“Goddamn it! Fuck!” Amy became exasperated. “I forgot all about that. I can try to talk to Jared, to see if we can work something out. Fuck!”
“Yeah, we can’t go anywhere. Where else are we gonna be able to grow thousands of clones? I took everything off of the mother plant too. I cut all I could without putting her into shock and killing her. There aren’t five more clones to cut, let alone five thousand. We are pretty much fucked. I mean if they can do what they did with the Almeidas then what will and what can they do to us?” Hank began to tremble as he spoke. Nothing had prepared him for the house, but at least he knew Amy was on his side. She would be there with him to fight the demons of the house. And hell, if they prevailed then they could live in that big, beautiful house in peace and quiet. Just as they had dreamed of what seemed to be a thousand years ago.
They held each other on the couch for an hour or so after their long talk. Boris cuddled up on the cushion next to Amy and slept next to her, snoring obnoxiously. Hank felt much stronger with Amy there. The three of them as a family were a much more significant spiritual force than he was alone. He finally felt capable of defeating the monster now that Amy was with him again. He imagined her as a Valkyrie, wielding light and righteousness against that foul cosmic horror whose image he could not unsee, nor whose maddening wrenching of reality he could not unknow. Yes, his team was coming together.
She fell into a deep sleep on the couch in his arms. He held her for a long while and eventually shook her awake and marched her and Boris off to bed. They had moved their bedroom back into the smaller room down the hall after winter was over and turned the master bedroom into an extension of the living room, more of a den than anything else. After he got Amy to bed he went into the kitchen and made himself a cup of coffee.
It was going to be a long night for Hank, he had much more research to do. It was Amy’s first night home, so he had decided to let her off the hook, but in the morning he planned on confronting her about Jared. He was sure there was something going on with the two of them. He didn’t care if they were having an affair, as long as Amy was honest with him about it. Hank kind of felt okay with the idea of her receiving sexual pleasure from someone else as he was beginning to realize that he knew he had really let her down. Still, he would try in the morning to make love to his wife. Jared had slipped him a couple of Viagra on the way out the door in a move which surprised Hank to his core. He had tried not to show his shock as he took them, cooly.
After Hank got his coffee he packed the bowl of his pipe and stopped by the bedroom to kiss Amy on the forehead. He made his way to the computer and sat down intending to spend the entirety of the night researching paranormal events as he had done the night before. It was after several hours of churning through website after website that he finally found what he was most looking for. An ancient tome from an obscure library in Bulgaria had an account of something quite like Larvothmagog. A soul eating demon that came in the form of a maggot like abomination. The text was little and what was there seemed too vague to glean much from, but Hank did learn one clue with which he hoped to find others. The foul beast was not a singularity unto itself, but just one of a foul race of nightmares which predated humanity itself. More than one cult throughout recorded history had worshipped them and most accounts seemed to refer to them simply as the Great Old Ones.
“That seems like enough information to go looking for more,” Hank said aloud to himself before pulling a long deep hit off of his pipe. “It will probably be much easier to find out about these things in general than just Larvamog specifically,” as Hank spoke aloud he realized that he was speaking to himself and was shocked to find that he was much more comfortable with that than he thought he would be.
Realizing what he had accomplished Hank decided to retire to bed. It wasn’t long before he needed to be up anyway and some time next to Amy, just feeling her warmth, would be good for him. Sleep found him quickly and easily. He fell straight into a dark dream, again in the house but again in the nineteenth century. It was a bright sunny day, yet everything seemed dark and gloomy. He saw the little girl with the white dress playing in the hallway, playing with her doll. Matilda. But the doll appeared to be brand new. Hank finally got a good look at her face and noticed that she was cute as a button, dark skinned, with a mix of Asian and African features.
She disappeared as soon as he got a good look at her, but he was quite aware that she had seen him too. Perhaps he scared her? He walked out onto the front porch and was surprised to see a middle aged Asian man sitting in a rocking chair, whittling on a piece of wood with a moonshine jug sitting at his feet and a long blade of straw in his mouth.
