry? There’s an all-nighter not far from here. We could grab a bite before heading out.”

  “If you don’t mind, can we just go? This deal with my wife and daughter—it’s an emergency. I really need to get there as fast as I can.”

  The big man’s face sobered. “Well, hell, why didn’t you say so?” He reached in his tour pack and pulled out a helmet. “Here, put this on. There’s a mike in the base. We can talk while we ride.”

  Relieved that Dango hadn’t started a game of twenty questions about his stated emergency, Michael pulled on the helmet. He heard a loud screech, then Dango’s voice boom in his right ear.

  “Ever ride one of these?” Dango asked, his helmet now back on his head. He turned around and slapped the sloped-back passenger seat on the bike.

  “Yeah,” Michael said. “In college.”

  “Cool. Then you should remember the rules. Hang on, lean when I lean, and don’t mess with the driver.”

  “Got it.” Michael straddled the designated seat, then locked his fingers around the pack bracket behind him.

  Dango revved up the engine. “Okay, brother Mike, you ready to . . . race the sun?”

  Michael jerked his head up, startled by the man’s words. “What did you say?”

  “Huh?” Dango looked back at him. “I just asked if you were ready to roll. What’s up?”

  “I thought . . . n-nothing. Sorry, nothing,” Michael said, and settled back in the seat.

  “You’re not gonna wig on me or anything, are you?”

  “No, really, I just thought . . . I didn’t hear what you said, that’s all. Please, can we go?”

  Dango eyed him for a moment through the face shield, then turned back and heeled the Harley into first.

  They rolled in silence for a while, and Michael wished he had the throttle so he could give the big bike more juice. He kept peering over Dango’s shoulder to check the speedometer. Even at seventy, it still felt like they were barely moving.

  Finally, Dango’s voice boomed into Michael’s helmet again. “I feel you gettin’ antsy back there, brother man. You need to chill, okay? I’ll push her up in a bit. Just gotta get past some of this wind trash right now.” As if to make his point, Dango leaned left, then right, detouring around a fallen tree branch.

  Michael tried to hold steady, but his body felt electrically charged, ready to take off on its own. His whole focus so far had been to get to Ellie and Janet. Now that he was closer than ever, he worried about what he’d find when he reached them. They were his life. Even thinking about having to live without one or the other drained something vital out of him.

  Dango, keeping true to his word, eventually pushed Alberta up to ninety. Sharp wind gusts cut through Michael’s wet clothes and pierced his face shield. He shivered, cold, and too aware of the surrounding odors—damp pine, dirt, mown grass. It was the scent of cemeteries, of freshly dug graves.

  “Hey, brother Mike,” Dango said. “You ever hear the story in the bible about that dude with long hair like mine? Think his name was Simpson or Samson, don’t remember right off. But anyways, he got this chick pissed off at him and—”

  By the time they reached Carlton, Michael felt he’d been given an abridged version of a revised Old Testament. Although the constant jabber had been irritating, it had at least kept his mind occupied, and for that he’d been grateful. Now, he wanted Dango to shut up. His wife and daughter were no more than a mile away, and he needed every one of his senses sharp and ready.

  “Next right,” Michael said into the helmet mike, and pointed to an upcoming road. He could hardly see now. Tears clouded his eyes. He couldn’t believe he was actually in Carlton. Yesterday seemed like an eternity away, and it felt like he’d spent that long trying to get here.

  Dango leaned the big bike into the turn.

  With a shaking hand, Michael pointed ahead to the graveled road that led to the cabin. “First left.”

  Dango slowed the bike, but instead of leaning into the next turn, he came to a complete stop. “Sorry, but I’ve gotta stop here, brother.” He pointed to the road Michael wanted him to take. “Alberta’s finicky. She has a tendency to slide out from under me in gravel. And you see that fog rollin’ in down there?” He waggled a finger toward a dense wall of white a few hundred feet away. “That means wet gravel. Alberta’ll lay it down for sure.”

  Michael slid off the bike and quickly pulled off the helmet. “Here’s fine. Thanks for the ride. I’d offer you money, but—”

  “I don’t need your money, just your prayers.” Dango said, his voice sounding strange through his face shield. He took the extra helmet from Michael, looped the strap of it around one of the handlebars, then revved up the bike. “I’ll pray for you, too, brother man.” He pointed up. “’Cause the Master Dude’s telling me you’re gonna need it.”

  Before Michael could say anything, Dango roared off in a whirl of twinkling lights. Michael stared after him for only a second before taking off for the long graveled drive.

  Now that he was on his feet again, every muscle in Michael’s body screamed in protest. Every bone felt like it wanted to crumble with his next step. He ran faster, wiping everything out of his mind but the need to get to the cabin. He was so close he could smell it.

  Ahead, fog draped over the road like a heavy blanket of snow. Michael barreled toward it, and it wasn’t until he was fifty feet closer that he realized something was wrong. From here, the blanket of white didn’t look like regular swamp fog. There were no translucent wisps. It seemed solid, like someone had painted the air or literally put up a wall. Lowering his head slightly, Michael balled his hands into fists and ran even faster. He didn’t care if the goddamn thing was a solid slab of white concrete. He wasn’t going to stop now, not this close.