“Have a seat Hank,” the man knew who he was. “We need to talk.”
“Who are you?” Hank asked, clueless to the man’s identity.
“I’m Quan Fong. I lived here from 1893 to 1905. I actually built the house as you see it, as it stands today. On the foundation of the original house, the one that burnt down,” he went on with a thick accent, both Asian and hillbilly.
“Oh,” was all Hank could manage.
“So, you know ‘bout the fire. Ok. Thing is Hank, that maggot…it want somethin’ from you. It want you to do somethin’ for it. But I intend to stop you. What it wants from you…well it won’t deliver on its promise back in return. It cannot be trusted. Unless you leave here, never come back….it will have your soul. And trust me, I know all ‘bout that. It has mine. This house is my prison and I cannot leave this land. Not so long as that thing lives and I don’t ‘spect it to die any time soon. It is older than the world itself,” Quan spoke to Hank deliberately, making sure he absorbed every word.
“Can we join together to fight it? Me and you, any others too?”
“I thought you would never ask,” Quan replied, laughing a bit to himself. “I don’t have even my soul to give, but whatever there is of me that I got left I will use it to help you. I don’t want to wait ’til eternity ends to get revenge.”
“How about Sheridan?” Hank remembered the man with the torch, who had set the house on fire back during the civil war.
“He cannot be trusted. He is the thrall of the maggot. Sheridan, that poor soul. He lost it all just as I did. This house took everything from him,” the voice of Quan trailed off into nothingness as darkness overwhelmed Hank. He awoke in his bed next to Amy, sweating profusely and shaking.
When he awoke she was already up, doing some dishes in the kitchen. “Amy, I had the strangest dream. I met a ghost on the front porch who knew about what we are facing,” he began his story as he entered the kitchen, wiping sleep out of his eyes.
“What are Great Old Ones Hank?” she interrupted. “I had really weird dreams too. Well, nightmares really. It just doesn’t stop, does it? Asleep or awake, living in this house is some sorta hellish nightmare.”
Hank recalled all he had learned the night before and Amy listened intently. By the time he was done speaking he had forgotten all about his plans for her that morning. When it dawned on him later that afternoon that he still needed to confront her about Jared the stress built up inside of him and unleashed itself as a massive seizure which left him in a daze for much of the rest of the day. Amy took care of him as best she could but was aware of the resentment growing inside of her. She wanted to be happy, not to spend her life taking care of Hank. In that moment she realized that she truly loved him if she was willing to give up all of her own dreams and ambitions to stay by his side watching him suffer.
12
The Book and the Fire
After several days of talking over what to do about their situation Hank and Amy Ramsey decided that they needed outside help, in any form they could get. After hours of deliberation on who to go to even for advice they settled on paying Phyllis a visit. Although Hank was aware that Phyllis was the great aunt of Alan and Alan for sure knew more than he was saying Hank still trusted Amy’s feelings about Phyllis.
Amy called her on the phone and Phyllis seem
ed to already be aware that they needed her help. Amy had to remind herself that the old woman was psychic. It was a short conversation, which Hank was thankful for as he just wanted to get there and to get answers as to what they should do about their situation.
Just as they were leaving the house and Amy was starting the car up Hank got a call on his cell phone. He was greeted by a sinister voice on the other end, dripping with coldness and venom, yet somehow Hank felt he had heard it before.
“You done fucked up buoy. We know you ain’t got our clones done. We ain’t the type of folks you need to be doin’ that way. This is your only warning Hank. Get in touch through the usual channels and make this as right as you can. But I really don’t see this one workin’ out too good for ya,” the voice showed no emotion at all except for malice and it scared Hank as much as any of the supernatural events which had been dominating his life and his sanity.
He simply hung up without speaking. He gave Amy a look which let her know at once that they were not in a good place with the Cornbread Mafia. He showed a stress and a pain in his face that she had seldom seen and she expected that he would soon fall into a seizure. She gave it a moment then saw that he was going to be alright. When she was certain Amy drove down the driveway, finally toward Phyllis’ house and finally toward, hopefully, some sort of answers.
They arrived in only a few minutes time, it was not very far and Amy started to feel a little shame that she had only visited the old woman when something was wrong and she thought Phyllis could help. In that moment Amy felt quite a bit like a user and a fair weather friend.
When they got out of the car they found Phyllis in the yard untying a pig which had been bound to a stake in the front yard.
“Go on now, you’re free. Get outta here. Hell is on the way piggy! Go on now!” Phyllis yelled at the pig as she chased it out of the yard and into a field. She seemed to take little notice of them and then spun abruptly on her heel and looked Hank up and down quickly, leaving him feeling naked and exposed.
“Come on now dears. We have precious little time,” she motioned them in to her trailer. That dilapidated surf green monstrosity which of the two Ramseys only Amy had ever visited.
They entered her trailer to find it completely empty of anything except for her dining room table and chairs. There was a large photo album on the table. She motioned for each of them to take a seat.
“Hi Phyllis. Thanks for seein’ us. We really need your help. It has gotten so outta hand at our house that we just can’t take it any more,” Amy was almost crying as she spoke with a hard sobbing she couldn’t control.
“Amy, Hank, you are both in grave danger. I see only darkness when I look at your futures. I cannot foresee your paths, which is very rare indeed. There are dark forces working against you that I cannot comprehend. I have only heard the stories, the wive’s tales and read the journals of some of the victims. But Hank you have faced that remarkable beast, that ultimate unfathomable evil. It is you who should be educating me,” she laughed to let him know she was not serious.
Out of nowhere Amy asked Phyllis, “Why did you set that pig free?”
“Oh I won’t need it any longer deary. It was just here to act as appeasement should that horror or its young ever come here, for me and mine,” Phyllis smiled to reassure Amy but it did not work. “My days have come to an end. It is the burden of someone with my particular gift. We know when our own time will come.”
“Damn,” Hank and Amy both said in unison, mouths open, exuding sympathy for the sage old woman as much as denial and confusion at what she had said.
“Take this book. It has much of that which you want to know in it. Nothing of the maggot, but many of those it tortures you will find among these pages. That foul thing is eternal in a way we cannot even begin to comprehend. It cannot be killed in the way that we think of life and death, but we can keep it from entering this realm. We can keep its young, even its influence, from this world. I am one of the keepers of that threshold through which it must step in order to make itself flesh. Hank, you are the last piece of the key. The key it has been building for centuries. The key to open the door and walk into this world. And if that happens then not even god can save us,” a darkness overtook Phyllis as she spoke; a shadow which seemed to come from nowhere. She spoke with deadly purpose and both of the Ramseys knew that she was not playing around.
They sat there absorbing what Phyllis had said for a few seconds and then Hank opened his mouth to talk, but before the first syllable passed his lips there was a loud explosion which shook the entire trailer. Hank found himself being flung across the trailer, smashing his entire body against the back wall opposite the front door. Then there was darkness as he lost consciousness.
When Hank came to he noticed that the trailer was on fire, a rapidly growing conflagration that already threatened to consume them. Phyllis and Amy were already on their feet as he was lying on the floor. The two women helped him stand and Hank saw that the wall which he had been sitting next to was virtually gone. The bits of siding which hung to what remained of the wall were melting. He saw through the hole that Phyllis’ propane tank had exploded, leaving the trailer all but destroyed. They were all lucky to be alive.
As they got out into the front yard and away from the smoke and flames Hank spotted a truck some distance down the street. He saw that it was parked and the passenger side door was open and a man was standing behind the door.
There was a loud crack as if the sky itself split in half. Then Hank and Amy found that they were both covered in splattered gore. Phyllis’ head had exploded in a red mist. Nearly half of her head and all of her face were completely gone and Hank and Amy were wearing the majority of her brains.