  Twenty feet—ten.

  With a shout of fury, Michael charged through the wall, and the world around him disappeared.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  The animal sounded more feral than ever, yet it still hadn’t attacked. Perplexed, Janet opened her eyes, careful not to move her body. She listened to the snaps and growls of ever increasing rage and the whimpers of fearful expectation from the two girls beneath her. What was the animal doing? What was it waiting for?

  Janet lifted her head cautiously, chanced a look over her shoulder, then did a double-take.

  The dog was spinning in place, snapping at the air as if it had gone mad, as if its rage had been redirected to someone or something Janet couldn’t see. Seemingly oblivious to them now, its eyes rolled wildly from stark white to maniacal black. The hair on its massive shoulders and back had bristled into thick black needles, and its breath plumed with every snort.

  Sensing this to be their last hope for escape, Janet turned back to the girls and rapidly untied the shoelace from around Ellie’s wrist. She didn’t trust her knee. If it gave out again while Ellie was still tethered to her, both of
them would be trapped. This way her daughter at least had a chance.

  Ellie stared up at her with terror-stricken, questioning eyes.

  “Listen carefully,” Janet whispered, keeping her voice so low she could barely hear herself speak. “When I count to three, I want the two of you to run as fast as you can out the kitchen door and to the van, understand?”

  Ellie remained mute while Heather shook her head, tears flowing.

  “Y-y-you’re not coming?” Heather asked.

  “I’ll be right behind you,” Janet said, hoping it was the truth. She glanced back at the dog, found it still in a twirling frenzy, then signaled for the girls to get ready.

  Janet rolled away from her daughter and niece. “One,” she said, then sat up. “Two.”

  The dog’s head suddenly snapped in their direction, its eyes no longer lost to some unseen enemy.

  “Christ, three!” Janet shouted, and thrust herself upright, shifting as much of her weight as she could to her good leg. She screamed through the pain, “R-r-run, girls! Now! Go!” Janet hobbled after them, refusing to look back at the beast. She didn’t want to see death coming.

  Janet’s heart seemed to go on hiatus until she dove through the kitchen door into the still night air. She landed on her side in wet grass with a loud, “uumph!”

  Small, nervous hands clutched her arm. “Too dark . . . no car . . .can’t see!”

  Disoriented and gasping to refill her lungs, Janet stared up at Heather, who was bending over her, yelling. Ellie stood inches away, her face hidden by shadows. They’d made it—all three of them—safe. But how was that possible? The dog had been right on her heels, bigger than life.

  Janet sat up quickly and looked back at the house, expecting the animal to come pouncing out of the doorway toward them. Instead she saw an empty threshold. Sudden movement beyond the kitchen window caught Janet’s attention, and her eyes locked onto it. A shadow, too tall and thin to belong to the dog, traveled closer to the pane. As it neared, the faint glow from the stove light gave the shadow some definition. A woman—large eyes—narrow face—long widow’s peak. Anna Stevenson? The woman pressed a hand against the glass as though to acknowledge Janet, then she vanished, and the kitchen door slammed shut.

  “The lady’s gone,” Ellie said, her voice sad and haunting. “They made her go away. And now I’m going to die.”

  Heather let out a hoarse sob and dropped to her knees.

  Ellie’s words struck Janet like a sledgehammer pounding iron; they rang loud and true. They also filled her with an overwhelming certainty that somehow Anna Stevenson had saved their lives. She’d helped them escape. Janet didn’t understand how or why, but right now those details weren’t important. For she felt just as certain that this night of horrors was far from over.

  Janet scrambled to her feet; dread obliterating the pain in her knee. “Nobody’s going to die!” she shouted, turning toward the house. “You hear me, goddammit? Nobody!”

  The kitchen door burst open in response, and the thick white mass that had imprisoned them earlier rolled out of the house in giant waves.

  “Mama!” Ellie broke into a run.

  “Stop! Ellie, no!” Janet lunged for her daughter, but the fog swallowed the night in an instant. “Oh, God!” she cried, and whirled about, groping blindly. “Ellie! Heather!”

  No answer.

  No children.

  Only dense white walls.

  Without a second thought, Janet ran headlong into the fog.“Ellie, Heather, answer me!”

  Silence pressed against Janet, and she felt ready to implode with hopelessness. She ran, stumbling, crying, pushing on with no sense of direction. Her world had become another planet where nothing made sense.

  Something large and blue abruptly entered her line of sight, and before Janet could pull up short, she crashed into it. Her brain registered van! as her body snapped back from the impact and slammed to the ground.

  Groaning, she struggled back up, her tongue twitching over an odd, metallic taste in her mouth. Janet wiped warm dribble from her chin with a sleeve. It came back stained with blood. She ignored it and held out a hand to search for the van that had disappeared behind the white shroud. Just as she took a wobbly step forward, she heard a sniffle.

  She froze, listening.

  Another sniffle. Soft sob.

  Janet inched forward, silent, following the sound.

  In a matter of seconds, the driver’s side of the van came into view, as did Heather. The child was sitting on the ground near the front tire, her thumb in her mouth. When Heather spotted her aunt, she pointed up, saying nothing. Janet peered in the indicated direction.

  Ellie sat in the van’s driver’s seat, staring at her mother through the window. A wicked grin splayed her lips as she stroked the head of the crystal horse.

  Keeping a wary eye on her daughter, Janet leaned over, took Heather’s outstretched hand, and pulled her up. Ellie’s eyes followed every move, her grin widening. A ripple of nausea ran through Janet. That smirk didn’t belong on her child. It belonged on someone wicked, someone insane. In one quick motion, Janet yanked the car door open, and Ellie recoiled as if someone had thrown ice water on her face.

  “Mia lona!” Ellie shouted. Her eyes rolled back, and her little body began to convulse, whipping about wildly. She landed on the passenger seat, her head banging against the window. “Mia lona! Mia lona!”

  Shocked, Janet hesitated for only an instant before shoving a shrieking Heather into the van, then over the front seat to the back. Janet jumped in after her. No sooner had she settled in the driver’s seat, than something rammed against the right side of the van. Janet quickly reached for Ellie, but her daughter jerked away, spitting and shouting nonsensical words.

  Again something collided with the van, this time causing it to rock. Another concussion, then another; this one stronger than the last.

  Janet gasped, reluctantly turning her attention away from Ellie. If she didn’t get out of here soon, the van would be destroyed. They’d be stranded. She dug frantically through her pockets for keys, found them, and with doddering fingers managed to shove the right one into the ignition. The engine roared to life.

  Ellie’s shouts and thrashing grew louder, more rigorous when Janet threw the gearshift into reverse and stomped on the accelerator. The back end of the van whipped about, and she didn’t wait for a complete stop before slapping the shift into drive.

  The first tree came into view only after Janet hit it. The young willow only bowed with the impact. She backed up to dislodge it from the fender, then plowed blindly ahead. Not twenty feet farther, a large oak appeared seemingly out of nowhere, and Janet swerved to keep from hitting it head on. As soon as she cleared the oak, she steered back toward its accompanying tree line and hugged it, knowing that sooner or later it would lead her past the long driveway and onto the main road. From there, she could find help for Ellie, a hospital, doctors, an exorcist—someone, anyone who could tell her what the hell was happening to her child.

  Janet was concentrating so hard on the obscure path ahead, it took a moment for her to realize Ellie had stopped screaming and writhing. She glanced over at her daughter. The child stared back with dark, cold eyes. Stunned by the stark callousness of Ellie’s expression, Janet’s foot slipped off the accelerator. Before she could reposition it, Ellie leaped from her seat and sank her teeth into her mother’s right forearm.

  “Ellie, no! No!” Bellowing with pain, Janet slammed on the brakes, and Ellie pitched forward, hitting her head against the dashboard. Janet reached for her, but once again Ellie pushed away. The small girl lifted her head and began to howl like a lost, wounded animal.

  “Go, Aunt Janet, hurry!” Heather cried from the backseat.

  At the sound of her cousin’s voice, Ellie scrambled onto the passenger seat, sat back on her heels and pointed a finger at Heather, then at Janet. “There will be no escape,” she proclaimed in a deep, accented voice. “Do you hear? No escape! And no mercy!�
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  A pause, breathless seconds as Janet went numb with fear. Something thudded softly nearby, but she didn’t bother to acknowledge it. She could only stare at the malevolent fury marring her daughter’s face.

  More thuds, softer now.

  A click.

  Ellie’s expression suddenly changed from fury to one of confusion, then terror. She clasped her hands around her throat and began to make strangling noises.

  Janet threw herself across the seat, reaching for Ellie, but she never made it past the center console.

  Two strong hands held her back.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  “It’s me!” Michael jumped back as Janet threw another kick at his groin. Never in his life had he been so glad to have someone strike out at him. The fog was so thick that Michael had run blind for what seemed like hours in useless, time-wasting circles, fearing he’d never get to his family. Then, on the verge of hopelessness, he’d collided with the family van. Now here he was—looking at his wife, touching her—his breathing, living wife.

  “Get away—no—don’t! Leave us alone!” Janet screamed, hovering over Ellie.

  “Baby, it’s me!”

  Janet froze in mid-kick, then looked over her shoulder. “Michael?” In an instant, recognition and relief flooded her face, and she sobbed, “Oh, Michael—Ellie’s—look—” She leaned back, out of the way, and in the dim glow of the van’s interior lights, he saw a gasping, gray-faced child.

  Michael’s elation instantly evaporated. He ran around to the passenger’s side of the van, keeping close to the vehicle.

  When he reached the door, he pulled it open and quickly scooped Ellie into his arms. Her complexion was ashen, and the circles under her eyes looked like someone had drawn them in with a charcoal pencil. She gagged noiselessly, and Michael noticed her lips were turning blue. He hurriedly flipped Ellie around so her back was to his chest, then locked his hands together under her sternum and pushed up hard.

  Ellie’s arms flailed weakly, and Michael leaned back a bit farther to gain more leverage, then performed the Heimlich maneuver again.