They were in absolute shock. As Hank had opened his mouth to speak pieces of the back to Phyllis’s head flew in, coating his tongue in a thick bloody mess. Hank spat chunks of Phyllis out of his mouth and they wasted no time in getting to their car, starting it and driving as fast as they could away from the truck, leaving the twitching, half-headless corpse of the old woman without a second thought. Their fight or flight instincts had kicked in and they knew that it was a flight situation as they had nothing with which to combat a high powered hunting rifle.
When they were sure that the truck was not pursuing them in any way they took the chance on returning to their home. As they pulled into the driveway Hank finally found the ability to speak, which for the preceding few minutes had seemed totally unavailable to him.
“Amy, I’m pretty sure that was Alan’s truck. Do you think that he would kill his own aunt? I mean, what the fuck are we in the middle of?” his voice croaked like a pubescent teenager’s, he was trembling in fear, still shocked at the sight of Amy and of himself in the mirror. Covered in gore as they were he thought again how lucky they were to have escaped that ordeal with their lives.
“Hank, it might have been Alan’s truck, I can’t say for sure. But what are the odds that that would happen after you got that phone call? Is Alan involved with Jared’s people? Is everyone in this whole town against us?” she had so many questions flowing through her head.
“Amy, I didn’t get the book. Did you?” Hank asked her with a slight panic to his voice.
“No Hank, I forgot it. I think Phyllis was holding it when we got you out of the trailer but then..,” she trailed off, remembering the horror of the old woman’s brutal death.
They went inside and climbed into the shower together without so much as another word, washing off the blood and chunks of brain and skull.
13
The Daze and the Struggle
After a week of being so on edge that they couldn’t take it any more Hank and Amy called Jared. First they wanted to get more medication as they were running low on Hank’s seizure pills as well as the Valium and Vicodin the two had become wholly dependent on. Amy had unlimited refills on her previous prescription for Vicodin, but she was feeling like having something stronger. Hank wanted his own unlimited r
efills as well and with all they had been through he felt like he deserved it and would have no problem explaining it to Jared. Second they knew they needed to talk to Jared in order to set things straight with the Cornbread Mafia. He answered their call and seemed to already be expecting that they reach out to him on both of those accounts.
When he arrived at the house Hank and Amy were out on the front porch. As he climbed the stairs the two put their forefingers to their lips in a motion to let him know to be silent. Hank whispered to Jared, “We saw something, with red eyes, out in the barn again. I think it might be what attacked Amy.”
“I have a rifle in my trunk. Let’s go take a look,” Jared seemed confident in a way that Hank was not. Hank attributed it to Jared having grown up in the country and hunting from a young age.
They approached the barn together after getting Jared’s gun out of the trunk of his car along with a couple of beers that were in a styrofoam cooler in the back seat. There was a growling noise coming from the barn, that was for sure. A shadow ran toward them for a moment then turned hard to the right and ran out of a hole in one of the rotting old barn planks. Jared raised his rifle and shot. BLAM! There was a loud, high pitched yelp.
Hank was shocked Jared hit anything at all. All Hank had seen was a blur.
“Just as I thought. Goddamn coyote!” Jared said with a cockiness that made Hank a little uncomfortable.
They approached the dead coyote and Hank saw that coyotes were indeed much smaller animals than he had imagined. In his mind they were as big as wolves and could carry children away in the night. When he considered himself insane and would not face the truths he now held dear as to the nature of his situation he had told himself that Amy had been attacked by a coyote. But the thing before them lying dead at their feet was no thing of terror, no beast in the night with wicked fangs and the voracious appetite of a pack of wolves. No, this was a pathetic little creature, barely thirty pounds. It looked malnourished and mangy. Hank felt bad for the poor thing. He knew that if he didn’t overreact then it would still be alive. He might have even found himself feeding it and taking it in as it seemed much more like a dog, or some other family pet, than a cold blooded killing machine.
Gravel Switch: the black goat chronicles book 1: a Weird Tale of Extreme Horror Page 11